Apparently quite unconscious of this change in his demeanour, thewily Secretary stepped a little apart, under pretence of pulling upthe window-blind, and returning when the other had had time torecover, said:
"The holy cause goes bravely on, my lord. I was not idle, evenlast night. I dropped two of the handbills before I went to bed,and both are gone this morning. Nobody in the house has mentionedthe circumstance of finding them, though I have been downstairsfull half-an-hour. One or two recruits will be their first fruit,I predict; and who shall say how many more, with Heaven"s blessingon your inspired exertions!"
"It was a famous device in the beginning," replied Lord George; "anexcellent device, and did good service in Scotland. It was quiteworthy of you. You remind me not to be a sluggard, Gashford, whenthe vineyard is menaced with destruction, and may be trodden downby Papist feet. Let the horses be saddled in half-an-hour. Wemust be up and doing!"
He said this with a heightened colour, and in a tone of suchenthusiasm, that the secretary deemed all further promptingneedless, and withdrew.
--"Dreamed he was a Jew," he said thoughtfully, as he closed thebedroom door. "He may come to that before he dies. It"s likeenough. Well! After a time, and provided I lost nothing by it, Idon"t see why that religion shouldn"t suit me as well as anyother. There are rich men among the Jews; shaving is verytroublesome;--yes, it would suit me well enough. For the present,though, we must be Christian to the core. Our prophetic motto willsuit all creeds in their turn, that"s a comfort." Reflecting onthis source of consolation, he reached the sitting-room, and rangthe bell for breakfast.
Lord George was quickly dressed (for his plain toilet was easilymade), and as he was no less frugal in his repasts than in hisPuritan attire, his share of the meal was soon dispatched. Thesecretary, however, more devoted to the good things of this world,or more intent on sustaining his strength and spirits for the sakeof the Protestant cause, ate and drank to the last minute, andrequired indeed some three or four reminders from John Grueby,before he could resolve to tear himself away from Mr Willet"splentiful providing.
At length he came downstairs, wiping his greasy mouth, and havingpaid John Willet"s bill, climbed into his saddle. Lord George, whohad been walking up and down before the house talking to himselfwith earnest gestures, mounted his horse; and returning old JohnWillet"s stately bow, as well as the parting salutation of a dozenidlers whom the rumour of a live lord being about to leave theMaypole had gathered round the porch, they rode away, with stoutJohn Grueby in the rear.
If Lord George Gordon had appeared in the eyes of Mr Willet,overnight, a nobleman of somewhat quaint and odd exterior, theimpression was confirmed this morning, and increased a hundredfold.
Sitting bolt upright upon his bony steed, with his long, straighthair, dangling about his face and fluttering in the wind; his limbsall angular and rigid, his elbows stuck out on either sideungracefully, and his whole frame jogged and shaken at every motionof his horse"s feet; a more grotesque or more ungainly figure canhardly be conceived. In lieu of whip, he carried in his hand agreat gold-headed cane, as large as any footman carries in thesedays, and his various modes of holding this unwieldy weapon--nowupright before his face like the sabre of a horse-soldier, now overhis shoulder like a musket, now between his finger and thumb, butalways in some uncouth and awkward fashion--contributed in no smalldegree to the absurdity of his appearance. Stiff, lank, andsolemn, dressed in an unusual manner, and ostentatiouslyexhibiting--whether by design or accident--all his peculiarities ofcarriage, gesture, and conduct, all the qualities, natural andartificial, in which he differed from other men; he might havemoved the sternest looker-on to laughter, and fully provoked thesmiles and whispered jests which greeted his departure from theMaypole inn.
Quite unconscious, however, of the effect he produced, he trottedon beside his secretary, talking to himself nearly all the way,until they came within a mile or two of London, when now and thensome passenger went by who knew him by sight, and pointed him outto some one else, and perhaps stood looking after him, or cried injest or earnest as it might be, "Hurrah Geordie! No Popery!" Atwhich he would gravely pull off his hat, and bow. When theyreached the town and rode along the streets, these notices becamemore frequent; some laughed, some hissed, some turned their headsand smiled, some wondered who he was, some ran along the pavementby his side and cheered. When this happened in a crush of cartsand chairs and coaches, he would make a dead stop, and pulling offhis hat, cry, "Gentlemen, No Popery!" to which the gentlemen wouldrespond with lusty voices, and with three times three; and then, onhe would go again with a score or so of the raggedest, following athis horse"s heels, and shouting till their throats were parched.
The old ladies too--there were a great many old ladies in thestreets, and these all knew him. Some of them--not those of thehighest rank, but such as sold fruit from baskets and carriedburdens--clapped their shrivelled hands, and raised a weazen,piping, shrill "Hurrah, my lord." Others waved their hands orhandkerchiefs, or shook their fans or parasols, or threw up windowsand called in haste to those within, to come and see. All thesemarks of popular esteem, he received with profound gravity andrespect; bowing very low, and so frequently that his hat was moreoff his head than on; and looking up at the houses as he passedalong, with the air of one who was making a public entry, and yetwas not puffed up or proud.
