Read Ebook: Critical Miscellanies (Vol. 3 of 3) Essay 4: The Life of George Eliot by Morley John

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Though the sportsmen were scattered through the woods, I took occasion to place myself in contact first with one, then the other, until I had got a glance at the caliber of their respective guns. There were five of them exclusive of Mr. Bradley.

Of these only two had rifles, both small bores, not larger than fifty to the pound.

From Bradley's rifle then had issued the bullet I had extracted from the tree; and, I now felt convinced that my own person was the "pigeon" at which it had been fired.

Without making known the circumstance, or stating my suspicions to any one, I reflected what would be best for me to do.

To charge the man with an attempt at murdering me, would seem so absurd. What motive could he have for such an atrocious act? We were perfect strangers to one another, with no quarrel between us, no circumstance to have given color to so serious an accusation. Supposing it proved to be Bradley's bullet, he would simply have to say that he fired it at a pigeon, and had not seen me. He might be reproached with negligence, but not accused of a crime, so monstrous as to appear improbable.

On the whole I thought it more prudent to keep my suspicions to myself, or communicate them only to my host on returning home.

Meanwhile I determined to make myself better acquainted with the bore of Mr. Bradley's rifle, and watch the direction in which it should be aimed. To do this it would be necessary to keep my eye upon him.

I now discovered that he was missing from among the sportsmen, nor was his gun any longer heard cracking through the woods.

Some one remarked this, and some one else added that it was not strange, as Nat Bradley cared nothing about shooting, and had likely gone home.

REJECTED.

It is difficult to describe the thoughts at that moment passing through my mind, about Mr. Nat Bradley and his mysterious movements. I can well remember them as being black and bitter. More than ever was I enraged at the man, who, failing to become my assassin, appeared to be successful as my rival. I could no longer conceal from myself the deep interest I felt in Cornelia Woodley.

The disappearance of Bradley was easily explained. I did not need to hear that he had gone back to the house. It was but the echo of my own instinct, the moment he was missed from the sporting party. Miss Woodley would be alone. It was no wonder he should seek such an opportunity. No wonder either, that pigeon-shooting should no longer seem sport to me, and that I should determine on retiring from it.

Without communicating my intention to any one, I strayed from the ridge, and toward the plantation-house.

I went with irresolution, now hesitating whether I should interrupt a scene, the very thought of which maddened me, and where I would, no doubt, be deemed a most unwelcome intruder.

But the madness itself stimulated me to proceed; and, on I went, like one who despairingly offers himself upon the altar of destruction.

Close to the house of Henry Woodley there was a clump of low timber, that might have been likened to an orchard. It was not this, however, only the grove of indigenous trees already mentioned, that, being of an ornamental kind, had been left standing for show and shade. A fence had been thrown around them, and some slight attempts made to give them the character of a cultivated shrubbery. Walks had been traced out, and a rustic seat or two placed at intervals among these natural arbors.

The path leading from the beachwood ridge ran through the inclosure, and upon this I was returning. There was a set of "bars" separating it from the woods behind; most of these were down, as we had left them on going out. I had stepped silently over, and was proceeding on toward the house, when voices, heard in conversation, caused me to come to a stop. There were two of them, both easily recognized. The first I heard was that of Nat Bradley, loud enough for me to make out the words, as also to tell to whom they were addressed.

I was too much interested in what was being said to feel either shame or reluctance at playing eavesdropper.

"You've made up your mind to that?"

I was not in time to catch the beginning of the speech, which appeared to be in the form of an interrogation.

The answer proved it to have been one.

"I have," was the reply, in a female voice--like that of Miss Woodley.

"Permit me to tell you, Mr. Nat Bradley, it has nothing to do with my refusing you."

"Come, Corneel; speak the truth; if it be only that, I can promise you that I too--"

There was an emphasis on the words that particularly pleased me.

A pause followed, and with a heart strangely palpitating I listened for the rejoinder.

It came in an accent half-agonized, half-angry.

"You won't, Corneel? you won't! Be it so. Then by heaven! you'll never be the wife of another man--or if you are, it will only be to become his widow. I swear by the Eternal, that if it cost me my life, I'll kill the man that marries you. Yes, the very day he makes you his bride. So now you may choose for yourself: either be my wife or some fool's widow. If I thought it was this fledgeless puppy that's staying with you, I wouldn't let it go that far. No, by--! I'd put an end to him before that sun should set. I'd--"

"Nat Bradley!" broke in the voice of the indignant girl. "Do you think I will listen to such a speech as you are addressing to me? You forget yourself, sir; or you forget me. Let me hear no more of it, or my brother shall be told of the liberty you are pleased to take in his absence."

To this speech I could hear no rejoinder, but instead, a rustling of female dress, and the sound of light footsteps passing away. I could tell that Miss Woodley had put an end to the interview by retiring toward the house.

For myself I felt contented enough to have gone back to the woods, and enjoyed pigeon-shooting for the rest of the day. But the word "puppy" rung in my ears, and alongside them was my cheeks, still tingling with that queer sensation I had experienced from the passage of the bullet.

I could not restrain myself from stepping round the tree that had hitherto concealed the speakers from my sight, and confronting the only one that remained upon the ground, Mr. Nat Bradley.

Had I been my own ghost--which he supposed I was--he could not have shown more surprise. I think now, as I thought then, that he was under the belief that he had killed me--and this may account for his consternation at seeing me. At all events the braggadocio to which he had been giving vent, seemed suddenly scared out of him; and he received me in a manner almost submissive.

"Mr. Bradley," I said, "will you have the goodness to let me look at your gun?"

"My gun!" he replied with an air of assumed surprise. "Oh! certainly; but why do you wish to see it?"

"Because I have a bullet here, that passed within less than an inch of my skull. I'm curious to know who came so near shooting me--by accident."

"My God! I hope it wasn't me."

"Well," I replied, after placing the bullet to the muzzle of his rifle, and satisfying myself it had come from no other, "I can only say that it was you who fired the shot, and let me caution you the next time you go pigeon-shooting to stick to the feathered game, and not select a 'fledgeless puppy' for your mark. I hope you understand me?"

Without waiting for an answer, I turned upon the path, and once more stepping over the bars, went back toward the beech-woods.

I rejoined the pigeon-shooting party with a zest for the sport I had not hitherto felt.

No one was made the wiser of what had happened; nor did I care to communicate to my host, how near he had been to having the expense of providing a coffin for his stranger guest!

On our return to the house we found Miss Woodley alone.

Where was Mr. Bradley? inquired her brother.

He had been there, but had taken his horse, and was gone.

Henry thought this nothing strange. He was an odd sort of fellow was Nat Bradley, and did queer things sometimes.

I was not surprised at his unexplained departure. After that interview with the mistress of the mansion, he would not be likely soon to show himself there again.

There was little said about it, and I could see that Miss Woodley had no suspicion of my having overheard what had passed between her and her rejected suitor.

For my part I intended to keep her secret. I was too contented at what I had heard to spoil my pleasure by divulging it, and unless Bradley himself should choose to demand explanations from me, I intended to leave the matter as it stood. Of course I could not help speculating upon what course he would take as regarded myself. Would he submit tamely to the treatment I had given him? Noted bully as he was, I might have expected a challenge, or what was more likely in that land of pseudo-chivalry, an "affair," that is, a rough fight with guns, knives, and pistols. Why it had not come off upon the spot, I could understand, or at all events I had conjectured. His rifle was empty, its last load having been discharged at my own person. He appeared to be unprovided with pistols--these weapons, perhaps, not being deemed appropriate for making a proposal of marriage. Unarmed, and taken by surprise by my sudden appearance, he had permitted me to depart without an encounter.

I supposed, however, it would come off sooner or later, and I waited for a communication.

But the next day passed, and there was none; and the next after, till a whole week had transpired without any word from Mr. Nat Bradley.

I made up my mind I should hear no more of him, and concluded that in this case the bully was also a coward.

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