Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 4
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Doctor Syn laughed, and humorously drank the proffered toast, adding
that should he ever tire of his own profession in England, he would
leave his beloved brethren to another’s cure and seek out the wilder
Brethren of the Coast, where no doubt he and Mister Mipps might
forgather on the poop of some black pirate ship.
Great would have been the astonishment of these ill-assorted
companions had they realized that very soon their joking was to turn
into grim reality. Ignorant of this, however, they parted after mutual
commendations of Good Luck, Mipps shouldering his few bundled
possessions and taking the lower road for Portsmouth by way of Dymchurch
and Rye, and Doctor Syn leading his horse up the steep incline to Lympne
Castle.
At the top of the hill, under shadow of the old bulwarks, he turned
and looked back upon the flat Marshland, intersected with the slivery
ribboned water of the dykes, and spread out beneath him like a vast map.
He was amused to see that his little companion had already reached the
dyke, and from somewhere in the grass Mipps had discovered a long plank,
which he had successfully pushed across the water, and over this
perilous bridge the little man was now walking. And then there came,
owing to his former conversation with Mister Mipps, the first line of a
chanty that was destined to become the terror of the pirate crews. “Oh,
here’s to the feet that have walked the plank.” Aye, Aye, sir, a grim
slogan that was to strike fear into the very fo’c’sles of the worst
ships flying the Jolly Roger. Mister Mipps wobbled over to the other
side of the dyke and then turned round and waved. Doctor Syn waved
back.
Chapter 2
Doctor Syn Becomes a Squire of Dames
Sir Henry Pembury received his young clerical visitor in the Great
Hall of the Castle. He apologized for not rising to greet him by
pointing to his right foot, which, heavily bandaged, rested upon a stool
in front of the large armchair in which he sat.
“I must ask your pardon also for having put you to the trouble of
climbing Lympne Hill, but, you see, Doctor Syn, since this mountain of
gout could not go to Mahomet, I had to ask you to come to me instead.
Also the nature of the request I have to put to you makes it more
convenient for you to be here, s o that you may see with your own eyes of
what you are letting yourself in for. But first may I ask you when you
think of journeying back to Oxford?”
“A week today, sir,” replied Doctor Syn.
“And how did you propse to get there?” went on Sir Henry. “By the
stagecoach or private conveyance?”
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“By neither, sir,” returned the Doctor. “I ride there on horseback,
and I am glad to say that my good friend Tony Cobtree is to ride with
me.”
“But I understand from Sir Charles that his son had finished with the
University.”
“So he has, sir. More than a year since. He is revisiting the town
on a more romantic mission than book -learning. He is taking a proposal
of marriage to the lady of his affections.”
“That’s capital!” cried the Squire of Lympne heartily, as, without
thinking, he brought his hand crashing down on to his bad leg. That
caused him such excruciating pain that it was some time before he could
continue speaking.
In the meantime Doctor Syn expressed his sympathy by saying that he
was surprised that so young a man as Sir Henry should be plagued with an
old man’s disease.
“Aye,” replied the other, as he slowly recovered. “I’m still just on
the right side of fifty, but I’m running to fat, and refuse to give up
my two bottles of port for the whole faculty of doctors. My tailor
could as easily persuade me to wear an a ill -fitting coat. But to return
to this Oxford business. You may or may not be aware that I undertook
recently a Government mission to Spain. While in Madrid, my wife and I
were lavishly entertained by a wealthy South American family. We
naturally extended to them the hospitality of Lympne Castle if by any
lucky chance they visited England. It has proved, however, a most
unlucky chance that has brought them here. The father died suddenly,
and the mother and daughter are now travelling to deaden their grief.
In short, they have been with us here for the last fortnight. Lady
Pembury is very attached to them both, and wished them to stay
indefinitely, but it so happens that they have to trasact some business
with a gentleman of Oxford concerning a mutal property in Spain, and
since the roads are none too safe for foreign ladies travelling alone, I
wonder now whether you and young Cobtree will undertake to be Squires of
Dames and ride as their escort, since you are also bound for Oxford?”
“For myself, sir, it will be an honour,” replied Doctor Syn, “and I
know I can say the same for Tony.”
Sir Henry leaned forward and whispered. “You will not regret it.
The widow is beautiful, but the daughter is ravishing. The mere fact
that young Cobtree has already given his heart to a girl in Oxford will
give you a clear field with the young beauty.”
Doctor Syn smiled. “I had no idea you were a matchmaker, sir.”
Sir Henry winked. “You wait till you see her, my lad,” he laughed.
But then his face went grave and he shook his head. “Ah, no, of course
not. I had forgotten your cloth.”
“There is nothing against a parson marrying, sir,” said Syn.
“Like enough,” returned the other, “but everything against an English
parson wedding a Spanish Catholic, I should say.”
“Well, that question need hardly trouble us, sir,” smiled the Doctor,
“for I have not yet seen the lady, much less fallen in love with her,
and even though I did, ‘tis ten to one that the lady might not fall in
love with me.”
“I think there is no need for you to mortify yourself,” said the
Squire. “You seem to me to be a young gentleman who will always get
what he wants in this world.”
“I hope you are a true prophet, upon my soul, sir,” replied
Syn. As he looked up the door opened and she was standing
there, like a fresh painting set in the old oak paneling. The
young scholar gasped in wonder, and slowly rose to his feet. He
knew that he was gazing at
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what he wanted more than all the world.
She was dressed simply in the black mourning for her father, with a
priceless mantilla crowned high and falling in cascades of lacy folds.
The only aloofness of the young scholar is his black riding dress had
arrested her in the same bewildered astonishment. They forgot the
presence of Sir Henry, who, secretly amused, was the first to break the
spell.
“Senorita, “he called, “let me present to you my good young friend
Christopher Syn, a learned Doctor of Oxford. Doctor Syn, this is Miss
Imogene Almago, of whom we were but now talking.”
The Doctor was the first to move. He crossed the room with long,
easy strides. The girl watched his approach, and smiled when he bent
over her hand and raised it gently to his lips.
“I should add to my introduction,” went on Sir Henry, “that this
gentleman is to be your escort when you leave our county for
Oxfordshire.”
“I am greatly honoured,” said Doctor Syn in a voice that was low, yet
clear and caressing.
“Bring the senorita to a chair over here,” said Sir Henry. “And I
shall delight in seeing you two the better acquainted.”
Then Doctor Syn heard Imogene speak for the first time, in a voice
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