Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 4

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