The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices

ont, and the rain in spouts and splashes everywhere, made the best of its way back to the little inn; the broken moor coun

ripped; Thomas Idle dripped; the Inn-keeper dripped; the mare dripped; the vast curtains of mist and cloud passed before the shadowy forms of the hills, streamed water as they were drawn across the landscape. Down such steep pitches that the mare seemed to be trotting on her head, and up such steep pitches t

p before, and sweetening Mr. Goodchild's temper, which was sweet before. Portmanteaus being then opened and clothes changed, Mr. Goodchild, through having no change of outer garments but br

e roof to play vigorous games of bagatelle into the interior all the way, and to score immensely. It was comfortable to see how the people coming back in open carts from Wigton market made no more of the rain than if it were sunshine; how the Wigton policeman taking a country walk of half-a-dozen miles (apparently for pleasure), in resplendent uniform, accept

ally carried to the inn's first floor, and laid upon three chairs (he should have had the sofa, if there had been one

ncis,' cried Thomas Idle, 'Wh

urning. As every little puff of wind comes down the street, I see a perfect train of rain let off along the wooden stalls in the market-place and exploded against me. I see a very big gas lamp in the centre which I know, by a secret instinct, wil

more do you see from the turret, besides the man and the pump

and there are five more linen-drapers' shops down the corner to the left. Eleven homicidal linen-drapers' shops within a short stone's throw, each wi

des the eleven homicidal linen-drapers' shops, and the wonderful inscription, "Bank,"-on the small

r, printed in colours, I am sure I see. I see the Illustrated London News of several years ago, and I see a sweetmeat shop-which the proprietor calls a "Salt Warehouse"-with one small female

do you see of Wigton, besides these objects, and the man and the

shut last week (the manager's family played all the parts), and the short, square, chinky omnibus that goes to the railway, and leads too ra

you make out from the turret, of the expression of the two men

ining, partly of a ploughing, partly of a stable, character. They are looking at nothing-very hard. Their backs are slouched, and their legs are curved with much standing about. Their pockets are loose and dog's-eared, on account of their hands being always in them. They stand to be rained upon, without any movement of impatience or dissa

blind of the turret and come in to have your head scorched by the hot gas, see if

of evening, and the wings of coal, are folding over Wigton. Still, they look a

ried Thomas Idle, 'tell me quickly wh

at all. And now the town goes to sleep, undazzled by the larg

roads, and a long day's getting out and going on before the horses, and fagging up hills, and scouring down hills, on the part of Mr. Goodchild, who in the fatigues of such labours congratulated himself on attaining a high point of idleness. It was at a little town, still in Cumberland, that they halted for the night-

of the motherly landlady of the little Inn: stopping in hi

lancing doubtfully at the ankle for

a good

A' cooms efther nae doctor that I ken. M

hink he i

Gang awa', Jock,

tunate ankle, had greatly enjoyed himself for the last ten minutes in splashing the carpet, set off promptly. A very few mi

d a fall? Yes, yes, yes. Carrock, indeed? Hah! Does that pain you, sir? No doubt, it does. It is the great connecting ligament here, you see, that has been badly strained. Time and res

m. He had touched it tenderly and skilfully in explanation of what he said, and, when his care

ue cause of that appearance. He stooped very little, though past seventy and very grey. His dress was more like that of a clergyman than a country doctor, being a plain black suit, and a plain white neck-kerchief tied behind like a band. His black was the worse for wear, and there were darns in his coat, and his linen was a little frayed at the hems and edges. He might have been poor-it was likely enough in that out-of-the-way spot-o

enticeship, also happened to be well known to him. The lazy travellers were thus placed on a more intimate footing with the Doctor than the casual circumstances of the meeting would of themselves have established; and when Doctor Speddie rose to go home, remarking that he would se

es of Mr. Goodchild's society than he could otherwise have hoped for,' and they went out together into the village street. The rain had n

ll, shivering manner round the little garden, like a houseless creature that knew the winter was coming. It was exceedingly wild and

Doctor entered it, with a word of welcome to his guest. It, too, was a low room, half surgery and half parlour, with shelves of books and bottles against the walls, which

remarkable paleness. His large black eyes, his sunken cheeks, his long and heavy iron-grey hair, his wasted hands, and even the attenuation of his figure, were at first forg

d the Doctor. '

own name and himself-acknowledged the visitor's presence, and stepped further back into the shadow of the wall behi

accident, Lorn,' said Doctor Speddie.

pa

than usually absent to-night

es! Di

ere, compounding the lotion with his back towards them, Goodchild could not, for many moments, withdraw his gaze from the man. When he at length did s

he i

not

hap

that he was,' assent

expression with which an attached father might have looked at a heavily afflicted son. Yet, that they were not father and son must have been plain to most eyes. The A

away from what was before him. Let Mr. Goodchild do what he would to follow the Doctor, his eyes and thoughts revert

or

ear D

otion? You will show the best way of apply

plea

s hat, and passed lik

he Doctor, cal

etur

any till you come home. Don't hu

r smile, 'the first time you have called me bac

with his former troubled expression of face, 'I have see

logise to you, but he has qui

vy. I will tell you something. You may make what use you will of it, under fictitious names. I know I may trust you. I am the more inclined to confidence to-nigh

speaking, for the most part, in so cautious a voice, that the win

amble carelessly along the journey of life making friends, as the phrase is, wherever they go. His father was a rich manufacturer, and had bought landed property enough in one of the midland counties to make all the born squires in his neighbourhood thoroughly envious of him. Arthur was his only son, possessor in prospect of the great estate and the great business after his father's death; well supplied with money, and not too rigidly looked

tioned it. In the race-week at Doncaster, it is no uncommon thing for visitors who have not bespoken apartments, to pass the night in their carriages at the inn doors. As for the lower sort of strangers, I myself have often seen them, at that full time, sleeping out on the doorsteps for want of a covered place to creep under. Rich as he was, Arthur's chance of getting a night's l

sing piece of experience. He went on, with his carpet-bag in his hand, applying for a bed at every place of entertainment for travellers that he could find in Doncaster, until he wandered into the outskirts of the town

ubject of a lodging for the night. The suburban part of the town towards which he had now strayed was hardly lighted at all, and he could see nothing of the houses as he passed them, except that they got progressively smaller and dirtier, the farther he went. Down the winding road before him shone the dull gleam of an oil lamp, the one fain

it lighted the entrance to a narrow court, on the wall of which was painted a long

WO RO

the door of the house which was at the bottom of the court, facing the entrance from the street. The men were all listening to one other m

ed by a stranger with a knapsack in his

y-looking, bald-headed man, with a dirty white apron on, who had followed him down the passage. 'No, Mr.

he was unable or unwilling to pay it. The moment his back was turned, Arthur, comfortably conscious of his own well-filled pockets, addressed himself in

'and if that gentleman who has just gone

ord looked ha

asked, in a medita

ord's hesitation sprang from some boorish distrust of him. 'Nam

landlord, rubbing his stubbly double chin, and l

ontrol himself, offered the five shillings as seriously as he could.

e by you. Look here, this is how it stands. You can have a bed all to yourself for five shillings; but y

rritably. 'You mean that it is a double-bedde

ep or two towards the door. The idea of sleeping in the same room with a total stranger, did not present an attractive prospe

as quick as you can, because there's lots of people

y in the street outside. He thought he would ask a question or two

ther bed?' he inquired. 'Is he a gentleman?

s a judge, and as regular as clock-work in his habits. It hasn't struck nine, not ten minutes ago, and he's in his bed alr

do you think?

t I'll warrant you don't wake him. This way, sir,' said the landlord, speaking over young

might be. 'I'll take the bed.' And he handed the five shillings to the landlord, who

The Two Robins, leading the way to the stairc

The landlord half opened a door, fronting the l

omfortable bed; and I warrant, beforehand, that you won't be interfered with, or annoyed in any way, by the man who sleeps in the

made to draw, if necessary, all round them. The occupied bed was the bed nearest the window. The curtains were all drawn round this, except the half curtain at the bottom, on the side of the bed farthest from the window. Arthur saw the feet o

quiet sleeper

he landlord,

ith the candle, and looke

he is!' sa

e landlord, 'pale

he noticed this, Arthur stooped down closer over the stranger; looked at his ashy, parted lips; listened breathlessly for an instant; looked again at the strangely still

s breath. 'Come here, for God's sak

would,' said the landlord, composedly. 'Yes, he's

rthur, staggered, for a moment, by t

ek, paying his way fairly enough, and stopping in-doors, for the most part, as if he was ailing. My girl brought him up his tea at five to-day; and as he was pouring of it out, he fell down in a faint, or a fit, or a compound of both, for anyt

straight up, as steadily as before. There was a moment of silence; and

t in this world for ever. If you're frightened to stop alone with him, that's not my look out. I've kept my part of the bargain, and I mean to keep the money. I'm not Yorkshire, myself, young gentleman; but I've lived long enough in these parts to hav

ecovered himself to feel indignant at the trick that had been played o

e you have got the laugh against me. You shan't have th

ou a goodnight's rest.' With that brief farew

ead man had an instantaneously chilling effect on his mind when he found himself alone in the room-alone, and bound by his own rash words to stay there till the next morning. An older man would have thought nothing of those words, and would have acted, without reference to them, as his

ht to himself, 'and I can get awa

e advanced and drew the curtains, purposely abstaining, as he did so, from looking at the face of the corpse, lest he might unnerve himself at the outset by fastening some ghastly impre

ered heavily against the glass. He inferred, from hearing it, that the window was at the back of the h

nd had some faint suggestion, in consequence, of life and companionship in it-while he was standing at the window, and looking vacantly into the b

time in this manner was distasteful to him. The new situation in which he was placed seemed to have altered him to himself already. Thus far, his life had been the common, trifling, prosaic, surface-life of a prosperous young man, with no troubles to conquer, and no t

m. The bare thought of lying down on the unoccupied bed instantly drew the picture on his mind of a dreadful mimicry of the position of the dead man. Who was he? What was the story of his past life? Poor he must have been, or he would not have stopped at such a place as The Two R

d with the closed curtains. At first he looked at it absently; then he became conscious that his eyes were fixed on it; and then, a

ng them, turned his back sharply on the bed, and walked towards the chimney-piece, to see what

ere was a square of embossed card, dirty and fly-blown, with a collection of wretched riddles printed on it, in all sorts of zig-zag directions, and in variously colo

atiently to look at another. Before he could begin reading the riddles printed here, the sound of the c

fashioned steel snuffers. Up to this time, his mind had been too much occupied to think of the light. He had left the wick of the candle unsnuffed, till it had risen higher than the flame, and had burnt into an odd pent-ho

He pursued his occupation mechanically, deriving no sort of impression from what he was reading. It was as if a shadow from the curtained bed had got between his mind and the gaily

Was it only the body being there, or was it the body being there, concealed, that was preying on his mind? He stopped at t

ong the face seemed to be hovering out in the middle of the darkness, confronting him through the window, with the paleness whiter, with the dreadful dull line of light between the imperfectly-closed eyelids broader than he ha

dream of his own distempered fancy. He recognised it as the voice of t

nd free of the ghastly counterfeit which still clung to it, by forcing himself to confront, if it was only for a moment, the sol

n the pillow. No stir, no change there! He only looked at it for a moment before he closed the

up and down the room; persevering in it, th

he tap-room leaving the house. The next sound, after an interval of silence, was caused by the barring of the door,

utterly, alone with the dea

his shoulder, at the curtained bed-then again at the candle. It had been lighted, for the first time, to show him the way up-stairs, and three parts of it, at least, were alrea

le, waiting till he could prevail on himself to open the door, and call, from the landing, to the man who had shut up the Inn. In his present hesitating frame of mind, it was a kind of relief to gain a few moments only by engaging in the trifling occupat

no distinct idea, but which was powerful enough in its very vagueness, to bind him down to his chair, to make his heart beat fast, and to set him li

pocket, reached out his hand softly, opened the bag, and groped in it for his travelling writing-case, in which he knew that there was a small store of matches. When he had got one of the matches,

ay and, on the instant of its burning up, the first object

that direction, and had seen no change, no disarrangement

w, he saw, hanging over the s

curtain at the head and the curtain at the foot met. Nothing more was

never could tell afterwards. It might have been only for a moment; it might have been for many minutes together. How he got to the bed-whether he ran to it headlong, or whether he approached it slowly-how h

w; his eyelids were wide open. Changed as to position, and as to one of the features, the face was, o

lance, before he flew breathlessly

o appear on the stairs. In three words, Arthur told him

when the stranger was taken ill in the afternoon; but I was not at home, and medical assistance was sought for elsewhere. When the man from The Two Robins rang the night-bell, I was just thinking of going to bed. Naturally enough, I did not believe a wo

ng myself face to face with Arthur Holliday as soon as I entered the bedroom. It was no time then for giving or seeking explana

ines, and with such help as Arthur could render under my direction, I dragged the man, literally, out of the jaws of death. In less than an hou

it, which human science has not fathomed yet; and I candidly confess to you, that, in bringing that man back to existence, I was, morally speaking, groping haphazard in the dark. I know (from the testimony of the doctor who attended him in the afternoon) that the vital machinery, so far as its action is appreciable by our senses, had, in this case,

is wild black eyes, and his long black hair. The first question he asked me about himself, when he could speak, made me sus

tudies; that he had been taken ill on the journey; and that he had stopped to rest and recover himself at Doncaster. He did not add a word about his name, or who

rly, 'which will put bread i

ching him in silent curiosity, burst out i

again, don't begin by being down-hearted about your prospects. I'll answer for it, I can

udent looked a

ldly. Then added, 'May I

of the country,' replied Arthur. 'He is a gr

of Holliday was pronounced I felt the pulse under my fingers flutter, stop, go on

ed the stranger, quickly, ex

happened from the time of his

has saved my life,' said the medical student, speaking to

poke, his long, whit

ally. 'I may confess it now,' he continued, laughing. '

d the gaze, amazed and puzzled by the medical student's odd language and manners. The two faces were close together; I looked at them; and, to my amazement, I was suddenly impressed by the sense of a likeness bet

in Arthur's face, still holding tightly by his hand. 'If you had

n brother,' and a change passed over his face as he pronounced t

ce to you yet,' said Arthur. 'I'll spe

her,' said the medical student. 'I suppose

laughing. 'Is there anything wonder

ped young Holliday's hand,

pe I have not unintentionally pained yo

ver had,' retorted the medical st

u have n

Arthur's hand again, suddenly lo

onish you? Well! I have a fancy of my own for telling you what men in my situation generally keep a secret. I have no name and no father. The

ite of the extraordinary speech that he had just made, he was not, as I had been disposed to suspect, beginning to get light-headed. His

e, as he would, most likely, be leaving Doncaster, in the morning, before I was up. It was quite useless to represent to him the folly and danger of such a proceeding as this. He heard me politely and patiently, but held to his resolution, without offering any reasons or any explanations, and repeated to me, that if I wished to give him a chance of seeing my prescription, I must wr

neatly written, in cypher, in one corner. He started and trembled; his pale face grew wh

e said in a remarkabl

hur. 'Oh, such a pretty girl! I wish it was no

re her ve

half in earnest, kisse

as usual. Trammelled by a rash engagement to some poor man who is never likely to get money enough to marry her. It was lucky I heard of it in t

utch up the bedclothes and squeeze them hard. I thought he was going to be ill again, and begged that there might be no more talking. He opened his eyes when I spoke, fixed them once more searchingly

d in a whisper, 'Now for the prescription.' From that time,

o sit up with him, and he shook his head. Arthur offered to sit up with him, and he said, shortly, with his face turned away, 'No.' I insisted

ll rested steadily on me, and never once turned towards Arthur. 'I beg that Mr. Holliday will not mention to any one-least of all to his father-the events that have occurred, and the words that have passed

e the required pledge. I took young Holliday away with me, immediately afterwards, to the house of my friend

scandals, which I knew of, relating to the early life of Arthur's father. While I was thinking, in my bed, of what had passed at the Inn-of the change in the student's pulse when he heard the name of Holliday; of the resemblance of expression that I had discovered between his face and Arthur's; of the emphasis he had laid on those three words, 'my own brother;' and of his incomprehensible ackno

my nameless patient again. He had been go

ought back to life in the double-bedded room of the Inn at Doncaster. What I have next t

to find that Arthur was singularly reserved with me, both before and after his marriage, on the subject of the young lady's prior engagement. He only referred to it once, when we were alone, merely telling me, on that occasion, that his wife had done all that honour and duty required of her in the matter, and that the engagement had been broken off with the full approval of her parents. I never heard more from him than this. For three years he and his wife lived together happily. At the expiration of th

arried. I asked her how the engagement came to be broken off. She replied that it had not been broken off, but that it had died out in a very mysterious way. The person to whom she was engaged-her first love, she called him-was very poor, and there was no immediate prospect of their being married. He followed my profession, and went abroad to study. They had corresponded regularly, until the time when, as she believed, he had returned to England. From that period she heard no more of

time, Arthur married again. Of late years, he has lived prin

he did not appear to be at all surprised to see me. If he was my son or my brother, I believe he could not be fonder of me than he is; but he has never volunteered any confidences since he has been here, on the subject of his past life. I saw something that was familiar to me in his face when we first met; and yet it was also something that suggested the idea of change. I had a notion once that my patient at the Inn might be a natural son of Mr. Holliday's; I had another idea that he might also have been the man who was engaged to Arthur's first wife;

on. Before he could say a word, the latch of the door was raised, without any warning sound of footsteps in the passage outside. A long, white, bon

hand, Doctor!' said Mr.

looked at Mr. Goodchild, and

e has co