A NOVEL ADVENTURE.

It was always my conviction that a Briton ought never to go abroad to seek beautiful scenery until he had travelled all over his own country, and accordingly in early manhood I made a series of walking tours until I had seen every variety of English, Welsh, Scotch, and Irish scenery. It was in the course of one of these tours that I came across the pretty little village of Ferneville. Hills softly undulating and beautifully wooded surrounded the place; while two large ponds and numerous brooks supplied fishing enough to satisfy the wants of even an ardent angler like myself. The village was one of those little places where the population seems never to increase and the trade of the builder to be unknown. Visited by few strangers, this secluded village was just the kind of place for a traveller to rest himself and recruit. Here, then, I resolved to take my ease until such time as I felt disposed to resume my journey. The village inn afforded comfortable quarters, and here I ensconced myself, filling up part of my time in posting up my diary and writing to relatives and friends, matters which I had very much neglected. Much of my time was spent, too, in taking long rambles into the country and exploring the district for miles round; often, too, I took my fishing tackle with me, and seldom returned empty handed.

One day, when I was about setting off on one of these rambles, a young fellow arrived at the inn, having had apparently a pretty long walk. He had started, he said, early that morning from the town of B——, purposing to reach C—— in the afternoon; but having taken what he understood to be a short-cut, he had lost his bearings—a thing people often do when they take ‘short-cuts’—and now found himself some twelve miles from his destination. From what he said, however, I found that it was not really necessary for him to be in C—— before the next day; and as he seemed an agreeable and companionable gentleman, I suggested that he should keep me company for the rest of the day, sleep at the inn that night, and resume his journey next morning. This he agreed to do; and my bedroom having two beds, it was arranged that he should share it with me.

Half an hour’s conversation with my new acquaintance confirmed my good opinion of his sociable qualities, and I congratulated myself upon the agreeable companionship I had secured for the better part of a day. We dined together, and then set out for a stroll, returning in time for supper, well pleased with each other’s society; at all events, I was charmed with my companion, his light-heartedness and extreme vivacity coming as a refreshing and an agreeable change after the rather dull company of the few villagers whose acquaintance I had cultivated. A chat and a pipe followed supper, and then, in good spirits, we retired for the night.

As was usual with me, I was soon lost in slumber; but after being asleep for what seemed a considerable time, I found myself awake and dimly conscious of some one moving about the room. The day was beginning to break, and sufficient light penetrated through the window-blind to render objects in the room dimly visible. My ideas were at first hazy, and no recollection of my companion crossed my mind; hence I concluded that I was alone in the room with this burglar, as I took him to be, and I resolved to watch him quietly. His back was towards me; but he turned suddenly, and as the feeble light from the window fell across his face, I recognised my companion of the previous day. His expression was wild and savage, and in his right hand he held a large, long knife, with which from time to time he struck fiercely at the empty air, muttering rapidly words of which I could not catch the import! I am not a timid man, but I must confess that a kind of sickly feeling came over me as it flashed across me that I was alone with a lunatic, and that, too, at a time when, the rest of the household being asleep, the chance of any help was very remote. To be alone in bed at night while an armed burglar is prowling about the room, is bad enough; but when, in place of the burglar, you have a madman, the case is infinitely worse; an attack might be made at any moment, and without the least provocation.

My mind reviewed rapidly the incidents of the previous day. I had noticed nothing in my companion’s demeanour which would lead any one to suppose he was insane. True, I had been struck with his vivacity, and rather astonished at the rapidity with which he would pass from one topic to another; but this had simply pleased me as a trait of originality. Through my half-opened eyes and by the increasing light, I now saw him suddenly pause in his movements, bend forward, and gaze half eagerly, half hesitatingly in my direction. My heart nearly ceased to beat. Would he come forward? He advanced quickly a couple of steps, his face lighted up with a fiendish anticipatory pleasure; then he stopped for a moment. Should I spring from the bed and rush upon him? There was still about half the length of the room between us. No; the distance was too great for me to take him by surprise. He again came quickly forward, stood for a moment by my bedside, and then, with a savage scowl, the knife was thrown back to strike. But before it could descend, I had darted from the bed and was upon him, my left hand grasping his right wrist. ‘Madman!’ I hissed, as I forced him backwards, ‘drop the knife!’ In another moment we had fallen heavily, he undermost. His leg had caught against his own bed, and my weight had forced him backwards. In falling, his head struck against a piece of furniture with sufficient force to stun him. I took advantage of this to possess myself of the knife, which I had scarcely done when he opened his eyes. I planted myself firmly, expecting that he would renew the struggle; but, to my surprise, he burst into a laugh, and at length exclaimed: ‘Well, I have made a fool of myself, I must admit. I am no more mad than you are; and I am sure I have no designs against your life, however suspicious things may appear. Loose me, and I will explain all, although I know that in doing so I shall lay myself open to your ridicule.’

The laughter was so hearty and the tone so genuine, that I complied; besides, I had the knife if the worst came to the worst.

‘The fact is,’ he commenced, ‘I am stage-struck (don’t laugh at me more than you can help). I wanted to go on the stage, but to this my father strongly objected. The craze was, however, too strong upon me to allow of my quietly giving up the idea, and at last the opportunity of realising my ambition presented itself. Near our town is a small place where there is a little theatre—a poor affair, and visited only by third or fourth rate companies. Well, I made acquaintance with a party of travelling players there, and one of their number having left them, it was arranged that I should take his place at the next town they visited. I was walking on there, when, getting rather out of my course, as you know, I met you. I had expected being alone last evening and going over my part in private; but, of course, your being with me stopped that. I woke very early this morning, and being full of anxiety to make sure of my part, and imagining you to be fast asleep—as I believe now you really were at first—I could not resist the temptation of trying a rehearsal sotto voce. In the play, I have to murder my rival in his sleep; and your lying there in bed gave such a realistic air to the thing, that I could not resist going through my part of the play with you as the rival, seeing you were, as I thought, safe asleep. Judge, then, of my feelings when, without a moment’s warning, you suddenly sprang upon me! Surprised and confused, I knew not for the moment what to do; but before I could collect myself, I had stumbled and fallen; and I suppose I must have been stunned, for I remember nothing more until I found myself on the floor, with you kneeling upon my chest, and looking quite prepared for a deadly struggle.—Now, you know all, and I hope you are none the worse off for the little adventure than I am?’

My answer was that I was only too glad the affair had terminated in so peaceable a manner, and that my sleeping companion, instead of being a lunatic, was only afflicted with a mania for the stage. I added, that I hoped the incident might cure him of the craze. And so it did. My companion did not appear on the professional stage, though I have often seen him to advantage in private theatricals, and have frequently watched him rehearse, but never with the same uncomfortable feelings as I did that night at the village inn.