“The scholar, I suppose,” observed the stranger, “is not very rich.  Learning does not clothe men nowadays, eh, corporal?”

“And why should it?” asked Bunting.  “Zounds! can it teach a man how to defend his country?  Old England wants soldiers.  But the man’s well enough, I must own—­civil, modest——­”

“And by no means a beggar,” added Peter.  “He gave as much to the poor last winter as the squire himself.  But if he were as rich as Lord——­he could not be more respected.  The greatest folk in the country come in their carriages-and-four to see him.  There is not a man more talked on in the whole county than Eugene Aram——­”

“What!” cried the traveller, his countenance changing as he sprang from his seat.  “What!  Aram!  Did you say Aram?  Great heavens!  How strange!”

“What!  You know him?” gasped the astonished landlord.

Instead of replying, the stranger muttered inaudible words between his teeth.  Now he strode two steps forward, clenching his hands.  Now smiled grimly.  Then he threw himself upon his seat, still in silence.

“Rum tantrums!” ejaculated the corporal.  “What the devil!  Did the man eat your grandmother?”

The stranger lifted his head, and addressing Peter, said, with a forced smile, “You have done me a great kindness, my friend.  Eugene Aram was an early acquaintance of mine.  We have not met for many years.  I never guessed that he lived in these parts.”

And then, directed, in answer to his inquiries, to Aram’s dwelling, a lonely grey house in the middle of a broad plain, the traveller went his way.

II.—­The Squire’s Guest

The man the stranger went to seek was one who perhaps might have numbered some five-and-thirty years, but at a hasty glance would have seemed considerably younger.  His frame was tall, slender, but well-knit and fair proportioned; his cheek was pale, but with thought; his hair was long, and of a rich, deep brown; his brow was unfurrowed; his face was one that a physiognomist would have loved to look upon, so much did it speak of both the refinement and the dignity of intellect.

Eugene Aram had been now about two years settled in his present retreat, with an elderly dame as housekeeper.  From almost every college in Europe came visitors to his humble dwelling, and willingly he imparted to others any benefit derived from his lonely researches.  But he proffered no hospitality, and shrank from all offers of friendship.  Yet, unsocial as he was, everyone loved him.  The peasant threw kindly pity into his respectful greeting.  Even that terror of the village, Mother Darkmans, saved her bitterest gibes for others; and the village maiden, as she curtseyed by him, stole a glance at his handsome but melancholy countenance, and told her sweetheart she was certain the poor scholar had been crossed in love.

At the manor house he was often the subject of remark, but only on the day of the stranger’s appearance at the Spotted Dog had the squire found an opportunity of breaking through the scholar’s habitual reserve, and so persuaded him to dine with him and his family on the day following.