Mrs. Calverley did not produce quite so favourable an impression upon him, though he thought her very beautiful, and very clever. She seemed to him wanting in heart—perhaps designing.
Taking this view of her character, he came to the conclusion that she had married Mr. Calverley for his money, and possibly might have alienated him from his son.
Three or four of Mildred's admirers called during the afternoon, and they all seemed surprised at finding Sir Bridgnorth so much at home at Ouselcroft. They could not believe that Mildred had accepted him—yet it looked rather like it.
The young lady, however, did not trouble herself much about them; but, leaving them to stroll about the garden with Mrs. Calverley, she took Sir Bridgnorth to the library, telling him she wanted to show him a picture.
It was the portrait of a very handsome young man, painted by a well-known artist of the day. The features were regular and finely formed, and very haughty in expression. The likeness was excellent, and Sir Bridgnorth recognised it at once.
“'Tis your brother Chetwynd,” he said, “and wonderfully like him. I should have known it anywhere.”
“He was extremely handsome then,” observed Mildred; “but I fear he must be much changed now. At that time, he thought he should have all his father's property, and expected to marry the beautiful Teresa Mildmay.”
“Yes; I know the story,” said Sir Bridgnorth, “and do not wonder at his vexation at the double disappointment. He has suffered much for his hasty temper. Things look very dark just now; but let us hope all may come right in the end.”
She then drew his attention to another picture. “Your father. Yes; I see. Time was, when I should have turned away from his portrait; but I have quite forgiven him now.”
“Since poor papa's death, Mrs. Calverley cannot bear to look at that portrait,” remarked Mildred. “But for my entreaties she would have it put away, and she now rarely enters the room.”
“That is not surprising,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “The portrait awakens painful memories.”
“But I am always pleased to look at it, and I loved papa dearly!” said Mildred. “I often come here by myself, and think I am with him.”
At this juncture, their discourse was interrupted by the sudden entrance of the very last person they expected to see.
It was Chetwynd.
He looked pale and haggard, and his features had a sombre and stern expression, very different from that depicted in the canvas before them.
He closed the door after him as he came in, and started on perceiving Sir Bridgnorth, whom he evidently had not expected to find there.
Uttering an exclamation of mingled surprise and delight, Mildred sprang towards her brother, and flung her arms round his neck. While returning her embrace, he said in a low voice, “Who have you got with you?”
“Sir Bridgnorth Charlton,” she replied. “He takes great interest in you, and has just been making inquiries about you.”
“Not many minutes ago, I told your sister it would give me sincere pleasure if I could render you any service,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “I did not expect so soon to have an opportunity of saying the same thing to you. I beg you will look upon me as a friend.”
“I am greatly beholden to you, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied the young man. “I have very few friends left.”
“Mine are not mere idle professions, as you will find, if you choose to put them to the proof,” said Sir Bridgnorth.
“You speak so earnestly and so kindly that I cannot but credit what you say,” rejoined Chetwynd; “and I am the more inclined to believe you, since I have never done you a favour. Indeed, if my recollection serves me right, you have more reason to dislike than to befriend me.”
“Your sister will tell you that the past is forgotten.”
“Sir Bridgnorth has a noble heart,” said Mildred. “You may speak freely before him. He knows all that has occurred, and is aware that you have refused to accept any allowance from Mrs. Calverley.”
“And I may add that I sympathise with you,” said Sir Bridgnorth.
“What has brought you back so suddenly?” said Mildred. “Are you in any difficulty?”
“In a most desperate difficulty,” he replied. “I want two hundred pounds, and must have the money by to-morrow morning. I could procure it at once from Carteret; but I would rather shoot myself than accept a farthing from Mrs. Calveriey. Can you help me?”
“Ican,” interposed Sir Bridgnorth, quickly. “Luckily, I have the amount about me. In this pocket-book,” he added, producing one as he spoke, “you will find the sum you require. Repay me at your convenience.”
“A thousand thanks, Sir Bridgnorth?” cried Chetwynd. “You have, indeed, conferred a very great obligation upon me, and I shall not speedily forget it. Ere long, I hope to be able to return you the money.”
“Don't trouble yourself on that score; but let me see you soon. Come to me at Charlton.”
“I cannot promise to visit you immediately, Sir Bridgnorth,” replied the young man.
“Why not?” inquired Mildred.
“Do not ask me to explain,” he rejoined. “I am scarcely my own master, and where I to make a promise, I might not be able to fulfil it. I must now begone.”
“Stay!” cried Sir Bridgnorth; “can I not bring about a reconciliation between you and Mrs. Calveriey? I think I could accomplish it, if you will consent to some arrangement.”
“Never,” replied Chetwynd. “And I beg that my visit and its object may not be mentioned to her.”
“How did you discover I was in this room?” asked Mildred.
“Old Norris, whom I saw on my arrival, told me I should find you in the library, and I concluded you were alone; but I have found a friend as well. And now I can answer no more questions.”
“Ever mysterious and incomprehensible!” cried Mildred. “I do not like to part with you thus.”
“You must!” he rejoined. “It is necessary that I should be in London to-night.”
He then bade them both farewell, tenderly embracing his sister, and renewing his thanks to Sir Bridgnorth.
Just as he was about to depart, the door was opened by old Norris, who called out, “Mrs. Calverley is coming to the library!”
“I won't see her!” cried Chetwynd, fiercely.
But there was no retreat, and he was compelled to remain.
In another moment, Mrs. Calverley appeared. Her astonishment at beholding Chetwynd may be imagined; nor, though she strove to veil it, could she altogether conceal her annoyance.
“I did not expect to find you here, Chetwynd,” she said.
“I came to see my sister, madam,” he replied, haughtily; “and, having had a brief interview with her, I am now about to depart.”
And, with a stiff bow, he quitted the room.
As soon as she could recover her speech, Mrs. Calverley observed to Sir Bridgnorth, “You see with what impracticable material I have to deal. Any friendly overture on my part is always scornfully rejected. Well, Chetwynd must take his own course; and if he suffers for his wilfulness, he has only himself to blame. Do you feel at liberty to tell me what he came about, Mildred?”
“I do not,” she replied.
“You were present at the interview, I suppose, Sir Bridgnorth?”
“Quite unintentionally, madam,” he answered. “And my lips are sealed.”
This incident rather threw a damp upon the pleasure of the day.
Mrs. Calverley looked displeased, and Mildred appeared anxious and thoughtful, so Sir Bridgnorth ordered his carriage.
But before taking his departure, he had a little private conversation with Mildred, and promised to come over again to Ouselcroft on an early day.
Mrs. Calveriey had a very pretty pony phaeton, which she was accustomed to drive herself. Easy as a lounging-chair, and with the two long-tailed bay ponies attached to it, the luxurious little vehicle formed a very nice turn-out.
One fine morning, about a week after Sir Bridgnorth's visit, Mrs. Calverley and Mildred set out in the pony phaeton with the intention of calling on Lady Barfleur and her daughter, at Brackley Hall, which was about six or seven miles from Ouselcroft.
Usually, they were attended by a groom, but on this particular occasion he was left at home.
The ponies were full of spirit, and eager to get on, but the ladies would not indulge them, and proceeded quietly along the pleasant lanes, through a rich and fertile district, abounding in farms, where some of the best cheeses in the county are made.
To reach Brackley Hall, however, they had to cross an extensive heath, a great part of which was very wild and marshy.
But this brown and uncultivated tract, where turf alone was cut, and where there were two or three dangerous swamps, offered the charm of contrast to the rich meadows they had just quitted. Here there were no farm-houses, no cow-sheds, no large bams, no orchards; but the air was fresh and pleasant, and lighted up by the brilliant sunshine, even Brackley Heath looked well. At least, our fair friends thought so, and the ponies were compelled to walk in consequence. Yet there was nothing remarkable in the prospect, as the reader shall judge. The whole scene owed its charm to the fine weather.
On the left the heath was bordered by the woods belonging to Brackley Hall, and, through a break in them, the upper part of the fine old timber and plaster mansion could be descried.
On the right the country was flat and uninteresting, planted in places by rows of tall poplars, and a canal ran through it, communicating with the River Mersey.
In front, but at some distance, rose a hill crowned by the ruins of an old castle, and having a small village and grey old church in the immediate neighbourhood.
In bad weather the heath had a dreary and desolate aspect. Here and there a hut could be perceived, but these miserable habitations were far removed from the road, and might have been deserted, since no smoke issued from them, and nothing could be seen of their occupants. A few sheep were scattered about in spots where the turf was covered with herbage; but they seemed wholly untended. Rooks there were in flocks from Brackley Park, plovers, and starlings. Even seagulls found their way to the morass.
While the ladies were contemplating this scene, which they thought highly picturesque, and commenting upon its beauties, they were startled, and indeed terrified, by the sudden appearance of two formidable-looking fellows, who had been watching their approach from behind an aged and almost branchless oak that grew near the road.
Evidently, from their peculiar garb, tawny skin, black eyes, and raven locks, these individuals were gipsies. They did not leave their purpose in doubt for a moment, but rushing towards the ladies with threatening gestures, shouted to them to stop.
Mrs. Calverley tried to whip on the ponies, but before they could start off they were checked by one of the gipsies, who seized the reins, while his comrade, addressing Mrs. Calverley, demanded her whip, and, as she hesitated to give it up, he snatched it from her, and threw it on the ground.
“Excuse my freedom, my lady,” he said, in accents meant to be polite, but that sounded gruff and menacing. “We can't allow you to go till we've had some talk with you; but we won't detain you longer nor we can help. We wants any money you may have about you, together with ornaments, rings, watches, ear-rings, and sich like. Deliver 'em up quietly, and you won't be molested—will they, Ekiel?”
“No,” replied the other ruffian, who stood at the heads of the ponies. “It would hurt our feelin's to use wiolence to two sich lovely creaters.”
Meanwhile, Mildred, who wished to preserve her watch, which had been given her by her father, was trying to detach it from the guard, but could not accomplish her object without attracting the attention of the gipsy near Mrs. Calverley.
Dashing round to the other side of the carriage, he caught hold of the chain, and broke it, but failed to secure the watch.
Mildred screamed loudly, though she had little expectation of help.
“Look quick, Clynch!” shouted Ekiel, in a warning voice.
“Give me the watch without more ado!” cried the gipsy to Mildred.
But she spread her hands over it, and redoubled her outcries.
“Here, take my purse and begone!” said Mrs. Calverley.
“Thank ye, my lady,” rejoined Clynch, quickly appropriating the purse. “But that's not enough. We must have everything you've got about you!”
“You shall have nothing more, fellow!” cried Mrs. Calverley, with great spirit. “And see! assistance is at hand! If you stay a minute longer you will be caught!”
And, as she spoke, a gentleman was seen galloping towards them, followed by a groom.
Baulked of their prey, the gipsies ran off, and made for the morass, with the intricacies of which they seemed well acquainted.
A minute or so afterwards their deliverer came up. A fine-looking young man, between twenty and thirty, and having decidedly a military air, but a stranger to them both.
“The robbers have taken, my purse,” replied Mrs. Calverley; “and but for your timely aid, they would have carried off all our ornaments.”
“My chain is gone,” said Mildred. “But I don't mind it. They did not get my watch, which I value extremely. I owe its preservation entirely to you, sir,” she added, with a grateful look at the stranger.
“I am happy to find I have been of any service to you,” he replied, bowing. “Follow the rascals, Tom,” he added to his groom, “and try to capture one or both of them.”
“Impossible, I fear, captain,” replied the groom. “They can go where no horse can go in that marsh, if they know the ground, as they seem to do. But I'll do my best.”
And he speeded after the fugitives, who were still in sight.
“Hold the reins for a minute, Mildred, while I pick up my whip,” said Mrs. Calverley.
“Allow me!” cried the stranger.
And, jumping down from the saddle, he presented the whip to Mrs. Calverley, who gracefully acknowledged the attention.
“We are really very much indebted to you, sir,” she said.
“You greatly overrate the service,” he rejoined. “I have literally done nothing. Hearing cries, and perceiving you were stopped by robbers, I galloped on to your aid—that is all.”
“May we learn the name of our deliverer?” she asked.
“I am Captain Charles Danvers,” he replied; “nephew to Sir Lycester Barfleur, of Brackley Hall, which you can see through the trees yonder. But I dare say you know the place?”
“We were on our way thither, to call on Lady Barfleur, when we met with this alarming adventure,” observed Mrs. Calverley.
An idea seemed suddenly to occur to Captain Danvers.
“Are you not Mrs. Calverley, of Ouselcroft?” he inquired.
She replied in the affirmative; adding, “And this is my step-daughter, Miss Calverley.”
“I felt convinced of it!” he cried, again bowing. “I am indeed fortunate in obtaining an introduction to a young lady of whom I have heard so much.”
“You can pay compliments as well as rescue ladies from robbers, it seems, Captain Danvers,” observed Mildred, slightly blushing. “We should have met you, I have no doubt, at Brackley Hall.”
“Very likely,” he rejoined. “But I prefer an accidental meeting of this kind; it is more romantic. I hope you are not going to turn back. If you are, you must allow me to escort you. But they will be delighted to see you, I am sure, at Brackley, and you can recount your adventure to them.”
“And extol your gallantry at the same time, Captain Danvers,” laughed Mildred. “I have quite recovered from my fright, mamma, so I think we may as well go on.”
“Do, by all means!” cried Captain Danvers, vaulting on his horse.
Mrs. Calverley assented; and they were just setting off, when the groom was seen returning, so they waited until he came up.
“I see you have failed, Tom,” said his master.
“Yes, captain,” replied the man, touching, his hat. “I'm very sorry, but it was no use attempting to follow them. I should have got over head and ears in a quagmire.”
“Immediate information of the robbery must be given to the police at Frodsham,” said Captain Danvers.
“It is scarcely worth while to take any more trouble about the matter,” said Mrs. Calverley. “My purse had very little in it.”
“And I don't care much for my chain, since my watch is safe,” added Mildred.
The party then set off, but not at a very quick pace, for Captain Danvers rode by the side of the pony-carriage, and chatted with its fair occupants.
Captain Danvers lias already been described as a handsome young man of about five-and-twenty, and it may now be added that he was tall, well-made, and had marked features—the manly character of his physiognomy being heightened by his brown moustaches.
A dark velveteen shooting-coat, boots of supple leather, that ascended to the knee, where they were met by a pair of knickerbockers—loose, Dutch-looking trousers—formed his costume, while his brown curling locks were covered by a black felt hat. Such as it was, the dress suited him, and both ladies thought it very becoming.
Captain Danvers was in a cavalry regiment, which was quartered at Madras, and he had recently come home on leave. His father, Sir Gerard Danvers, resided at Offham Court, in Kent, and was thought very wealthy. Unluckily Charles Danvers was not an eldest son.
The party had now entered the park, and were proceeding along a fine avenue leading to the house, which stood right in front of them.
Brackley Hall, which was in admirable preservation considering its great antiquity, dated back to the period of Edward the Fourth, or even earlier.
Constructed almost entirely of timber and plaster, it was remarkable for the singularity of its form. It was only three storeys high, the upper storey projecting far beyond the lower, but the summit of the building was occupied by a lofty gallery, more than a hundred feet in length, that looked externally like a lantern, since it had continuous ranges of windows on every side.
Most curious was the timber-work, the gables and lintels being richly carved, as was the porch. The immense bay windows, which constituted the chief beauty of the house, were framed with heavy transom bars, and exquisitely latticed.
In the court-yard was a chapel, surmounted in olden times by a tall, square tower, but this had been taken down.
The hall was surrounded by a moat, and approached by a wide stone bridge. Another bridge communicated with the gardens, which were extensive, and laid out in a quaint, formal style, with terraces, stone steps, fountains, quincunxes, clipped yew-trees, alleys, and a bowling-green. We must not omit to mention that the old mansion had the reputation of being haunted.
Adjoining the house was a grove of noble elms, wherein a colony of rooks had been settled for centuries.
About half a mile off, at the rear of the mansion, was a small lake, or mere, remarkable for the blackness of its water. But black as was the mere, it abounded with fish, and at certain times of the year was a great resort of wild fowl.
Captain Danvers had sent on his groom to the hall to inform Sir Leycester and Lady Barfleur that Mrs. Calverley was coming on to call on them, and also to explain what had occurred.
Consequently, when the ladies had crossed the bridge and entered the court, they found Sir Leycester and Lady Barfleur, with the fair Emmeline, waiting to receive them, and they had no sooner alighted than they were overwhelmed with expressions of sympathy. Some of the servants who were assembled in the court seemed likewise greatly excited.
Sir Leycester, an old fox-hunter and rather choleric, was excessively wroth, and vowed he would never rest till he had caught the rascals. He had no idea whatever, he said, that the country was infested with such vermin, but catch them he would. Mrs. Calverley endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose, but in vain. “I only waited to see you, or I should have been off before,” he said. “You'll excuse me quitting you so abruptly, since I am going on your business.”
“But I'd much rather you didn't go, Sir Leycester,” said Mrs. Calverley. “I'm afraid the gipsies may offer a desperate resistance.”
“I'm sure they will,” added Mildred.
“No matter; I'll have them!” rejoined Sir Leycester.
“If you really are going on this gipsy-hunt, my dear uncle, I'll go with you,” said Captain Danvers.
“No, no; I don't want you, Charles,” rejoined Sir Leycester. “Remain with the ladies. You must stay till I return, my dear Mrs. Calverley.”
She promised that she would; and, after a word or two with Lady Barfleur, he proceeded to the stables, and ordered a hunter to be saddled immediately. He also told Booth, the coachman, on whom he could place reliance, that he should require him and a couple of grooms to attend him.
While the horses were being saddled, a footman brought a brace of pistols, which Sir Leycester had sent for.
Armed with these, and accompanied by Booth, and one of his own grooms, together with his nephew's groom, Tom, he set out on the expedition, shaping his course towards the further side of the morass, where he expected to find some traces of the robbers.
Lady Barfleur had been a very fine woman in her day, and though her beauty was now somewhat passed, she was still a stately dame, and accorded extremely well with the old mansion of which she was mistress.
The drawing-room, to which she conducted her visitors, was a very splendid apartment, and merits a brief description.
The ceiling was adorned with pendants, and the upper part of the walls was covered with a profusion of plaster ornaments, among which were the arms of Elizabeth and James the First. The dark oak wainscoting was richly carved in arches and pilasters, producing a very fine effect.
The principal feature of the room, however, was the magnificent fireplace. Rising to a great height, it was adorned with pillars and sculptured figures that supported the architrave, above which were emblazoned the arms of the Barfleurs.
The furniture was consistent with the antique character of the room—none of it being of a later date than the early part of the seventeenth century.
As Lady Barfleur moved slowly and somewhat stiffly about this noble apartment, or seated herself in a high-backed chair, carved in oak, black as ebony, she looked as if she belonged to the same date as the furniture; and her hair, having become prematurely grey, aided the illusion.
Not so Emmeline. She was a very charming representative of the young lady of our own period.
An exceedingly pretty brunette, she had splendid black eyes, shaded by long silken lashes, and arched over by finely-pencilled brows, lovely features, ripe red lips, and teeth like pearls—and, as she was very lively, the latter were often displayed.
She was not tall, but her figure was symmetry itself, and Cinderella might have envied her tiny feet. She was about the same age as Mildred, and they were great friends.
At first, the discourse turned chiefly upon the robbery, which Lady Barfleur begged might be fully described to her; but it was soon changed to other topics.
For awhile, Captain Danvers seemed undecided whether to devote himself to the beautiful and wealthy widow or her lovely step-daughter; but at length he began to pay exclusive attention to the former, probably because she gave him most encouragement. Indeed, Mrs. Calverley seemed more favourably inclined towards him than to any other suitor since her husband's death.
Captain Danvers, it appeared, had only arrived at Brackley a few days previously, and this accounted for his not having met the ladies of Ouselcroft before.
Whether Mildred was altogether pleased by having him carried off in this manner, we will not say. Not the slightest sign of annoyance was manifest. She laughed and chatted gaily with Emmeline; and when that young lady proposed that they should go and look at the gallery, she readily assented, and left Mrs. Calverley in quiet possession of the handsome captain.
Ascending a beautiful spiral oak staircase, the two young ladies soon reached the gallery, which, it has already been mentioned, was situated at the top of the house.
Like all the other rooms in the old mansion, the gallery was maintained in its original state. At all events, it had undergone no alteration since 1570, as appeared from an inscription above the door.
Exceedingly light and cheerful, as might be expected from the multitude of windows, it seemed of immense size. It had a wooden roof—the rafters being painted; and the panels were covered with tapestry, or hung with family portraits. In the room were several curious old cabinets.
“I am always charmed with this gallery,” exclaimed Mildred, as she gazed around it in admiration. “If I lived here, I should spend all my time in it.”
“You would get tired of it,” rejoined Emmeline. “For my part, I prefer my own little chamber, with its carved oak bedstead, and beautiful bay-window.”
“Yes, your room is very pretty, but not to be compared with this grand gallery.”
“The gallery is too large to be pleasant,” said Emmeline. “Indeed, I rarely come here, unless we have company. But do sit down. I want to have a little private and confidential talk with you.”
“I hope you have some affair of the heart to communicate,” said Mildred, as she sat down on an old-fashioned sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, and just large enough for two, while Emmeline placed herself beside her, and took her hand.
“You must know, then,” began Miss Barfleur, “that two or three years ago I had atête-à-têtewith a very handsome young man. We were seated on this very sofa. Mamma and several other persons were present, but they were too far off to overhear what passed.”
“That is one advantage of a very large room,” remarked Mildred. “But I am sorry thistête-à-têteoccurred so long ago. I hope it has been renewed.
“No; and I fear it never will be renewed,” sighed Emmeline. “But I have not forgotten it.”
“Did it come to a positive proposal?” inquired Mildred.
“Not exactly; but if the gentlemanhadproposed I am sure I should have accepted him; and I feel I never can love any one else.”
“You think so now. I suppose he is still unmarried?”
“Shortly after the interview I have mentioned, he was engaged to another person; but the engagement was broken off, and he is now free.”
“Have you seen him again lately?”
“Not for a long, long time, Mildred; but I love him still, despite his inconstancy, and I should like to know something about him.”
“Emmeline,” said Mildred, regarding her fixedly, “you are not referring to my brother Chetwynd?”
“To whom else could I refer?” was the reply. Mildred uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“I perfectly remember Chetwynd speaking of you in rapturous terms,” she said, “and telling me he had had a strong flirtation with you in the gallery at Brackley Hall, but I had no idea you were at all serious on the occasion. Oh, what a chance of happiness he has missed! Had he been fortunate enough to possess you, how different would have been his life!”
“I loved him!” said Emmeline, with emotion; “and I don't believe Teresa Mildmay ever did.”
“I entirely agree with you,” remarked Mildred. “I have listened to your recital with the deepest interest, dearest Emmeline, and I wish I could give you a good account of Chetwynd, but I really cannot. I saw him the other day, but only for a few minutes.”
“At Ouselcroft?” inquired Emmeline, eagerly.
“Yes. He came there quite unexpectedly, and left immediately.”
“I am afraid his hasty departure doesn't look as if he had made up his quarrel with Mrs. Calverley.”
“Alas! no; and I greatly fear he never will become reconciled to her. Perhaps you are aware he won't accept anything from her?”
“Yes; and I admire his spirit.”
“Still he is very foolish. He is punishing himself, not her.”
“But he adhered to his word. I shouldn't like him half so much if he yielded.”
“Then your regard won't be lessened, for I feel certain he won't yield.”
“I judged him rightly, you see,” said Emmeline; “and I persuade myself he will triumph in the end. And now, dearest Mildred, before we finish our discourse, will you faithfully promise to let me know when you next see him or hear from him?”
“I won't delude you, Emmeline. I don't expect either to see him or hear from him. Sir Bridgnorth Charlton has very kindly undertaken to look after him, but he may not have an opportunity of doing so. Unlike anybody else, Chetwynd seems to shun those who love him or would serve him.”
“I hope he won't shun me,” said Emmeline.
“Not if he could be made aware that you take an interest in him; but how convey the information? He does not correspond with me, and I don't even know his address, or what way a letter could reach him.”
“Then I must remain in the same state of uncertainty as ever,” said Emmeline, in a despairing tone. “You give me small comfort, Mildred.”
“I pity you from my heart, dearest Emmeline; but comfort you I cannot.”
For a moment, Emmeline seemed overpowered by emotion. She then found relief in tears, and her head dropped on Mildred's shoulder.
“Think of him no more—think of him no more!” cried Mildred. “He does not deserve your love, I, his sister, say so.”
Emmeline made no response, but continued to sob.
Neither of them were aware that Lady Barfleur had entered the gallery.
Greatly surprised at what she beheld, her ladyship stood still. Fortunately she did not hear the words uttered by Mildred, so she could only guess at the cause of this sudden outburst of grief.
At length she announced her presence by a slight cough, and Mildred perceived her.
“Calm yourself, dearest girl,” she whispered to Emmeline. “Your mother is here.”
“Here!” exclaimed Emmeline, looking up. “Yes, I see. Can she have heard anything?”
“I think not. But be calm, or you will betray yourself!”
Thereupon they both arose, and Emmeline did her best to repress her emotion, and succeeded in forcing a smile.
“You will scold me, mamma, when you learn that I have been so foolish as to weep at a very pathetic story told me by Mildred,” she said.
“I am glad to find it is nothing serious,” replied Lady Barfleur.
“Have you come to tell us that papa has captured the gipsies?”
“No; he has not yet returned,” replied Lady Barfleur. “I came to let you know that Mrs. Calverly and Captain Danvers have gone to the garden. Perhaps you may like to join them there.”
“Shall we, Mildred?”
“By all means,” was the reply. “I shouldn't think I had been at Brackley unless I had had a stroll in the delightful old garden.”
“Don't wait for me; I'll follow,” said Lady Barfleur.
Glad to escape further questioning, the two delinquents flew down the spiral staircase, and hastened to the garden.
This remark was made by Captain Danvers, as he was seated by the side of the charming widow on a bench near one of the fountains.
“Come and see it, and judge,” she replied. “We shall be at home to-morrow.”
“Give me the greatest pleasure to ride over,” he said. “A country place is charming; but I almost wonder you haven't got a house in town.”
“I think of taking one,” she replied. “Mildred has never been in town—never resided there, I ought to say. Her papa objected to noise and racket—didn't care for the parks or the Opera, and disliked large parties. I don't think he could have stood a season in town. I prefer quietude and the country myself. However, Mildred ought to be considered, and as she wishes to mix a little more with society than she is able to do here, we shall go to London for a time.”
“'Pon my soul! you're exceedingly kind,” cried the captain. “Miss Calverley is blessed with a most indulgent mamma—'sister,' I was going to say, but I recollected myself in time.”
“I shall make her as happy as I can, so long as she remains with me,” replied Mrs. Calverley. “When my late husband entrusted his daughter to my care, he knew I should do my duty to her.”
“And your first duty,” he remarked, with a smile, “is to get her well married. That will be easily accomplished, for I hear there are manyprétendants.No wonder!—she is a most lovely creature.”
“And will have a very good fortune,” said Mrs. Calverley. “I make no secret that I mean to give her thirty thousand pounds as a marriage portion.” Captain Danvers was astounded. If she was to have such a fortune as this, he began to think he had better turn his attention to the step-daughter. He endeavoured to look indifferent, but Mrs. Calverley perceived that the remark had told, as she intended it to do.
“You are the most generous of your sex, Mrs. Calverley,” he observed. “Few women, circumstanced as you are, would make so great a sacrifice.”
“I don't consider it a sacrifice, Captain Danvers. I regard it as a duty. I simply represent her father. What he would have done, I shall do.”
“I cannot withhold my admiration of conduct as rare as it is praiseworthy,” said the captain. “I repeat, you deserve infinite credit for your generosity. But Mr. Calverley, I believe, left a son as well as a daughter? What will he say to this magnificent portion?”
“He has no voice in the matter,” replied the lady. “My husband left the entire control of his property to me.”
“A wise man!—a very wise man!” cried the captain.
“Chetwynd Calverley has been very wild and extravagant,” said the widow. “It was necessary, therefore, to tie up the property.”
“Quite necessary!—quite proper!” remarked the captain. “Though I shouldn't like it myself,” he thought. “Is Chetwynd satisfied with the arrangement, may I ask?”
“Very much the reverse,” she replied. “But that is immaterial.”
“He doesn't know what is good for him,” said the captain. “None of us do,” he mentally ejaculated.
“Then you approve of the course I am about to pursue, Captain Danvers?”
“Entirely, my dear madam—entirely,” he replied. “I think it most judicious.”
“And now you have asked me a good many questions, let me ask you one in return?” said Mrs. Calverley.
“Delighted to answer any questions you may put to me,” he replied, wondering what she was going to say.
“But don't answer this, unless you like,” she observed.
“Let me hear it,” he rejoined, fearing something unpleasant was coming.
“How is it that your lovely cousin, Emmeline, has not married? I know she has had several very good offers.”
“'Pon my honour, I can't tell. I fancy—but mind its only fancy—she has had some disappointment.”
“I should think that scarcely possible,” observed Mrs. Calverley. “Why, she is an only child, and will be a great heiress!”
“Well, that's the only solution I can give of the mystery. I know Lord Bollington proposed to her, and I know my uncle would have liked the match to take place, but the young lord was refused.”
“Possibly she has an attachment,” observed Mrs. Calverley, thoughtfully. “If so, it's a great pity.”
“Here she comes, with Miss Calverley,” said Captain Danvers, as the two young ladies were seen advancing along the terrace.