"It's all a confounded plot of yours, Laury--it is, bai Jove!" he screamed in an excited voice, the very counterpart of his mother's.

"Indeed, indeed, Max, you wrong me," she cried. "It was not--Hush!

here's Charley Vining."

"How do, Miss Bray?" he said, reining in, and trying to be cordial.--"Ah, Max, I thought you were in town.--Well, little ones, how are you off for fruit?"

"Nelly's going to have lots to-night," said Do, the youngest "child;"

and the blood flushed up in Charley's face as he thought of the note he had received,--for he was as transparent as a girl.

"Bai Jove! ya-a-s," said Max. "Been in town, but thought I'd run down again for a bit."

"What for?" said Charley Vining's jealous heart, as he recalled the excited way in which Max had been gesticulating before his sister.

Max looked half disposed to be sulky; but he caught a meaning glance from Laura, when, feeling that he could not afford to fall off from his part of the compact he had made with her, he commenced talking to his youngest sister, just as Charley's eyes flashed, his nostrils distended, and, evidently moved by some strong emotion, he leaped from his horse, gazing eagerly the while at Max's watch-chain, and then at Max himself, with a fierce questioning look; which the exquisite responded to with a quiet self-satisfied smirk, ran his fingers along the chain, played with the locket and other ornaments to it attached, and then, with a side glance of insolent triumph, he thrust the little finger of his kid glove into a ring which hung there, turned it about a few times, and then walked on with the girls.

Charley Vining's heart felt as if something were making it contract, as if he were seized by some fearful spasm; for that ring--he would swear it--that ring had once encircled Ella Bedford's finger, and had lain in his palm. He had noticed it particularly, as he had longed to press his lips to the hand it graced--no, that graced the little bauble. What did it mean, then?--what was Nelly's news that she had to communicate? He could have groaned aloud as his heart whispered that he was--not supplanted--but that that empty-headed conceited dandy had been able to carry off the prize he had so earnestly sought--that heartless boasting fop, who esteemed a woman's purest best feelings as deeply as he did the quality of his last box of cigars. It was plain enough the ring was a gift, and had been replaced by another.

"I _am_ a fool--a romantic boy!" thought Charley to himself; "and there is no such thing as genuine pa.s.sion and feeling in this world; at least, I am not discriminating enough to know it. Here have I been grasping at the shadow when I could have possessed the substance. But, O!" he mentally groaned, "how sweet was that shadow, and how bitter is the substance!"

"Have I offended you, Charley?" said a deep soft voice at his ear--a voice trembling with emotion; and starting back to the present, the muser saw that Max had walked on some yards in advance with the girls, and that, with his horse's bridle over his arm, he was standing by Laura, whose hand was half raised, as if ready to be laid upon his arm, while her great dark eyes, swimming with tenderness, were gazing appealingly in his.

There was something new in Laura's manner, something he had not seen before. She was quiet, subdued, and timid; there was a tremulousness in her voice; and with the feelings that agitated him then swaying him from side to side, it was with a strange sense of trouble that he turned to her, half flinching as he did so.

"Have I hurt your feelings in some way?" she said, for he did not reply, and her voice was lower and deeper. "You seem so changed, so different, and it grieves me more than you can think."

It was very dangerous. There had been a sudden discovery coming directly upon Nelly's announcement that she had something grievous to impart. He had evidently been looked upon as a rude uncultivated boor, and this London exquisite had been preferred before him. In his poor country ignorance, he had been looking upon Ella Bedford's words as the utterances of a saint, gazing at her every act through a _couleur de rose_ medium, till now, when he was rudely awakened from his simple love-dream; while, as if offering balm for the wound, here was a pa.s.sionate loving woman talking, nay, breathing to him in whispers her tender reproaches for what she evidently looked upon as his neglect.

What could he do? He felt that his faith to one he loved would be firm as a rock; but he owed no allegiance--he had been played with--and this woman to whom he had breathed his love had preferred gloss and polish to his simple homely ways.

It was thus that Charley Vining reasoned with himself, as slightly raising his arm he, as it were, made the first step towards a future of trouble; for the next instant Laura's hand was laid gently upon that arm, and they were sauntering slowly along. She, trembling and excited; he, swayed by varied emotions--disappointment, rage, bitterness, and added to all, the knowledge that he had left that gentle loving old man heart-broken at his persistence in what he now owned to himself had been a wild insane pa.s.sion.

"You do not speak--you say nothing to me," said Laura softly, as she turned slightly, so as to look in his face. "I must in some way have unwittingly caused you annoyance. But there, Charley, I will not dissemble; I know why you are angry, and I must speak. You will think lightly of me--you will even sneer," she said, and he could see that the tears were running down her cheeks, and that her breast heaved painfully; "but I cannot help it; I must speak now that for once there is an opportunity. You are vexed with me because I was so madly angry with you for flirting. But you would not be, Charley, if you knew all.

I don't think you would willingly hurt any one; but thoughtless acts sometimes give great pain."

Charley did not reply, but his arm trembled as they walked on, Laura's pa.s.sionate words being very truthful, as by a bold stroke she tried to recover the ground she told herself that she had lost.

"See how humble I am. I never, that I can remember, asked pardon before of any one, but I do of you; and I feel humbled and abased as I think, for I know it is enough to make you mock at me. But though you refuse to know my heart, I know yours well, and that it is too much that of a gentleman for you ever to make me repent of what I say."

Still Charley was silent, though Laura paused to hear him speak. This interview had been unexpected, and had come upon her by surprise; but, led away by her feelings, words in torrents were pressing upon one another ready to pour forth, and she had to struggle hard to keep those words within due bounds, lest in her agitation she should make a broader avowal than that already uttered, and cause him to turn from her in disgust.

"Have I so deeply offended you? Can you not pardon me? Is mine such a sin against you, Charley, that I am always to suffer--suffer more deeply than you can believe?"

"I am not offended," he said gently. "Indeed, you mistake me."

"Charley!" she exclaimed in a burst of pa.s.sionate emotion; for the soft, gently-spoken words seemed to sweep away the barrier that she should have more sternly supported--"I cannot help it; I am half heart-broken.

You have been cruel to me; you have maddened me into saying things, and treating you in my rage in a way that has torn my own breast. But you will forgive me--you will be to me as you were a few months back--and, above all, promise me this, that you will not think lightly of me for this. Indeed, indeed, I cannot, cannot help it; I--I--"

Laura's voice was choked by her pa.s.sionate sobs; and trembling himself with emotion, mingled of sorrow, pity, and an undefined sense of tenderness evoked by what he had heard, Charley Vining was moved to say a few words perhaps more warmly than under other circ.u.mstances he might have done. He did not love Laura Bray--he almost disliked her; but if there was any vanity in his composition, it was sure to be stirred now, when a young and ardent woman was, in the most unmistakable terms, telling him of her love, and imploring his forgiveness for her past resentment.

Charley Vining was but human. His heart had been deeply torn; and in spite of himself his voice softened, and he was about to say words that might have been too sympathising in their nature, when Laura's eyes flashed with bitterness and mortification. Had she possessed the power, she would have turned her to stone where she stood; for, with a laugh half merry, half sad, Nelly came running up, and pressing herself between him and the horse, she caught hold of Charley's other arm.

Charley gave a sigh of relief, as rousing himself, he exclaimed, "ah, Nelly!"

"I didn't mean to go for a walk," said Nelly; "but thought I'd come and meet them; and I can't walk with Milly and Do, because of old Max; so I've come here."

They say that two are company, three none: and if ever those words were true, they were so here. But, in spite of her mortification, and the agitation brought on by her imprudent avowal, Laura's heart bounded; for she read, or thought she read, on parting, what she called her pardon in Charley Vining's eyes.

Volume 2, Chapter IV.

THE "CANDLESTINE" INTERVIEW.

Sir Philip Vining ate his dinner alone that day, for his son was an absentee. In fact, a good half-hour before the appointed time Charley Vining was in Gorse Wood walking up and down, crushing the thin gra.s.s and trampling through the undergrowth, as he vainly sought to control the impatience of his spirit.

But he was in no controllable humour, and the more he tried to beat down the feelings that troubled him, the more fretful his spirit grew. It had been a day of misery and disappointment, such as he had never thought to see, and he was bitterly mortified with his own conduct. He told himself that it was his duty to have sternly answered Laura Bray, whereas he had allowed her to go on till, as they parted, her look of intelligence seemed to intimate that she was happy and satisfied, and that he had been making love to her, when--

When? Why should he trouble himself about a light frivolous girl, who gave love tokens to a tailor's dummy--a contemptible jackanapes? But all the same, there was no reason why he should marry Laura Bray, and give up his happy independent life.

"A fig for all womankind!" said Charley at last, out loud; "but then the poor old gentleman!"

Charley's face darkened as he thought of his father and his wishes.

What should he do? Let matters run their course?

He asked himself that last question rather grimly, as he thought of how easily he could be in accord with all Sir Philip wished. A few quiet tender words to Laura Bray, and all would go on satisfactorily. And why should he not utter them? She would be well content, and he need trouble himself no farther, but seek in his old amus.e.m.e.nts _dela.s.s.e.m.e.nt_ and balm for the disappointment he had met with.

How plain it all was! Max had come down again on Ella's account. Why, he had not spent so much time down at Lexville since he was a boy! Of course, the Brays would not sanction it; but, anyhow, it was another of Mr Maximilian Bray's conquests.

"Ah, well," said Charley, as he stood leaning against an oak, "it's the old story: one's boy love never does come to anything!--What, my little wood-nymph!"

"O, Charley, Charley, Charley!" cried Nelly, running up to him panting, "what shall I do? I am _so, so_ miserable; and they think I'm in the schoolroom now; and I can't bear it, and I hate it; and I've run out through the side gate and over the elm meadow like a mad girl, for they all watch me; and I stay in my bedroom most of the time; for since Miss Bedford's gone--"

"What?" roared Charley, seizing Nelly's arm.

"Don't frighten me, Charley, and please don't pinch so! That's what I wanted to tell you. That Laura led her such a cruel life with her temper, and Max was such a horrible donkey, that she told ma she would rather not stay, and--O, O, O!" sobbed Nelly, crying out aloud, "she's gone away, and I didn't say good-bye; for she went early in the morning, and came and kissed me when I was asleep; and me such a thickheaded, stupid old dormouse that I never knew--knew it--or--or I'd have put my arms so tightly round her neck that I'd never have left go."

"But where has she gone?" cried Charley fiercely.

"I don't know," sobbed Nelly--"n.o.body knows. She would not say a word even to mamma; and mamma said it was very obstinate, and that she was obstinate altogether."

"Do you think--" said Charley huskily, and then he stopped as if he could not utter the words--"do you think she told Max?"

"Told Max!" said Nelly, almost laughingly; "no, she wouldn't tell him.

She hated him too much, for he was always worrying her, when all the time she was ever so fond of you, Charley. I knew it, though she never said so. Pah, she would never tell such a donkey as that, when she would not tell me! They think I'm very stupid; but I know well enough why she wouldn't stay, nor yet say where she was going: it was all because of Max, so that he should not bother her any more."

"Go on, pray!" exclaimed Charley.

"I have not got anything more to tell you," said Nelly pitifully, "only that there was such a scene over and over again; for at the last Laury and Max both wanted her to stay, and Laury asked her over and over again; but I could see through that: it was because Max made her, for some reason of his own."

Here was a new light altogether: Laura and Max both asking her to stay, and the poor girl led such a life that she was compelled to leave. Why had she not confided in him, then, when he had implored her to listen to him? But that ring?