In Lizzie's flower garden, which she had specially looked after since she came to keep house for her brother, there was the most lavish display. Tiger lilies and jonquills, sunflowers and pale-faced narcissi, vied with each other for effect; and the great charm of the whole lay in the utter absence of any set form or arrangement--roses and lilies all grew together in the most charming confusion, with sundry creepers twining around them; it was only on account of there being no weeds visible, that you did not set down this wilderness of flowers to be totally neglected.

Other effects were not wanting to complete the picture. Here on a summer afternoon you would hear a pet robin punctually begin his sweet song, at "four of the clock precisely," from his favourite perch on a spreading fir tree that overhung the eaves of the house--a little robin that used to hop down every morning to the adjacent window of the parlour, to receive his matutinal crumbs from Lizzie's hand. The "chuck! chuck! chuck!" of the black bird too, would be also heard from the laurel shrubbery; and the rival strains of the yellow-hammer from the neighbouring medlar tree. The latter gentleman would commence his lay with a "whirr," like an alarm clock running down, and end with a sort of chorus like the concluding bars of "Green grow the Rushes O!"

The Beccaficoes, too, or English ortolan, very like the thrush, would a.s.semble here in the hot months of the year, and did not fail to leave evidences of their partiality for the fruit tree which received the Saviour's curse.

Tom Hartshorne had explored all this paradise long before, in the company of Miss Lizzie; and he was now, as I said, under her tuition, looking at her tying on some artificial May-fly or other ichneumon to his line.

It was a beautiful morning--not yet twelve--and the air was balmy, and scented with new-mown hay and flowers; while bees were buzzing around, and birds singing in the air, the lark, chief songster, above them all; altogether, Master Tom was situated under very romantic circ.u.mstances, and his handsome Saxon face and honest blue eyes looked and shone out happy in the extreme.

Lizzie was dressed in a dainty little muslin dress, picked out with some lilac tinge, and her little hat was thrown on coquettishly, half off and half on; while her bright pretty little face was unclouded, and there was a depth of tenderness in the deep violet eyes that glanced up every now and then to Tom.

She had just succeeded in tying on the fly, and looked up suddenly in a triumphant, saucy little way, in Tom's face. He was very close to her, for he had to watch very narrowly to see how the work was done, and he stooped at the time she looked up; and she said, "There, sir!"

They were very close together, and their eyes met, and Tom was stooping, and, naturally, as those sweet little tempting rosebud lips were so near, he--

Well, what would you do if a very pretty girl was very close to you, male reader, under the same circ.u.mstances? What reply would you make?

Very well, Tom did it!

Just at that moment, Lady Inskip was driving round the road which skirted by the parsonage garden, to pay a visit, and leave an invitation, at the house of our friend, the young inc.u.mbent. It was not long after her encounter with the dowager, and Lady Inskip was still wrath: her observation being keen, and the pony carriage high, she could therefore see the little meeting between Tom and Lizzie over the wall.

She saw it all, my dear sir; and her sense of propriety was so shocked, that, instead of calling, as she intended, on the Pringles, she only left the invitation and drove on homewards.

Here she had been twice defeated this morning! The dowager had routed her at The Poplars, and "that artful little minx" had presumed to poach upon her manor--was actually making love to Master Tom, whom she had designed for her own Carry. It was absolutely startling! She did not know what to do. Fortunately, she thought, no one had observed the pleasant little episode in the garden--so indelicate!--but herself, as her daughters, riding on the front seat, had had their backs turned at the time, so she would keep it to herself, and determine what was to be done.

One thing, at all events, she resolved to do, and that was to speak to the Reverend Herbert Pringle privately, and in confidence, about his sister. He was a most gentlemanly young man, and could not be offended at her mentioning the subject, especially as she would put it to him, since she was old enough to be his mother--at least, his mother-in-law!

Fortune favoured the old campaigner in her object. Our friend, the inc.u.mbent, having visited and cheered his poor people, by asking affably as to their healths, returned homewards by way of Laburnum Cottage, to see the Inskips, determining to himself that that was the shortest way round, although it was at least five miles out of his way.

Lady Inskip only arrived a few moments before him, and so he caught her when she was red hot on the subject just then rampant in her heart.

When she had flattered him sufficiently, and after he had basked in the sunshine of Laura's smiles, he rose to leave, and Lady Inskip accompanied him herself to the door, and on to the gra.s.s plot beyond, and the gate, where stood his dapple-grey pony with his reins flung over the post to keep him from straying. When the girls saw their mother follow Clericus without, they made up their minds that she was going to "ask his intentions," and much did the lively Carry chaff her sister therenent. The campaigner's motive was, however, a very different one.

"You will excuse me, Mr Pringle, I'm sure, but I am an old woman, you know, and I take such a motherly interest in you--(very motherly!)--that you will forgive me for asking you a question?"

Poor Clericus, himself, trembled at this introduction, as I believe his idea of what was coming was very similar to those of the girls inside.

"Oh, certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" he said, with a sort of dead-alive alacrity.

"Is your sister engaged to Mr Tom Hartshorne?" said the old campaigner; and Pringle was immensely relieved.

"Oh dear, no!" he responded, this time cheerfully enough. "Oh dear, no, Lady Inskip, what made you suppose so?"

And, thereupon, my lady spoke, and told what she had seen; and, although Pringle was not very angry at first, nor did he look upon the affair as anything serious, the campaigner presently persuaded him that it was his duty to speak to his sister. He, of course,--so she explained--could not be aware how a young girl would be talked about if she were allowed _carte blanche_ to flirt with every young man she came across. Poor Lizzie! as if she would have done so--and that it was very unfortunate the poor girl had no mother to warn her, and so on. But it was his duty as her brother, and not only on that account, but as a clergyman also-- so the campaigner put it--to speak earnestly at once, and have the thing broken off.

Herbert Pringle promised to do so, and rode home very sadly, for he loved his little sister very much in his way, and hated the business of talking so seriously to her, besides not knowing how to set about it.

Let us return to our lovers; our poor tender sheep, into whose fold such a great gaunt wolf had now penetrated.

They did not hear the wheels of the old campaigner's chaise as it pa.s.sed round by the garden wall, nor did they see her grim eyes surveying them above it, and taking notes of their propinquity--not they!

When Master Tom committed himself in the way I have hinted at, little Lizzie blushed crimson, and hung down her head so that he could not see her face.

"Oh, how could you? How could you?" she stammered out, nearly crying.

"Forgive me! I beg your pardon: I could not help it"--and Tom was going to tell his love, and disclose all the feelings that filled his heart, when, at that moment, my Lady Inskip rang the bell to leave her note, as already detailed.

Before Tom could catch her so as to hold her, Lizzie darted off, like a startled fawn, towards the house, and the opportunity was lost.

The next day she was not in when he called round, and Pringle visited him the day after that, instead of his visiting him; and so, although he was not spoken to, no opportunities were put in the way of their meeting alone.

Both Tom and Lizzie were looking forward to the pic-nic with heartfelt longing, for the former, at least, determined to speak then.

Oh, Love! Love! When will thy course run smooth?

Volume 1, Chapter XII.

"THE BEGINNING OF THE END."

Markworth's plot was now nearly ripe for execution.

When he had been down at The Poplars some weeks now, he said one morning at the breakfast table that he must run up to town for a day or two, as he had some important business to transact; so excusing himself to the Hartshornes, mother and son, the former of whom did not look as if she would break her heart if he never returned, he said he supposed he had better start at once and come down on the next day, Sat.u.r.day, so as to be in time for the contemplated pic-nic on the following Tuesday, which Tom would not hear of his missing.

"You'll be sure to be back in time, old fellow," said the latter, as he wished Markworth good-bye; and the train glided off from the little station to which they had walked in company across the fields.

"There'll be heaps of fun, for Harrowby and a lot of the fellows will be down, and I want you to draw out the campaigner, or she'll be making a dead set at me, and--"

"You'll have other fish to fry, and will want to attend to someone else, eh? I quite understand it all, my boy; I'm not so blind as some people think, Master Tom. However, I'll spare your blushes and your explanations: don't be alarmed, my boy, I'll be back in plenty of time for the pic-nic, and will take care to occupy my lady's attention so as to leave you to your own devices. Good-bye, old chap."

"Good-bye, old fellow," said Tom; and Markworth was soon whizzing on his way to London.

Arrived in town, he first directed his steps to the private billiard-room where he and his friend first made the acquaintance of the reader.

His object was to enlist the services of the little old-fashioned marker, who we had previously seen watching the game.

This man, Joe Begg by name, although only known to the sporting world who frequented the room by his Christian name alone, was an accomplice and ally of Markworth. When our friend would manage to get hold of a nice pigeon for plucking, Joe Begg used to be of the greatest service.

He had a peculiarly dexterous way of running up the score, and also a pleasant and most unaccountable manner of sneezing just when Markworth's opponent would be making some important stroke. It was most unfortunate of course, and the victim would meet with so much sympathy, and the marker would apologise so earnestly with tears in his eyes for the unfortunate cold in the head, "which takes me most unexpected, sir," as he would explain, that poor pigeon could not but allow that it was an accident, and accept the _amende honorable_ by continuing his play.

When neophyte went away, after his vanity had been flattered by his being allowed _nearly_ to win and his losing "rather hot, you know, by Jove?" he did not know that Markworth and the marker generally came to an understanding, which always resulted in the former offering and the latter accepting sundry substantial tokens of esteem and regard.

It was not to make use of his aid in the matter of billiards and by-play that Markworth now sought the company of Joe Begg. It was for something much more important and vastly different, although of a similar nature.

He wanted a witness for the contemplated marriage, and he could not think of anyone better qualified to a.s.sist him than Joe. He was just the man, for he had been always faithful to Markworth's interests, and could be as "close as wax," although he would naturally require a "consideration."

"Well, Joe, how's business," he said, as he walked into the billiard-room, when, as was usual at such an early hour of the day, the marker was all alone.

"Very dull, Mister Markworth, very dull! Why, sir, I haven't made a bob at pool for the last three weeks. Everybody's out of town, and those City fellows as comes in are afeared to bet a tizzy on a dead certainty.

Can I do anything for you to-day, Mister Markworth?"

"Not to-day, Joe; but I will want you shortly."

"All right, sir, whenever you want me you've only got to speak, and I'm there."