"I'm sure I've nothing to do with Mr Hartshorne. What _do_ you mean, Herbert? Pray explain yourself."

And the young lady drew herself up with a tremendous accession of dignity to the full height of her little figure.

Herbert Pringle was so disgusted with the dissimulation of the s.e.x as evinced in the instance of his sister that he felt himself nerved up and able to go on with the talk before him, so he plunged at once _in medias res_.

"Here's Lady Inskip been telling me--"

"Oh! I've got to thank _her_ for interesting herself about me! I am sure I am very much obliged to Lady Inskip!"

"You need not interrupt me, Lizzie, and you need not get angry about Lady Inskip. She's a most motherly woman, and she spoke very kindly to me about you. You see, Lizzie, it's a very hard thing for a fellow to speak of. Of course I think girls ought to be allowed to mind their own affairs of this kind, and it seems rough on my part to interfere; but, you see, as Lady Inskip very kindly observed, you've no mother to advise you, and consequently I must take her place."

As he said this, the Reverend Herbert Pringle looked certainly as unlike a mother as possible.

"Go on, Herbert; let me know all that Lady Inskip has been kind enough to say of me," said Violet Eyes, now facing her brother, with a full sense of her dignity, and tapping her foot on the floor with angry impatience.

"Well, she told me that she saw you and Tom Hartshorne in the garden the other day as she drove by; and, though I see no harm in it, and fortunately no one but herself saw it, she said she was very much shocked, and that you acted as if you were engaged. Now, Lizzie, you know I'm very fond of you, and all that sort of thing, but people might talk, you know, and I want you to put a stop to it."

Lizzie's defences were entirely overthrown. Her look of indignation faded off her face, to be replaced by a quick crimson blush, which as rapidly disappeared and left her features as pale as marble. She made a hurried step towards her brother, and fell sobbing on his neck.

"Oh! Bertie, Bertie!" she sobbed out, between a series of little gasps.

"There, there, don't cry! my darling little Lizzie. You know I did not mean to hurt you, my own little sister!" said Herbert, sympathisingly, patting her head as if he were saying "Poor dog! poor dog!" to a Newfoundland pup. And the subject was dropped, Lizzie thus gaining the victory in the end by having recourse to a woman's strongest safeguard-- tears. For, as he told Lady Inskip afterwards, "when the waterworks were turned on he had to give in." The old campaigner for her part, was very well satisfied that the topic had been mentioned: that was all she wanted.

Lizzie went to bed very early that night, pleading a headache, and really her face was so pale and the deep violet eyes were so sunk in her head with broad veins of black underneath them, that her a.s.sertion was freely borne out by her appearance.

The poor little heart was deeply troubled: the stricken deer was grievously wounded. She was very young, you must remember, and had fallen into that horrible abyss of love without knowing what she was doing. The temptation had been so sweet, the steps she had taken into that rose-coloured paradise so gradual, that she had not perceived the drift of their march, so that Tom's sudden act and manner had startled and frightened her; it was letting in the sunlight on one who has been blindfolded, and the little secret which she had hugged to her heart alarmed, while it gave her such sweet ecstasy.

Ever since that morning in the garden, only two days ago--two days! it seemed more like two years, she had been so much altered--Lizzie had not been the same. She had awakened from a long sleep as it were, and everything round her, every little inconsiderable item in her daily life bore a new charm to her or had a fresh meaning. A deeper and more beautiful light beamed now in her thoughtful eyes; there was a charming hesitancy in her manner in lieu of the former piquante pert way she had.

In a word, Lizzie was our Lizzie still, but a hundred times more loveable and prettier from the new love light that encircled her.

She had been watching--eagerly watching, for her next meeting with Tom, and yet when she thought of him, blushed at her thoughts and trembled with a sly rapture. He was so n.o.ble--so manly--so handsome! Just in fact what most young girls think Corydon when in love.

It was no wonder, then, that the brother's lecture and the idea of the old campaigner's criticism on her conduct frightened our poor little maid.

She went up to her little bed tearfully and heavy-hearted, and thought of chains and dungeons, and all the malicious contrivances of the wicked for parting true lovers, and she sobbed herself to sleep. When she woke up in the morning she was still in the most restless and perturbed state that her little mind could be in. "How dared that odious old thing speak about her, or look at her, or come round at all!" She would never see Tom again--and she was longing to see him all the time!

She would not go to the pic-nic--that she wouldn't!

Then she _would_ go, because the aforesaid old odious thing would imagine that she took it to heart if she stopped away.

But she would _not_ go because that impudent Master Tom would be there, she thought, with a rising blush and a conscious swelling of the tender little bosom underneath her muslin dress.

Of course she determined to go!

Volume 1, Chapter XIV.

THAT YOUNG IMP.

The old campaigner's pic-nic had been decided upon by her, not only as a merrymaking festival, but as a regular strategical _coup_.

She wanted to roll many issues into one, and like a prudent general, she conned her forces, surveyed their position, and considered her war _materiel_; all being in train, she determined that as she wanted to create an impression in the neighbourhood, and bring sundry persons together without being compelled to go to any great expense, the best and most efficacious mode she could adopt for carrying out her plans would be to give a pic-nic.

In the first place she could ask all those people of the vicinity whom she did not care to specially invite to her own house; in the second, as everyone would to some extent purvey their own refreshments, no great outlay would be required on her part; and in the third place this sort of rustic excursion offers greater advantages and inducements for judicious love-making, and brings many bashful wooers, such as young Clericus, to the scratch.

It was under these circ.u.mstances and acting with these motives, that Lady Inskip had made preparations and issued invitations for a grand pic-nic to come off at Dingle Dell, which was a nice drive from Bigton, a few weeks after she came down to reside at that festive haunt.

She had by this time thoroughly explored all the capabilities of the place, and knew just whom to ask and whom to avoid. The old Indian officer, Captain Curry Cuc.u.mber, had of course an invitation, and so had Doctor Jolly and his sister, but Deborah said that she never went out to any such "gallivantings," and declined; the doctor, however, promised to pick them up in the course of the day after he had made some necessary calls on his patients.

The people were all to meet together at Laburnum Cottage, and drive from thence _en cortege_ to the Dingle, so an early hour was fixed for the rendezvous in order to have a good long day of it.

Soon after eleven, the time appointed, there was quite a goodly muster of vehicles in front of Lady Inskip's residence. Tom Hartshorne drove down in a bright new dog-cart, and being immediately pounced upon by the campaigner, was made or inveigled into taking Carry with him. Not that Tom objected personally to that young lady, who was very agreeable and naturally glib of tongue, but he sorely wished and had indeed planned that our little friend Lizzie should be his companion.

In order to prevent this the campaigner had specially called at the parsonage and taken Miss Lizzie in her own pony chaise with her: the Reverend Herbert and the languid Laura completed the quartette. Tom sadly deplored the absence of Markworth, for he was so well used to the campaigner, and had such nerve and _sang froid_ that he was capable of even turning her out of her own carriage. Lieutenant Harrowby and Captain Miles, too, of Tom's regiment, who had come over from Brighton that morning for the _fete_, and who hoped to have complete possession of the Inskip "girls," as military men usually dub the young ladies of families, did not seem satisfied with the arrangements for the procession; and as for Captain Curry Cuc.u.mber--who had arrived on the scene of action dressed in a new pair of nankeen trowsers and a solar hat, not to mention a blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and other portions of a perfectly gorgeous toilet--he was simply enraged at the want of deference paid him by Lady Inskip, and had serious thoughts of turning back at first, although he afterwards suffered himself to be soothed over by Miss Blandish (spinster, _aetat_ 45-60), and promised to remain with the company until at least "tiffin" should be over.

At last, however, all things were settled, and "barring" a few _contretemps_ and heartburnings the whole party started off in great spirit to drive towards Dingle Dell.

The road was a very pretty one, all through the romantic scenery to be found in the valley of the swift-running and widening river Biggle, at the mouth of which, as has been described in its proper place, the watering place of Bigton, formerly called Biggleton (_vide_ County Archaeology), was situated.

The day was fine--as fine as a bright August day can be in the country.

_Ergo_ all went merry as the proverbial marriage bell. The only trouble Lady Inskip had was with her darling pride--that horrible boy, the young Sir Mortimer. He would insist on carrying a wretched old single-barrel gun with him for the purpose of shooting small birds when they got to the wood, and of course, as he always managed, he had his own way.

"Such a darling boy," as he was, "but _so_ rash!" Mortimer persisted in practising along the road as they drove on, frightening the horses every now and then, and making everybody feel in terror for their lives.

It was no use that Lady Inskip called out in a half-entreating, half-commanding voice at intervals, "Oh! Morti-mer! Mortimer!" the young imp would continue his detonating sport, and everyone was heartily glad when after pa.s.sing the steep incline which led down from the old castle of archaeological renown, they crossed the pretty rustic bridge over the Biggle, and arrived at length at Dingle Dell.

Considering that it was a good two hours' drive or more from Bigton, and that it was "getting on" in the afternoon, no one was averse to preparations being at once made for the substantial and real part of the pic-nic. All helped with good will to lay the cloth on the smooth green turf, and unpack the hampers. Even a smile irradiated the choleric and saffronised face of the Indian warrior, who was much disgusted when they sat down to the _al fresco_ banquet that no one had remembered to bring mango, chutney, or Cayenne pepper, without which he a.s.sured Lady Inskip that even "the best victuals" were not worth the salt that accompanied them.

The old campaigner very judiciously arranged the various members of her company around the tablecloth--one cannot exactly say table. She placed Tom by the side of Carry, at the extreme opposite end of the "board,"

away from Lizzie, whom she quartered with the gallant lieutenant, Harrowby, by herself. Pringle, of course, was placed next Laura; and although Lady Inskip had been obliged to invite the Rev. Jabez Heavieman, of Bigton, for appearance's sake, she took very good care that he should not run foul of our Ritualistic young inc.u.mbent, whom he regarded in much the same light as the devil is supposed to look upon holy water.

Everything pa.s.sed off well, and Lady Inskip was in ecstasies; Carry was apparently having it all her own way with Tom Hartshorne, and Pringle was most devoted to Laura. As for Lizzie, she was hopelessly put on one side, and the campaigner considered "that artful little minx" as done for and out of her way: nothing could be better.

The banquet was at length finished.

Young Sir Mortimer, having gorged himself sufficiently with cold chicken and greengage tart, so that his face shone again, went off with his gun to shoot in the woods, much against the entreaties of his mother, who fervently implored him "take care, Mortimer, my darling boy, take great care!"

The others disposed themselves around; some lolling on the gra.s.s, others making a pretence of fishing in the adjacent river: Tom had wandered off somewhere--Lizzie had disappeared; and our cheery Doctor Jolly, who had just arrived in time for the feast--"Bless my soul! madam," as he said, in explanation, "never miss the grub, my lady--never miss my grub,"--was enjoying a cigar along with the "military swells," as he called them.

When suddenly Lady Inskip's pride and hope, the boy Mortimer, dashed in amongst them with a scared face, yelling out at the top of his voice--

"Oh! ma, ma! I've shot and killed somebody!"

The consternation his advent created can be imagined.

"Oh! dear, Morti-mer,--Morti-mer! I told you so: I told you so!" said Lady Inskip, bursting into tears.

Carry went into hysterics, entreating everybody to "hold me down! hold me down!" Laura fell fainting in the arms of the Reverend Pringle, who looked hopelessly bewildered. Miss Blandish, making an ineffectual and similar attempt to repose on the white waistcoat and nankeen trowsers of Captain Curry Cuc.u.mber, was precipitated by a dexterous and skilful manoeuvre on the part of that gallant officer, into the salad-bowl, the Captain muttering horrible imprecations in Hindostanee, such as heaping curses on the beard of her departed father, and devoutly hoping that jacka.s.ses might sit on her grandmother's grave.

Doctor Jolly alone retained his composure, and darted off, as quickly as his size and gout would permit him, in the direction from which the young imp, Mortimer, had come.