"The fringed curtains of thine eye advance and say what thou see'st yond."

--_Tempest_.

"Accost, Sir Andrew, accost."

--_Twelfth Night_.

"Let us go thank him and encourage him.

My _Guardian's_ rough and envious disposition Strikes me at heart--Sir you have well deserved."

--_As You Like It_.

WE had arrived within a quarter of a mile of the gate, and I had just settled to my thorough dissatisfaction that the old footman must be a humorist, and had diverted himself by making a kind of April-fool out of season of me, when, through the trees, which at that spot stretched their huge branches across the road so as to form a complete arch, I fancied I perceived the flutter of a woman's dress; and, in another moment, a turn in the drive disclosed to my view a female form, which I instantly recognised as that of Clara Saville.

Without a minute's hesitation I sprang to the ground before Lawless had time to pull up, and, saying to him, "I shall be back again directly; wait for me, there's a good fellow," I hastily entered a winding path, which led through the trees to the spot where I had seen the young lady, leaving my companion mute from astonishment. Up to this moment, acting solely from a sort of instinctive impulse which made me wish to see and speak to Miss Saville, I had never considered the light in which my proceedings might appear to her. What right, I now asked myself, had I to intrude upon her privacy, and, -151--as it were, force my company upon her, whether she wished it or not? Might she not look upon it as an impertinent intrusion? As these thoughts flitted through my brain I slackened my pace; and had it not been for very shame could have found in my heart to turn back again. This, however, I resolved not to do; having committed myself so far, I determined to give her an opportunity of seeing me, and, if she should show any intention of avoiding me, it would then be time enough to retrace my steps and leave her unmolested.

With this design I proceeded slowly up the path, stopping now and then as if to admire the view, until a turn of the walk brought me in sight of a rustic bench, on which was seated the young lady I had before observed. As soon as she perceived me she rose and turned towards me, disclosing, as she did so, the graceful form and lovely features of my partner of the preceding evening. The morning costume, including a most irresistible little cottage-bonnet lined with pink, was even more becoming to her than the ball-dress; and when, instead of the cold air of constraint which had characterised her manner of the previous evening, she advanced to meet me with a slight blush and the most bewitching smile of welcome that ever set man's heart beating, I thought I had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful before.

"I must ask your forgiveness for venturing thus to intrude upon you, Miss Saville," began I, after we had exchanged salutations; "but the temptation of learning from your own lips that you had sustained no injury was too strong to be resisted, more particularly after the disappointment of finding you were from home when I did myself the pleasure of calling on Mr. Vernor to inquire after you."

"Nay, there is nothing to forgive," replied Miss Saville; "on the contrary," she continued, blushing slightly, "I was anxious to see you, in order to thank you for the eminent service you rendered me yesterday evening."

"Really it is not worth mentioning," returned I; "it is only what any other gentleman in the room would have done had he been in my situation; it was good Mrs. Trottle's shawl saved you; I could have done nothing without that."

"You shall not cheat me out of my grat.i.tude in that way," replied she, smiling; "the shawl would have been of little avail had it not been so promptly and energetically applied; and, as for the other gentlemen, they -152--certainly were very ready with their offers of a.s.sistance _after_ the danger was over. I am afraid," she continued, looking down, "you must have repented the trouble you had taken when you found what a thankless person you had exerted yourself to save."

"Indeed, no such idea crossed my mind for an instant; the slight service I was able to render you was quite repaid by the pleasure of knowing that I had been fortunate enough to prevent you from sustaining injury,"

said I.

"You are very kind," was the reply; "but I can a.s.sure you I have been exceedingly annoyed by imagining how wholly dest.i.tute of grat.i.tude you must have considered me!"

"Lucy Markham told me such would be the case," replied I, smiling.

"Did she?--a dear warm-hearted girl--she always does me justice!"

exclaimed Miss Saville, as she raised her beautiful eyes, sparkling with animation, to my face. She then, for the first time, observed my injured arm, and added quickly, "but you wear your arm in a sling; I hope--that is--I am afraid---I trust it was not injured last night!"

"It is a mere trifle," replied I; "he wristband of my sleeve caught fire, and burnt my arm, but it is nothing of any consequence, I can a.s.sure you."

"I am sure you must have thought me sadly ungrateful," returned my companion; "you exerted yourself, and successfully, to save my life, receiving a painful injury in so doing, whilst I left the house without offering you the thanks due even to the commonest service imaginable."

"You were not then aware that I had burnt my arm, remember; and forgive me for adding," returned I (for I saw that she was really distressed at the idea of my considering her wanting in grat.i.tude), "that it did not require any unusual degree of penetration to perceive that you were not altogether a free agent."

"No, indeed," replied she, eagerly catching at the idea, "Mr. Vernor, my guardian--he always means to be very kind I am sure; but," she added, sinking her voice, "he is so very particular, and he speaks so sternly sometimes, that--I know it is very silly--but I cannot help feeling afraid of him. I mention this, sir, to prevent your judging me too harshly, and I trust to your generosity not to take any unfair advantage of my openness; and now," she added, fixing her large eyes upon me with an imploring look which would have melted the toughest old anchorite -153--that ever chewed grey peas, "you will not think me so very ungrateful, will you?"

"My dear Miss Saville," replied I, "let me beg you to believe I never dreamt of blaming you for a moment; on the contrary, I pay you no compliment, but only mention the simple truth, when I tell you that I admired your behaviour throughout the whole affair exceedingly; your presence of mind and self-control were greater than, under the circ.u.mstances, I could have supposed possible." As she made no reply to this, but remained looking steadfastly on the ground, with her head turned so as to conceal her face, I continued--"I hope it is unnecessary for me to add, that you need not entertain the slightest fear of my making any indiscreet use of the frankness with which you have done me the honour of speaking to me--but I am forgetting half my business,"

added I, wishing to set her at ease again, "I am charged with all sorts of kind messages to you from good Mrs. Coleman and Miss Markham; I presume you would wish me to tell them I have had the pleasure of ascertaining that you have sustained no ill effects from your alarm."

"Oh yes, by all means," replied Miss Saville, looking up with a pleased expression, "give my kind love to them both, and tell dear Lucy I shall come over to see her as soon as ever I can."

"I will not intrude upon you longer, then, having delivered my message,"

said I; "I have kept my companion, the gentleman who was so unfortunate as to overturn the candelabrum, waiting an unconscionable time already; he is very penitent for his offence; may I venture to relieve his mind by telling him that you forgive him?"

"Pray do so," was the reply; "I never bear malice; besides, it was entirely an accident, you know. How thoroughly wretched he seemed when he found what he had done; frightened as I was, I could scarcely help laughing when I caught a glimpse of his face, he looked so delightfully miserable," added she, with a merry laugh. After a moment's pause she continued--"I'm afraid Mr. Vernor will think I am lost, if he should happen to inquire after me, and I'm not forthcoming".

"Surely," said I, "he can never be so unreasonable as to blame you for such a trifle as remaining five minutes too long. Does he expect you to be a nun because he lives in a priory?"

"Almost, I really think," was the reply; "and now, good-bye, Mr.

Fairlegh," she continued--"I shall feel -154--happier since I have been able to explain to you that I am not quite a monster of ingrat.i.tude."

"If that is the case, I am bound to rejoice in it also," answered I, "though I would fain convince you that the explanation was not required."

Her only reply to this was an incredulous shake of the head; and, once more wishing me good-morning, she tripped along the path; and, when I turned to look again, her graceful figure had disappeared among the trees.

With a flushed brow and beating heart (gentle reader, I was barely twenty) I hastened to rejoin my companion, who, as might be expected, was not in the most amiable humour imaginable, having had to restrain the impatience of two fiery horses for a s.p.a.ce of time nearly approaching a quarter of an hour.

"Really, Lawless," I began, "I am quite ashamed." "Oh, you are, are you?" was the rejoinder. "I should rather think you ought to be, too.

But it's always the way with you fellows who pretend to be steady and moral, and all that sort of thing: when you do find a chance of getting into mischief, you're worse a great deal than a man like myself, for instance, who, without being bothered with any particular principles of any kind, has what I call a general sense of fitness and propriety, and does his dissipation sensibly and correctly. But to go tearing off like a lunatic after the first petticoat you see fluttering among the bushes in a gentleman's park, and leaving your friend to hold in two thorough-bred peppery devils, that are enough to pull a man's arms off, for above a quarter of an hour, it's too bad a great deal. Why, just before you came, I fully expected when that mare was plunging about on her hind legs----"

"How lovely she looked!" interrupted I, thinking aloud.

"You thought so, did you?" rejoined Lawless; "I wish you'd just had to hold her; her mouth's as hard----"

"Her mouth is perfect," replied I emphatically; "quite perfect."

"Well, that's cool," muttered Lawless; "he'll put me in a pa.s.sion directly;--pray, sir, may I ask how on earth you come to know anything about her mouth?"

"How do I know anything about her mouth?" exclaimed I. "Did I not watch with delight its ever-varying expression?--mark each movement of those beautiful lips, and drink in every syllable that fell from them?--not observe her mouth! Think you, when we have been conversing together for the last quarter of an hour, that I could fail to do so?"

-155--"Oh he's gone stark staring mad!" exclaimed Lawless; "strait-waistcoats, Bedlam, and all that sort o' thing, you know;--conversing with my bay mare for the last quarter of an hour, and drinking in every syllable that fell from her beautiful lips--oh, he's raving!"

"What do you mean?" said I, at length awaking to some consciousness of sublunary affairs--"Your mare!--who ever thought of your mare? it's Miss Saville I'm talking about."

"Miss Saville!" repeated Lawless, giving vent to a long whistle, expressive of incredulity; "why, you don't mean to say you've been talking to Miss Saville all this time, do you?"

"To be sure I have," replied I; "and a very interesting and agreeable conversation it was too."

"Well," exclaimed Lawless, after a short pause; "all the luck in this matter seem's to fall to your share; so the sooner I get out of it the better. It won't break my heart, that's one comfort;--if the young woman has the bad taste to prefer you to me, why, it can't be helped, you know;--but what did she say for herself, eh?"

"She sent you her forgiveness for one thing," replied I; and I then proceeded to relate such particulars of the interview as I considered expedient; which recital, and our remarks thereupon, furnished conversation during the remainder of our drive.

CHAPTER XIX -- TURNING THE TABLES

"'You should also make no noise in the streets.'

"'You may stay him.'

"'Nay, by're lady, that I think he cannot.'

"'Five shillings to one on't with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him. His wits are not so blunt as, G.o.d help, I would desire they were. It is an offence to stay a man _against his will_. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an a.s.s! but, masters, remember that I am an a.s.s: though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an a.s.s."

--_Much Ado About Nothing_.