CHAPTER VI.--JEST AND EARNEST.

“Mr. Coverdale, is anything the matter?--why, you are quite out of breath with running!” exclaimed Alice, starting as she beheld him.

“Uncomfortably warm, too, I should say,” drawled D’Almayne, glancing significantly at Harry’s glowing cheeks, which were certainly too red to be romantic; “really now, do you consider it judicious to overheat yourself so?--of course, I merely ask as a matter of curiosity.”

Harry magnanimously repressed a strong inclination to knock him down; but he felt that to answer him coolly was both literally and metaphorically out of his power, so he confined his reply to Alice’s question.

“There is nothing the matter, Miss Hazlehurst,” he said; “but seeing you take this direction, and thinking that Mr. D’Almayne might not be aware a bull was grazing in this meadow, I thought it advisable to follow and put you on your guard, even at the risk of making myself unbecomingly hot;” and as he pronounced the last two words, he looked at D’Almayne as though he wished _he_ had been the bull, and would oblige him by evincing an inclination to attack them.

“How very kind and thoughtful of you!” returned Alice, bestowing on him one of her brightest smiles; “but is there any danger?--what had we better do?”

“Eh, really, danger! not the slightest; am not _I_ with you?” interposed D’Almayne, majestically bending over her. “A bull did you say, Mr. Coverdale?--ar--really, I don’t perceive such a creature.--Are you quite sure he exists anywhere but in your vivid and poetical imagination?”

Harry’s reply, if reply it can be called, to this impertinent question, was made by grasping D’Almayne’s elbow so tightly as to cause that delicate young gentleman to wince under the pressure. Having thus attracted his attention at a moment when Alice’s head was turned in an opposite direction, he pointed towards a group of trees, under the shadow whereof might be discerned a large brindled individual of the bovine species, who stood attentively regarding the trio with a singularly unamiable, not to say vicious expression of countenance. Placing his finger on his lips as a hint to D’Almayne to keep the knowledge thus acquired to himself, Harry answered Alice’s inquiry by saying--

“It is always the safest policy to mistrust a bull; so I would advise you to turn and make the best of your way towards the stile over which I came; walk as quickly as you please, but do not run, as that would only tempt the animal to follow you.”

“Yes, really, Miss Hazlehurst, we must not risk the chance of frightening you merely because we men enjoy the excitement of a little danger--take my arm,” hastily rejoined Horace D’Almayne, and suiting the action to the word, he drew Alice’s arm within his own, and marched her off at a pace with which she found considerable difficulty in keeping up. Harry, ere he followed them, remained stationary for a minute or so, to reconnoitre the movements of the bull. That animal, having apparently satisfied his curiosity in regard to the intruders on his domain, was now assiduously working himself up into a rage, preparatory, no doubt, to instituting vigorous measures for their expulsion. The way in which he signified this intention, was by tossing his head up and down, tearing up the turf with his fore-feet, and uttering from time to time a low angry roar, like the rumbling of distant thunder. When Harry turned to leave the spot, the animal immediately followed him, though only at a walk. As soon as he became aware of this disagreeable fact, Coverdale paused, and faced his undesirable attendant; which manœuvre, as he expected, caused the bull to stop also, though it was evident it had the effect of increasing the creature’s rage. In spite of this discovery, Harry waited till his companions had reached the stile, and D’Almayne had assisted Alice to get over it--a piece of chivalry by which he very materially lessened his own chances of safety, as the bull’s small stock of patience being exhausted, it became evident he was preparing for a rush. Trusting to his swiftness of foot, Harry was about to make an attempt to reach the stile before the bull should overtake him, when suddenly the yelping of a dog was heard, and a terrier belonging to Arthur Hazlehurst, which had followed them unobserved, ran forward and distracted the bull’s attention by barking round him, taking especial care to keep out of the reach of the animal’s horns. This diversion in his favour enabled Coverdale to rejoin his companions unmolested.

“Oh, Mr. Coverdale, what a savage-looking creature! I was so afraid it was going to attack you. I do not know how to thank you properly for having saved me from at least a terrible fright,” exclaimed Alice as Harry ran up to them.

“Ar--from alarm possibly; but really I don’t conceive there was the slightest danger; the animal was a very mild specimen of his class; even a little dog, you see, was sufficient to turn him,” observed D’Almayne slightingly.

“I’ll bet you fifty pounds to one you don’t walk across that field while the bull remains there,” exclaimed Harry eagerly--“Miss Hazlehurst shall be umpire, and I’ll promise to come and do my best to help you if you get into any scrape--what do you say, is it a bet?”

“I never bet, and--ar--never do useless and unreasonable things on a hot day, in order to establish a fast reputation. Such little excitements may be all very well for a sporting character like yourself, my dear Coverdale; but--ar--a man who has shot bison on the American prairies does not need them; so really you must hold me excused. Shall we rejoin the rest of the party, Miss Hazlehurst? they seem assembling for luncheon. Let me recollect, we were talking of that charming soul-creation of Tennyson, _Locksley Hall_, I think, before this absurd interruption occurred; what an unrivalled picture does it not present of the spirit-torture of a proud despair?”--and chattering on in the same pseudo-romantic and grandiloquent strain, the man of sentiment fairly walked Alice off, leaving Coverdale in the unenviable position popularly ascribed to virtue, viz., that of being its own reward. Having waited till the pair were out of sight, he flung himself down at the foot of an old beech-tree, and indulged in the following mental soliloquy:--

“Well, Master Harry! you’ve been and done something clever--you have, certainly; run like an insane creature more than half-a-mile, on by far the hottest day we’ve had this summer, and placed yourself in a situation where nothing but a lucky accident saved you from being run at, and possibly gored, by rather a mad bull than otherwise, only to be pooh-poohed by an insolent coxcomb, and have a cold-hearted ungrateful girl lisp out a missish inquiry, ‘whether there was any danger,’ forsooth! ’gad, I almost wish I’d left her and her swain to find out for themselves.”

He paused, removed his hat to allow a slight breeze which had sprung up to cool his heated forehead, and then stretching himself resumed:--

“I hope I’m not really becoming morose and ill-tempered, as Arthur hinted the other day. I must take care, or I shall be growing a savage old brute, and have everybody hate me. It’s all that puppy D’Almayne; he keeps me in a constant state of suppressed irritation with his affected airs of superiority;--but puppies will exist on the face of the earth, I suppose, whether I like it or not, and must be endured; so we’ll endeavour to look upon him as an appointed trial, and see if we can turn him to good account in that way. There’s always the possibility of horsewhipping him as a _dernier ressort_, that’s one consolation. Now I’ll go to luncheon, and try whether I can put some of my good intentions into practice. Heigho! life’s hard work, and no mistake; particularly in warm weather.” Thus cogitating, Harry slowly gathered himself up, and betook himself to join the luncheon party, actuated thereunto, amongst other reasons, by the discovery of a serious attack of appetite. In the meantime, a scene of a very different character was being enacted between two others of our _dramatis personæ_.

Arthur Hazlehurst, foiled in his attempt to secure a _tête-à-tête_ drive with his cousin, Kate Marsden, having, after his usual habit, bustled about, settled everything for everybody, and made himself very generally useful and agreeable, had contrived on arriving at the ruins to withdraw himself from the rest of the party, and having watched the proceedings of his cousin and Mr. Crane, waited until she separated from that gentleman, when he joined her, and induced her to stroll with him along a shady, serpentine, romantic-looking pathway leading through a wood. Agreeable as were external circumstances, however, neither the lady nor the gentleman appeared to be in a sympathetic frame of mind; for a cloud hung on Arthur’s brow, while his cousin’s features wore a cold, uncompromising look of defiance. They proceeded for some little distance in silence; Hazlehurst was the first to speak.

“You found your companion amusing, I hope; pray what might he be talking about so earnestly?”

“Do you really care to know?” was the reply; “he was making me his _confidante_ in regard to Alice. The poor man is at his wits’ end--if a quality which he does not possess can be said to have an end; at all events, he is _au désespoir_. Even his obtuseness cannot be blind to the fact that she dislikes him, and the worthy soul is now beginning to grow mildly jealous of D’Almayne.”

“And what advice did you give him?” inquired her cousin, sternly; “tell me the truth.”

As he spoke the girl’s eyes flashed, and a slight colour burned for a moment in her pale cheeks.

“How _dare_ you say such a thing to me!” was her indignant rejoinder; “have I ever attempted to deceive _you?_--you know I have not; but let it pass. You ask me what advice I gave him: I told him to persevere, reminded him that a faint heart never won a fair lady, which I believe he took to be an entirely original remark on my part, and gently insinuated that no girl in her senses could refuse him.”

Arthur fixed his piercing glance upon her, as he replied--

“And why did you say this? Do you believe, indeed, that Alice will eventually be prevailed upon to marry him?--or did you say it to deceive him for a purpose of your own?”

“I gave him good sound advice,” was the answer; “I do _not_ believe Alice will marry him; but that is no reason why he should not use his best endeavours to obtain what he wishes, or fancies he wishes. I shall advise him to prosecute his suit, and at the right moment to offer to her in person.”

“In order that she may irritate him, and offend my father, by a refusal. Kate, you are playing some deep game in all this, and one of which you know I should disapprove, or else you would not so studiously conceal it from me,” returned Hazlehurst gloomily.

There was a moment’s pause ere the young lady replied--

“Let events unravel themselves, my worthy cousin; the result will appear all in good time.”

They walked on in silence, till a turn in the path brought them before a smooth moss-grown bank, on which the gnarled roots of an old pollard-oak formed a natural rustic seat.

“Let us rest here, and enjoy the sunshine while we may; there is not too much of it in the world,” observed Kate, in a gentler tone than she had hitherto used. There was a touch of sadness in her voice which Arthur could not hear unmoved, and merely waiting till she had seated herself, he placed himself on a root of the tree at her feet. For some minutes neither of them spoke, till as it were unconsciously, Kate allowed her hand to rest on his head, while her fingers played with a lock of his rich chesnut hair. As he felt her soft touch upon his brow, he raised his eyes to her countenance--the stern, hard expression had vanished, and in its place appeared that look which, once seen, the recollection dies only with memory itself--the fond, wistful, tender gaze a loving woman turns on him she loves. For a minute he remained silent and motionless, subdued by the power of her rare beauty; then springing to his feet, he exclaimed--

“You shall trifle with me thus no longer; I am no petulant boy, to be repulsed one hour, and caressed into good humour the next. What is the meaning of this estrangement which you have chosen shall spring up between us? Why do you?--but such questions are useless--this shall decide the point--once and for ever:--Do you love me, or do you not?”

For a moment she was silent; then turning her head to avoid his eager scrutinizing glance, she murmured--

“Have we not known each other from childhood, and loved each other always?”

“That is no answer; you only seek to evade my question,” was the angry reply.

He stood for a moment, his lips quivering with emotion, and his hands clenched so tightly that the blood receded from the points of his fingers, leaving them cold and colourless as marble. His companion did not speak, but continued to regard him with a look half-pitying, half-imploring pity. As their eyes met, his mood appeared suddenly to change, and springing to her side, he exclaimed in a voice tremulous with emotion--

“Kate, dearest, why will you thus torture yourself and me? Hear me, dear one; you know I love you better than any created thing--better than my own soul. You say truly, that I have loved you always--with the tender unconscious love of the child, with the happy romantic love of the boy, and, lastly, with the deep, earnest, absorbing passion of mature manhood; and you, Kate, you must--nay, you _do_ love me!”

As he spoke, he drew her gently towards him, and unrepulsed pressed a kiss upon her soft lips. She did not resist or respond to his caress, but suffered her head to rest passively against his shoulder, as he continued--

“I do not inquire--I heed not--what mad schemes you may have dreamed of; but I ask--nay, I implore you, by all you hold sacred to put them away from you, and to wait patiently for a few, a very few short years, until I can claim you for my beloved, my honoured wife. Kate, you will do as I desire?--speak to me, my own love!”

Unheeding his appeal, she remained for a minute silent, while a few tears stole unchecked down her pale cheeks, then rousing herself by an effort, she wiped away the traces of her late emotion, gently removed her cousin’s arm, which still encircled her waist, and drawing herself up, exclaimed--

“This is weakness--folly; I never intended it should have come to this; but I was taken by surprise--unprepared----”

She paused, struggling to regain self-possession, then in a calmer voice resumed:--

“My poor Arthur! I do, indeed, appreciate your noble, generous self-sacrifice, and were I alone concerned, would desire no happier fate than to share and aid you in your struggle with the world; but it may not be so; others have claims upon me--my father’s health is failing--the cares of that bitter curse, poverty, are wearing out my mother’s little remaining strength, and blighting the talents and crushing the youth and spirits of the children. Dear Arthur, forgive me the pain I cost you when I tell you--I can never be your wife!”

“But, Kate,” interrupted her cousin, eagerly, “listen to me, dear one; you do not suppose that I had forgotten all this; only agree to my proposal, and I will be a son to your mother, a father--if, as you fear, my uncle’s health is breaking--to her children. My practice is increasing every day; I shall soon be in the receipt of a good income; Coverdale is rich, and loves me as a brother; he will advance me money; I will work day and night to repay him.”

“My husband destroy his health to support my family!--is this the prospect of happiness you would offer me?--are these the arguments you would bring forward to induce me to agree?” was the reply. “No, Arthur, I can never be your wife; you must from this moment forget that such an idea has crossed your mind.”

“But, Kate, only hear me!----” he exclaimed passionately.

“I have already heard too much for your happiness, or for my own,” was the mournful reply; then, by a powerful effort resuming her usual manner, she exclaimed, “Come, no more of this folly, our paths in life lie separate; it is inevitable--therefore repining becomes worse than useless; we are not boy and girl, to stand rehearsing romantic love-scenes together; let us rejoin the others.”

For a moment Hazlehurst remained silently gazing on the cold, immovable expression of her features; then, coming close to her, he said in a low, hoarse whisper, “I read your heart, and perceive the wickedness, for such it is, you contemplate. I will give you till to-morrow morning to reflect on what has passed between us; if then you adhere to your determination, I leave you to the fate you have chosen!” and as he uttered the last words, he turned and quitted her.

Kate Marsden gazed after him with the same cold expression of defiance on her features till his retreating figure became no longer visible, then, sinking back upon the rustic bench, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.