CHAPTER LI.

THE GODMOTHER'S MISTAKE.

Young Hurst was scarcely conscious that he was left alone. His feeble strength was taxed to the utmost. That one burst of indignant feeling had left his breath in thrall, and his limbs quivering. At length he became conscious that Lady Rose was gone, and starting up, with a sudden effort of strength, flung open the glass door, which led out upon a flower-terrace, and would have passed through on his way to the cottage, for his brain was all on fire, but that Mrs. Mason stood there chatting to one of the under-gardeners, who was trimming the rose-bushes, while he talked with her.

"Mercy on me!" cried the dame, breaking off her stream of gossip, with a cry of amazement, "if there isn't the young master, looking like the beautiful tall ghost of his own dear self. Never mind cutting the flowers now. I'll be back for them presently."

Young Hurst had forced his strength too far; a swift dizziness seized upon him, and, but for a garden-chair, that stood near, he must have fallen before the good housekeeper reached him. As it was, he half lay upon the iron seat, grasping it with his hands, or he would have entirely dropped to the ground.

"My master! My dear young master!" cried the good woman, half-lifting him to a sitting posture. "What could have tempted you out in this state? No wonder you were taken faint, and this the first time down-stairs. There, now, the fresh wind is doing you good. Dear me, it gives one a pleasure to see you smile again."

"The air is sweet, and you are very kind, Mason. I felt so strong a minute ago; but see where it has ended."

"Oh, that is nothing. The first step always counts for the most. To-day across the terrace--to-morrow in the park!"

"Do you think so, Mason? Do you really think so?"

"Think so? Of course! Young people get up so quickly. If it were me now, or that old man at the garden cottage, there would be no telling."

"You have seen him, then? Is he better? Is he--"

"Seen him? Of course I have. It is a heavy walk, but Webb told me how eagerly you took to the strawberries; so I bade Ruthy save the ripest for you every morning; not that she needed telling, for she has picked every one of them, with her own fingers, and the flowers, too."

"Indeed!" murmured the young man, and he smiled as if the strawberries were melting in his mouth.

"Yes, indeed, this morning, when she got here with her little basket full, her fingers were red with them; for she came directly from the beds, that you might have them in their morning-dew, as if they would be the better for that, foolish child."

"Is she well? Is she looking well, Mason?"

"What, Ruthy? No; I can't just say that. With so much sickness in the house, how should she? But a rose is a rose, whether it be white or red."

"Does she ever inquire about me, Mason? We used to be play-fellows, you know."

"Inquire? As if those great eyes of hers had done anything but ask questions; but then years divide people of her rank and yours. Children who play together as equals are master and servant as they become men and women, and my goddaughter is not one to forget her place."

A faint smile quivered over Hurst's lips.

"No, she is not one to forget her place," he murmured, tenderly. Then, remembering himself, he said, with an attempt at carelessness, "But is there not some foolish story afloat about young Storms? That might trouble her, I should think."

"Trouble her? Why, the child only laughs, as if it was the most maidenly thing on earth to be roaming about with the young man by moonlight and starlight, for that matter, and protesting to her best friends that there is nothing in it; that she has no thoughts of marrying him, and never leaves the cottage on any pretence after night-fall. Of course young women think such things no lies, and never expect to be believed; but Ruthy has been brought up better, and need not attempt to throw sand into her godmother's eyes, whatever she does with the rest of the world."

"You speak as if you believed all this nonsense," said Hurst, with quick fire in his eyes.

"Believe it? Why, there isn't a man on the estate who has not seen them, over and over again. Not that there is harm in it, because old Storms and Jessup have agreed upon it while they were children, and Ruth was ever obedient. Only I don't like her way of denying what everybody knows, especially to me, who have been a mother to her. It isn't just what I had a right to expect, now, is it, Master Walton?"

"I cannot tell; your statement seems so strange."

"Oh, it is only the old story. Girls never will tell the truth about such matters; besides, I do not wonder that my goddaughter is just a little shamefaced about her sweetheart. He isn't one to boast of overmuch; though, they tell me, no needle was ever so sharp on money. There he beats old Storms, out and out. Jessup has laid by a pretty penny for his child, to say nothing of what I may do. So Ruthy will not go away from home empty-handed, and one may be sure he knows it."

Walton Hurst broke into a light laugh, but he became serious at once, and, looking kindly on the genial old woman, said, "You always were good to her, God bless you!"

"Thank you, for saying so; but who could help it, the pretty little orphan? It was like taking a bird into one's heart."

"It was, indeed," answered Hurst, thinking of himself, rather than the old woman.

"And then to think that she must fly off into another nest. Well, well, girls will be girls. Speaking of that, here comes my Lady Rose, looking more like a lily to my thinking, so I will go my way."

Mrs. Mason did go her way, leaving the young man for a while perfectly alone, for, though Lady Rose was hovering about her own pretty boudoir, she did not come fairly out of its shelter, waiting, in her maidenly reserve, for some sign that her presence out of doors would be welcome.

No such sign was given her, for Hurst was greatly disturbed by what he had heard, and almost frantic with desire to see Ruth, and hear a contradiction of these base reports from her own lips. Not that he doubted her, or gave one moment's credence to rumors so improbable, but, with returning health, came a feverish desire to see the young creature for whom he had been willing to sacrifice everything, and redeem her, so far as he could, from the snare into which he had guided her. In his hot impetuosity, he had involved himself and her in a labyrinth of difficulties that led, as he could not help seeing, in his calmer moments, to deception, if not dishonor.

"I will atone for it all," he said to himself. "The moment I am strong enough to face his just resentment, my father shall know everything. God grant that the disappointment will only rest with him," he added, as his disturbed mind turned on Lady Rose with a thrill of compunction. "In my mad haste I may have; but no, no! she is too proud, too thoroughbred for a grand passion. It is only such reckless fools as I am that risk all at a single throw. But Ruth, my sweet young wife, how could I force this miserable deception on her? Had I but possessed the courage to assert my own independent manhood, my dear father would have had less to forgive, and I--But no matter, I have made my bed, and must lie in it, which would be nothing if she did not suffer also."

Thus the young man sat thinking, while Lady Rose flitted in and out of the little boudoir, striving to trill soft snatches of song and hide under music the anguish that made her so restless.

Hurst heard these soft gushes of melody, and mocked his previous anxiety with a smile.

"What a presumptuous cad I am, to think that she will know a regret," he muttered, with a sense of relief.

Lady Rose opened the glass door, and looked out smiling, as if care had never touched her heart.

"Shall I come and read to you?" she said.

"No," he answered, rising. "I will come to you."