Part 28 (1/2)

”You have not a horse here, I suppose?” said Miss Baker.

”No; but why do you ask? I can get one in ten minutes, no doubt.”

”Because Caroline will be so glad to have some one to ride with her.”

”Nothing will induce aunt Mary to mount a steed since the day she was lifted out of her saddle at Jaffa,” said Caroline.

”Oh, that journey, Mr. Bertram! but I am a stronger woman than I ever thought I was to have lived through it.”

It was soon arranged that George should go back to his inn and hire a horse, and that he and Caroline should then ride together. In another hour or so they were cantering up the face of Ridgebury Hill.

But the ride produced very little. Caroline here required her attention, and George did not find it practicable to remain close enough to his love, or long enough close to her, to say what he had to say with that emphasis which he felt that the subject demanded.

There were some little tender allusions to feats of horsemans.h.i.+p done in Syria, some mention of the Mount of Olives, of Miss Todd's picnic, and the pool of Siloam, which might, if properly handled, have led to much; but they did lead to nothing: and when George helped Miss Waddington to dismount at Miss Baker's door, that young lady had almost come to the conclusion that he had thought better of his love, and that it would be well that she should think better of hers.

In accordance with our professed attempt at plain speaking, it may be as well explained here that Miss Baker, with the view of sounding her uncle's views and wishes, had observed to him that George had appeared to her to admire Caroline very much. Had the old man remarked, as he might so probably have done, that they were two fools, and would probably become two beggars, Miss Baker would have known that the match would be displeasing to him. But he had not done so. ”Ah!” he said; ”did he? It is singular they should have met.” Now Miss Baker in her wisdom had taken this as a strong hint that the match would not be displeasing to him.

Miss Baker had clearly been on George's side from the beginning.

Perhaps, had she shown a little opposition, Caroline's ardour might have been heightened. As it was, she had professed to doubt. She had nothing to say against George; much might doubtless be said in his favour, but--. In fact, Miss Waddington would have been glad to know what were the intentions of Mr. George Bertram senior.

”I really wish he had stayed away,” she said to her aunt as they were getting ready for dinner.

”Nonsense, Caroline; why should he have stayed away? Why should you expect him to stay away? Had he stayed away, you would have been the first to grumble. Don't be missish, my dear.”

”Missis.h.!.+ Upon my word, aunt Mary, you are becoming severe. What I mean is, that I don't think he cares so very much for me; and on the whole, I am not--not _quite_ sure, whether--well, I won't say anything more; only it does seem to me that you are much more in love with him than I am.”

Bertram came to dinner; and so also did one of the Littlebath curates, a very energetic young man, but who had not yet achieved above one or two pairs of worked slippers and a kettle-holder.

Greater things, however, were no doubt in store for him if he would remain true to his mission. Aunt Mary had intended to ask no one; but Caroline had declared that it was out of the question to expect that Mr. Bertram should drink his wine by himself.

The whole evening was dull enough, and the work of disenchantment on Caroline's part was nearly accomplished; but Bertram, a few minutes before he went away, as the curate was expatiating to Miss Baker on the excellence of his rector's last sermon, found an occasion to say one word.

”Miss Waddington, if I call to-morrow, early after breakfast, will you see me?” Miss Waddington looked as though there were nothing in the proposition to ruffle her serenity, and said that she would.

George's words had been tame enough, but there had been something in the fire of his eye that at last reminded her of Jerusalem.

On the next morning, punctually at ten, his knock was heard at the door. Caroline had at first persisted that her aunt should not absent herself; but even Miss Baker would not obey such an injunction as this.

”How do you expect that the poor young man is to behave?” she had said. ”I do not much care how he behaves,” Caroline had replied. But, nevertheless, she did care.

She was therefore sitting alone when Bertram entered the room. He walked up to her and took her hand, and as he did so he seemed to be altogether a different man from that of yesterday. There was purpose enough in his countenance now, and a purpose, apparently, which he had an intention of pursuing with some energy.

”Miss Waddington,” he said, still holding her hand; ”Caroline! Or am I to apologize for calling you so? or is the privilege to be my own?”

and then, still holding her hand, he stood as though expectant of an answer that should settle the affair at once.

”Our connection through your uncle ent.i.tles you to the privilege,”

said Caroline, smiling, and using a woman's wiles to get out of the difficulty.