Part 37 (2/2)

”You can go home,” said Mr. Wilton, turning to his son; ”I have expressed my opinion; I don't mean to repeat it--there is nothing further to say.”

Basil did not make any reply to this speech, nor did he again look at Ermengarde. He went to the stile, vaulted over it, and disappeared.

”And now, Ermie, where are you going to?” said her father.

”Home,” she answered confusedly. ”I am going home.”

”My dear, I never knew that this way through the paddock led home.

Come, Ermengarde, I am tired of prevarication. What does all this mean?”

”Don't ask me, father. I mean I'll tell you presently. I want to see Miss Nelson.”

”Is Miss Nelson at the other side of this paddock? Ermengarde, I insist upon it, I will be answered.”

”Give me half an hour, father, a quarter of an hour--ten minutes--just to see Miss Nelson, and--and--Basil.”

”Then you are in league with Basil, too! A nice state I find my family in! I give a distinct and simple order to you, which you disobey.

Basil, whom I always supposed to be the soul of honor, has behaved with wanton cruelty toward a lady who was your mother's friend, whom I respect, and who has been placed more or less in authority over you all. Not a word, Ermengarde. Basil has as good as confessed his guilt, and I can only say that my old opinion of him can never be restored.

Then, I take you away on a visit, and Maggie comes to fetch you home, because, forsooth, the gamekeeper's daughter with whom I have forbidden you to have any intercourse is feverish, and wants to have a conversation with you. Nonsense, Ermie! you posed very well at the Russells' yesterday as a little philanthropist, but that role, my dear, is not yours. Susan Collins had a far stronger reason for recalling you from Glendower than the simple desire for your company.

Come, Ermie, this mystery has got to be cleared up. This is _not_ the road home, nor am I aware that Miss Nelson resides at the other end of the paddock. But this narrow path leads directly to Collins's cottage.

I presume you are going there. If you have no objection, we will go together, my dear.”

”Yes, father, I have every objection. You need not go to Collins's.

I--I won't keep it in any longer.”

”I thought I should bring you to your senses. Now, what have you got to say?”

”It's on account of Basil.”

”Leave Basil's name out, please. I am not going to be cajoled into restoring him to my favor again.”

Ermengarde's face, which had been growing whiter and whiter during this interview, now became convulsed with a spasm of great agony. She put up her trembling hands to cover it. This was not a moment for tears. Her hot eyes were dry.

”Father, you don't know Basil. _He_ has done nothing wrong, nothing.

It's all me. It's all me, father.”

And then the miserable story, bit by bit, was revealed to Mr. Wilton; it was told reluctantly, for even now Ermengarde would have s.h.i.+elded herself if she could. Without a single word or comment, the narrative was listened to. Then Mr. Wilton, taking Ermie's hand, walked silently back to the house with her. Miss Wilton came down the steps of the front entrance to meet them.

”Good-morning, Ermengarde,” she said. ”How queer and dragged you look?

Roderick, I want to speak to you.”

”I will come to you presently, Elizabeth. I am particularly engaged just now.”

”But you are not going to take that child in through the front entrance?”

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