Part 76 (1/2)
She took his hand, and away they scampered. He showed her the cowslips, the violets, and all the treasures of the meadow; but it was all hurry, and skurry, and excitement; no time to look at anything above half a minute, for fear of being found out: and so, at last, back to the gate, beaming with stolen pleasure, glowing and sparkling with heat and excitement.
The cunning thing made him replace the gate, and then, after saying she must go for about an hour, marched demurely back to the house.
After one or two of these hasty trips, impunity gave her a sense of security, and, the weather getting warm, she used to sit in the meadow with her beau and weave wreaths of cowslips, and place them in her black hair, and for Comp-ton she made coronets of bluebells, and adorned his golden head.
And sometimes, for a little while, she would nestle to him, and lean her head, with all the feminine grace of a mature woman, on his shoulder.
Said she, ”A boy's shoulder does very nice for a girl to put her nose on.”
One day the aspiring girl asked him what was that forest.
”That is Ba.s.sett's wood.”
”I will go there with you some day, when papa is out.”
”I'm afraid that is too far for you,” said Compton.
”Nothing is too far for me,” replied the ardent girl. ”Why, how far is it?”
”More than half a mile.”
”Is it very big?”
”Immense.”
”Belong to the queen?”
”No, to papa.”
”Oh!”
And here my reader may well ask what was Lady Ba.s.sett about, or did Compton, with all his excellent teaching, conceal all this from his mother and his friend.
On the contrary, he went open-mouthed to her and told her he had seen such a pretty little girl, and gave her a brief account of their conversation.
Lady Ba.s.sett was startled at first, and greatly perplexed. She told him he must on no account go to her; if he spoke to her, it must be on papa's ground. She even made him pledge his honor to that.
More than that she did not like to say. She thought it unnecessary and undesirable to transmit to another generation the unhappy feud by which she had suffered so much, and was even then suffering. Moreover, she was as much afraid of Richard Ba.s.sett as ever. If he chose to tell his girl not to speak to Compton, he might. She was resolved not to go out of her way to affront him, through his daughter. Besides, that might wound Mrs. Ba.s.sett, if it got round to her ears; and, although she had never spoken to Mrs. Ba.s.sett, yet their eyes had met in church, and always with a pacific expression. Indeed, Lady Ba.s.sett felt sure she had read in that meek woman's face a regret that they were not friends, and could not be friends, because of their husbands. Lady Ba.s.sett, then, for these reasons, would not forbid Compton to be kind to Ruperta in moderation.
Whether she would have remained as neutral had she known how far these young things were going, is quite another matter; but Compton's narratives to her were, naturally enough, very tame compared with the reality, and she never dreamed that two seven-year-olds could form an attachment so warm, as these little plagues were doing.
And, to conclude, about the time when Mr. Compton first opened the gate for his inamorata, Lady Ba.s.sett's mind was diverted, in some degree, even from her beloved boy Compton, by a new trouble, and a host of pa.s.sions it excited in her own heart.
A thunder-clap fell on Sir Charles Ba.s.sett, in the form of a letter from Reginald's tutor, informing him that Reginald and another lad had been caught wiring hares in a wood at some distance and were now in custody.
Sir Charles mounted his horse and rode to the place, leaving Lady Ba.s.sett a prey to great anxiety and bitter remorse.
Sir Charles came back in two days, with the galling news that his son and heir was in prison for a month, all his exertions having only prevailed to get the case summarily dealt with.