Part 27 (2/2)

Then again she had likened him to the Medes and Persians; and why not?

Who should say the Medes and Persians were not thoroughly respectable gentlemen, polished and refined? and though in this case again there might be some who would prefer the manners of a decent English gentleman to those of the present Shah, that is no reason why the latter should be regarded so ignominiously.

She has reached this highly satisfactory point in her argument when a body dropping from a tree near her, almost at her feet, startles her rudely from her meditations.

”Dear me!” says Lilian, with much emphasis, and then knows she is face to face with Heskett.

He is a tall lad, brown-skinned as an Italian, with eyes and hair of gypsy dye. As he stands before Lilian now, in spite of his daring nature, he appears thoroughly abashed, and with his eyes lowered, twirls uneasily between his hands the rather greasy article that usually adorns his brow.

”I beg your pardon, miss,” he says, slowly, ”but might I say a word to you?”

”I am sorry to hear such bad accounts of you, Heskett,” says Miss Chesney, in return, with all the airs of a dean and chapter.

”Sir Guy has been telling you, miss?” says the lad, eagerly; ”and it is about my trouble I wanted to see you. They say you have great weight with the baronet, miss, and once or twice you spoke kindly to me, and I thought maybe you would say a word for me.”

”You are mistaken: I have no influence,” says Lilian, coloring faintly.

”And besides, Heskett, there would be little use in speaking for you, as you are not to be trusted.”

”I am, Miss Chesney, I am indeed, if Sir Guy would only try me again. I don't know what tempted me last night, but I got my lesson then, and never again, I swear, Miss----”

Here a glance at Lilian's face checks further protestations. She is not looking at him; her gaze is concentrated upon the left pocket of his coat, though, indeed, there is little worthy of admiration in the cut of that garment. Following the direction of her eyes, Heskett's fall slowly, until at length they fasten upon the object that has so attracted her.

Sticking up in that luckless left pocket, so as plainly to be seen, is a limp and rather draggled brown wing, the undeniable wing of a young grouse.

”Heskett,” says Lilian, severely, ”what have you been doing?”

”Nothing, miss,” desperately.

”Heskett,” still more severely, and with just a touch of scorn in her tone, ”speak the truth: what have you got in your pocket?”

”It's just a grouse, then,” says the boy, defiantly, producing the bonny brown bird in question.

”And a fat one,” supplements Lilian. ”Oh, Heskett, when you know the consequences of poaching, how can you do it?”

”'Tis because I do know it,”--recklessly: ”it's all up with me this time because the baronet swore he'd punish me next time I was caught, and he never breaks his word. So I thought, miss, I'd have a last fling, whatever came of it.”

”But it isn't 'all up' with you,” says Lilian. ”I have spoken to Sir Guy, and he has promised to give you one more chance. But I cannot speak again, Heskett, and if you still persist in your evil ways I shall have spoken in vain.”

”You spoke for me?” exclaims he, incredulously.

”Yes. But I fear I have done no good.”

The boy's eyes seek the ground.

”I didn't think the likes of you would care to say a kind word for such as me,--and without the asking,” he says, huskily. ”Look here, Miss Chesney, if it will please you, I swear I will never again snare a bird.”

”Oh, Heskett, will you promise really?” returns Lilian, charmed at her success, ”and can I trust you? You know you gave your word before to Sir Guy.”

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