Part 13 (1/2)

Charles was gone to try a horse; and as the remains of the effects of her last imprudence had prevented her accompanying him, the arrival of the guests had been a welcome diversion to the monotony of the morning.

He was, however, at home again by the time the dinner-bell summoned the younger ladies from the inspection of the trinkets and the gentlemen from the live stock, all to sit round the heavy oaken table draped with the whitest of napery, spun by Lady Archfield in her maiden days, and loaded with substantial joints, succeeded by delicacies manufactured by herself and Lucy.

As to the horse, Charles was fairly satisfied, but 'that fellow, young Oakshott, had been after him, and had the refusal.'

”Don't you be outbid, Mr. Archfield,” exclaimed the wife. ”What is the matter of a few guineas to us?”

”Little fear,” replied Charles. ”The old Major is scarcely like to pay down twenty gold caroluses, but if he should, the bay is his.”

”Oh, but why not offer thirty?” she cried.

Charles laughed. ”That would be a scurvy trick, sweetheart, and if Peregrine be a crooked stick, we need not be crooked too.”

”I was about to ask,” said the Doctor, ”whether you had heard aught of that same young gentleman.”

”I have seen him where I never desire to see him again,” said Sir Philip, ”riding as though he would be the death of the poor hounds.”

”Nick Huntsman swears that he bewitches them,” said Charles, ”for they always lose the scent when he is in the field, but I believe 'tis the wry looks of him that throw them all out.”

”And I say,” cried the inconsistent bride, ”that 'tis all jealousy that puts the gentlemen beside themselves, because none of them can dance, nor make a bow, nor hand a cup of chocolate, nor open a gate on horseback like him.”

”What does a man on horseback want with opening gates?” exclaimed Charles.

”That's your manners, sir,” said young Madam with a laugh. ”What's the poor lady to do while her cavalier flies over and leaves her in the lurch?”

Her husband did not like the general laugh, and muttered, ”You know what I mean well enough.”

”Yes, so do I! To fumble at the fastening till your poor beast can bear it no longer and swerves aside, and I sit waiting a good half hour before you bring down your pride enough to alight and open it.”

”All because you _would_ send Will home for your mask.”

”You would like to have had my poor little face one blister with the glare of sun and sea.”

”Blisters don't come at this time of the year.”

”No, nor to those who have no complexion to lose,” she cried, with a triumphant look at the two maidens, who certainly had not the lilies nor the roses that she believed herself to have, though, in truth, her imprudences had left her paler and less pretty than at Winchester.

If this were the style of the matrimonial conversations, Anne again grieved for her old playfellow, and she perceived that Lucy looked uncomfortable; but there was no getting a moment's private conversation with her before the coach was brought round again for the completion of the journey. All that neighbourhood had a very bad reputation as the haunt of lawless characters, p.r.o.ne to violence; and though among mere smugglers there was little danger of an attack on persons well known like the Woodford family, they were often joined by far more desperate men from the seaport, so that it was never desirable to be out of doors after dark.

The journey proved to have been too much for Mrs. Woodford's strength, and for some days she was so ill that Anne never left the house; but she rallied again, and on coming downstairs became very anxious that her daughter should not be more confined by attendance than was wholesome, and insisted on every opportunity of change or amus.e.m.e.nt being taken.

One day as Anne was in the garden she was surprised by Peregrine das.h.i.+ng up on horseback.

”You would not take the Queen's rosary before,” he said. ”You must now, to save it. My father has smelt it out. He says it is teraphim! Micah--Rachel, what not, are quoted against it. He would have smashed it into fragments, but that Martha Browning said it would be a pretty bracelet. I'd sooner see it smashed than on her red fist. To think of her giving in to such vanities! But he said she might have it, only to be new strung. When he was gone she said, 'I don't really want the thing, but it was hard you should lose the Queen's keepsake. Can you bestow it safely?' I said I could, and brought it hither. Keep it, Anne, I pray.”

Anne hesitated, and referred it to her mother upstairs.

”Tell him,” she said, ”that we will keep it in trust for him as a royal gift.”

Peregrine was disappointed, but had to be content.