Naturally, Captain Ryecroft is the subject of speculation among the
archers at Llangorren. A man of his mien would be so anywhere--if
stranger. The old story of the unknown knight suddenly appearing on the
tourney's field with closed visor, only recognisable by a love-lock or
other favour of the lady whose cause he comes to champion.
He, too, wears a distinctive badge--in the white cap. For though our
tale is of modern time, it antedates that when Brown began to affect the
_pugaree_--sham of Manchester Mills--as an appendage to his cheap straw
hat. That on the head of Captain Ryecroft is the regular forage cap
with quilted cover. Accustomed to it in India--whence he has but lately
returned--he adheres to it in England without thought of its attracting
attention and as little caring whether it do or not.
It does, however. Insular, we are supremely conservative--some might
call it "caddish"--and view innovations with a jealous eye; as witness
the so-called "moustache movement" not many years ago, and the fierce
controversy it called forth.
For other reasons the officer of Hussars is at this same archery
gathering a cynosure of eyes. There is a perfume of romance about him;
in the way he has been introduced to the ladies of Llangorren; a
question asked by others besides the importunate friend of George
Shenstone. The true account of the affair with the drunken foresters
has not got abroad--these keeping dumb about their own discomfiture;
while Jack Wingate, a man of few words, and on this special matter
admonished to silence, has been equally close-mouthed; Joseph also mute
for reasons already mentioned.
Withal, a vague story has currency in the neighbourhood, of a boat, with
two young ladies, in danger of being capsized--by some versions actually
upset--and the ladies rescued from drowning by a stranger who chanced to
be salmon fishing near by--his name, Ryecroft. And as this tale also
circulates among the archers at Llangorren, it is not strange that some
interest should attach to the supposed hero of it, now present.
Still, in an assemblage so large, and composed of such distinguished
people--many of whom are strangers to one another--no particular
personage can be for long an object of special concern; and if Captain
Ryecroft continue to attract observation, it is neither from curiosity
as to how he came there, nor the peculiarity of his head-dress, but the
dark handsome features beneath it. On these more than one pair of
bright eyes occasionally become fixed, regarding them with admiration.
None so warmly as those of Gwen Wynn; though hers neither openly nor in
a marked manner. For she is conscious of being under the surveillance
of other eyes, and needs to observe the proprieties.
In which she succeeds; so well, that no one watching her could tell,
much less say, there is aught in her behaviour to Captain Ryecroft
beyond the hospitality of host--which in a sense she is--to guest
claiming the privileges of a stranger. Even when during an interregnum
of the sports the two go off together, and, after strolling for a time
through the grounds, are at length seen to step inside the summer-house,
it may cause, but does not merit, remark. Others are acting similarly,
sauntering in pairs, loitering in shady places, or sitting on rustic
benches. Good society allows the freedom, and to its credit. That
which is corrupt alone may cavil at it, and shame the day when such
confidence be abused and abrogated!
Side by side they take stand in the little pavilion, under the shadow of
its painted zinc roof. It may not have been all chance their coming
thither--no more the archery party itself. That Gwendoline Wynn, who
suggested giving it, can alone tell. But standing there with their eyes
bent on the river, they are for a time silent--so much, that each can
hear the beating of the other's heart--both brimful of love.
At such moment one might suppose there could be no reserve or reticence,
but confession full, candid, and mutual. Instead, at no time is this
farther off. If _le joie fait peur_, far more _l'amour_.
And with all that has passed is there fear between them. On her part
springing from a fancy she has been over forward--in her gushing
gratitude for that service done, given too free expression to it, and
needs being more reserved now. On his side speech is stayed by a
reflection somewhat akin, with others besides. In his several calls at
the Court his reception has been both welcome and warm. Still, not
beyond the bounds of well-bred hospitality. But why on each and every
occasion has he found a gentleman there--the same every time--George
Shenstone by name? There before him, and staying after! And this very
day, what meant Mr Shenstone by that sudden and abrupt departure?
Above all, why her distraught look, with the sigh accompanying it, as
the baronet's son went galloping out of the gate? Having seen the one,
and heard the other, Captain Ryecroft has misinterpreted both. No
wonder his reluctance to speak words of love.
And so for a time they are silent, the dread of misconception, with
consequent fear of committal, holding their lips sealed. On a simple
utterance now may hinge their life's happiness, or its misery.
Nor is it so strange, that in a moment fraught with such mighty
consequence, conversation should be not only timid, but commonplace.
They who talk of love's eloquence, but think of it in its lighter
phases--perhaps its lying. When truly, deeply, felt it is dumb, as
devout worshipper in the presence of the divinity worshipped. Here,
side by side, are two highly organised beings--a man handsome and
courageous, a woman beautiful and aught but timid--both well up in the
accomplishments, and gifted with the graces of life--loving each other
to their souls' innermost depths, yet embarrassed in manner, and
constrained in speech, as though they were a couple of rustics! More;
for Corydon would fling his arms around his Phyllis, and give her an
eloquent smack, which she with like readiness would return.
Very different the behaviour of these in the pavilion. They stand for a
time silent as statues--though not without a tremulous motion, scarce
perceptible--as if the amorous electricity around stifled their
breathing, for the time hindering speech. And when at length this
comes, it is of no more significance than what might be expected between
two persons lately introduced, and feeling but the ordinary interest in
one another!