THE SEQUEL.
Nathan Wylie was as wicked as his word; and a letter, rehearsing in
forcible terms my sinful, ungracious, and godless conduct, was duly
despatched to my grandfather, at Netherwood Hall.
Pending a reply thereto, Ruth was confined to her own room, and kept
securely under lock and key, while I was all but chained to my desk,
for Nathan Wylie had an old dread of the enterprising nature of the
Gauntlets, and knew not what I might do next.
In our mutual loneliness of position, our hearts naturally drew
together, and our love was strengthened by the very barriers her
uncle raised between us; hence I resolved to see Ruth in her own
room--her prison it seemed to me; but this could only be done by the
window, and under cloud of night, as her door was locked, and the key
was in old Wylie's pocket.
On coming to this resolution, I proceeded at once to put it in
practice. Heaven knows, I had no desire but to circumvent old Wylie,
and to see my pretty Ruth--to hear her gentle voice, and to be with
her, for her smile was the first ray of light that had fallen across
my hitherto dark and solitary path.
It was on a gloomy night, early in February, and when the little
household were supposed to be all in bed, that by slipping from the
window of my attic, I reached the roof of the stable, the ridge of
which I knew to be immediately under the window-sill of Ruth's
apartment.
My heart beat lightly, happily, and rapidly, when I saw the shadow of
Ruth's figure thrown in a somewhat colossal outline, however, upon
the curtains; and, fortunately, without disturbing Abraham Clod, the
groom, I reached the window, before Ruth had either retired to rest
or extinguished her light.
I know that this clandestine visit was rather a wrong proceeding; but
in extenuation I have only to plead the rashness of youth on one
hand, and Nathan Wylie's severity on the other; besides, at eighteen
one does not value the opinion of the world much, or scan such
matters too closely.
On peeping in I saw Ruth pinning up her bright brown hair, and
beginning to unfasten the hooks of her bodice; then her dimpled
elbows and tapered arms shone white as alabaster in the light of her
candle; so I hastened to tap on the window.
"Good Heaven!" she exclaimed, starting round with alarm expressed in
her pretty face, and her dark eyes dilated; "what is that--who is
there?"
"I, I--don't you know me?" said I, with my nose flattened against a
pane of glass.
"Basil--is it Basil?"
"Yes."
"At my window, and at this time of night!" said she, blushing and
hastening forward to open the sash; "wait until I get a shawl--I was
just about to undress. How very odd; but what do you want?"
"To see you--to speak with you--"
"But, Basil, consider----" said she, trembling.
"I consider nothing," I exclaimed, throwing my arms round her, and
kissing her at the window.
"Mercy! take care lest you fall."
"This separation renders me miserable; for two whole days I have not
seen you."
Her kiss, so tender and loving, agitated me so deeply that my voice
was almost inarticulate.
"And mewed up here, I have been so wretched too, dear Basil," she
murmured, while placing her arms caressingly round my neck, as I
crept in and closed the window; "how cruel of uncle Nathan to treat
us so."
"He has written to my grandfather, and in such harsh terms that more
mischief will be in store for me," said I, bitterly.
"Take courage, dear Basil," whispered Ruth, as we sat with our arms
entwined and cheek pressed against flushing cheek; "those wicked
people would seem to have done you already all the harm that is
possible."
"I know not; for your uncle spoke of having me sent to sea; and I
have heard at times of people being kidnapped by the pressgang."
"The pressgang--you!" exclaimed Ruth, her fine eyes filling with pity
and indignation; "they dare not think of such a thing. Are you not
the heir to a baronetcy?"
"True--one of our oldest Nova Scotian baronetcies; but so is my
cousin Tony, if--if----"
"What?"
"I were sent out of the way or disposed of for ever."
"Of that title, dearest Basil; neither your grandfather's wicked
hatred, nor the cunning of my uncle--alas! that I should have to say
so of one so near--can deprive you."
"Between them, however, they have willed away the estates to my
cousin Tony Gauntlet, who bids fair to make ducks and drakes of them,
even before his succession comes to pass, for he is deeply involved
with jockeys and Jew money-lenders. But I care not what happens, if
I am not separated, my sweet little love, from you."
I pressed her to my breast long and passionately.
For several nights I visited Ruth's window in this clandestine
manner; and became so expert in the matter, that I actually rubbed
the sash of my casement with soap, that it might run smoothly and
noiselessly. As yet there came no reply from Sir Basil, but Abraham
Clod brought a message from Netherwood, that "he had the gout in both
feet, and consequently was unable to write."
Dear to us, indeed, were those stolen interviews, and wild and vague
were the plans we began to form for the future, plans chiefly drawn
from our romances; but one night we were roused from our happiness by
an unlooked for catastrophe.
Just as I was approaching Ruth's window, a voice exclaimed--
"A thief--a thief! I see un--dang thee, tak that!"
Then followed a shriek from Ruth, with the explosion of a gun, and a
bullet shattered the panes in both sashes, just above my head.
It was the voice of Abraham Clod our Yorkshire groom, who had been
out in the evening crowshooting, and had his gun undischarged, and
who in a moment of evil had seen me creeping along the roof of the
stable, from his attic window, where I saw him peering forth, with a
candle in one hand, and his gun in the other.
Fearing that if I attempted to return to my own room he might shoot
me in earnest--for I saw the fellow was quickly reloading--fearing
also to stay, lest I should place Ruth in a false position, I
lingered for a moment irresolutely, and preferred being taken for the
housebreaker which I have no doubt honest Clod believed me to be.
At that time I felt that I would rather die than the honour of Ruth
should suffer!
I dropped on the roof of the stable just as a second shot broke the
tiles under my feet, and confused by this incident, I tumbled heavily
to the ground--luckily not into the stable-yard but into a ploughed
field.
I rose unhurt, but found that to enter the house by the door, and to
regain my attic window, were both impossible now. I struck across
the fields, gained the high-road, and took my way into the open
country with sorrow and rage in my heart--sorrow for Ruth, and rage
at her uncle, whose drudge and fool I resolved no longer to be.