“Miss Hazlehurst!--Alice! are you mad? Only sit still, don’t go and
scream or anything, and all will come right.”
Thus appealed to, or rather commanded--for the tone of the speaker’s
voice was unmistakably imperative--Alice, who when the horses bolted had
half risen from her seat, and in an agony of terror glanced round, as
though she meditated an attempt to jump out, shrank down again,
and covering her eyes with her hands, remained perfectly still and
motionless, thus enabling Coverdale to devote his whole attention to
the horses. The terrified animals, after galloping nearly a mile, their
fears being kept alive by repeated flashes of lightning and peals of
thunder, while a perfect deluge of rain converted the dusty road beneath
their feet into a morass, at length began to relax their speed. As soon
as Harry perceived this to be the case, he turned to his companion,
saying, “There, Miss Hazlehurst, I have got them in hand again, they’re
quite under command now, and the worst of the storm is over too, so you
needn’t be frightened any longer; you have behaved like a”--(regular
brick was the simile that rose to his lips, but he refrained, and
substituted)--“complete heroine, since you overcame that slightly insane
impulse to commit suicide by jumping out.”
Reassured by his manner, Alice ventured to open her eyes, and the
first use she made of them was to fix them upon the countenance of her
companion, striving to read therein whether the hopes with which he
sought to inspire her were true or false. But Harry’s was a face about
which there could be no mistake; truth and honesty were written in every
feature so legibly, that the veriest tyro in physiognomy could not fail
at once to perceive them.
“How fortunate it was that you were driving, and not Mr. Crane!” were
the first words Alice uttered; “we should have been overturned to a
certainty if the horses had behaved so this morning. I’ll take good care
not to let him drive me again. How cleverly you managed the creatures
when they were plunging and rearing! I should never have dared to whip
them while they were in that furious state, but it answered capitally.”
“You observed _that_, did you?” inquired Harry in a tone of surprise.
Alice favoured him with a quick glance, as she replied, half archly,
half petulantly, “Of course I did; what a stupid silly little thing you
seem to consider me!”
Harry paused for a minute ere he rejoined, laughingly, “You know nothing
about what I consider you, Miss Hazlehurst, and therefore I advise
you not to form any theories whatsoever on the subject, as they are
tolerably certain to be wrong ones.”
“I dare say you have never given yourself the trouble to reflect at all
on so frivolous a topic,” returned Alice; “I know your heterodox notions
in regard to our sex; you consider us all simpletons.”
“I’m sure I never told you so,” was all the denial Harry’s conscience
permitted him to make.
“Not _vivâ voce_, perhaps,” replied Alice; “but I have heard it
second-hand from Master Tom: the boy was uncomplimentary enough before
you came, but he has been fifty times worse since you’ve been here to
encourage him in his impertinence.”
“A young cub!” muttered Harry aside, “I’ll twist his neck if he tells
tales out of school in this way;” turning to Alice, he continued, “it is
never too late to mend, is it? If I confess my sins, promise never to
do so any more, and throw myself on the mercy of the court, is there any
chance of my obtaining forgiveness?”
“As far as I am concerned, yes,” was the reply; “in consideration of
your services this afternoon, I graciously accord you a free pardon for
all past offences, and for the future we will try and be friends.” As
she spoke she half playfully, half in earnest, held out her hand. Harry
took it in his own, and shook it--even in a glove it was a nice, warm,
soft little hand, a kind of hand that it was impossible to relinquish
without giving it a squeeze, at least such was Harry’s impression, and
he acted upon it, although to do so was by no means in accordance
with his principles; but he did not happen to be thinking about his
principles just then. By this time the storm, which had pretty well
exhausted itself by its violence, resigned in favour of a lovely sunset;
and the horses having come to the conclusion that they had thoroughly
disgraced themselves, and behaved with an equal disregard of principle
and propriety, trotted steadily along under Coverdale’s skilful
guidance, like a pair of four-legged penitents, anxious to retrieve
their character. And Harry and Alice suddenly found a great deal to talk
about, and were quite surprised when they perceived themselves to be in
sight of the Grange; and the gentleman felt moved by a sudden impulse
to declare that, despite its unpropitious commencement, he did not know
when he had had such a delightful drive, to which the lady replied that
it certainly had been very agreeable, an admission which she endeavoured
to qualify by attributing her pleasurable sensations to the influence
of the setting sun and the delicious coolness of the evening air--a
transparent attempt at deception that only rendered the truth more
obvious.
The next morning a groom brought back Sir Lancelot, together with a note
from Mr. Crane, saying that he had contrived to get wet through on
his way to the inn, that he feared he had taken cold, and therefore
considered it most prudent to return home for a day or two; adding that
he should hope to be sufficiently convalescent to rejoin the party
at the Grange that day week, when a dinner was to be given by Mr.
Hazlehurst to some of the county magnates. His note wound up with an
elaborate inquiry as to whether Alice had experienced any ill-effects
from the “atmospheric inclemency,” as he was pleased to style the
thunder-storm, accompanied by an infallible specific against all
sore-throats, colds, hoarsenesses, and rheumatic affections, which that
young lady straightway committed to the waste-paper basket. There was
also a note for Horace D’Almayne, from which dropped an inclosure that,
as the exquisite stooped to pick it up, looked marvellously like a
cheque.
“A--really I find I must go to town--a--business of importance--can I
execute any little commissions for you, Miss Hazlehurst? I’ve excellent
taste in ribands, I assure you.”
“There, do you hear that!” observed Tom _sotto voce_ to Coverdale. “I
always thought he’d been a counter-jumper!”
“Kate, must I accompany him?” inquired Arthur of his cousin, _sotto
voce_; “remember, if you send me from you now, we meet again as
strangers!” There was a moment’s struggle, and her colour went and
came--then in a cold, hard voice she answered, “Yes, go!”
Arthur looked at her; her features might have been sculptured in marble,
so fixed and immovable was their expression. That look decided him; and
with set teeth and lowering brow he rose and quitted the room.
In less than half-an-hour he returned, prepared for a journey; and
beckoning Coverdale aside, began, “Harry, I have a favour to ask of you.
I am obliged to go to town suddenly, in consequence of an affair which
has caused me some annoyance; but I shall come back for the dinner-party
on the ----th. Crane will also return then; and from what I can make out,
Alice’s affair will be definitely settled one way or other. The more
I see of Crane, the more I perceive how thoroughly he and Alice are
unsuited; but my father appears obstinately bent on the match: and if
Alice is to refuse him, she will require all the support that can be
given her. My poor mother’s health is, as you are aware, so delicate,
that although she is as much averse to the match as any of us, we cannot
expect her to exert herself; indeed, our chief anxiety is to prevent her
attempting to do so. The whole thing will, therefore, fall upon me: and
your support and assistance will be invaluable. My father has taken a
great fancy to you; and your opinion weighs with him more than you will
believe. I am sorry to perceive that you are bored to death here; but
I trust to your friendship to remain till after my return. Am I taxing
your kind feeling too far?”
“My dear boy, don’t make pretty speeches; for I can stand anything but
that,” was the reply. “As to staying here, I had no thought of going
away till you had done with me. In regard to being bored, I’m getting
over that beautifully. Your family are charming people. I’m becoming
used to women’s society, and, in fact, find it’s not by any means as
bad as imagination painted it; and when D’Almayne is fairly out of the
house, I really shall not care how long I remain in it; so will that
satisfy you?”
“My dear fellow,” rejoined Hazlehurst, warmly, “there’s nobody like you
in the world! I’ve always said so, from the day that I first set eyes on
you at Eton, when you thrashed the bully of the form for striking me,
and then boxed my ears because I took a blow from a boy less than
myself, without returning it. I shall never quite turn misanthrope while
I’ve you for a friend.”
“Misanthrope! no, why should you?” was the surprised rejoinder. “What
ails you, man?--you look ill and unhappy. It’s nothing in the money way,
is it? I’ve got a few odd thousands lying idle at my bankers, that I
should really be obliged to you to make use of.”
Hazlehurst shook his friend’s hand heartily. “God bless you, old fellow!
I know you would.” he said; “but money can’t help me: I must fight it
out alone. I shall be myself again by the time I return--till then,
good-by,” and wringing Coverdale’s hand once more, he turned and was
gone.
“Alice, here’s a treat! everybody’s going away except that horrid Harry
Coverdale!” exclaimed Emily, in a tone of despair; “we shall have him
on our hands, talking stable, and wishing we were dogs and horses, for a
whole week! What are we to do with the creature?”
Alice turned her head to hide her heightened colour, as she replied,
in a tone of voice that was almost cross, “Really, Emily, you should be
careful not to carry that absurd habit of yours of laughing at everybody
too far. People will begin to call you flippant. Mr. Coverdale is so
good-natured that he is the easiest person in the world to entertain.
Surely, Arthur has a right to ask his friend to remain here without
consulting you or me on the subject.”
“Phew!” whistled Emily, and a droll little parody of a whistle it was;
“the wind has changed, has it? I suppose that was the thunder-storm
yesterday; not to mention a certain _tête-à-tête_ drive. Take care,
Ally: recollect that sweet bird the Crane! what does the song say?” and
popping herself down at the pianoforte, she ran her fingers lightly over
the keys, as she sang with mischievous archness:
“’Tis good to be merry and wise,
’Tis good to be honest and true,
’Tis good to be off with the _old_ love
Before you are on with the new.”
The party which sat down to dinner at Hazlehurst Grange on that day was
a very select one. Mr. Hazlehurst had driven over to the neighbouring
town on justice business, and having sentenced certain deer-stealers to
undergo divers unpleasantnesses in the way of oakum-picking, solitary
confinement, and other such amenities of prison discipline, had
stayed to reward virtue by dining with his brother-magistrates upon
orthodoxly-slaughtered venison. Accordingly, Mrs. Hazlehurst and the
three young ladies, Harry Coverdale and Master Tom, sat down to
what Mrs. Malaprop would have termed “quite a _tête-à-tête_ dinner”
together;--a tame and docile curate, invited on the spur of the moment
to counterbalance Harry, having missed fire, owing to the untimely
repentance of a perverse old female parishioner, who being taken poorly
and penitent simultaneously, had sent her imperative compliments to
the Rev. B. A. A. Lambkin, and she would feel obliged by his coming to
convert her at his very earliest possible convenience; to which serious
call he felt obliged to respond.
Coverdale had found himself in an unusual and peculiar frame of mind all
day; for perhaps the first time in his life he had felt disinclined to
active exertion; and had positively gone the length of abstracting from
the library a volume of Byron, and spent the afternoon lying under a
tree, reading the _Bride of Abydos_. Now his peculiarity took a new
turn; and, freed from his incubus, D’Almayne, a sense of the domestic
and sociable suddenly sprang up within him, and throwing off all
reserve, he appeared for the first time during his visit in his true
colours--that is, unaffected, courteous, kind-hearted, amusing, and
well-informed. In consequence possibly of this change, the dinner went
off most agreeably; and the absence of the Reverend Lambkin was mentally
decreed to be a subject of thanksgiving, by more than one member of the
party.
In the evening there were certain wasps’-nests to be destroyed, about
which Harry had expressed much interest; but now he discovered that he
had blistered his heel on the previous day, by running in a tight boot;
and Tom, mightily discontented at his defection, was forced to invade
the enemy’s country without the assistance of his ally. When Coverdale
rejoined the ladies, Emily was reading Tennyson’s _Princess_ aloud, and
the moment he appeared, she declared she was tired, and handed the book
to him, begging him to proceed; her mischievous intention being
thereby to overwhelm him with confusion, and derive amusement from his
consequent mistakes. But she met her match for once, as Harry, coolly
replying that he should have much pleasure, took the book and began
reading in a deep rich voice, with so much taste and feeling, that her
surprise soon changed to admiration. After tea, music was proposed, and
the moment Alice began to sing Coverdale, for the first time since he
had been in the house, approached the piano, and actually turned over
the leaves for her!
“That lovely _Là ci darem!_ Ah, Alice! if we had but a gentleman’s voice
to take the second! Why _don’t_ you sing, Mr. Coverdale?” exclaimed
Emily, turning over the pages of the duet.
“I’ll try what I can do if _you_ wish it,” was Coverdale’s quiet answer.
Alice, to whom he spoke, glanced at him in speechless surprise; but
Emily, at once making up her mind that he was attempting a hoax, and
eager to turn the tables upon him, resumed--
“Bravo! give me your seat, Alice, I’ll play the accompaniment for you
both.”
Now the truth was, that Harry had been gifted by nature with a rich
powerful voice and excellent ear, qualities which the admiration of his
“set” at Cambridge had induced him to cultivate. When he first started
on his grand tour, he encountered at Florence the mother and sisters of
an old college friend, and those being the days before he had foresworn
young ladies’ society, he was let in for a mild flirtation with one
of the daughters. The “emphatic she” happened to be _fanatica per la
musica_. Accordingly for three months Harry took lessons of the best
master in the place, and sang duets morning, noon, and night; at the end
of which period the “loved one” bolted with a black-bearded native, who
called himself a count, and _was_ a courier. Since which episode, Harry,
disgusted with the whole affair, and all connected with it, had chiefly
confined his singing to lyrical declarations that he would “not go home
till morning.” It will therefore be less a matter of surprise to the
reader, than it was to his audience at the Grange, that Coverdale
performed his part in the duet with equal taste and skill, and very much
better than Alice did hers--that young lady pronouncing her Italian
with rather a midland-county accent than otherwise, although her sweet,
fresh, young voice, in great measure atoned for this little peculiarity.
“Why, Mr. Coverdale, what a charming voice you have, and how beautifully
you sing!” exclaimed Emily, looking at him as if she could not even yet
believe that it was possible he should have so distinguished himself.
“I thought you were hoaxing us, and I sat down to play the duet for the
amiable purpose of exposing your ignorance.”
“How did you acquire such a pure Italian accent?” asked Mrs. Hazlehurst;
“it will be of the greatest advantage to my girls to sing with _you_.”
“I learned of an Italian fellow when I was at Florence, and I suppose he
taught me to do the business all right,” was the careless reply.
“And you have been here more than a week,” continued Mrs. Hazlehurst,
“and allowed Mr. D’Almayne to monopolise both the reading and singing
department, though he cannot fill either one quarter as efficiently as
you are able to do. You really are too diffident.”
“I don’t imagine diffidence to have had very much to do with it,”
observed Kate Marsden, quietly raising her eyes from her work (a crochet
purse with steel beads), and fixing them on Coverdale.
Harry laughed slightly as with heightened colour he replied, “You are
too clever, Miss Marsden. I by no means approve of being subjected to
such subtle _clairvoyance_; however, I may as well honestly confess that
you are right, and that a feeling more akin to pride than to humility
has prevented my seeking to rival Mr. D’Almayne.”
“_We_ have found you out at last though,” returned Emily, “and I for
one will do my best to punish you for your idleness, by making you
sing every song I can think of. I don’t believe it was either pride or
humility which kept you silent--it was nothing but sheer idleness.”
“Judging of her principles from her practice, I can readily believe Miss
Emily Hazlehurst must consider silence to result from some reprehensible
cause,” replied Coverdale, with a meaning smile.
Of course Emily made a pert rejoinder, and of course Coverdale was
forced to sing half-a-dozen more songs, which, as he had by this time
got up the steam considerably, he did in a style which won him fresh
laurels but it was a remarkable fact, that from the moment in which
Harry began to read aloud, Alice, although her attention had never
flagged, had scarcely uttered a single word--perhaps it was because she
thought the more.