THE GODMOTHER'S MISTAKE.
Young Hurst was scarcely conscious that he was left alone. His feeble
strength was taxed to the utmost. That one burst of indignant feeling
had left his breath in thrall, and his limbs quivering. At length he
became conscious that Lady Rose was gone, and starting up, with a
sudden effort of strength, flung open the glass door, which led out
upon a flower-terrace, and would have passed through on his way to the
cottage, for his brain was all on fire, but that Mrs. Mason stood
there chatting to one of the under-gardeners, who was trimming the
rose-bushes, while he talked with her.
"Mercy on me!" cried the dame, breaking off her stream of gossip, with
a cry of amazement, "if there isn't the young master, looking like the
beautiful tall ghost of his own dear self. Never mind cutting the
flowers now. I'll be back for them presently."
Young Hurst had forced his strength too far; a swift dizziness seized
upon him, and, but for a garden-chair, that stood near, he must have
fallen before the good housekeeper reached him. As it was, he half lay
upon the iron seat, grasping it with his hands, or he would have
entirely dropped to the ground.
"My master! My dear young master!" cried the good woman, half-lifting
him to a sitting posture. "What could have tempted you out in this
state? No wonder you were taken faint, and this the first time
down-stairs. There, now, the fresh wind is doing you good. Dear me, it
gives one a pleasure to see you smile again."
"The air is sweet, and you are very kind, Mason. I felt so strong a
minute ago; but see where it has ended."
"Oh, that is nothing. The first step always counts for the most.
To-day across the terrace--to-morrow in the park!"
"Do you think so, Mason? Do you really think so?"
"Think so? Of course! Young people get up so quickly. If it were me
now, or that old man at the garden cottage, there would be no
telling."
"You have seen him, then? Is he better? Is he--"
"Seen him? Of course I have. It is a heavy walk, but Webb told me how
eagerly you took to the strawberries; so I bade Ruthy save the ripest
for you every morning; not that she needed telling, for she has picked
every one of them, with her own fingers, and the flowers, too."
"Indeed!" murmured the young man, and he smiled as if the strawberries
were melting in his mouth.
"Yes, indeed, this morning, when she got here with her little basket
full, her fingers were red with them; for she came directly from the
beds, that you might have them in their morning-dew, as if they would
be the better for that, foolish child."
"Is she well? Is she looking well, Mason?"
"What, Ruthy? No; I can't just say that. With so much sickness in the
house, how should she? But a rose is a rose, whether it be white or
red."
"Does she ever inquire about me, Mason? We used to be play-fellows,
you know."
"Inquire? As if those great eyes of hers had done anything but ask
questions; but then years divide people of her rank and yours.
Children who play together as equals are master and servant as they
become men and women, and my goddaughter is not one to forget her
place."
A faint smile quivered over Hurst's lips.
"No, she is not one to forget her place," he murmured, tenderly. Then,
remembering himself, he said, with an attempt at carelessness, "But is
there not some foolish story afloat about young Storms? That might
trouble her, I should think."
"Trouble her? Why, the child only laughs, as if it was the most
maidenly thing on earth to be roaming about with the young man by
moonlight and starlight, for that matter, and protesting to her best
friends that there is nothing in it; that she has no thoughts of
marrying him, and never leaves the cottage on any pretence after
night-fall. Of course young women think such things no lies, and never
expect to be believed; but Ruthy has been brought up better, and need
not attempt to throw sand into her godmother's eyes, whatever she does
with the rest of the world."
"You speak as if you believed all this nonsense," said Hurst, with
quick fire in his eyes.
"Believe it? Why, there isn't a man on the estate who has not seen
them, over and over again. Not that there is harm in it, because old
Storms and Jessup have agreed upon it while they were children, and
Ruth was ever obedient. Only I don't like her way of denying what
everybody knows, especially to me, who have been a mother to her. It
isn't just what I had a right to expect, now, is it, Master Walton?"
"I cannot tell; your statement seems so strange."
"Oh, it is only the old story. Girls never will tell the truth about
such matters; besides, I do not wonder that my goddaughter is just a
little shamefaced about her sweetheart. He isn't one to boast of
overmuch; though, they tell me, no needle was ever so sharp on money.
There he beats old Storms, out and out. Jessup has laid by a pretty
penny for his child, to say nothing of what I may do. So Ruthy will
not go away from home empty-handed, and one may be sure he knows it."
Walton Hurst broke into a light laugh, but he became serious at once,
and, looking kindly on the genial old woman, said, "You always were
good to her, God bless you!"
"Thank you, for saying so; but who could help it, the pretty little
orphan? It was like taking a bird into one's heart."
"It was, indeed," answered Hurst, thinking of himself, rather than the
old woman.
"And then to think that she must fly off into another nest. Well,
well, girls will be girls. Speaking of that, here comes my Lady Rose,
looking more like a lily to my thinking, so I will go my way."
Mrs. Mason did go her way, leaving the young man for a while perfectly
alone, for, though Lady Rose was hovering about her own pretty
boudoir, she did not come fairly out of its shelter, waiting, in her
maidenly reserve, for some sign that her presence out of doors would
be welcome.
No such sign was given her, for Hurst was greatly disturbed by what he
had heard, and almost frantic with desire to see Ruth, and hear a
contradiction of these base reports from her own lips. Not that he
doubted her, or gave one moment's credence to rumors so improbable,
but, with returning health, came a feverish desire to see the young
creature for whom he had been willing to sacrifice everything, and
redeem her, so far as he could, from the snare into which he had
guided her. In his hot impetuosity, he had involved himself and her in
a labyrinth of difficulties that led, as he could not help seeing, in
his calmer moments, to deception, if not dishonor.
"I will atone for it all," he said to himself. "The moment I am strong
enough to face his just resentment, my father shall know everything.
God grant that the disappointment will only rest with him," he added,
as his disturbed mind turned on Lady Rose with a thrill of
compunction. "In my mad haste I may have; but no, no! she is too
proud, too thoroughbred for a grand passion. It is only such reckless
fools as I am that risk all at a single throw. But Ruth, my sweet
young wife, how could I force this miserable deception on her? Had I
but possessed the courage to assert my own independent manhood, my
dear father would have had less to forgive, and I--But no matter, I
have made my bed, and must lie in it, which would be nothing if she
did not suffer also."
Thus the young man sat thinking, while Lady Rose flitted in and out of
the little boudoir, striving to trill soft snatches of song and hide
under music the anguish that made her so restless.
Hurst heard these soft gushes of melody, and mocked his previous
anxiety with a smile.
"What a presumptuous cad I am, to think that she will know a regret,"
he muttered, with a sense of relief.
Lady Rose opened the glass door, and looked out smiling, as if care
had never touched her heart.
"Shall I come and read to you?" she said.
"No," he answered, rising. "I will come to you."