Miles Tremenhere Volume I Part 9

"Why, you see, Master Miles--and lauk, if I a'n't forgettin' too, calling you Master--well, never mind, it's more homely: Miss Minnie will be only seventeen come next month, and eight years have gone by since----"

"True, true!" he hastily answered, interrupting her, "and Miss Dalzell was then but a little child"--he sighed, that man of eight-and-twenty felt so old.

"And Miss Minnie was seldom at home then. She lived almost entirely with Lady Ripley, for her ladys.h.i.+p's child's sake; but you must have seen her, too, Master Miles."

"Yes," he said thoughtfully; "I now recall, at times, a pretty little fairy thing flitting about the grounds and gardens when I came home; for _then_ my first visit was ever here, to see you Mrs. Gillett, and good, kind Miss Dorcas, and to teaze your master and Miss Sylvia with my wilful spirits."

"Lauk, yes!" said she sadly; and the memory of all brought the joyous boy in so much bitter comparison with the outcast, saddened man, that Mrs. Gillett, kind at heart, began to cry.

"Come, come!" he said kindly taking her hand; "don't be sorrowful. I thank you for those evidences that I am not forgotten by all."

"Oh, not by me, Master Miles; but I've a hard card to play here amongst 'em all, and that hardens the heart--for they all want the same thing.

They all wish Miss Minnie to marry some one of their own choosing, and, as I say, she can't be a bigamy, and marry all, so there's no use wurrittin' her about it so."

"And does she not love any one?"

"Law bless you, no--not one more than t'other; my belief is, she likes her black mare 'Jet' better nor any of them."

Miles felt glad to hear this, for he had heard of none worthy of the fair girl who had been poor Mary's Christian support in her trouble.

Even Skaife he did not deem fitting for that beautiful gem; she merited a more gorgeous setting than a homely curate's home could be. She was no longer as a stranger to his thought; he forgot the past eight bitter years of his life, and remembered himself a boy again, looking on a rosy, lovely child. Mrs. Gillett's doubts were all cleared away, and an open path before her. Age, and the prejudices of others, had made her regard Miles with fear, and almost aversion. Now the better influence of woman's nature prevailed, and she remembered him only as the comely youth she had once liked so much. Cranky people make others cross and disagreeable. She was accustomed to nothing but complaints from Juvenal and Sylvia, with a milder portion, in the way of advice required, by Dorcas; and thus she had had all the juices of her nature drying up beneath this fire of unhappy prognostications from all. With Miles she became almost young again, and fearlessly promised to procure him the desired interview, provided _no one knew it_, which he faithfully promised they should not, from him; and, while they were consulting how it should be accomplished, the girl herself advanced to the window with her cousin. Miles drew back in a corner, and his heart beat for more reasons than one.

"Good-evening, Mrs. Gillett," said Lady Dora, in an affable tone. "You really improve in good looks every time we meet." Poor Mrs. Gillett was red as a peony with agitation, and could only utter, "Your ladys.h.i.+p's very good to notice _me_!"

"Gillett, dear," cried Minnie, in her girlish, ringing tone, "we are coming in to have a chat with you; put a chair for us to step on!"

"Not for the world, miss," almost shrieked the alarmed woman. "Oh dear!

no; maybe you'll hurt yourself."

"Good gracious--no, Gillett! you know I always come in this way," and she stooped as if to enter.

"No, miss--oh dear, no!" continued the other, dragging away the chair in her terror. "I never will consent; it mustn't be."

"Are you mad?" exclaimed the amazed girl. The woman caught Miles's face; he was smiling. Altogether her position was so critical, she became doubly confused, and said something incoherent about "Lady Dora's dignity."

"I see what it is," said that lady. "Mrs. Gillett has forgotten the girl she used to scold once; so, Minnie, we will sit outside here, and I will make her better acquaintance as a woman," and the cousins, suiting the action to the word, sat down each on a garden-chair, which they drew close to the window. This was a thousand times worse than any position she ever had been in; no blindness, no pattens, could save her here.

She was not a free agent--What would they say? what do? and besides, the door was locked--should any one rap! It was the hour when the servants generally required her advice or presence to prepare for supper; her agony was intense. She durst not move lest Minnie should step in, using her own chair for that purpose. Every possible thought crossed her mind to terrify her--should Miles sneeze? and, in the midst of all this, Minnie began--

"Now," she said, "Gillett, I've come to scold you for your cruelty yesterday to poor Mr. Tremenhere."

Mrs. Gillett was seized with a violent fit of coughing; could _any_ subject more terrible under circ.u.mstances have been selected? Miles was all attention.

"You've a bad cough," said Lady Dora, kindly, for her; but she wanted Minnie's homely warmth of speech.

"Th-an-k you-r la-dy-s.h.i.+p, I ha-ve," coughed the woman.

"You should be careful at your age," continued the other. "Colds are the forerunners of all disease, they say."

"So o-ur doc-tor tel-ls me," uttered the housekeeper, perplexed how to keep up the cough; "and he sa-ys I sh-ou-l-d avoid dr-aughts!"

"And here we are," cried the feeling Minnie, "keeping you in one." She rose hastily. Mrs. Gillett began in all grat.i.tude, thanking her lucky star for taking them away, as she supposed that luminary so intended to do; when, lo! at that instant, a hand tried the lock, then rap--rap--rap, succeeded--then Sylvia's voice! The housekeeper was nearly frantic. She hurried half-way to the door, then returned. Miles stood perfectly still and composed.

"I'll go round by the garden, Minnie," said Lady Dora, rising. "Don't remain long with Mrs. Gillett," and she turned away with her slow, majestic walk. Minnie put her chair in at the window, stepping in like a cat upon it. Gillett indistinctly saw all this; she wrung her hands, hurried to the a.s.sailed door, opened it, slipping through a crevice she would have dreamed an impossible feat of performance an hour before, and speaking loudly as she did so.

"Oh! Miss Sylvia, I'm so fl.u.s.terated I don't know what I'm a-doing of; there's a strange cat come into my room, and gone into a fit--don't go in!" she screamed, as the courageous Sylvia attempted to do so. "It will bite, maybe! I'll lock it in; the window is open--it will go as it comed, I daresay!" and, suiting the action to the word, she tremblingly turned the key, which she had taken outside with her. Presence of mind is woman's greatest gift.

CHAPTER IX.

"They must settle it between them," she muttered to herself as she did so. "After what he told me, I ain't afeard of him! And very fortunate it is, to be sure, that he should be thinking of another, or else he'd be sartain to fall in love with Miss Minnie, and _that_ wouldn't do!" And, consoling herself in her error, she trotted down the pa.s.sage after Sylvia.

"Gillett--Mrs. Gillett!" cried Minnie, flying across the room to the closing door; "let me out!"

But the door was locked in an instant. Sylvia had turned away, and Gillett followed, blessing herself for the clever manner in which she met poor Miles's wishes (for she really liked him,) without actually compromising herself by arranging a meeting. Minnie turned, and was going out by the window, as she had entered, wondering much at the housekeeper's strange behaviour, when, in turning, she beheld Miles. She started back, uttering a half scream.

"Pray, do not be alarmed, Miss Dalzell," he said, advancing courteously--"'tis I, Miles Tremenhere, here, and with Mrs. Gillett's consent; may I speak a word to you?"

"_You_ here, Mr. Tremenhere--and with Mrs. Gillett's connivance?"

"I here, Miss Dalzell--you may indeed be amazed; but pray, pardon my audacity, but I have something to tell you, for which reason I am here.

May I act most unceremoniously in your own house, and offer you a chair?"

She bowed as he did so, and seated herself, though in much perplexity of thought.

"I would speak to you," he said seriously, standing beside her, "of one you take an interest in."

"Mary Burns!" she cried. "Oh! pray be seated, and tell me of her. I went to the cottage at six this morning, but it was vacant."

"Did you, indeed!" he exclaimed, gazing in deep admiration upon the lovely face raised to his in confidence and innocence. "I wish I had divined that; how very good you are, Miss Dalzell!--this will much gratify poor Mary, she is so crushed and bowed down."

"Oh! do not say I am good; 'tis a sacred duty we owe a distressed fellow creature. We should not trample upon the fallen, lest they rise against us, and themselves in bitterness: where is she, Mr. Tremenhere?"

But Tremenhere's thoughts had changed their current; might he not be pardoned for seeking a motive to interest in his fate that young heart?

Within the last half hour he had been searching the haunts of memory, and she had given him back a sunny day, ten long years gone by.

"It is a great tax on a memory so young as yours, Miss Dalzell," he said, without having even heard her question, "to ask it to look back ten years; can you recall the time when you were seven years of age?"

"Oh, well!" she answered unhesitatingly, as if she had known him all the intervening s.p.a.ce between that, and the present. "I had never quitted home then, since when, I have been much at Loughton, with my cousin Dora; but I remember that happy time well. I was a very, very joyous child. They say, those kind of children know much and early trouble; but I don't believe that--do you?"

"Heaven keep you from it!" he energetically said, "_I_ was a _very_ happy boy."

Minnie looked up in his handsome face, and her bright blue eyes clouded over--"Poor Miles Tremenhere!" she thought.

"You used to ride," he continued, "on a pretty grey pony, and a large dog always followed it."

"Yes!" she answered amazed; "and old Thomas, my uncle's coachman, walked beside me; but how do you know this, Mr. Tremenhere?"