“I told only that I had spilt the ink on the book.”
“And you did not mention my name?”
“No, I did not.”
But Lydia seemed to understand the tone and manner in which those few words were said, and hastened to efface the bad impression she had made. “You are a generous, noble girl, Matilda,” she said, “and though younger, far better than I am; you must teach me to be like you;” she twined her arms fondly round her waist, and they left the room together.
As Matilda finished reading the Bible that evening, she closed the book, and sat for some minutes in deep thought. “Am I a noble, generous girl?” she asked herself; “and does Lydia really think so? perhaps she only said it to flatter me; I wish I really knew; I wish I could ask Selina,—that would be betraying Lydia. No, I am not a noble girl—I often do wrong things; I wish I had not liked the praise so much, or believed Lydia. I wish I did not like her so; perhaps she does me no good; but it is not kind to Lydia to think so.” She knelt down and said her prayers, and fervently she asked to be forgiven for her disobedience and for having broken her promise. She asked also to have the love of praise more taken out of her heart; to be meek and lowly like Him she was taught to serve; and she got into bed more peaceful, almost happy, and soon fell asleep.
Saturday came, and Charles was faithful to his appointment. It was a bright morning, every thing looked gay in the sunshine, the ground sparkled with a light frost; but Selim was the most sure-footed of ponies. Leila rode between her papa and Charles—how could she be afraid? She was in high spirits, it was her first ride of any considerable length; she was quite elated by the dignity of her situation, and every now and then she touched Selim lightly with her whip, and sprang on a few yards before the others, and then looked back and laughed at their grave looks. By degrees she became more bold, more anxious to show off before Charles, and to prove to him that she had become quite an excellent horsewoman. She touched Selim less gently—he sprang forward, and from a brisk canter was soon at full gallop, Leila’s light figure seeming as if raised every moment into mid air.
The others held back; they knew the danger of following too closely. “Oh, my child! my child!” Mr. Howard repeatedly exclaimed. It was to both a moment of extreme agitation, for a turn in the road now hid Leila from their sight. But Leila, though much frightened at first, did not lose her presence of mind. She allowed Selim to proceed for some time without opposition, then gently checked him as Charles had instructed her to do, the obedient animal first slackened his pace, and then stood entirely still. Her papa and Charles came up, both looking much alarmed. Charles did not speak, he was extremely pale. Leila looked at them both and burst into tears. “Oh! how I have frightened and distressed you,” she said; “I have been so wrong, so silly; do forgive me papa—do not be angry—I am so sorry.”
“You have indeed been wrong, and very imprudent,” Mr. Howard answered; “and you have much reason to be grateful for the escape you have made. You are far too ignorant a horsewoman to be aware of the danger you exposed yourself to; but don’t let us talk of it any more at present; you have now got a lesson which I am sure you will not forget; keep close to us, my dear child, for you are still far too inexperienced to be trusted for a moment alone.”
They now proceeded without further interruption. Mina was watching for them at the park gate, and ran by their side all up the approach, they walking their horses that they might keep pace with her, and Leila chatting to her as gaily as ever. Mrs. Herbert’s reception of them was all that was kind and affectionate, as she welcomed Leila to her second home; and in rambling with Charles and Mina all over the grounds, the day was passed in much enjoyment. The place was extensive and kept in the most beautiful order. Leila, however, did not admire it quite so much as Woodlands; but what interested her greatly was a small picturesque-looking church which stood in the grounds and its adjoining parsonage. With this scene she was delighted; and when Charles told her the parsonage would probably one day be his future home, as he wished to take holy orders, and the living was in his father’s gift, she thought she had never seen any thing so charming.
“And it looks so comfortable,” she said, “so much nicer than a large house. How I wish Woodlands were no bigger than this parsonage!—how happy will you be, Charles, when you have such a house, and when I come to visit here—you will often ask Mina and me to come to tea, and you will let us make tea for you, time about, won’t you?—But, Charles,” she continued, “you are not so merry as you used to be, and you don’t say you would be happy to see us to tea—ah! I know what it is; you are angry with me.”