CHAPTER LI.
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."