“Joy, my dear fellow, wish me joy! I am going to town,—into the army; abroad; to be shot at, thank Heaven! That dear old gentleman! Just throw me that coat, will you?”
A very few more words sufficed to explain what had passed to Mainwaring. He sighed when his friend had finished: “I wish I were going with you!”
“Do you? Sir Miles has only got to write another letter to the Horse Guards. But no, you are meant to be something better than food for powder; and, besides, your Lucretia! Hang it, I am sorry I cannot stay to examine her as I had promised; but I have seen enough to know that she certainly loves you. Ah, when she changed flowers with you, you did not think I saw you,—sly, was not I? Pshaw! She was only playing with Vernon. But still, do you know, Will, now that Sir Miles has spoken to me so, that I could have sobbed, ‘God bless you, my old boy!’ ‘pon my life, I could! Now, do you know that I feel enraged with you for abetting that girl to deceive him?”
“I am enraged with myself; and—”
Here a servant entered, and informed Mainwaring that he had been searching for him; Sir Miles requested to see him in his room. Mainwaring started like a culprit.
“Never fear,” whispered Ardworth; “he has no suspicion of you, I’m sure. Shake hands. When shall we meet again? Is it not odd, I, who am a republican by theory, taking King George’s pay to fight against the French? No use stopping now to moralize on such contradictions. John, Tom,—what’s your name?—here, my man, here, throw that portmanteau on your shoulder and come to the lodge.” And so, full of health, hope, vivacity, and spirit, John Walter Ardworth departed on his career.
Meanwhile Mainwaring slowly took his way to Sir Miles. As he approached the gallery, he met Lucretia, who was coming from her own room. “Sir Miles has sent for me,” he said meaningly. He had time for no more, for the valet was at the door of the gallery, waiting to usher him to his host. “Ha! you will say not a word that can betray us; guard your looks too!” whispered Lucretia, hurriedly; “afterwards, join me by the cedars.” She passed on towards the staircase, and glanced at the large clock that was placed there. “Past eleven! Vernon is never up before twelve. I must see him before my uncle sends for me, as he will send if he suspects—” She paused, went back to her room, rang for her maid, dressed as for walking, and said carelessly, “If Sir Miles wants me, I am gone to the rectory, and shall probably return by the village, so that I shall be back about one.” Towards the rectory, indeed, Lucretia bent her way; but half-way there, turned back, and passing through the plantation at the rear of the house, awaited Mainwaring on the bench beneath the cedars. He was not long before he joined her. His face was sad and thoughtful; and when he seated himself by her side, it was with a weariness of spirit that alarmed her.
“Well,” said she, fearfully, and she placed her hand on his.
“Oh, Lucretia,” he exclaimed, as he pressed that hand with an emotion that came from other passions than love, “we, or rather I, have done great wrong. I have been leading you to betray your uncle’s trust, to convert your gratitude to him into hypocrisy. I have been unworthy of myself. I am poor, I am humbly born, but till I came here, I was rich and proud in honour. I am not so now. Lucretia, pardon me, pardon me! Let the dream be over; we must not sin thus; for it is sin, and the worst of sin,—treachery. We must part: forget me!”
“Forget you! Never, never, never!” cried Lucretia, with suppressed but most earnest vehemence, her breast heaving, her hands, as he dropped the one he held, clasped together, her eyes full of tears,—transformed at once into softness, meekness, even while racked by passion and despair.