Then she stopped a moment to kiss him heartily. “I shall never forget this night, dear. I shall always make excuses for you. Oh, shall we never get home?”
“We shall be home as soon as they will,” said Reginald. “Come on.”
He gabbled to her the whole way; but the reader has probably had enough of his millclack.
Lady Bassett reached home, and had just ordered a large fire in Compton's bedroom, when Sir Charles came in, bringing the boy.
The lady ran out screaming, and went down on her knees, with her arms out, as only a mother can stretch them to her child.
There was not a word of scolding that night. He had made her suffer; but what of that? She had no egotism; she was a true mother. Her boy had been lost, and was found; and she was the happiest soul in creation.
But the fathers of these babes in the wood were both intensely mortified, and took measures to keep those little lovers apart in future. Richard Bassett locked up his gate: Sir Charles padlocked his; and they both told their wives they really must be more vigilant. The poor children, being in disgrace, did not venture to remonstrate! But they used often to think of each other, and took a liking to the British Sunday; for then they saw each other in church.
By-and-by even that consolation ceased. Ruperta was sent to school, and passed her holidays at the sea-side.
To return to Reginald, he was compelled to change his clothes that evening, but was allowed to sit up, and, when the heads of the house were a little calmer, became the hero of the night.
Sir Charles, gazing on him with parental pride, said, “Reginald, you have begun a new life to-day, and begun it well. Let us forget the past, and start fresh to-day, with the love and gratitude of both your parents.”