"You mustn't take notice of anything Mr. Guy may say or do," he said gravely; "he isn't himself when he's in a passion, and he'll be sorry enough to-morrow that he so forgot himself to-day. The fact is, he's had his own way all his life, miss, and his mother spoilt him. You must make allowances for him, as we all do."
Felicia felt very little inclined to make allowances for her uncle at present, seeing that it had been simply to please him she had visited him at all that night. She would much rather have spent her leisure hour in the garden than in listening to the invalid's grumblings; but it was not too late now to have a breath of fresh air before supper, and, followed by Lion, she hastened downstairs and out of the front door.
It was growing dusk, for the August evenings were shortening, but she thought she would have time to go as far as the lake ere it became dark, and she started in that direction, her cheeks aflame with indignation, her heart full of resentful feelings against Uncle Guy. Who, seeing him to-night, would think he could be so nice and kind? It should be a long while, she determined, before she would consent to keep him company again; and if he wanted someone to read to him—well, she would not be that someone, that was all.
"It was shameful of him to hit Lion like that," she mused, "and cruel too! How could he have done it? What a temper he was in, to be sure! And I'm in a temper now, but then I've a right to be angry, and he had none."
Her eyes were so full of tears that she could scarcely see where she was going, and her heart was aching badly, for she had grown very fond of Uncle Guy; and then, who should she meet but her grandfather taking his after dinner stroll, and of course he noticed her emotion, and asked her what was amiss. In faltering accents she explained to him what had occurred.
"Poor Lion! Poor old fellow!" he exclaimed, with a sigh, as he caressed his favourite. "I am sorry you have been in mischief, old boy. He couldn't help it—eh? No, I understand. It is rather late for you to be out, Felicia; you had better return with me."
"Yes, grandfather," she responded obediently.
"Cheer up, my dear. You have looked so much brighter lately, and I have been very pleased to see it. I want you to be happy—you should try to live up to your name. Your uncle is not himself to-day; you must not grieve because he was cross—"
"He was so—so unjust!" Felicia interposed; "it wasn't fair of him to turn on me like that when he had sent for me. Next time he sends for me I won't go."
"I think you will, my dear; I am sure you will not bear malice in your heart," Mr. Renford said quietly, with a ring of sadness in his voice; "I've done that before now, myself, and I've lived to regret it. Do you see that tree?" he asked with a change of tone, indicating a high elm in the distance. "I remember your father climbing it once when he was a small boy, and being unable to come down again; I had to climb up and fetch him."