What could he intend me to understand, thought I; he evidently wished to imply something beyond the simple meaning of the words “game worth looking after”; could he mean to——no! the thing is impossible—“absurd!” exclaimed I, as a wild idea shot through my brain and I felt myself colour like a girl.
"What's absurd?” exclaimed Lawless, gathering up the reins as he spoke; “what are you talking about? why, you're ranting and staring about you like a play-actor; what's the matter with you, eh, Frank?”
“Nothing,” replied I, taking my seat; “don't drive too fast through the park, I want to look at the view as we go along.”
In obedience to the gaunt domestic's mysterious injunction I made the best use of my eyes as we retraced our way through the park, and for my pains had the satisfaction of beholding a solitary rabbit, half-hidden under a dock-leaf, and sundry carrion crows.
CHAPTER XVIII — THE GAME IN BARSTONE PARK
“The fringed curtains of thine eye advance and say what
thou see'st yond.”
—Tempest.
“Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.”
—Twelfth Night.
“Let us go thank him and encourage him.
My Guardian's rough and envious disposition
Strikes me at heart—Sir you have well deserved.”
—As You Like It.
WE had arrived within a quarter of a mile of the gate, and I had just settled to my thorough dissatisfaction that the old footman must be a humorist, and had diverted himself by making a kind of April-fool out of season of me, when, through the trees, which at that spot stretched their huge branches across the road so as to form a complete arch, I fancied I perceived the flutter of a woman's dress; and, in another moment, a turn in the drive disclosed to my view a female form, which I instantly recognised as that of Clara Saville.
Without a minute's hesitation I sprang to the ground before Lawless had time to pull up, and, saying to him, “I shall be back again directly; wait for me, there's a good fellow,” I hastily entered a winding path, which led through the trees to the spot where I had seen the young lady, leaving my companion mute from astonishment. Up to this moment, acting solely from a sort of instinctive impulse which made me wish to see and speak to Miss Saville, I had never considered the light in which my proceedings might appear to her. What right, I now asked myself, had I to intrude upon her privacy, and, as it were, force my company upon her, whether she wished it or not? Might she not look upon it as an impertinent intrusion? As these thoughts flitted through my brain I slackened my pace; and had it not been for very shame could have found in my heart to turn back again. This, however, I resolved not to do; having committed myself so far, I determined to give her an opportunity of seeing me, and, if she should show any intention of avoiding me, it would then be time enough to retrace my steps and leave her unmolested. With this design I proceeded slowly up the path, stopping now and then as if to admire the view, until a turn of the walk brought me in sight of a rustic bench, on which was seated the young lady I had before observed. As soon as she perceived me she rose and turned towards me, disclosing, as she did so, the graceful form and lovely features of my partner of the preceding evening. The morning costume, including a most irresistible little cottage-bonnet lined with pink, was even more becoming to her than the ball-dress; and when, instead of the cold air of constraint which had characterised her manner of the previous evening, she advanced to meet me with a slight blush and the most bewitching smile of welcome that ever set man's heart beating, I thought I had never seen anything so perfectly beautiful before.
“I must ask your forgiveness for venturing thus to intrude upon you, Miss Saville,” began I, after we had exchanged salutations; “but the temptation of learning from your own lips that you had sustained no injury was too strong to be resisted, more particularly after the disappointment of finding you were from home when I did myself the pleasure of calling on Mr. Vernor to inquire after you.”