“Yes, to be sure, the water was out at the brook, and I thought the mare might attempt to cross it; but is Fanny safe? Where is she?”
“She is here,” replied I, turning towards the place where she still knelt, her face hidden in her hands. “She is here to thank you for having saved her life.”
“Why, Fanny, was it you who were supporting my head? how very kind of you! What! crying?” he continued, gently attempting to withdraw her hands; “nay, nay, we must not have you cry.”
“She was naturally a good deal frightened by the mare's running away,” replied I, as Fanny still appeared too much overcome to speak for herself; “and then she was silly enough to fancy, when you fainted, that you were actually dead, I believe; but I can assure you that she is not ungrateful.”
“No, indeed,” murmured Fanny, in a voice scarcely audible from emotion.
“Why, it was no very great feat after all,” rejoined Harry. “On such a jumper as the Cid, and coming down on soft marshy ground too, 1 would not mind the leap any day; besides, do you think I was going to remain quietly there, and see Fanny drowned before my eyes? if it had been a precipice, I would have gone over it.” While he spoke, Harry had regained his feet; and, after walking up and down for a minute or so, and giving himself a shake, to see if he was all right, he declared that he felt quite strong again, and able to ride home. And so, having devised a leading-rein for Rose Alba, one end of which I kept in my own possession, we remounted our horses, and reached Heathfield without further misadventure.
CHAPTER XLIII — A CHARADE—NOT ALL ACTING
“And then, and much it helped his chance—
He could sing, and play first fiddle, and dance—
Perform charades, and proverbs of France.”
—Hood.
“I have often heard this and that and t'other pain mentioned
as the worst that mortals can endure—such as the toothache,
earache, headache, cramp in the calf of the leg, a boil, or
a blister—now, I protest, though I have tried all these,
nothing seems to me to come up to a pretty sharp fit of
jealousy.”
—Thinks I to Myself.
LAWLESS'S penitence, when he learned the danger in which Fanny had been placed by his thoughtlessness and impetuosity, was so deep and sincere that it was impossible to be angry with him; and even Oaklands, who at first declared he considered his conduct unpardonable, was obliged to confess that, when a man had owned his fault frankly, and told you he was really sorry for it, nothing remained but to forgive and forget it. And so everything fell into its old train once more, and the next few days passed smoothly and uneventfully. I had again received a note from Clara, in answer to one I had written to her. Its tenour was much the same as that of the last she had sent me. Cumberland was still absent, and Mr. Vernor so constantly occupied that she saw very little of him. She begged me not to attempt to visit her at present; a request in the advisability of which reason so fully acquiesced, that although feeling rebelled against it with the greatest obstinacy, I felt bound to yield. Harry's strength seemed now so thoroughly re-established, that Sir John, who was never so happy as when he could exercise hospitality, had invited a party of friends for the ensuing week, several of whom were to stay at the Hall for a few days; amongst others Freddy Coleman, who was to arrive beforehand, and assist in the preparations; for charades were to be enacted, and he was reported skilful in the arrangement of these saturnalia of civilised society, or, as he himself expressed it, he was “up to all the dodges connected with the minor domestic enigmatical melodrama”. By Harry's recommendation I despatched a letter to Mr. Frampton, claiming his promise of visiting me at Heathfield Cottage, urging as a reason for his doing so immediately, that he would meet four of his old Helmstone acquaintance, viz., Oak-lands, Lawless, Coleman, and myself. The morning after Coleman's arrival, the whole party formed themselves into a committee of taste, to decide on the most appropriate words for the charades, select dresses, and, in short, make all necessary arrangements for realising a few of the very strong and original, but somewhat vague, ideas, which everybody appeared to have conceived on the subject.