“What has come to Harry now, I wonder?” thus ran his reflections; “if it were any one in the world but him, I should say he was flirting with Alice; but Harry never flirted in his life, so that is impossible.” He pondered for a moment, then an idea struck him. “I see it now; my father has forced the poor child to accept old Crane; Harry knows it, and the pity his kind, warm-hearted nature leads him to feel towards her, influences his manner. They were each coming to tell me all that has occurred, and have met by accident; yes, that must be it.” In order, however, more fully to satisfy himself of the correctness of his theory, he observed, in his usual light, jesting manner, “I think Mr. Coverdale, it behoves me, as ‘a man and a brother,’ to inquire how you happen to be marching about the country, tête-à-tête with my sister, at this unconscionably early hour?”
Harry, who, between his desire to enlighten Arthur as to the new and transcendently delightful, but especially embarrassing turn affairs had taken, and the impossibility of doing so before Alice—the overpowering nature of his feelings towards that young lady, and his extreme happiness at finding them reciprocated—the great and imminent danger in re Crane, and the humiliating confession regarding his lost influence with Mr. Hazlehurst, together with the awkward position in which he stood towards that outraged and obdurate elder—was in a tremendous frame of mind, merely started and stared vacantly at his interrogator.
But Alice, having by this time regained in some degree her self-possession, replied quietly, “Mr. Coverdale and I were both coming to meet you, and encountering each other accidentally, walked on together.”
As she spoke, Arthur, striving to read her countenance, fixed his eyes upon her. Unable to meet his glance she turned away with an April look, half tears half smiles. “It must be as I thought,” reflected Arthur; “but if anything is to be done to save her, no time should be lost. I’ll not waste the present opportunity. My dear Coverdale,” he continued aloud, “I wish to have a few minutes’ private conversation with my sister; you and I are too old friends to stand upon ceremony, so you will not be offended if I ask you to walk on, and wait for us at the stile at the end of the path.”
This direct appeal brought Harry to his senses, but not feeling sure whether Alice would approve of having the whole burden of explanation thrown upon her, he glanced inquiringly towards her ere he ventured to reply. Now, Alice, fond as she was of her brother, was also (from their difference in point of age, as well as from the fact that Arthur’s nature was more firm and resolute than her own, and his manner quick and abrupt) a little afraid of him. Thus, being aware how very highly he esteemed Coverdale—an estimation which she was inclined to transcend rather than to depreciate—a sudden fear seized her lest Arthur, deeming her a mere silly child, should consider his friend had done a foolish thing in choosing her for a wife, when he might have selected, at the very least, some strong-minded peeress, and that he might be angry with her for her presumption in having accepted him. This feeling, overpowering for the moment every other, induced her to respond to Harry’s look of inquiry by a slight shake of the head, and a glance which would have kept him by her side if a whole regiment of brothers, armed with Minie rifles and Colt’s revolvers, had attempted to separate them. But Arthur, being totally unarmed, and having simply asked a civil question, the answer which Harry, appropriately quoting Walter Scott, might have made to the hypothetical regiment, “Come one come all, this rock (not that there was a rock, but that is a trifle) will fly, from its firm base as soon as I,” was unfitted for the present emergency, and no other equally good suggested itself. What he did say was this, “A—really—of course I’d do it in a minute, my dear fellow—but—a—I’m not quite sure,”—here he glanced at Alice—“that is, I’m positively certain that—a—in fact, the thing’s impossible.”
“You’re certain that it’s impossible that you can walk on to the stile before Alice and me! My dear Harry, what are you talking—or rather (for the truth is you’re pre-occupied), what are you thinking about?” inquired Arthur, in amazement, seeing from the expression of his friend’s countenance that he was really anxious and excited. Coverdale was again hesitating how to reply, when Alice relieved him from his difficulty by saying hurriedly, “I will walk on, and leave you to talk to Mr. Coverdale.”
As she spoke, they reached the rustic bench before alluded to, and Arthur, completely mystified, seated himself, and made a sign to Coverdale to follow his example.
“One moment, and I’ll be with you,” replied Coverdale, springing to Alice’s side; “then I may tell him everything?” he continued.
“Oh yes,” was the unhesitating answer.
“And you will wait for us at the stile? I won’t detain him five minutes.”