“How could you be so unjust, so cruel, even in idea?” interrupted Annie reproachfully,—“I, who have never injured you in thought, word, or deed; but you were maddened at the time, and knew not what you did.”
“I must indeed have been mad,” exclaimed Lewis, completely overcome by the kindness of these last words, “when I could even for a moment forget the gentle courtesy with which you have always treated me—the consideration—the——” He paused abruptly and pressed his hand to his forehead as if to shut out some hateful vision, a relaxation of vigilance of which the near-side horse took advantage to shy at its own shadow and break into a canter, which manouvre restored Lewis’s self-possession in an instant, the rein was again tightened, and the culprit admonished, by a sharp stroke of the whip, that he was not to indulge in such caprices for the future, ere his driver resumed: “I had scarcely formed the idea you so justly stigmatise as cruel, when the atrocity of the act flashed across me, and as Lord Bellefield ran off to procure a boat, I sprang into the water and swam towards you. Imagine then the agony of mind with which I perceived that you would sink before I could reach you! At that moment I felt what it was to be a murderer! The rest of the tale you have no doubt heard from others—how it pleased the Almighty to permit the instinct of my noble dog to become the instrument by which you were saved from death, and I from a life of remorse, to which death itself would have been preferable. Of this you are already aware; it only remains for me to add that if the deepest self-abhorrence, the most sincere repentance for the past may weigh with you, you will forgive me the wrong I meditated.” At this moment the sound of horses’ feet cantering gave notice that General Grant was about to effect a junction with the main body, and Annie replied hastily, “As far as I have anything to forgive, Mr. Arundel, I do so most heartily. If for a moment you thought of allowing my life to be sacrificed, you risked your own to save it immediately afterwards, so that I remain your debtor, even putting to-day’s adventure out of the account—for I fully believe papa and I were in a fair way to break our necks, though he would not allow it.”
“Well, Annie,” remarked the General, riding up to his daughter’s side, “you don’t appear to be frightened now.”
“No, papa,” was the reply, “there is nothing to be alarmed at; the horses go as quietly as possible.”
“Ah! I thought I had pretty well tamed them,” returned the General triumphantly. “You scarcely find them at all difficult to restrain now, Mr. Arundel, I presume.”
“They do pull a little strongly even yet, sir,” returned Lewis quietly; “that glove was whole when I took the reins.” As he spoke he held up his left hand and disclosed two large rents caused by the friction.
“Hum!” replied the General, slightly disconcerted. “Well, you have driven them very steadily; don’t hurry them, take them in cool. Walter and I will precede you and explain how this adventure came about.” So saying he gave his horse the rein, and he and Walter cantered on.
“Lord Bellefield has behaved abominably,” observed Annie abruptly, after they had proceeded for some distance in silence; “he ought to apologise to you, and I have a great mind to make him do so.”
“Do not think of such a thing,” returned Lewis hastily. “If I can read his character, Lord Bellefield is a very proud man, and to one whom he considers his inferior he could not bring himself to apologise; nor, on calmly reviewing my own conduct, can I entirely acquit myself of having given him cause of offence. In my manner towards him I have shown too plainly my forgetfulness of our difference of station. Feeling that the son of one who was a soldier, a man of old family, and a gentleman in the highest sense of the word, is any man’s equal, I overlooked the distinction between the heir to a peerage and a poor tutor, and I treated Lord Bellefield, as I would any other man whose manner displeased me, cavalierly, without considering, or indeed caring, in what light my conduct might appear to him. This error I am resolved to avoid for the future, and if he will on his part forbear further insult, it is all I desire. Believe me,” added Lewis in a tone which carried conviction with it, “I do not undervalue your kindness in advocating my cause, but I would not have you suffer further annoyance on my account; so if you have really forgiven me, you will best show it by forgetting the whole matter as speedily as possible.”
Annie shook her head as though she considered such a termination to the affair highly improbable, merely replying, “Perhaps you are right in thinking I should do more harm than good by my interference; at all events, I will be guided in the matter by your wishes. And now, Mr. Arundel,” she continued, “let me say what I have often wished, but have never been able to find an opportunity to tell you before, and that is, that as long as you are with us—not that I mean to limit it only to that time—I hope you will regard me as a friend. I have heard from my cousin Charles an outline of the circumstances through which my father was fortunate enough to secure your valuable assistance for poor Walter, and I can well conceive how greatly you must feel the loss of the society of your mother and sister.”