Charles, on every account, had restrained himself as far as possible, and had done so always when he himself was assailed; but when the attack was levelled at his mother, even the presence of others could, not prevent his eyes from flashing and his lip from quivering, in a manner that startled and alarmed both Lucy and Mrs. Effingham.
When he was alone with them he was all that was kind and gentle, without making any effort whatsoever to conceal the quick and hasty disposition which was certainly his. Lucy then seemed well pleased in his society; for she was gay and cheerful, though with an occasional degree of gravity, which never suffered him to forget what Lady Tyrrell had told him. When they were all in the society of his father, however, the very apprehension which she entertained of some quarrel, seemed to make her regard him with greater interest. Her eyes were frequently upon him, and she appeared in those moments, when he was excited by, and struggling with, the strong passions of his nature, to look upon him with a degree of awe.
Thus the matter had proceeded till the party had been assembled at Harbury Park for four days. On the evening of that day it was determined, that on the following morning, if fine, as Sir Francis was to be engaged with his Court Baron, Lady Tyrrell and Mrs. Effingham, neither of whom were competent to much exertion, should go down to the manor-house and make various arrangements there; while Lucy, accompanied by Charles, and under the safe conduct of Mr. Driesen, should proceed on horseback to the seaside (the nearest point of which lay at about four miles from the house), and take a canter along the sands.
The morning, when it arrived, was as beautiful as it could be, and everything was prepared to set out, when it was found that one of the horses wanted shoeing, and the delay of nearly an hour took place. Mr. Driesen consoled himself with some of his favourite studies, while Charles and Lucy stood in the conservatory, whiling away the time by talking over what the Latin poet, with a sort of prophetical inspiration of an Irish bull, has happily expressed by words which may be rendered "everything in the universe and a little besides." At length the impediment was obviated, the horses brought round, and the party set out for the seaside.
Charles was an excellent horseman; and Mr. Driesen, though in figure resembling the prongs of a carving fork, was by no means otherwise than a good rider. Indeed, he excelled in most exercises. He was a skilful fisherman, and a good shot; and whatever he did, was done with such quiet ease, that it was evidently the result of long and early practice. Lucy also rode uncommonly well, and the whole party felt the exhilaration of beautiful weather, rapid motion, and command over the noblest beast in the creation.
The seashore was soon reached, and the sands were still uncovered, although a slight mistake about the time of tide, and the delay which had occurred ere they set out, had kept them so late that the sea was beginning to flow in. The coast, however, was by no means a dangerous one, so that there was no chance whatsoever of such an awful scene occurring as is depicted in the most beautiful and interesting of modern novels, called "Reginald Dalton." The sands were hard and firm, and you might gallop over them in safety, even with the water dancing round your horse's feet. There were high cliffy banks above the shore, it is true, in general crowned with dark masses of wood, which there approached fearlessly even to the very edge of the sea. But there were constant gaps in this cliffy barrier leading up into sweet inland valleys beyond, and through most of these gaps there wound away a path not fitted indeed for a carriage, but perfectly practicable for persons on horseback or on foot. A few lonely houses belonging to fishermen, in general covered for a roof with an inverted boat, were the only habitations for some way along the coast, except where a solitary martello tower marked the end of a headland at about two miles distance.
By the time they reached the seashore, a light summer haze had come over the blue sky. It could by no means be called a mist, for the earth and air around were all pure and clear. Nor did it properly deserve the name of a cloud, for the sun shone through it, though softened. But it was like a thin white veil drawn over the blue, and where a thin line or two of cloud did really appear and cross the disk of the sun, they became like streaks of gold, as we often see at the rising and setting of the great orb of day.
The beautiful weather was rendered all the more enjoyable by the absence of fiercer light and greater heat, for there was not a single breath of wind upon the waters, which, instead of dashing upon the shore with a roar and a bound, rippled calmly up with a low, peaceful rustle, as if afraid of breaking the silence.
Lucy Effingham declared that to her ear the waves seemed to say "Hush;" and Mr. Driesen begun a dissertation upon the real and fanciful affinities of sounds and objects in the external world to the feelings, and thoughts, and actions, and fortunes of man. It was a fine and a high theme; and though, perhaps, upon that subject he thought not right or wisely, he spoke eloquently, nay, poetically.
Charles Tyrrell was almost angry that he displayed himself to so much advantage in the eyes of Lucy Effingham; but he knew not what was going on in Lucy's bosom, and therefore did not comprehend, that although the flow of words, the choice, the beautiful, and the appropriate expressions which Mr. Driesen might use, could not but have some effect; yet Lucy felt, as it were by instinct, that there was an art in the whole; that it was a composition which Mr. Driesen spoke, not an outpouring of the simple heart in the grand presence of Nature. She would rather a thousand times have heard a few words less polished, less refined, from the lips of Charles Tyrrell; but he remained very nearly silent, more struck with the observations of their companion than she was; for men in general do not perceive the want of nature and simplicity in such things so easily as women do, and appreciate metaphysical refinements more highly.