Alas! I was ignorant that he had actually written to Nathan Wylie, desiring that the pittance allowed me should be withdrawn, and that he was to turn me adrift for ever. The old minister of Netherwood, who was with him when this severe answer was despatched, besought him to "be clement, and to remember that he too had once been young."
"Yes," growled the gruff baronet, "but it is so very long ago that I have forgotten all about it. Zounds!" he added, flourishing his crutch, and smashing a wine decanter, "I'll make that young dog smart for this, as I made his father smart before him!"
His orders Mr. Nathan Wylie would cheerfully have obeyed; but in the end I may show how the lawyer, even in the matter of the will, outwitted himself, as he might, but for his hatred of my father's memory, and his slavish obsequiousness to Sir Basil, have made little Ruth one day Lady of Netherwood, and me, perhaps, his friend for ever.
On that dull February eve I knew nothing of all this, and so trod on for several miles with hope in my breast—hope that I might stir some chord of sympathy in the withered heart of Sir Basil; but when I drew near Netherwood, and saw its copper vanes and antique turrets shining above the trees, my spirit failed me, and I thought with just indignation of my favoured cousin Tony, of his probable mockery at the sorry figure I presented, and the quiet insolence of the domestics; so I sat by the wayside inspired only by that bitterness and irresolution which I have described in the opening of my story.
To Nathan Wylie's house I would never return.
I sorrowed for poor Ruth, the sweet companion of so many stolen interviews—the secret love of my boyish heart. But to what end was this sorrow? Marriage and the responsibilities of life had never occurred to me. I felt, like a boy, that I loved Ruth dearly, and that was all.
I would go away somewhere—where, it mattered not; I would seek a path for myself; another time—a year hence, perhaps—I would come back and see Ruth again, if Fortune smiled on me. And with such thoughts as these, my sadness and dejection gave place to the springy and joyous conviction of a young heart—that I was free—absolutely FREE—the master of my own person—the arbiter of my own destiny!
The wide world was all before me, and to leave care and trouble behind should be now my task and duty.
How was this to be achieved? I was the possessor only of a shilling; but greater men than I have begun the world with less.
As these ideas occurred to me, I perceived in the twilight a gentleman with two valets in livery, all well mounted, coming along the road with their nags at a trot. He wore a green sporting suit, with large gilt buttons, yellow buckskin breeches, a jockey cap, and carried a heavy hunting-whip.