"Adieu, soldier," said the mamma, "with a thousand thanks for the service so bravely and politely rendered. If you will not give us your name, at least do me the favour of accepting this," she added, drawing forth her—-purse.
I uttered a scornful laugh, and reining back my horse, said—
"Nay, nay, ladies, though impoverished and humbled, I cannot submit quietly to the degradation of being offered money."
"This is most singular!"
"How is mamma to reward you?" asked the young lady, with something of surprise and, as I thought, pleasure in her tone. It might be that I flattered myself.
"By permitting you to give, and me to accept—" said I, taking a lace handkerchief from her hand, for I was always a lover of effect, and resolved to produce one now—"of this trifle as a remembrance——"
"Of what?" she asked, blushing to the temples; "a remembrance of what?"
"That Basil Gauntlet has been of some service to Aurora, the beautiful cousin who has done him a grievous wrong in unwittingly depriving him of his heritage and birthright. Three days, now, may find me on the seas for France; so adieu, aunt and cousin, adieu for evermore!"
Then I cut short this remarkable interview by spurring my horse with such energy that he made a wild bound, and sprang away at a dashing pace along the road to Guildford.
Impulse had made me take Aurora's handkerchief, and impulse now made me regret having done so.