My father laughed bitterly. "You simpleton! Does Mulgrave make much of 'simple scholars' and entertain them?"
As I believed, Earl Mulgrave cared little or nothing about Doctor Goel, while Sheffield, I felt sure, cared much about the doctor's daughter, but this was not the time to offer my father an explanation, which would bring in the name of Mistress Goel, so I left him to digest his wrath, and sought Mr. Butharwick. I found him in much affliction, for to hurt or offend his friend and patron was very grievous to him. He blamed himself alone for all the mischief, and he reminded me that my father had had a weary sojourn in London, and after infinite trouble and pains had won his cause, only to find on his return home that all his labour and expenditure had been rendered null and void.
"What wonder, Frank," said the good old soul, "that thy father should be angry, even if not quite justly angry, that nothing has been made known of his triumph in the courts? What wonder that he should be incensed at our making friends with those who, he believes, are in the counsel of his enemies, and whom he has seen caressed by the crafty earl? We are in fault, or rather, I am in fault, for I ought to have guided thee more wisely. I, at least, ought to have been sure that the stars of heaven cannot lie."
This womanish babble did not soothe my ruffled temper, as I told Mr. Butharwick, rudely enough. My father had treated me with indignity and injustice, and I did well to be angry. So I went for a stroll in the park, seeking consolation in solitary communion with Nature, where it has seldom failed me. Nor did it fail me now. Sauntering under the dense shadows of the old trees, or out in the dim stillness of the open sward, startling browsing or drowsing beasts, which showed as dusky shapes for a moment, and then vanished in the dark, I grew quiet; and when I gained the highest ground and saw the low moon and her long reflection on the broad expanse of water, I was filled with confidence that my own prospect was as bright and boundless as the scene on which I looked.
I turned at the sound of footsteps, and recognised my father.
"The cool night air is good for hot heads, young or old," he said. And we walked homeward together.
CHAPTER III
My good comrade, Dick Portington, was the first of our guests to arrive at Temple on the 28th of May, and he brought me as birthday gift a gun such as I had not before seen, the cock containing a flint, which, as it fell, struck sparks from the cover of the pan, and at the same moment forced back the cover so that the sparks flew on the priming. The action was far quicker than that of the matchlock, and much surer than the wheel-lock guns which I had hitherto handled, and I had great pleasure in it, and a brace of pistols made after the same pattern.
"'Tis the rarest present, Dick," I said, "but you shame me. Another gift! And I have never given you anything."