“Danger outside! Ha! Ha! Perhaps you are right there, little Lora. Perhaps it’s that which lures me beyond the palings of the park! When I go forth to hawk or hunt, I don’t care to be cooped up by enclosures. Give me the wild game that has free range of the forest.”
“But think, Marion! You know what we’ve heard about the highwaymen? It’s true about the lady being stopped on Red Hill—in her carriage, too. Uncle says it is; and that these robbers are growing bolder every day, on account of the bad government. Oh, cousin! take my advice, and don’t any more go out alone.”
“Good counsel, daughter; though it be given you by one younger than yourself. I hope you will set store by it; and not leave me under the necessity of strengthening it by a command.”
The tall middle-aged gentleman, of noble serious mien—who stepping forth, had entered thus abruptly into the conversation—was Sir Marmaduke Wade, the father of Marion, and uncle of Lora.
“Your cousin speaks truly,” continued he, “and it’s well I am reminded of it. There’s no longer any safety on the roads. Not much in one’s own house, so far as that goes: for there are two kinds of robbery just now rife in this unhappy land—in the king’s court, as on the king’s highway. Henceforth, children, confine your rambles within the limits of the park. Even with attendants, you may not be safe outside.”
“That is true,” affirmed Lora. “The lady who was stopped had several attendants—I think you said so, uncle?”
“Six, of different sorts, escorting her carriage. In sooth a valiant escort! They all scampered off. Of course they did. How could they be loyal, with a corrupt administration, such as ours, destroying every vestige of loyalty and honesty in the realm? Men are sure to become vile—if only to imitate their masters. But come, my children! Let us hope for better times: and, to keep up the character of merry Old England, I’ve planned an entertainment for you—one that all our friends and neighbours are to take part in.”
“What is it?” asked Lora, whose spirit was, at the moment, more highly attuned to the idea of pastime, than that of her silent cousin.
“A fête champètre.”
“Where? Here? In our own park?”