Not that such sentiments had ever been spoken in the village of Fulmere. To have pronounced them there, would have been deemed rank treason; and the rustic giving utterance to them, would have found himself in the pillory, almost before the speech could have passed from his lips.
Dorothy hated the idea of a republic; as small-souled people do now, and have done in all ages. We regret having to place the fair Dayrell in this category; but we must succumb to the requirements of truth; and this compels us to say that Mistress Dorothy, physically, petite, was morally little-minded. Her pretty face, however, concealed the defects of her selfish soul; and, aided by many wiles and winning ways, rendered her sufficiently popular in that large social circle, of which she was, or wished to be, both the star and the centre.
Some proof of her popularity was the crowd that responded to her call, and was present at her hawking party. Scores of people of “first quality”—dames of high degree, and cavaliers appropriate to such companionship—collected upon the shores of Fulmere Lake; cast resplendent shadows upon its smooth surface; and caused its enclosing hills to resound with the echoes of their merry voices.
It is not our purpose to detail the various incidents of the day’s sport: how the party, having met at an appointed place, proceeded around the shores of the lake; how the herons rose screaming from the sedge, and the hawks shot like winged arrows after them; how the owners of the predatory birds bantered one another, and wagers were laid and lost by betters of both sexes; and how—when the circuit of the lake had been accomplished, and the adjacent reedy marshes quartered by the spaniels, until cleared of their feathered game—the gay company wended their way to the summit of the adjoining hill; and there, under the shadows of the greenwood trees, partook of an al fresco banquet, which their knightly entertainer had provided for them.
Nor need we describe the conversation—varied of course—always lively under such circumstances; often witty—after the wine has flowed freely.
One topic alone claims our attention—as it did that of the company. It was introduced by Mistress Dorothy herself—to whom of course every one obsequiously listened.
“I regret,” said this charming creature, addressing herself to her splendid surrounding, “that I’ve not been able to provide you with a more spirited entertainment. After that, we witnessed the other day in Bulstrode Park, our fête will appear tame, I know. Ah! if we only had the black horseman here. How cruel of you, Captain Scarthe, to have deprived us of that pleasure?”
“Mistress Dayrell,” replied the officer, on whom the speech had made anything but a pleasant impression, “I regret exceedingly that in the performance of my duty—in dealing with a rebel—I should—”
“No apologies, Captain Scarthe!” interposed Sir Frederick, coming to the rescue of the embarrassed cuirassier. “We all know that you acted, as becomes a loyal servant of his Majesty. It would be well if others, in these doubtful times, would display a like energy.” Here Sir Frederick glanced sarcastically towards his neighbour knight—between whom and himself there was not the most cordial friendship. “The only regret is, that the fellow—whoever he may be—was permitted to escape; but, I dare say, he will soon be retaken, and meet with his deserts.”
“And what would you deem his deserts, Dayrell?” quietly asked Sir Marmaduke Wade.