“You’re going too fast, my young gentleman. I said if my lad gets free. Till I have talked to him I’ll tell you nothing. And my bit of a place is a lonely place where few folk ever come near.”
“I can find it,” said Geoff. “I do not mind how lonely it is. I will come—to-morrow, whenever you please.”
“Not till my lad comes to fetch you,” said ’Lizabeth, with a gleam of shrewd humour crossing her face for a moment. “I must see my lad first, and hear what he says, and then I’ll send him to show you the way.”
“It would be better not to make it dependent on that chance,” said Geoff prudently. “He might not care to come; I don’t know your son; why should he take so much trouble for me? He may decline to do it, or he may dislike my interference, or—— ”
“Or he may not get free,” said ’Lizabeth, stopping short, and dismissing her young attendant almost imperiously. “Here you and me part paths, my young lord. It will be soon enough to say more when my lad is free.”
Geoff was left standing at the outer gate, startled by the abruptness of his dismissal, but incapable he felt of resisting. He gazed after her as she sped along the road with long swift steps, half-appalled, greatly excited, and with a touch of amusement too. “I am to cheat justice for her in the first place, and elude the law,” he said to himself as he watched her disappearing along the dusty road.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A NEW FRIEND.
The result of this interview was that Geoff, as was natural, threw himself body and soul into the cause of Wild Bampfylde. When he had once made up his mind to this, a certain comic element in the matter delighted him and gave him double fervour. The idea of defeating justice was delightful to the young man, not much older than a schoolboy. He talked to all the people he met about the case of this wild man of the woods, this innocent savage, to whom all the sylvan sins came by nature; and he engaged the best lawyer who could be had to defend him, and if possible get the wild fellow free. Where was the harm? Wild Bampfylde had never been guilty of violence to any human creature, he ascertained. It was only the creatures of the woods he waged war against, not even the gamekeepers. And when Sir Henry, coming home from Quarter Sessions, informed the party that Wild Bampfylde had managed to get off by some quibble, the magistrates being fairly tired of convicting him, everybody was delighted to hear of the safety of Geoff’s protégé except the two elder ladies, who showed no satisfaction. Neither of them were glad, notwithstanding that Geoff was so much interested; Lady Stanton from a vague concern for her son, and Mary because of the prejudice in her which all her gentleness could not eradicate. She looked at Geoff with tears in her eyes. “You will have nothing to do with them,” she said; “him nor any of them? Oh, Geoff, promise!” which was inconsistent, as it was she herself who had put the old mother in his way. But Geoff only laughed, and asked what he could have to do with them, and made no promise. This episode had not interfered with the business of life, with the afternoon party or the dinner, the dancing or the croquet. All had “gone off” as well as possible. Laura and Lydia had “enjoyed themselves” to their hearts’ content. They had been admired and praised and fêted, and every one had said it was a delightful party. What more could any young lady of nineteen desire? Geoff was very good-natured, and did everything that was asked of him. And Laura wore his bracelet, which was much admired by her friends, and gave rise to many pleasant suggestions. “He is just the very person for you,” Lydia said reflectively, as she examined it. “Now I should have liked emeralds or diamonds, or grown-up jewels; but the turquoises are the very thing for you. He sees your taste. If he were not Lord Stanton, just for simple suitableness you should marry Geoff—he is the very person for you.”
“I do not see why I should be made to marry any one for simple suitableness, as if I were a baby,” was Laura’s protestation; but she liked the turquoises, and she did not dislike the hints and smiling gossip. And when young Lord Stanton and his mother went away, the house regretted them from the highest to the lowest. The little girls stood behind backs, crying, when the carriage drove away. “I should like to know what they have to cry about,” Lydia said; “what is Geoff to them? It is such nonsense; but they always are encouraged in everything. You two little things, stop that, and be off with you! You are always in some one’s way.”
“He is as much our cousin as yours,” said Fanny, who was always known to be saucy; but they skimmed away in a panic when Lydia turned round upon them, not knowing what she might do. “Oh, how nice it would be to have nothing but a mamma!” they said to each other as they alighted in her room, where it was always quiet, and smoothed down their ruffled plumes. Poor little doves! it was not for Geoff alone they were crying, for Geoff’s mother had been very good to them. They had hung about her for hours, and had stories told to them, and the world seemed an empty sort of place when these two visitors went away.