"Shot!" exclaimed Fleda, bursting into heartwrung tears "shot! Oh, how could any one do it! Oh, how could you, how could you, cousin Charlton!"
It was a picture. The child was crying bitterly, her fingers stroking the poor dog's head with a touch in which lay, oh what tender healing, if the will had but had magnetic power! Carleton's eye glanced significantly from her to the young officers. Rossitur looked at Thorn.
"It was not Charlton it was I, Miss Fleda," said the latter. "Charlton lent him to me to-day, and he disobeyed me, and so I was angry with him, and punished him a little severely; but he'll soon get over it."
But all Fleda's answer was, "I am very sorry! I am very sorry! poor dog!" and to weep such tears as made the young gentlemen for once ashamed of themselves. It almost did the child a mischief. She did not get over it all the evening. And she never got over it, as far as Mr. Thorn was concerned.
Mrs. Carleton hoped, faintly, that Guy would come to reason by the next morning, and let Fleda go in the stage-coach with the rest of the people. But he was as unreasonable as ever, and stuck to his purpose. She had supposed, however, with Fleda, that the difference would be only an open vehicle and his company instead of a covered one and her own. Both of them were sadly discomfited when on coming to the hall door to take their carriages, it was found that Mr. Carleton's meaning was no less than to take Fleda before him on horseback. He was busy even then in arranging a cushion on the pommel of the saddle for her to sit upon. Mrs. Carleton burst into indignant remonstrances; Fleda silently trembled.
But Mr. Carleton had his own notions on the subject, and they were not moved by anything his mother could say. He quietly went on with his preparations; taking very slight notice of the raillery of the young officers, answering Mrs. Evelyn with polite words, and silencing his mother as he came up with one of those looks out of his dark eyes to which she always forgave the wilfulness for the sake of the beauty and the winning power. She was completely conquered, and stepped back with even a smile.
"But, Carleton!" cried Rossitur, impatiently; "you can't ride so! you'll find it deucedly inconvenient."
"Possibly," said Mr. Carleton.
"Fleda would be a great deal better off in the stage-coach."
"Have you studied medicine, Mr. Rossitur?" said the young man.
"Because I am persuaded of the contrary."