LITMIR.BIZ

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pledge myself to follow in ten minutes, – nay, in five, if possible. I told Mr. Kennyfeck I should make my obeisances to the ladies to-day.”

      “Would to-morrow not serve?” said she, smiling.

      “I believe it might – but a promise! Besides, I have been sadly deficient in attentions there.”

      “Sir Harvey and his brother hussar have made the amende for your shortcomings, but go, make haste and overtake us. I see ‘my Lord’ trying to understand Lady Janet, and I must not delay longer.”

      “Ride slowly,” cried Roland, “and don’t get run away with till I ‘m of the party.”

      She nodded archly in reply to this speech, and joining the group, who were all awaiting her, rode off, while Cashel entered the house, and soon was heard ascending the stairs at a hurried pace.

      Olivia could only close the window and resume her place, when a tap was given at the door, and the same instant Cashel entered the room. He stopped suddenly, and looked around, for at first he did not perceive Olivia, who, deep in her book, affected not to hear the noise of his approach.

      The rich coronet of brown hair, on which an evening sun was throwing one brilliant gleam, caught his eye, and he advanced near enough to see and be struck by that graceful attitude of which we gave our reader a glimpse at the opening of this chapter.

      She was reading some old English ballad; and, as she closed the volume, murmured, half aloud, the lines of the concluding verse: —

      “And ye variété, bounde upon a carte, Was draggede to ye gallows high, While ye knighte that stole ye ladye’s hearte (And was not his ye gravere parte!) Rode onte to see him die.”

      “A sad moral indeed,” said Cashel, in a low, soft voice.

      “Oh, dear! oh, Mr. Cashel!” cried she, starting, and letting fall the book, “how you have terrified me!”

      “Pray forgive me,” said he, drawing his chair near, “but when I entered the room I saw no one. I had come thus far ere I discovered that I was so fortunate.”

      “Shall I ring for mamma and Cary? they are dressing, I know, but will be quite annoyed if you go before they come down.”

      “You must not inconvenience them on my account,” said Roland, eagerly. “I’m certain,” added he, smiling, “you are not afraid to receive me alone.”

      She hung down her head, and partly averting it, murmured a scarcely audible “No.”

      Cashel, who had evidently never calculated on his careless remark being taken thus seriously, looked silly and uncomfortable for a few seconds. There is a terrible perversity sometimes in our natures; we are disposed to laugh occasionally at times when nothing could be more ill-timed or unsuitable; and so, at moments when we would give anything in the world for some commonplace theme to hang phrases on, we cannot, for the life of us, originate one.

      “You’ve not ridden out, I think, since we came?” said Roland, at last, but with an air of sudden despair at his own stupidity.

      “No. We have driven out once or twice; but – but – ”

      “Pray finish,” said he, with a persuasive look as he spoke.

      “I was going to say that your horses are so spirited, that I was really afraid to trust myself, and the more so as Miss Meek is so wild and so reckless.”

      “Never think of riding with her, Let me be your chaperon, – shall we say to-morrow? I ‘ve got the gentlest creature that was ever mounted.”

      “Oh, I know her; that sweet white Arab I saw the groom exercising yesterday?”

      “No; not she,” said Roland, blushing and confused, “a spotted barb, fully as handsome – some say handsomer. Will you do me the favor to ride her to-morrow, and, if she be fortunate enough to please you, to accept her?”

      Olivia hung down her head for a second, and a deep scarlet covered her cheek, and rose even to her temples, and it was with a voice broken and interrupted she said, “Oh, I cannot – I must not.” Then, turning on him a look, where the tearful eyes, swimming in a softened lustre, conveyed a whole story of deep suffering, she said rapidly, “You are too kind and too good ever to give pain; you are too generous to believe others capable of it; but were I to accept your beautiful gift – were I even to ride out with you alone– there is nothing that would not be said of me.”

      It was Cashel’s turn for a slight blush now; and, to do him justice, he felt the sensation a most disagreeable one. It had not indeed occurred to him to make the proposal as the young lady took it, but he was far too long schooled in gallantry to undeceive her, and so he said, “I really cannot see this in the light you do. It is a very natural wish on my part, that I should show my guests whatever my poor grounds afford of the picturesque; and remember, we are not friends of yesterday.” This he said in his very kindest tone.

      “I do remember it,” said she, with a slow but most meaning sigh.

      “That memory is, I trust, not so associated with sorrow,” added he, leaning down, and speaking in a deep, earnest voice, “that you recall it with a sigh?”

      “Oh, no; but I was thinking – I must not say of what I was thinking.”

      “Nay, but you must,” said he, gently, and drawing his chair closer.

      “I dare not – I cannot – besides, you “ – and there was on the pronoun the very softest of all-dwelling intonation – “you might be angry – might never forgive me.”

      “Now I must insist on your telling me,” said Roland, passionately, “if but to show how unfairly you judge me.”

      “Well,” said she, drawing a long breath – “but shall I trust you?”

      There was a most winning archness in the way she said this, that thrilled through Cashel as he listened. “No, I will not,” added she, suddenly, and as if carried away by a passionate impulse; “you are too – ”

      “Too what?” cried he, impatiently.

      “Too fickle,” said she; and then, as if terrified at her own boldness, she added, in a tremulous voice, “Oh, do forgive me!”

      “There is really nothing to forgive,” said Roland, “unless you persist in keeping from me an avowal that I almost fancy I have a right to ask for. And now, of what were you thinking?”

      “I ‘ll tell you,” said she, in a low, earnest accent, “though it may lose me your esteem. I was thinking” – her voice here fell so low that Cashel, to hear her words, was obliged to draw his chair closer, and bend down his head till it actually brushed against the leaves she wore in her hair – “I was thinking that, when we knew you first, before you had made acquaintance with others, when you sat and read to us, when we walked and rode together, – when, in short, the day was one bright dream of pleasure to us, who had never known a brother – ”

      Pardon us, dear reader, if, at so critical a moment, we occupy the pause which here ensued – and there was a pause – by referring to our Aunt Fanny, only premising that we do so advisedly. It was one of that excellent lady’s firmest convictions that every one in the world required some discreet friend, who should, at eventful passages in life, be ready to aid, by presence of mind, a wavering resolve, or confirm a half-formed determination. Now, she had waited for two mortal hours on that day for Cashel’s coming, in a state of impatience little short of fever. She opened and shut her window, looked up one avenue and down another; she had watched on the landing, and stood sentinel on the stairs; she had seen Mrs. Kenny-feck and her elder daughter pass out into the garden, weary of long waiting; when, at last, she heard Roland’s hasty step as he traversed the hall, and, hurrying upstairs, entered the drawing-room.

      Drawn by an attraction there is no explaining, she left her room, and took up her position in a small boudoir which adjoined the drawing-room. Here she sat, persuading herself she was at her work; but, in reality, in a state of suspense not very inferior to some prisoner while a jury is deliberating on his fate.

      The

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