Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ meets the innocent, eagerly wistful eyes, "though I dare say you won't care for the dusty drive, and have seen quite enough of the place, still, you'd be doing a good action, don't you know, and – all that. It will cheer my cousin up sooner than anything."

      "Very well," says Leslie. "I will ask my father. But it will not matter if we do not go. You must persuade Mr. Temple."

      "Mr. – . Oh, my cousin, yes," he says, with sudden embarrassment. "Yes, of course. Thank you! It is awfully good of you."

      Leslie looks at him, her color deepening; then she laughs softly.

      "Why, I want to go, too!" she says. "There is no goodness in it."

      Yorke Auchester's glance falls before her guileless eyes.

      "Then that settles it," he says, confidently. "What point is that out there, Miss Lisle?"

      Leslie starts.

      "That is Ragged Points!" she replies. "I had no idea we had come so far; please tell him I am going to put the boat round; it must be very late!"

      "No, it isn't," he says. "I can tell by the moon. Can't we go a little farther?"

      But she ports the helm, and old William, without a word, swings the sail over, and the boat's nose is pointing to land.

      Yorke looks at Portmaris, asleep in the moonlight, regretfully.

      "That's the worst of being thoroughly happy and comfortable," he says. "It always comes to an end and you have to come back. What a pace we are going, too!" he adds, almost in a tone of complaint.

      "The wind is with us," says Leslie.

      "I should like to stay at Portmaris and buy a boat," he says, after a moment or two. "It would be very jolly."

      Leslie smiles.

      "It is not always fine even at Portmaris," she says. "Sometimes the waves are mountain high, and the sea runs up over the quay as if it meant to wash the village away."

      "Well, I shouldn't mind that," he remarks. "I wonder why one lives in London? One is always grunting at and slanging it, and yet one hangs on there." He sighs inaudibly as he thinks of what it must be to-night, with its feverish crowd, its glaring lights, its yelling cabmen and struggling horses; thinks of the folly, and, alas! the wickedness, and glances at the lovely, peaceful face above him with a great yearning – and regret.

      "I like London," says Leslie. "But then I go there so seldom, that it is a holiday place to me."

      "I know," he responds. "Yes, I can understand that. And I like Portmaris because it is a holiday place to me, I suppose."

      Leslie smiles.

      "I hope you will not catch cold and be all the worse for this holiday," she says.

      He laughs.

      "There is no fear of that. I never felt better in my life."

      "You must sit firm now," she warns him. "I am going to drive the boat on to the sand."

      "Here already!" he remarks, as the keel of the boat touches bottom, and the sails run down with a musical thud; and he steps over the side, and so suddenly that the boat lurches over after him.

      He puts out his strong arm to stay her from falling, while old William curses the "land lubber" in accents low but deep.

      "I'm about as awkward in a small boat as a hippopotamus," he says, remorsefully. "Will you let me help you ashore?"

      He means "carry you," and he holds out his arms, but Leslie shrinks back ever so slightly, and old William comes to the side of the boat and picks her up as a matter of course.

      Yorke slips a sovereign into the old man's horny palm, and William, who is not dumb as well as deaf, would probably open his lips now, but for astonishment and amazed delight. He does, however, grin.

      As the two walk up the beach Yorke looks behind him at the moonlit sea and the boats, and shakes his head.

      "It was a shame to come in," he says, "but never mind, perhaps – ." He stops, not daring to finish the sentence, but he feels as if he would cheerfully give half the amount of the check in his pocket for such another sail in the same company.

      The quay is empty, the street silent, but as they go up it they see the crippled "Mr. Temple" leaning against the door of Marine Villa.

      His keen eyes rest upon them both good-naturedly.

      "Where have you been?" he asks.

      "Where you ought to have been, Dolph," replies Yorke. "On the water. You can't imagine what it is like."

      "Oh, yes, I can," says the duke. "But I am – too old for moonlight sails. I am a day-bird. Have you enjoyed it, Miss Lisle?"

      Leslie smiles for answer.

      "Look here, Dolph," says Yorke, with affected carelessness. "What do you say to driving out to a place called St. Martin to-morrow? I'm going to try and persuade Miss Lisle and her father to show us the way."

      The duke looks at her.

      "I shall be very glad," he says. "Will you come, Miss Lisle?"

      "If my father – ," begins Leslie, and the duke interrupts her.

      "We ought to send a formal invitation," he says, with a smile. "Will you give Mr. Lisle our compliments, Miss Lisle, and tell him how much the Duke of Rothbury and Mr. Temple will be indebted to him if you and he will accompany them on a drive to-morrow."

      Leslie looks from one to the other for a moment as if she did not understand. The Duke of Rothbury! Can he be jesting?

      The duke struggles with a smile as he sees her astonishment, then he says, casually:

      "I hope you found the duke a good sailor, Miss Lisle."

      Leslie glances at Yorke, who stands staring at his fishermen's boots, with a moody and not well pleased expression on his face.

      "I nearly upset the boat," he says, as if to account for his change of countenance.

      "It did not matter," she says. "We were on the sands. Yes, I will tell my father, and – thank you very much."

      If the duke expected her to be overwhelmed by the announcement of the title he is doomed to disappointment. The first sensation of surprise over, Leslie is as calm and self-possessed as before.

      "Good-night," she says, in her sweet, low voice, and a moment afterward the door of Sea View is closed upon her.

      The duke looked at his cousin's downcast face with a whimsical smile.

      "How well she took it!" he said. "A London girl of the most accomplished type could not have concealed her flutters with greater ease."

      "She had nothing to conceal," said Yorke, with averted eyes. "It didn't matter to her that – that you called me a duke. Why should it?"

      "Why should it! My dear Yorke, you have grown simple during your moonlight sail. Oh, she was confused and flustered, believe me; but all her sex are actresses from the cradle. Give me your hand, and let us go in."

      Yorke СКАЧАТЬ