Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ and – how do you feel?"

      "As if I were chained to two romping lions, and they were dragging me off the box."

      He laughs, the frank, free laugh which Leslie thinks the pleasantest she ever heard.

      "You'll make a splendid whip!" he says, encouragingly. "Hold 'em tight, and don't be afraid of them. Directly you begin to think they are getting too many for you, set your teeth hard, hold 'em like a vise, and give 'em each a flick. So! See? They know you're master then."

      The ivory white of Leslie's face is delicately tinted with rose, her eyes are shining brightly, her heart beating to the old tune, "Happiness."

      "There is a cart coming, and there isn't room. Oh, dear!" and she begins to get flurried.

      "Plenty of room," he says, coolly. "You should shout to the man! But I'll do that for you," and he wakes the sleeping wagoner with a shout that causes the man to spring up and drag his horses aside as if Juggernaut were coming down upon him. "See? That's the way! Oh, you'll do splendidly, and I shall be quite proud of you. I'm fond of driving. Do you know, I've often thought if the worst came to the worst that I'd take to a hansom cab."

      Leslie stares at him.

      "A duke driving a hansom cab would be rather a novelty, wouldn't it?" she says, with a smile.

      To her surprise, his face flushes, and he turns his head away. What has she said? At this moment, fortunately for Yorke's embarrassment, the duke remarks with intentional distinctness:

      "Are you insured against accidents, Miss Lisle?"

      Leslie holds out the reins.

      "You see," she says, "they are getting frightened; and not without cause."

      But he will not take the reins from her.

      "I know you are enjoying it," he says, just as a schoolboy would speak. "You're all right; I'll help you if you come to a fix. Give that off one a cut, he is letting the other do all the work."

      "Which is the off one?" she asks, innocently.

      He points to it.

      "That's the one. So called because you don't let him off."

      It is a feeble joke, but Leslie rewards it with a laugh far and away beyond its merits, and he laughs in harmony.

      "You seem to be enjoying yourselves up there," says the duke. "Pray hand any joke down."

      "It is Miss Leslie making puns," responds Yorke.

      "Now you are getting tired," he says, after a mile or two.

      "How do you know?" she asks, curiously.

      "Because I can see your hands trembling," he replies. "Give me the reins now, and if you are a good girl you shall drive all the way home."

      It is a little thing that he should have such regard for her comfort, but it does not pass unnoticed by Leslie, as she resigns the reins with a "Thank you, your grace."

      His face clouds again, however, and he bestows an altogether unnecessary cut on the horses, who plunge forward.

      "There is St. Martin, and there is the castle," she says, presently. "Is it not pretty?"

      "Very," he assents, but he looks round inquiringly. "I'm looking for some place in which to put the cattle up," he explains. "Horses don't care much for ruins, unless there are hay and oats."

      "There is a small inn at the foot of the castle," says Leslie.

      "That's all right then," he rejoins, cheerfully. "Hurry up now, my beauties, and let's show them what Vinson's nags can do."

      They dash up the road to the inn at a clinking pace, and pull up in masterly style.

      The landlord and a stable boy come running out and Yorke flings them the reins. Then he helps Leslie down, and goes round to the back to assist the duke.

      "I suppose we shall be able to get some lunch here Yorke?" he says, as he leans on his sticks.

      "Lunch indoors on a day like this? Not much!" retorts Yorke, scornfully. "Out with that hamper, Grey, and get this yokel to help you carry it to the tower. You can walk as far as that, Dolph? Miss Lisle will show you the way."

      At the sound of her name Leslie turns from the rustic window into which she had been mechanically looking.

      "Oh, yes. There has been another party here this morning," she adds.

      "How do you know that?" asks Yorke.

      "Because I can see the remains of their luncheon on the table," she says, laughing.

      "Yes, sir," says the landlord. "Party of three, sir; two gentlemen and a lady."

      "Thank goodness they have gone!" says Yorke. "You go on. I'll go and see that the horses are rubbed down and fed; I owe that to Vinson, anyhow."

      He is not long in following them, but by the time he has reached the tower, Grey has unpacked the basket, and laid out a tempting lunch. There is a fowl, a ham, an eatable-looking fruit tart, cream, some jelly, the crispiest of loaves, and firmest of butter, and a couple of bottles with golden tops.

      "Where did you get this gorgeous spread, Yorke?" inquires the duke.

      "Oh, I was out foraging early this morning," he says, carelessly. "Now, Miss Leslie, you are the presiding genius. Of course the salt has been forgotten; it always is."

      "No, it has not!" says Leslie, holding it up triumphantly. "Nothing has been forgotten. You have brought everything."

      "Including an appetite," he says, brightly, and as he opens a bottle of champagne, he sings:

      "The foaming wine of Southern France."

      "Yes, I wonder how many persons who read that in their Tennyson realize that it is champagne?" says the duke, brightly.

      They seat themselves – cushions have been brought from the wagon for Leslie and the duke – and the feast begins.

      "Some chicken, Miss Leslie? This is going to be a failure as a picnic; it isn't going to rain," says Yorke.

      "And I rather miss the cow which usually appears on the scene and scampers over the pie," says the duke. "I suppose your grace couldn't manage a cow on a tower."

      Yorke looks at him, half angrily.

      "Oh, cut that!" he mutters, just loud enough to reach the duke.

      Mr. Lisle looks round with his glass in his hand.

      "I must find a spot for my sketch," he says.

      "All right, presently," says Yorke. "Pleasure first always, as the man said when he killed the tax collector. Miss Lisle have you sworn never to drink more than one glass of champagne?"

      But Leslie shakes her head, and declines the offered bottle, and her appetite is soon appeased.

      "Shall we leave these gourmands, and find a particularly picturesque study for your father, Miss Lisle?" suggests Yorke; "that is if he is bent on sketch – ."

      He СКАЧАТЬ