The Heir of Redclyffe. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

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      ‘Very well; whenever Sir Guy serves up Philip’s head at breakfast, with a piece of bread in his mouth, let me know.’

      Charlotte started up. ‘Charles, what do you mean? Such things don’t happen now.’

      ‘Nevertheless, there is a deadly feud between the two branches of the house of Morville.’

      ‘But it is very wrong,’ said Charlotte, looking frightened.’

      ‘Wrong? Of course it is.’

      ‘Philip won’t do anything wrong. But how will they ever get on?’

      ‘Don’t you see? It must be our serious endeavour to keep the peace, and prevent occasions of discord.’

      ‘Do you think anything will happen?’

      ‘It is much to be apprehended,’ said Charles, solemnly.

      At that moment the sound of wheels was heard, and Charlotte flew off to her private post of observation, leaving her brother delighted at having mystified her. She returned on tip-toe. ‘Papa and Sir Guy are come, but not Philip; I can’t see him anywhere.’

      ‘Ah you have not looked in Sir Guy’s great-coat pocket.’

      ‘I wish you would not plague me so! You are not in earnest?’

      The pettish inquiring tone was exactly what delighted him. And he continued to tease her in the same style till Laura and Amabel came running in with their report of the stranger.

      ‘He is come!’ they cried, with one voice.

      ‘Very gentlemanlike!’ said Laura.

      ‘Very pleasant looking,’ said Amy. ‘Such fine eyes!’

      ‘And so much expression,’ said Laura. ‘Oh!’

      The exclamation, and the start which accompanied it, were caused by hearing her father’s voice close to the door, which had been left partly open. ‘Here is poor Charles,’ it said, ‘come in, and see him; get over the first introduction—eh, Guy?’ And before he had finished, both he and the guest were in the room, and Charlotte full of mischievous glee at her sister’s confusion.

      ‘Well, Charlie, boy, how goes it?’ was his father’s greeting. ‘Better, eh? Sorry not to find you down-stairs; but I have brought Guy to see you.’ Then, as Charles sat up and shook hands with Sir Guy, he continued—‘A fine chance for you, as I was telling him, to have a companion always at hand: a fine chance? eh, Charlie?’

      ‘I am not so unreasonable as to expect any one to be always at hand,’ said Charles, smiling, as he looked up at the frank, open face, and lustrous hazel eyes turned on him with compassion at the sight of his crippled, helpless figure, and with a bright, cordial promise of kindness.

      As he spoke, a pattering sound approached, the door was pushed open, and while Sir Guy exclaimed, ‘O, Bustle! Bustle! I am very sorry,’ there suddenly appeared a large beautiful spaniel, with a long silky black and white coat, jetty curled ears, tan spots above his intelligent eyes, and tan legs, fringed with silken waves of hair, but crouching and looking beseeching at meeting no welcome, while Sir Guy seemed much distressed at his intrusion.

      ‘O you beauty!’ cried Charles. ‘Come here, you fine fellow.’

      Bustle only looked wistfully at his master, and moved nothing but his feather of a tail.

      ‘Ah! I was afraid you would repent of your kindness,’ said Sir Guy to Mr. Edmonstone.

      ‘Not at all, not at all!’ was the answer; ‘mamma never objects to in-door pets, eh, Amy?’

      ‘A tender subject, papa,’ said Laura; ‘poor Pepper!’

      Amy, ashamed of her disposition to cry at the remembrance of the dear departed rough terrier, bent down to hide her glowing face, and held out her hand to the dog, which at last ventured to advance, still creeping with his body curved till his tail was foremost, looking imploringly at his master, as if to entreat his pardon.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t dislike it?’ inquired Sir Guy, of Charles.

      ‘I? O no. Here, you fine creature.’

      ‘Come, then, behave like a rational dog, since you are come,’ said Sir Guy; and Bustle, resuming the deportment of a spirited and well-bred spaniel, no longer crouched and curled himself into the shape of a comma, but bounded, wagged his tail, thrust his nose into his master’s hand and then proceeded to reconnoitre the rest of the company, paying especial attention to Charles, putting his fore-paws on the sofa, and rearing himself up to contemplate him with a grave, polite curiosity, that was very diverting.

      ‘Well, old fellow,’ said Charles, ‘did you ever see the like of such a dressing-gown? Are you satisfied? Give me your paw, and let us swear an eternal friendship.’

      ‘I am quite glad to see a dog in the house again,’ said Laura, and, after a few more compliments, Bustle and his master followed Mr. Edmonstone out of the room.

      ‘One of my father’s well-judged proceedings,’ murmured Charles. ‘That poor fellow had rather have gone a dozen, miles further than have been lugged in here. Really, if papa chooses to inflict such dressing-gowns on me, he should give me notice before he brings men and dogs to make me their laughing-stock!’

      ‘An unlucky moment,’ said Laura. ‘Will my cheeks ever cool?’

      ‘Perhaps he did not hear,’ said Amabel, consolingly.

      ‘You did not ask about Philip?’ said Charlotte, with great earnestness.

      ‘He is staying at Thorndale, and then going to St. Mildred’s,’ said Laura.

      ‘I hope you are relieved,’ said her brother; and she looked in doubt whether she ought to laugh.

      ‘And what do you think of Sir Guy?’

      ‘May he only be worthy of his dog!’ replied Charles.

      ‘Ah!’ said Laura, ‘many men are neither worthy of their wives, nor of their dogs.’

      ‘Dr. Henley, I suppose, is the foundation of that aphorism,’ said Charles.

      ‘If Margaret Morville could marry him, she could hardly be too worthy,’ said Laura. ‘Think of throwing away Philip’s whole soul!’

      ‘O Laura, she could not lose that,’ said Amabel.

      Laura looked as if she knew more; but at that moment, both her father and mother entered, the former rubbing his hands, as he always did when much pleased, and sending his voice before him, as he exclaimed, ‘Well, Charlie, well, young ladies, is not he a fine fellow—eh?’

      ‘Rather under-sized,’ said Charles.

      ‘Eh? He’ll grow. He is not eighteen, you know; plenty of time; a very good height; you can’t expect every one to be as tall as Philip; but he’s a capital fellow. And how have you СКАЧАТЬ