The Greatest Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (65+ Novels & Short Stories in One Edition). Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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      “Perhaps he really is not aware how very rude he is,” I suggested.

      “I hate him. We were twice as pleasant with poor Tom Driver — he never meddled with any one, and was always in liquor; Old Gin was the name he went by. But this brute — I do hate him — he comes from Wigan, I think, and he’s always spoiling sport — and he whops Meg — that’s Beauty, you know, and I don’t think she’d be half as bad only for him. Listen to him whistlin’.”

      “I did hear him whistling at some distance among the trees.”

      “I declare if he isn’t callin’ the dogs! Climb up here, I tell ye,” and we climbed up the slanting trunk of a great walnut tree, and strained our eyes in the direction from which we expected the onset of Pegtop’s vicious pack.

      But it was a false alarm.

      “Well, I don’t think he would do that, after all — hardly; but he is a brute, sure!”

      “And that dark girl who would not let us through, is his daughter, is she?”

      “Yes, that’s Meg — Beauty, I christened her, when I called him Beast; but I call him Pegtop now, and she’s Beauty still, and that’s the way o’t.”

      “Come, sit down now, an’ make your picture,” she resumed so soon as we had dismounted from our position of security.

      “I’m afraid I’m hardly in the vein. I don’t think I could draw a straight line. My hand trembles.”

      “I wish you could, Maud,” said Milly, with a look so wistful and entreating, that considering the excursion she had made for the pencils, I could not bear to disappoint her.

      “Well, Milly, we must only try; and if we fail we can’t help it. Sit you down beside me and I’ll tell you why I begin with one part and not another, and you’ll see how I make trees and the river, and — yes, that pencil, it is hard and answers for the first light lines; but we must begin at the beginning, and learn to copy drawings before we attempt real views like this. And if you wish it, Milly, I’m resolved to teach you everything I know, which, after all, is not a great deal, and we shall have such fun making sketches of the same landscapes, and then comparing.”

      And so on, Milly, quite delighted, and longing to begin her course of instruction, sat down beside me in a rapture, and hugged and kissed me so heartily that we were very near rolling together off the stone on which we were seated. Her boisterous delight and good-nature helped to restore me, and both laughing heartily together, I commenced my task.

      “Dear me! what’s that?” I exclaimed suddenly, as looking up from by block-book I saw the figure of a slight man in the careless morning-dress of a gentleman, crossing the ruinous bridge in my direction, with considerable caution, upon the precarious footing of the battlement, which alone offered an unbroken passage.

      This was a day of apparitions! Milly recognised him instantly. The gentleman was Mr. Carysbroke. He had taken The Grange only for a year. He lived quite by himself, and was very good to the poor, and was the only gentleman, for ever so long, who had visited at Bartram, and oddly enough nowhere else. But he wanted leave to cross through the grounds, and having obtained it, had repeated his visit, partly induced, no doubt, by the fact that Bartram boasted no hospitalities, and that there was no risk of meeting the county folk there.

      With a stout walking-stick in his hand, and a short shooting-coat, and a wide-awake hat in much better trim than Zamiel’s, he emerged from the copse that covered the bridge, walking at a quick but easy pace.

      “He’ll be goin’ to see old Snoddles, I guess,” said Milly, looking a little frightened and curious; for Milly, I need not say, was a bumpkin, and stood in awe of this gentleman’s good-breeding, though she was as brave as a lion, and would have fought the Philistines at any odds, with the jawbone of an ass.

      “‘Appen he won’t see us,” whispered Milly, hopefully.

      But he did, and raising his hat, with a cheerful smile, that showed very white teeth, he paused.

      “Charming day, Miss Ruthyn.”

      I raised my head suddenly as he spoke, from habit appropriating the address; it was so marked that he raised his hat respectfully to me, and then continued to Milly —

      “Mr. Ruthyn, I hope, quite well? but I need hardly ask, you seem so happy. Will you kindly tell him, that I expect the book I mentioned in a day or two, and when it comes I’ll either send or bring it to him immediately?”

      Milly and I were standing, by this time, but she only stared at him, tongue-tied, her cheeks rather flushed, and her eyes very round, and to facilitate the dialogue, as I suppose, he said again —

      “He’s quite well, I hope?”

      Still no response from Milly, and I, provoked, though myself a little shy, made answer —

      “My uncle, Mr. Ruthyn, is very well, thank you,” and I felt that I blushed as I spoke.

      “Ah, pray excuse me, may I take a great liberty? you are Miss Ruthyn, of Knowl? Will you think me very impertinent — I’m afraid you will — if I venture to introduce myself? My name is Carysbroke, and I had the honour of knowing poor Mr. Ruthyn when I was quite a little boy, and he has shown a kindness for me since, and I hope you will pardon the liberty I fear I’ve taken. I think my friend, Lady Knollys, too, is a relation of yours; what a charming person she is!”

      “Oh, is not she? such a darling!” I said, and then blushed at my outspoken affection.

      But he smiled kindly, as if he liked me for it; and he said —

      “You know whatever I think, I dare not quite say that; but frankly I can quite understand it. She preserves her youth so wonderfully, and her fun and her good-nature are so entirely girlish. What a sweet view you have selected,” he continued, changing all at once. “I’ve stood just at this point so often to look back at that exquisite old bridge. Do you observe — you’re an artist, I see — something very peculiar in that tint of the grey, with those odd cross stains of faded red and yellow?”

      “I do, indeed; I was just remarking the peculiar beauty of the colouring — was I not, Milly?”

      Milly stared at me, and uttered an alarmed “Yes,” and looked as if she had been caught in a robbery.

      “Yes, and you have so very peculiar a background,” he resumed. “It was better before the storm though; but it is very good still.”

      Then a little pause, and “Do you know this country at all?” rather suddenly.

      “No, not in the least — that is, I’ve only had the drive to this place; but what I did see interested me very much.”

      “You will be charmed with it when you know it better — the very place for an artist. I’m a wretched scribbler myself, and I carry this little book in my pocket,” and he laughed deprecatingly while he drew forth a thin fishing-book, as it looked. “They are mere memoranda, you see. I walk so much and come unexpectedly on such pretty nooks and studies, I just try to make a note of them, but it is really more writing than sketching; my sister says it is a cipher which nobody but myself understands. However, I’ll try and explain just two — because you really ought to go and see the places. Oh, no; not that,” he laughed, as accidentally СКАЧАТЬ