They were only half way down the avenue when he cleared his throat. Sara was in despair. She knew by that sound and by the last convulsive twitch of his mustache that it was just coming. A pause of awful suspense ensued. She was so frightened that even her own endeavor to ward off extremities failed her. She could not go on talking in the horror of the moment. Should she pretend to have forgotten something in the house and rush back? or should she make believe somebody was calling her and fly forward? She had thrown herself forward on one foot, ready for a run, when that blessed diversion came for which she could never be sufficiently thankful. She gave a start of delightful relief when they came to that break in the trees. “Who can that be?” she said, much as, had she been a man, she would have uttered a cheer. It would not have done for Miss Brownlow to burst forth into an unlooked-for hurrah, so she gave vent to this question instead, and made a little rush on to the grass where that figure was visible. It was a pretty little figure in a red cloak; and it was bending forward, anxiously examining some herbage about the root of a tree. At the sound of Sara’s exclamation the stranger raised herself hurriedly, blushed, looked confused, and finally, with a certain shy promptitude, came forward, as if, Sara said afterward, she was a perfect little angel out of heaven.
“I beg your pardon,” she said; “perhaps I ought not to be here. I am so sorry; but—it was for old Betty I came.”
“You are very welcome to come,” said Sara, eagerly—“if you don’t mind the damp grass. It is you who live at Mrs. Swayne’s? Oh, yes, I know you quite well. Pray, come whenever you please. There are a great many pretty walks in the park.”
“Oh, thank you!” said little Pamela. It was the first time she had seen the young great lady so near, and she took a mental inventory of her, all that she was like and all that she had on. Seeing Miss Sara on foot, like any other human creature, was not a thing that occurred every day; and she took to examining her with a double, or rather triple, interest—first, because it was Miss Sara, and something very new; second, to be able to describe minutely the glorious vision to her mother; and thirdly out of genuine admiration. How beautiful she was! and how beautifully dressed! and then the tall gentleman by her side, so unlike any thing Pamela ever saw, who took off his hat to her—actually to her! No doubt, though he was not so handsome as might have been desired, they were going to be married. He must be very good, gallant, and noble, as he was not so very good looking. Pamela’s bright eyes danced with eagerness and excitement as she looked at them. It was as good as a play or a story-book. It was a romance being performed for her benefit, actually occurring under her very eyes.
“I know what you were doing,” said Sara, “but it is too early yet. ’Round the ashen roots the violets blow’—I know that is what you were thinking of.”
Pamela, who knew very little about violets, and nothing about poetry, opened her eyes very wide. “Indeed,” she said, anxiously, “I was only looking for some plantain for Betty’s bird—that was all. I did not mean to take any—flowers. I would not do any thing so—so—ungrateful.”
“But you shall have as many violets as ever you like,” said Sara, who was eager to find any pretense for prolonging the conversation. “Do come and walk here by me. I am going to see old Betty. Do you know how she is to-day? Don’t you think she is a nice old woman? I am going to tell her she ought to have her grandchild to live with her, and open the gate, now that her rheumatism has come on. It always lasts three months when it comes on. Your Mr. Swayne’s, you know, goes on and off. I always hear all about it from my maid.”
When she paused for breath, Pamela felt that as the tall gentleman took no part in the conversation, it was incumbent upon her to say something. She was much flattered by the unexpected grandeur of walking by Miss Brownlow’s side, and being taken into her confidence; but the emergency drove every idea out of her head, as was natural. She could not think of any thing that it would be nice to say, and in desperation hazarded a question. “Is there much rheumatism about here?” poor Pamela said, looking up as if her life depended on the answer she received; and then she grew burning red, and hot all over, and felt as if life itself was no longer worth having, after thus making a fool of herself. As if Miss Brownlow knew any thing about the rheumatism here! “What an idiot she will think me!” said she to herself, longing that the earth would open and swallow her up. But Miss Brownlow was by no means critical. On the contrary, Sara rushed into the subject with enthusiasm.
“There is always rheumatism where there are so many trees,” she said, with decision—“from the damp, you know. Don’t you find it so at Motherwell, Sir Charles? You have such heaps of trees in that part of the county. Half my poor people have it here. And the dreadful thing is that one doesn’t know any cure for it, except flannel. You never can give them too much flannel,” said Sara, raising her eyes gravely to her tall companion. “They think flannel is good for every thing under the skies.”
“Don’t know, I’m sure,” said Sir Charles. “Sure it’s very good of you. Don’t know much about rheumatism myself. Always see lots about in our place; flannel pettic—hem—oh—beg your pardon. I’m sure—”
When he uttered that unfortunate remark, poor Sir Charles brought himself up with a sudden start, and turned very red. It was his horror and embarrassment, poor man, and fear of having shocked his companion’s delicacy. But Sara took the meanest advantage of him. She held out her hand, with a sweet smile. “Are you going?” she said; “it is so kind of you to have come so far with me. I hope you will have a pleasant ride. Please make Jack call at the Rectory, and ask if Fanny’s cold is better. Shall you be back to luncheon? But you never are, you gentlemen. Are you never hungry in the middle of the day as we are? Till dinner, then,” she said, waving her hand. Perhaps there was something mesmeric in it. The disappointed wooer was so startled that he stood still as under a spell.
“Didn’t mean to leave you,” he said: “don’t care for riding. I’d like to see old Betty too.”
“Oh, but that would be much too polite,” cried Sara. “Please, never mind me. It is so kind of you to have come so far. Good-bye just now. I hope you will have a pleasant ride.” She was gone before he could move or recover from his consternation. He stood in dumb amaze for a full minute looking after her; and then poor Sir Charles turned away with the obedience of despair. He had been too well brought up on the whole. His mother had brought him to such a pitch of discipline that he could not choose but obey the helm, whosesoever hand might touch it. “It was all those confounded petticoats,” he said to himself. “How could I be such an ass?” which was the most vigorous speech he had made even to himself for ages. As for Sara, she relaxed from her usual dignity, and went along skipping and tripping in the exhilaration of her heart. “Oh, what a blessing he is gone! oh, what a little angel you were to appear just when you did!” said Sara; and then she gave a glance at her new companion’s bewildered face, and composed herself. “But don’t let us think of him any more,” she continued. “Tell me about yourself—I want to know all about yourself. Wasn’t it lucky we met? Please tell me your name, and how old you are, and how you like living here. Of course, you know I am Sara Brownlow. And oh, to be sure, first of all, why did you say ungrateful? Have I ever done any thing to make you grateful to me?”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Pamela. “It is so pretty to see you always when you ride, and when you drive out. I am not quite strong yet, and I don’t know any body here; but I have only to sit down at the window, and there is always something going on. Last night you can’t think how pretty it was. The carriage lamps kept walking up and down like giants with two big eyes. And I can see all up the avenue from my window; and when I looked very close, just as they passed Betty’s door, I could see a little glimpse of the ladies inside. I saw one lovely pink dress; and then in the next there was a scarlet cloak all trimmed with swan’s down. I could