across the mirror-like surface of the water.
“I have come to wish you good-bye, Mabel,” said Harry, and his voice trembled slightly. “Lady Tryon insists on my accompanying her to London, and I cannot refuse to obey her. It is time, and she says truly that I should choose a profession; but which can I choose? I should have preferred going to sea some years ago, but I am getting too old for that, and though I have no objection to the army, yet it would take me away for years, perhaps for long years, Mabel, and that I could not stand.”
He looked affectionately into her face as he spoke.
“I should not wish you to go, Harry,” she answered in a low voice, “and yet I know that it is right and manly to have a profession. I should not like you to be in any better, yet it is so full of dangers that I should be very miserable.”
“No, I see, I must live in the country and turn farmer,” said Harry, as if a bright idea had struck him. “I have always been told that Lady Tryon is sure to leave me all her property, and that must be sufficient for all my wishes. However, when I go to London I will try and learn what profession is likely to suit me. I certainly don’t wish to be idle; and the thought of winning you, and making a home fit for your reception, will stimulate me to exertion.”
“I shall be glad if it does.”
A boat was moored near where they stood. Harry proposed to row Mabel round the lake. They looked very interesting as they two sat in the boat, Harry rowing, and Mabel smiling and talking cheerfully, occasionally catching at a water-lily.
They talked of Lucy. The theme was a sad one. Since the day of the fête she had never been well. There was a colour in her cheek and a brightness in her eye, which alarmed her aunt. She communicated her fears to Mabel.
“But dear Lucy does not consider that she is in any danger, or she would not urge my uncle to have the ball next week.”
“Perhaps your aunt is unduly alarmed,” said Harry, “Lucy seems in such spirits that I cannot suppose there is any danger. I was in a great fright at first, thinking that Lady Tryon would insist on going to London before the ball, but I am thankful to say she consents to stay till it is over. There is only one thing I don’t like in these balls. I say, Mabel, you must not let those French officers flirt too much with you. They are marquises and barons, to be sure; but after all, except their pay, they have nothing to bless themselves with. Somehow or other, I never can like a foreigner as much as an Englishman.”
“That is rather hard upon papa,” said Mabel, looking up. “You know his mother was a foreigner. Did you not know that she was French? Grandpapa married, when he was a very young man, just as he was a lieutenant, a French lady. She, too, was very young and very pretty.”
“That I am sure she must have been,” said Harry, looking up at Mabel.
“The story is a very sad one. Poor mamma died, I believe, when I was born, and grandpapa had just time to carry away his boy to England, and to place me with Aunt Ann, when he was obliged to go to sea. The little I know of the early history of our family I have learnt from Aunt Ann.”
They were nearing the shore when they heard a voice hailing them from the spot from which they set out. They soon reached a landing-place. A fine officer-like looking man was standing near it. Mabel sprang out and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh! papa, you have come back without giving us warning. Oh! dear, dear papa, how happy you have made me!”
Captain Digby Everard returned his daughter’s embrace. He looked inquiringly at Harry, whom he did not recognise.
“This is Harry Tryon,” she said. “You remember him as a boy; but he has grown a good deal since then.” The Captain smiled.
“I am very happy to renew my acquaintance with him,” he said, holding out his hand, “and I am glad to see so accomplished an oarsman: it is a pity that he has not been bred to the sea. However, perhaps it is not too late. Lord Cochrane did not go afloat till he was as old as Harry is, and he has already made a name for himself.”
The Captain and his daughter walked on towards the house, she leaning on his arm, and looking up, ever and anon, into his face as he spoke affectionately to her.
Harry, thinking that the Captain might consider him intrusive, made his adieus to Mabel and her father.
“Aunt Ann will want you to help her in preparing for the entertainment,” said Mabel, as she shook hands with him.
“And I should be happy to become better acquainted with you,” added the Captain, warmly shaking him by the hand.
Harry was becoming very popular in the neighbourhood: a good-looking young man, with apparently ample means, is certain to be so, if he is tolerably well behaved in other respects. People do not pry too closely into the character of youths of good fortune. Harry, however, was unexceptionable. The banker and some of the tradesmen of Lynderton might have had their suspicions that Lady Tryon would not “cut up” as well as was expected; but as they had had no quarrel with her grandson, they did not allow this idea to go forth to his detriment. Harry, therefore, dined as frequently out as at home. Indeed, the attractions of Ayleston Hall were not very great, to his taste.
One day, however, she insisted upon his remaining and taking a tête-à-tête dinner with her. Her eyes were weak, and she wanted him to read to her afterwards a new tale by Miss Burney. To that he had no objection. It was very romantic, and suited his humour.
“Well, Harry, you must make your fortune some day by a wife,” said the worldly old lady, “and really if you succeed with that pretty girl, Mabel Everard, you will do well. Under some circumstances I might not have encouraged it; but as it is, I have an idea: you know Lucy’s mother died of consumption, and if Lucy dies the Captain becomes his uncle’s heir.”
“But my mother died of consumption,” answered Harry, who hated the thought of being mercenary; “I hope Lucy may live, and that I may have the means of making a fortune to support a wife whenever I marry.”
“Silly boy, fortunes are not so easily made,” said the old lady, in a voice which sounded somewhat harsh to Harry’s ear. “If you don’t marry a fortune, there will probably be poverty and beggary in store for you. They are the most dreadful things in my opinion in this life. Be a wise lad, Harry, and try and win Mabel. You don’t mean to say, boy, that you have no wish to marry her?”
Harry hesitated to acknowledge his love to his grandmother. The old lady’s manner did not encourage confidence. Instinctively he mistrusted her. The old lady eyed him narrowly.
“Take my advice, and be attentive to the girl. If you follow it I shall be well pleased; if not, I shall act accordingly. Or perhaps when you go to London you would like to be introduced to your cousins, the Coppinger girls. There are a good many of them, I believe, but I have kept up no intercourse for some years past with my worthy brother Stephen. Indeed, he and I have different notions on most subjects. However, if there is anything to be gained, I should have no objection to call on my nieces. He is very rich, I am told, and will probably divide his fortune between them. Still, though our family is a good one, as he has always lived in the city, a daughter of his cannot bring you the county influence and credit which you would derive from such a girl as Mabel Everard.”
Harry seldom acted the hypocrite. He did so, however, on this occasion. He should be very happy to become acquainted with his fair cousins, and he did not for a moment deny the attractions of Mabel Everard, or the advantages which might accrue, should he be fortunate enough to win her hand.
The old lady,
