Margaret Capel Volume I Part 25

"I wish Mr. Gage was near-sighted," said Margaret laughing, "he is quite mistaken if he thinks ladies like to be stared at; even Harriet, who does not care for many things, told him one evening that it made her quite nervous to have him opposite when she was singing, looking into her mouth like a dentist."

"And when do you mean to ride out?" said Mr. Haveloc.

"Oh! do you know I had quite forgotten my horse," exclaimed Margaret, "Uncle Grey!--There I have waked him at last."

"What is it, my love?" said Mr. Grey looking up.

"Miss Capel is so dismayed at having waked you," said Mr. Haveloc laughing.

"Oh! I was not asleep," said Mr. Grey rubbing his eyes, "I have been listening to all you have been saying."

Mr. Haveloc and Margaret exchanged smiles.

"Will you let me ride out to-morrow, dear uncle?"

"Yes, my love; you are quite sure of the horse, Claude. If somebody would go out first, just to try him; or if you have no engagement to-morrow, Claude, perhaps you would go with Margaret and Evans, just to see that all is right for the first time. Evans is a very steady man; afterwards I could trust him with comfort."

No one could mistake the delight that was visible on Mr. Haveloc's countenance at this proposition. He could not have asked to ride out with her, but here was a reason--a sufficient cause. "Nothing could give him more pleasure," he said, "he begged to know what time would suit Miss Capel, that he might be in the way."

Anybody but Mr. Grey would have noticed the impatience with which Mr.

Haveloc looked forward to this ride: any one else would have been aware that it was some strong feeling that could make so ordinary an occurrence a matter of so much importance to him.

Margaret never spent the morning in the library with them; and Mr.

Haveloc settled to nothing; he neither read nor wrote, but wandered about the room, sometimes watching the weather, and sometimes glancing over the newspaper. But Mr. Grey having provided for Margaret's safety, forgot the subject altogether, and spent his time in puzzling over his steward's accounts, and cutting the leaves of a new review without taking any note of his companion's idleness. And when Margaret did make her appearance, looking beautiful with excitement, and he hastened to meet her, Mr. Grey followed him to the hall door giving him a string of cautions, which any third person could have told him was quite unnecessary in the present instance. He was quite eager enough to examine the girths and the curb, and to prevent her horse from going too fast.

It was a beautiful day; the trees were just out and the young leaves trembled in the bright sunshine. There was that peculiar fragrance in the air, which results from the opening buds in shrubs and hedges; and in some places, the sweet breath of violets seemed to linger on the soft wind, mingled with the fresh scent of dewy tufts of moss.

Margaret had no fear, and the paces of her horse were so easy, that she felt no fatigue. Mr. Haveloc took the greatest care of her, and exerted himself to amuse her so effectually, that she was really sorry when her ride was concluded. Whether she would have enjoyed it quite as much with the groom, for her sole attendant, is a question that she had no present opportunity of solving; for Mr. Haveloc told Mr. Grey that he thought her horse went best in company, and that while he remained at Ashdale, he was entirely at the service of Miss Capel whenever she chose to ride out.

CHAPTER XV.

But who can tell what cause had that fair maid To use him so that loved her so well?

Or who with blame can justly her upbraid For loving not? For who can love compel?

SPENSER.

It was customary with Mr. Grey to pa.s.s his mornings in the library unless some very particular business caused him to take refuge in his study. He was fond of desultory reading, and was accomplished in the knowledge of several modern languages. Mr. Haveloc usually employed himself at the other end of the room, without any reference to Mr.

Grey's occupations; reading with as much eagerness upon any subject that happened to engage his attention, as if he were still a candidate for academic honours.

They seldom exchanged a remark during these hours, unless Mr. Grey suddenly became alarmed at the steadfastness of his young friend's application, when he would favour him with some of those cautions, which he was in the habit of addressing to Margaret, regarding the injurious effect of too much study.

One morning a letter was brought to Mr. Grey, which he opened and looked at with some surprise, glanced at the signature, and exclaimed, "From Hubert Gage! How extraordinary! Why could not the silly fellow come and say what he wanted, instead of writing it?"

Mr. Haveloc looked up at the unwonted interruption, and seeing Mr. Grey reading his letter with many sounds of impatience and vexation, he could not avoid "hoping that there was no bad news from Chirke Weston."

"No; not bad news," said Mr. Grey laying down his letter and his reading gla.s.ses upon it, and leaning back in his chair, as if quite tired out: "not exactly bad news."

This remark was, perhaps, rather calculated to excite than to gratify his curiosity; but Mr. Haveloc resumed his reading without farther inquiry, and Mr. Grey remained for some time in deep thought.

At last Mr. Grey looked up, and turned round to his companion.

"A very strange thing, Claude," said he. "I am sure, as far as I am concerned, the most unlooked-for occurrence. Here is Hubert Gage proposing for my little niece, Margaret--a mere baby!"

Mr. Haveloc started from his chair, made a step or two towards Mr. Grey, and then returned quietly to his seat, and made a great show of finding the place in his book again.

"Yes, it is very remarkable," said Mr. Grey, who had interpreted Mr.

Haveloc's sudden movement into an expression of surprise; "I could never have foreseen it. And really, Hubert Gage, a mere boy! Of course the connexion is highly honourable, impossible to be better; but at their age. Not that anything can be more fair and manly than his letter; but if he has Captain Gage's consent to fetter himself by an engagement of this kind before he is one and twenty years old--why his father has not half the sense I gave him credit for."

Mr. Haveloc was silent.

"Yet poor young fellow," said Mr. Grey, taking up his letter, "if he is in love as he says he is, perhaps all this impatience is more natural in him than in an older man. And although this love is very often a source of great inconvenience, yet we all look back to that period, whether successful or not, as to the most spiritual, and the happiest portion of our lives. Faith, I will do all I can for him in the business."

"And Miss Capel," said Mr. Haveloc, speaking with effort.

"Oh! for her, poor little girl, I dare say she fancies herself attached to him. For I have often remarked, Claude, that when a handsome and agreeable young man pays a great deal of attention to an inexperienced girl, it generally ends in this way; first impressions are everything.

And you heard her telling me the other night that Hubert used to roast chestnuts for her, and all that sort of thing. I dare say it is all for the best."

Mr. Haveloc made no reply. A dark frown settled on his face, and he leaned his head on his hands, seeming to be immersed in the folio volume that stood on a desk before him.

"If," he thought, "the love of a creature like Margaret can hinge upon such wretched trifles, why let it go. If she can love him, why should I regret her?"

Yet he felt that all he was worth would be too little to purchase such affection as hers would be, where it was freely given.

Both parties were silent for some time. Mr. Grey forgot the presence of Mr. Haveloc, so entirely was he engrossed with the subject on his mind; and he was employing himself in making a mental estimate of the amount of Margaret's and Hubert's property, and the sum he meant to add to it, when he heard her voice and step in the drawing-room, half-dancing, half-singing, as she came near the library. The sounds ceased as she turned the handle of the door, and she entered with the most demure expression in the world.

"Uncle Grey, may I have the carriage after luncheon, if you please, to go to S--," said she advancing to him, "for I have broken my guitar string--this silver one, and I cannot play till I have got another."

"Yes, my love, certainly," said Mr. Grey, drawing her towards him, "are you busy now?"

"No; this is the last piece of business I have done," said Margaret laughing, and showing him the string, which she was twining round her fingers, "a very bad business; you cannot think how it startled me when it snapped."

"Have you learned that song which Hubert Gage gave you?" asked Mr. Grey.

"The Neapolitan one? Oh, yes! it is very easy;" said Margaret, singing one or two bars in a low tone, "Mr. Hubert thinks himself so fine because he can play that air on the guitar. It is the only tune he can play."

"Well, my love," said her uncle, "I have had a letter from Hubert Gage this morning. You may read it, if you will."

As he spoke, he put the letter into her hands. He entirely forgot that Mr. Haveloc was in the room; and even had he recollected it, he would have taken it for granted, that sitting at such a distance, and engaged in reading so closely, his presence would have been no drawback to the conversation he wished to hold with his niece. Margaret, standing with her back to him, never perceived him at all; and for Mr. Haveloc, he never imagined that Mr. Grey would have done more than give Margaret the letter, and recommend her to read it at her leisure. He could not leave the room, except by pa.s.sing Margaret; and he thought the sight of him would embarra.s.s her while conversing on such a subject, therefore he remained where he was. And an intense curiosity to learn how she would receive such tidings, held him, breathless and motionless, until she left the room.

Margaret read the letter through attentively, and steadily, the crimson deepening every moment all over her face, and then looking up straight to her uncle as she returned it, she said:

"I am glad you will have to answer this letter, uncle, instead of me, since I have no practice in these matters; and it is unpleasant to be obliged to say--no."

"But, my dear child," said Mr. Grey, quite puzzled at receiving a reply so totally different to what he had expected, "what objection have you in the world to such a fine fellow as Hubert Gage?"