Tales from Many Sources Part 13

"Yes, my face is scorched and heated," answered Betty, turning a cheek like a peach to her friend. "But after all, to so weather-beaten a maid as myself, up and out in all seasons, a scorched cheek, more or less, signifies not; and Dame Martha works hard."

"And had your father any news from Wancote?"

"Yes, news indeed--Belton has been taken!"

"Taken?"

"Hired or purchased by a gentleman of the name of Johnstone, whose arrival is expected hourly."

"This is news indeed! None but a rich man could have paid the price asked."

"His horses have arrived," went on Betty. "Only four of them as yet, but each one of the four of surpa.s.sing beauty. One of them, Mr. Barnes told my father, looked worth a king's ransom."

"May the owner be worthy of his cattle," said Mary Jones. "And were there no coach-horses, no carriages? No symptoms of a lady to dispense the hospitalities of Belton?"

"Mr. Johnstone is said to be unmarried," answered Betty gravely. "I am sorry for it, a new neighbour would have been an agreeable addition to our society."

There was a click of the garden-gate, then a smart rap, as if by the k.n.o.b of a hunting-whip.

"Someone is at the gate," said Miss Mary with curiosity.

"Yes," answered Betty, "and I must needs answer it myself, for the bell is broken, as doubtless our visitor has discovered, and he may knock till doomsday ere the sound reach the ears of Dame Martha or Isaac, both of whom are engaged in quarrelling in the kitchen. So so! how impatient it is!"

For another succession of knocks fell on the panel.

"I entreat you, do not open the door yourself, Betty," cried Mary in a tone of alarm. "Who knows who may be there?"

"Certainly not Wild Jack," answered Betty smiling, and disengaging herself from her friend's arm she went forward and opened the gate.

"Does Mr. Ives live here?" asked a loud, clear voice, which, however, suddenly changed in tone when the opening door disclosed the radiant vision of the parson's lovely daughter.

A feathered hat was doffed, a gentleman sprang from his horse and, bowing low, asked if he had the honour of addressing one of the family of Mr. Ives.

"His only daughter, sir," answered Betty courteously. "If you wish to see my father, I will beg you to come in and wait, as he will be in shortly," Mary Jones advanced, her eyes took in at a glance the whole distinguished appearance of the visitor, from the fine cut of his suit of claret-coloured cloth, to the well-shaped boot with shining spurs, and she gave a little sign of approval.

Betty summoned old Isaac and bade him take charge of the horse, and then led the way into the garden.

"We are primitive folk here," she said. "But I find most people prefer our garden-seats to entering the house."

Mary was somewhat scandalised, she thought these easy out-door seats a breach of etiquette in themselves, but she could make no remonstrance beyond a little tweak at her friend's sleeve.

Betty sat down and, inviting her visitor to do likewise, she said:

"In my character as mistress of the house, I would wish to introduce you, sir, to my friend Mistress Mary Jones, of Elm Cottage close by, but have not the honour of being acquainted actually with your name, albeit I have conjectured."

"My name is John Johnstone, madam," he replied. "I have but now become the possessor of Belton, near Wancote."

"Our new neighbour," cried Mary.

"Yes, I claim that honour," continued Mr. Johnstone.

"We are vastly pleased to make your acquaintance," said Mary, thinking with some pride that she could boast to her friends of already knowing the newcomer.

Mr. Johnstone acknowledged the compliment courteously, but he never took his eyes off his young hostess, who appeared in them a miracle of grace and beauty.

With the skill of a man of the world, he drew her into animated conversation, gathering from her information respecting the country round, the different meets of the hounds, the neighbours, the tradespeople, the horses. Time slipped away almost unperceived, and neither lady knew how it had sped, when Mr. Ives, mounted on his handsome bay cob, rode up to the door.

Mr. Ives beheld with some surprise his daughter and her friend in full converse with a stranger.

The scene was worthy of a Watteau's brush--the sun just sinking behind the orchard trees gilding the edge of each leaf, shone on the dark red of John Johnstone's dress, warmed the sombre hue of fair Betty's lincoln green, and played on the blue and primrose of Mistress Mary's flower-like costume. It was a fair picture, and no eye could rest on a goodlier couple than the tall lithe young man, and the n.o.ble maiden.

"It was courteous of him to pay us one of the first, nay, _the_ first of his neighbourly visits," said the good parson, exchanging his tie-wig for a comfortable flannel night-cap, when he was once more alone with his daughter.

"Next time he comes I will reward him with some of our golden plums,"

said Betty gaily as she fixed her white teeth in the tender skin of one that was lusciously ripe.

Mistress Mary to her maid described the newcomer thus:

"He is tall, Deborah, very tall; slight, but with shoulders of great breadth, and a square neck--one would say that his strength was herculean. His eyes are dark blue, his nose a trifle arched, brows thick and square, a sweet mouth--a very sweet mouth--but wondrous stern all the same. But his manners, Deborah, and his curling dark hair, just slightly dashed with powder--his manners are perfect! his hair is divine! Heigh-ho, Deborah!"

CHAPTER III.

Up from the plains a steep road rose on the downs, a road so steep, so dazzling white that it looked like a white thread hanging on a green surface.

Betty Ives rode slowly up the hill, leaning slightly forward to ease her horse as she did so. Though November had set in, the sun was still powerful, and both horse and rider were a little oppressed by its heat.

Some very close observer might have seen a change in the girl's face--a very slight change, something that deepened the expression of the lovely eyes, something that played softly like the shadow of a great happiness on the mobile lips. She was thinking, thinking deeply as she rode.

Folks said that Betty Ives was very hard to win. Ruth Thornton, the squire's buxom daughter, would have given years of her life for one of the pa.s.sionate appeals young Robins had made so often to Betty in vain.

Lady Rachel Tremame had almost broken her heart when Betty, at the Newbury ball, had so attracted Sir Harry Clare that he had no eyes for other than her. Yet amid her many adorers, fair Betty, with the carelessness of inexperience, pa.s.sed unpitying and fancy free.

But now times were changed: fair Betty's heart was given away.

Yet John Johnstone had not found his courtship easy, it was long before he made any way. He wooed proudly, and she took his subjection as due to herself, and was not grateful for that which she deemed her right. But the young man loved her the better for this, for he was one of those who value most that which is hardest to gain.

Betty with her rein on her horse's neck was thinking, wondering how it was that John Johnstone was always present to her mind, that her eyes sought him in the hunting-field, that those evenings were dull and lonely on which he did not come in for a chat with her father before supper-time, and all the world fell flat, stale and unprofitable, during various short absences of his, when he would disappear for three days together and none knew whither he went.

Betty's horse had mounted the white hill at last, and now scoured swiftly away over the springy turf on the wide downs.

For miles she pa.s.sed no human habitation, then Betty reached her destination.

Low in a hollow dip of the green gra.s.s sea nestled a small cottage. No tree or bush within miles, the unbroken winds tore round it, the snow often banked up against it; but the owner, one of Mr. Ives' pensioners, appeared to care little for wind or weather.

As Betty rode up, she sent her clear ringing voice before her: