The Baronet's Bride Part 20

"Her mother? I'm sure I don't know. I was quite a little girl when Captain Hunsden was here before, and Harrie was a pretty little curly-haired fairy of three years. I remember her so well. Captain Hunsden dined here once or twice, and I recollect perfectly how gloomy and morose his manner was. I was quite frightened at him. You were at Eton then, you know."

"I know!" impatiently. "I wish to Heaven I had not been. Boy as I was, I should have learned something. Did you never hear the cause of the captain's gloom?"

"No; papa and mamma knew nothing, and Captain Hunsden kept his own secrets. They had heard of his marriage some four or five years before--a low marriage, it was rumored--an actress, or something equally objectionable. Little Harrie knew nothing--at three years it was hardly likely; but she never prattled of her mother as children of that age usually do. There is some mystery about Captain Hunsden's wife, and--pardon me--if you like Miss Hunsden, you ought to have it cleared up."

Everard laughed--a harsh, strident laugh.

"If I like Miss Hunsden, my dear little non-committal Milly. Am I to go to Hunsden Hall and say to its master, 'Look here, Captain Hunsden, give me proofs of your marriage--tell me all about your mysterious wife. You have a very handsome, high-spirited daughter, but before I commit myself by falling in love with her, I want to make sure there was no tarnish on the late Mrs. Hunsden's wedding-ring.' Captain Harold Hunsden is a proud man. How do you think he will like the style of that?"

Mildred stood silent, looking distressed.

"I wish I had married Lady Louise a month ago, and gone out of the country!" he burst out, vehemently. "I wish I had never seen this girl. She is everything that is objectionable--a half-civilized madcap--shrouded in mystery and poverty--danced over the world in a baggage-wagon. I have quarreled with my mother for the first time on her account. But I love her--I love her with all my heart--and I shall go mad or shoot myself if I don't make her my wife!"

He flung himself impetuously, face downward, on the sofa. Mildred stood pallid and scared in the middle of the floor. Once he lifted his head and looked at her.

"Go away, Milly!" he said, hoa.r.s.ely. "I'm a savage to frighten you so!

Leave me; I shall be better alone."

And Mildred, not knowing what else to do, went.

Next morning, hours before Lady Kingsland was out of bed, Lady Kingsland's son was galloping over the breezy hills and golden downs.

An hour's hard run, and he made straight for Hunsden Hall.

Miss Hunsden was taking a const.i.tutional up and down the terrace overlooking the sea, with three big dogs. She turned round at Sir Everard's approach and greeted him quite cordially.

"Papa is so much better this morning," she said, "that he is coming down to breakfast. He is subject to these attacks, and they never last long. Any exciting news overthrows him altogether."

"That letter contained exciting news, then?" Sir Everard could not help saying.

"I presume so--I did not read it. How placid the sea looks this morning, aglitter in the sunlight. And yet I have been in the middle of the Atlantic when the waves ran mountains high."

"You are quite a heroine, Miss Hunsden, and a wonderful traveler for a seventeen-year-old young lady. You see, I know your age; but at seventeen a young lady does not mind, I believe. How long have you been in England this time?"

He spoke with careless adroitness; Miss Hunsden answered, frankly enough:

"Five months. You were abroad, I think, at the time."

"Yes. And now you have come for good, I hope--as if Miss Hunsden could come for anything else."

"It all depends on papa's health," replied Harriet, quietly ignoring the compliment. "I should like to stay, I confess. I am very, very fond of England."

"Of course--as you should be of your native place." He was firing nearer the target.

"England is not my native place," said Harriet, calmly. "I was born at Gibraltar."

"At Gibraltar! You surprise me. Of course your mother was not a native of Gibraltar?"

"Of course not. My mother was an American--born and bred and married in New York."

"I suppose you scarcely remember her?"

"Scarcely," the young lady repeated, dryly; "since I never saw her."

"Indeed! She died then--"

"At my birth--yes. And now, Sir Everard"--the bright, clear eyes flashed suddenly full upon him--"is the catechism almost at an end?"

He absolutely recoiled. If ever guilt was written on a human face, it was readily written on his.

"Ah!" Miss Hunsden said, scornfully, "you thought I couldn't find you out--you thought I couldn't see your drift. Have a better opinion of my powers of penetration next time, Sir Everard. My poor father, impoverished in purse, broken in health, sensitive in spirit, chooses to hide his wounds--chooses not to wear his heart on his sleeve for the Devonshire daws to peck at--chooses never to speak of his lost wife--and, lo! all the gossips of the country are agape for the news.

She was an actress, was she not, Sir Everard? And when I ride across the country, at the heels of the hounds, it is only the spangles, and glitter, and theater glare breaking out again. I could despise it in others, but I did think better things of the son of my father's oldest friend! Good-morning, Sir Everard."

She turned proudly away.

"Stay, Harriet--Miss Hunsden! Stop--for pity's sake, stop and hear me!

I have been presuming--impertinent. I have deserved your rebuke."

"You have," she said, haughtily.

"But I asked those questions because the nameless insinuations I heard drove me mad--because I love you, I worship you, with all my heart and soul."

Like an impetuous torrent the words burst out. He actually flung himself on his knees before her.

"My beautiful, queenly, glorious Harriet! I love you as man never loved woman before!"

Miss Hunsden stood aghast, staring, absolutely confounded. For one instant she stood thus; then all was forgotten in her sense of the ludicrous. She leaned against a tree, and set up a shout of laughter long and clear.

"Oh, good gracious!" cried Miss Hunsden, as soon as she was able to speak; "who ever heard the like of this? Sir Everard Kingsland, get up. I forgive you everything for this superhuman joke. I haven't had such a laugh for a month. For goodness' sake get up, and don't be a goose!"

The young baronet sprung to his feet, furious with mortification and rage.

"Miss Hunsden--"

"Oh, don't!" cried Harriet, in a second paroxysm. "Don't make me rupture an artery. Love me?--worship me? Why, you ridiculous thing!

you haven't known me two days altogether!"

He turned away without speaking a word.

"And then you're engaged to Lady Louise! Every one says so, and I am sure it looks like it."

"I am not engaged to Lady Louise."

He said those words huskily, and he could say no more.

Miss Hunsden tried to look grave, but her mouth twitched. The sense of the ludicrous overcame her sense of decorum, and again she laughed until the tears stood in her eyes.

"Oh, I shall die!" in a faint whisper. "My sides ache. I beg your pardon, Sir Everard; but indeed I can not help it. It is so funny!"

"So I perceive. Good-morning, Miss Hunsden."