The Child Wife

But the éclaircissement was near, and this gave him a still greater gratification.

“Indeed,” said Scudamore, reproachfully, “I know why you won’t promise me. Yes, I know it.”

“What do you know, Frank?”

“Only, what everybody can see: that you’ve taken a liking to this Captain Maynard, who’s old enough to be your father, or grandfather! Ah! and if your father finds it out – well, I shan’t say what – ”

“And if it were so,” daringly retorted the daughter of the baronet, “who could blame me? You forget that the gentleman saved my life! I’m sure I’d have been drowned but for his noble behaviour. Courageous, too. You should have seen the big waves wanting to swallow me. And there wasn’t any one else to run the risk of stretching forth a hand to me! He did save my life. Is it any wonder I should feel grateful to him?”

“You’re more than grateful, Blanche! You’re in love with him!”

“In love with him! Ha! ha! ha! What do you mean by that, cousin?”

“Oh! you needn’t make light of it. You know well enough!”

“I know that you’re very disagreeable, Frank; you’ve been so all the morning.”

“Have I? I shan’t be so any longer – in your company. Since you don’t seem to care for mine, no doubt you’ll be pleased at my taking leave of you. I presume you can find the way home without me? You’ve only to keep up this wood-road. It’ll bring you to the park-gate.”

“You needn’t concern yourself about me,” haughtily rejoined the daughter of Sir George. “I fancy I can find my way home without any assistance from my gallant cousin Scudamore.”

The provoking irony of this last speech brought the dialogue to an end.

Irritated by it, the young sportsman turned his back upon his pretty partner, and whistling to his spaniel, broke abruptly away, soon disappearing behind a clump of copse wood.

Chapter Forty Six.

A Recreant Sportsman

“I owe you an apology, Miss Vernon,” said Maynard, coming out from under the hollies.

“For what?” asked the young girl, startled by his sudden appearance, but in an instant becoming calm.

“For having overheard the closing of a conversation between you and your cousin.”

She stood without making rejoinder, as if recalling what had been said.

“It was quite unintentional, I assure you,” added the intruder. “I should have disclosed myself sooner, but I – I can scarce tell what hindered me. The truth is, I – ”

“Oh?” interrupted she, as if to relieve him from his evident embarrassment, “it doesn’t in the least signify. Frank was talking some nonsense – that’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re not angry with me. Though I’ve reason to be ashamed of my conduct, I must be candid and tell you, that I scarce deem it a misfortune having overheard you. It is so pleasant to listen to one’s own praises.”

“But who was praising you?”

The question was asked with an air of naïveté that might have been mistaken for coquetry.

Perhaps she had forgotten what she had said.

“Not your cousin,” replied Maynard, with a smile – “he who thinks me old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Miss Vernon. “You mustn’t mind what Frank says. He’s always offending somebody.”

“I do not mind it. I couldn’t, after hearing how he was contradicted. A thousand thanks to my generous defender!”

“Oh! what I said of you was not meant for praise. I was but speaking the truth. But for you I should have been drowned. I am sure of it.”

“And but for you I should have been shot. Is not that also the truth?”

She did not make immediate reply. There was a blush on her cheek, strangely contrasting with a shadow that came over her face.

“I do not like the thought of any one being in my debt – not even you, Miss Vernon! Confess that we are quits, then. It will give me a contentment you do not dream of.”

“I do not quite understand you, Captain Maynard.”

“I shall be plain, then. Was it not you who sent your father to save me?”

It was a superfluous question, and he knew it. How could he be ignorant of her action under the remembrance of those sweet words, “I’ll come to you! I will come!”

She had not come, as he supposed; but she had done better. She had deputed one who had proved able to protect him.

“It is true,” replied she. “I told papa of your trouble. It wasn’t much for me. I had no danger; and must have shown myself very ungrateful had I not done so. You would have been saved without that. Your other friends would have been in time.”

“My other friends?”

“Surely you know?”

“Oh, you mean the American Minister.”

“And the two American ladies who went with him to your prison.”

“Two ladies! I saw no ladies. I never heard of them. The American Minister came; but he might have been too late. It is to your father – to you– I am indebted for my deliverance. I wish, Miss Vernon, you could understand how truly grateful I feel to you. I shall never be able to show it!”

Maynard spoke with a fervour he was unable to control.

It was not checked by any thought of the two ladies who had accompanied the American Minister to his Parisian prison. He had his surmises as to who they were; and there was a time when it would have gratified him. Now he was only glad to think that their friendly intent had been anticipated!

Standing in that wood, beside a bright creature worthy of being one of its nymphs, he was more contented to believe that she had been the preserver of his life – as he of hers.

It would have turned his contentment to supreme happiness could he have believed her gratitude resembled his own – in kind.

Her soft young heart – how he yearned to read to probe it to its profoundest depths!

It was a task delicate and dangerous; too delicate for a gentleman; too dangerous for one whose own heart was in doubt.

He feared to seek further.

“Miss Vernon,” he said, resuming the ordinary tone of discourse, “your cousin appears to have left you somewhat abruptly. May I have the pleasure of conducting you to the house? I think I can find the way after hearing Master Scudamore’s very particular directions.”