Mistress Wilding | Page 7

Sunday morning to
Taunton, hoping that at the Red Lion Inn - that meeting-place of
dissenters - he might cull reliable information.
It was in consequence of this that the meeting with Richard Westmacott
was not to take place until the evening, and therefore Vallancey came
not to Lupton House as early as Richard thought he should expect him.
Blake, however - more no doubt out of a selfish fear of losing a valued
ally in the winning of Ruth's hand than out of any excessive concern for
Richard himself - had risen early and hastened to Lupton House, in the
hope, which he recognized as all but forlorn, of yet being able to avert
the disaster he foresaw for Richard.
Peering over the orchard wall as he rode by, he caught a glimpse,
through an opening between the trees, of Ruth herself and Diana on the
lawn beyond. There was a wicket gate that stood unlatched, and
availing himself of this Sir Rowland tethered his horse in the lane and
threading his way briskly through the orchard came suddenly upon the
girls. Their laughter reached him as he advanced, and told him they
could know nothing yet of Richard's danger.

On his abrupt and unexpected apparition, Diana paled and Ruth flushed
slightly, whereupon Sir Rowland might have bethought him, had he
been book-learned, of the axiom, "Amour qui rougit, fleurette;amour
qui plit, drame du coeur." He doffed his hat and bowed, his fair ringlets
tumbling forward till they hid his face, which was exceeding grave.
Ruth gave him good morning pleasantly. "You London folk are earlier
risers than we are led to think," she added.
"`Twill be the change of air makes Sir Rowland matutinal," said Diana,
making a gallant recovery from her agitation.
"I vow," said he, "that I had grown matutinal earlier had I known what
here awaited me."
"Awaited you?" quoth Diana, and tossed her head archly disdainful.
"La! Sir Rowland, your modesty will be the death of you." Archness
became this lady of the sunny hair, tip-tilted nose, and complexion that
outvied the apple-blossoms. She was shorter by a half-head than her
darker cousin, and made up in sprightliness what she lacked of Ruth's
gentle dignity.The pair were foils, each setting off the graces of the
other.
"I protest I am foolish," answered Blake, a shade discomfited. "But I
want not for excuse. I have it in the matter that brings me here." So
solemn was his air, so sober his voice, that both girls felt a premonition
of the untoward message that he bore. It was Ruth who asked him to
explain himself.
"Will you walk, ladies?" said Blake, and waved the hand that still held
his hat riverwards, adown the sloping lawn. They moved away together,
Sir Rowland pacing between his love of yesterday and his love of
to-day, pressed with questions from both. He shaded his eyes to look at
the river, dazzling in the morning sunlight that came over Polden Hill,
and, standing thus, he unburdened himself at last.
"My news concerns Richard and - Mr. Wilding." They looked at him.
Miss Westmacott's fine level brows were knit. He paused to ask, as if
suddenly observing his absence, "Is Richard not yet risen?"

"Not yet," said Ruth, and waited for him to proceed.
"It does credit to his courage that he should sleep late on such a day,"
said Blake, and was pleased with the adroitness wherewith he broke the
news. "He quarrelled last night with Anthony Wilding."
Ruth's hand went to her bosom; fear stared at Blake from out her eyes,
blue as the heavens overhead; a grey shade overcast the usual warm
pallor of her face.
"With Mr. Wilding?" she cried. "That man!" And though she said no
more her eyes implored him to go on, and tell her what more there
might be. He did so, and he spared not Wilding. The task, indeed, was
one to which he applied himself with a certain zest; whatever might be
the outcome of the affair, there was no denying that he was by way of
reaping profit from it by the final overthrow of an acknowledged rival.
And when he told her how Richard had flung his wine in Wilding's face
when Wilding stood to toast her, a faint flush crept to her cheeks.
"Richard did well," said she. "I am proud of him."
The words pleased Sir Rowland vastly; but he reckoned without Diana.
Miss Horton's mind was illumined by her knowledge of herself. In the
light of that she saw precisely what capital this tale-bearer sought to
make. The occasion might not be without its opportunities for her; and
to begin with, it was no part of her intention that Wilding should be
thus maligned and finally driven from the