Accordingly they made a suggestion to that effect, but worthy Mr. Warburton would not listen to them. “I fully calculated on your spending a month with me,” he said, “and shall be greatly disappointed if you don’t. I shall fancy you are tired of the place.”
“Tired of the place! Impossible!” said De Clairvaux. “I never stayed at a chateau so agreeable, so hospitable — never — Foi de gentilhomme!”
“I can only echo what the Comte has just said,” added Sir Randal. “Never have I experienced such perfect hospitality.”
“You do me too much honour, gentlemen,” said Mr. Warburton. “But I am glad you have seen Beaucliffe to advantage, and not as it has been of late.”
“We have seen a most delightful place,” said the Comte with enthusiasm, “and if you keep us here much longer we shall never be able to tear ourselves away.”
“The ladies have just arrived from Brereton,” said the Squire, looking forth into the garden. “Will you join them?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” they replied, his friends following him through the open porti-croisée to the lawn, where they found Lady Talmash and Rose, who had just walked over from Brereton, escorted by Stanley. —
Both looked very well, and were charmingly dressed. From the manner in which the Comte was received by her ladyship, it would almost seem he was accepted. But he paid her as much homage as before, while on her part she seemed rather vain of his devoted attention.
Stanley went into the house, but presently returned with Lady Starkey and Mildred.
Never in her brightest days had the latter looked so lovely as now. On her appearance she completely threw the others into the shade — but she did not seem even conscious of her superior beauty.
Sir Randal looked at her with astonishment, and said in a low voice to Stanley, “I never saw anything like it I declare your wife grows more lovely every day.”
Stanley seemed gratified, but made no reply.
Most of the other persons present were of Sir Randal’s opinion, and the general impression was that Mildred was far handsomer than she used to be.
Beaucliffe had once more become the rendez-vous of all the fashionable folks in the neighbourhood, and this morning it fully maintained its character. A great number of persons called, almost all of whom found their way to the garden, where lawn-tennis was now going on.
All the old gaiety of the place seemed suddenly revived, to the Squire’s great delight. Mildred took no part in the amusements, but looked on and encouraged them, and the lawn soon presented a very lively scene.
Both Stanley and Rose played lawn-tennis so well as to excite general admiration, and Mildred complimented the latter on her skill.
“I wish you would take my place,” said Rose. “Everybody would be delighted.”
“I have forgotten all about it.”
“You used to play much better than I do.”
But Mildred shook her head.
“I must resist temptation,” she said. “I have promised never to play again, and I won’t break my word.”
“Nonsense!” cried Stanley, who heard what passed. “There is no harm whatever in lawn-tennis.”
“I don’t disapprove of it,” she replied. “But I won’t play.”
After several exciting contests, in which Rose especially distinguished herself, a large party assembled at luncheon, when there was plenty of iced champagne; but Mildred did not quit the bench on which she had taken a seat.
Here she was joined by Sister Aline, who had been walking in a different part of the garden, and when the company came forth again they had both disappeared.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MILDRED VISITS THE STABLES.
NOT for a long, long time, had Mildred visited the stables — formerly so attractive to her — but one day she went with Rose to look at them. Mildred was accompanied by Stanley and her father, both of whom watched her with great interest.
Arrived at the entrance to the stables, her courage seemed to desert her and she was about to turn back, but at length she yielded to her husband’s persuasions and went in.
“You see what my good resolutions are worth,” she said, as she entered. “I had resolved never again to put myself in the way of temptation, and here I am.”
“But what harm can these horses do you?” asked her father.
“A great deal,” she replied. “They may lead me into mischief.”
“I don’t see how,” he said.
“All my former errors originated in my fondness for horses,” she said; “and I had resolved never to ride again, and here I am exposing myself to temptation. I cannot look at them without longing for a ride.”
“Well, pray gratify your wish,” said Stanley. “You will be none the worse for a good gallop, but a good deal better.”
“Stanley is quite right,” said the Squire. “I long to see you on horseback again, and so do a good many others.”
“You tempt me very much,” she cried, going up to a magnificent hunter, and patting his glossy side; “but I must not yield.”
“If I could ride like you I shouldn’t hesitate,” said Rose. “Besides, I can see no harm in it. I should like immensely to have a gallop on this horse, and should feel that the exercise would do me a vast deal of good.”
“So it would,” replied Mildred. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
“Why should a gallop be beneficial in one case and not in another?” said Rose.
“I’ll explain,” replied Mildred gravely. “I once was passionately fond of hunting and thought myself a first-rate horsewoman.”
“So you are,” said Stanley. “I’ll answer for that.”
“That notion made me vain — excessively vain—” replied Mildred. “I was told there was no one like me in the hunting field, and I believed it. Now that I see my danger, I have resolved not to expose myself to a like temptation again. Never more will I be seen on horseback — never more indulge in a gallop!”
“A very foolish resolution,” said Stanley. “And I hope you won’t keep it. Here is a stable full of horses, from which you may choose.”
“Your own famous hunter is among them,” remarked the Squire.
“I know it,” she replied. “But I should hesitate even to take him. I am persuaded if I begin to ride again some ill will befall me.”
“Banish these feelings,” said her father; “they are unworthy of you. I am surprised to find you so superstitious!”
“I cannot help it,” she replied. “If I once begin I shall go on, and then there is no telling where I shall stop.”
“Well — well! do as you please,” said the Squire.
“For my part I have no misgivings,” remarked Rose, “and should very much enjoy a ride one of these days.”
“Any time you like,” said the Squire. “And Stanley I’m sure will take charge of you.”
“That he will with pleasure,” he replied. “Make your own choice. The horses all want exercise.”
“Take my favourite hunter, if you will,” said Mildred.
“No, no,” rejoined the Squire. “In spite of all your boasted resolutions, I hope to see you mount him again one of these days — so I shall keep him exclusively for you.”
“You are always kind,” observed Mildred to her father. “Well, I must confess I am highly pleased with my visit to the stables and shall probably come here again before long.”
A couple of grooms, who had been employed in the stalls, now came forth, and one of them expressed a hope that he should soon see his young mistress again.
“Very likely you will. Tom,” she replied, smiling at him as she went out. “But I can’t make any positive promise.”
“I hope she means to begin again,” said Tom to his fellows. “We’ve had no ladies worth lookin’ at in the field since she left off huntin’.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A THUNDERSTORM IN DELAMERE FOREST.
NEXT day, a small party, hastily arranged by Stanley, and provided w
ith horses from the Squire’s well-stocked stables, set out at a tolerably early hour, on a ride to Delamere Forest.
Besides Stanley himself, who acted as leader of the expedition, the party comprised Lady Talmash and Rose, with the Comte de Clairvaux and Sir Randal de Blundeville, and was attended by the two grooms we found in the stables on the previous day.
The ladies did not start from Beaucliffe, but from Brereton, where they were staying, and where their steeds were brought by the grooms, and both looked remarkably well in the riding-habits lent them by Mildred.
Mildred, we may mention, had been asked by her husband to accompany them, but declined, as he expected she would.
As the weather was propitious and promised to continue fine, a delightful day was anticipated; but Mrs. Brereton, who witnessed the departure’, looked grave and predicted thunder. Nobody, however, heeded her warning at the time, and the party set off in excellent spirits resolved to enjoy themselves.
Their road led them past several old halls, the owners of which were intimate friends both of Stanley and Sir Randal, but they made no calls. Many timber and plaster farmhouses — some of the larger of which had formerly been mansions and were still moated — -attracted their notice. Almost all these picturesque habitations had large farmyards attached to them, with cowhouses, great barns, and orchards filled with grey, old damson trees — the fruit of which, Sir Randal said, made the most delicious puddings. Adjacent to these comfortable dwellings were rich pastures filled with cattle, promising a good supply of the cheeses for which Cheshire is famous.
As the country was rather flat and the hedges high, the views were not very extensive, but whenever a little eminence was gained, commanding the distant Mersey, near Warrington, or some sheet of water close at hand, the prospect was beautiful.
Nowadays very little is left of the real Delamere Forest, almost all the oldest trees being cleared off, and the waste cultivated. The famous chase is robbed of the red and fallow deer, which used to draw the huntsmen of former days to it in crowds, and is little better than a waste, covered with heath and abounding with rabbits. Such a scene as this did not look very inviting, and neither of the ladies could praise it.
But the point to which Stanley wished to conduct them was Eddisbury Hill, whence a magnificent view can be obtained, comprehending the wide vale of Chester, Chester itself, the Mersey and the whole of the site of old Delamere Forest.
On the summit of this commanding height an old fortress once stood, and the remains of an ancient camp are still visible.
As the party mounted the eminence, Rose noticed that the sky had darkened and expressed her uneasiness to Stanley, who endeavoured to reassure her.
“I don’t think there is any cause for apprehension,” he said. “The storm will pass off.”
But instead of passing off it became worse, and Mrs. Brereton’s warning was fulfilled.
Just as the summit of Eddisbury Hill was gained and they were admiring the wonderful prospect, a loud crack of thunder was heard and a flash of lightning struck the ground a little in advance of the troop, Rose, who was riding in front with Stanley, was much frightened and exclaimed, “Do let us go down and take shelter somewhere. A dreadful thunderstorm is coming on and we shall be exposed to its full violence here.”
“Yes, this has quite taken me by surprise,” he replied. “I didn’t believe either in my mother’s warning, or the threatening sky. But there is no mistake about it now. We must turn back,” he called to the others.
“But where shall we find shelter?” asked Sir Randal.
“Where we can, I suppose,” replied Stanley, as another clap of thunder was heard, rather louder than the first.
“I shall never be able to keep my seat if this goes on,” said Rose, whose terror seemed to increase.
Lady Talmash appeared equally frightened and turning her horse’s head dashed down the hill. She was instantly followed by the Comte and Sir Randal, but neither of them could overtake her or render any assistance, and both expected she would have a dangerous fall.
Fearing Rose would start in the same headlong style, and possibly come to grief, Stanley seized her bridle and restrained the steed.
Meanwhile there was no cessation in the storm; and, equally alarmed with the rest, the grooms rode down the hill.
“We must find shelter somewhere,” cried Rose. “There is a large tree yonder; let us get to it.”
“Better no shelter at all than such as that tree will afford,” replied Stanley. “You see all the others have avoided it.”
“I know that a tree is considered very dangerous in a storm,” she replied. “But since nothing else offers I’ll run the risk of being struck by lightning. Pray let go my bridle!”
Seeing she was becoming terribly alarmed, Stanley complied.
Thus released, she instantly dashed down the hill in the direction of the tree and he followed.
As they came down, Sir Randal, who was the only person visible, shouted to them, and Stanley pointed to the tree. The baronet made a gesture of warning, but they paid no heed to it, and went on.
Scarcely had they reached the old oak that offered them the cover of its branches, when Stanley was obliged to help Rose to dismount or she would have fallen.
With the greatest difficulty could he sustain her in her present half-fainting state and at the same time prevent their steeds, which were now well-nigh unmanageable, from breaking away.
But he was quickly relieved from the latter embarrassment by the arrival of the grooms, who had been sent to him by Sir Randal.
“Must we stop here, sir?” asked Tom, looking much frightened.
“No,” replied Stanley. “Take away the horses; but bring them back as soon as the storm is over.”
“Be sure we will, sir,” said Tom. “You shan’t have to wait.”
And as he walked off with his fellow-servant, he remarked, “I shouldn’t mind a little danger if I had such a pretty girl as that in my arms.”
Rose, we may mention, in her fright, had flung her arms over Stanley’s shoulder, while he was necessarily obliged to support her.
But the danger apprehended by all actually did occur. The storm seemed to draw nearer, till it finally settled overhead. A louder clap of thunder than had yet been heard, was followed by an explosion like that of a bomb, and it became instantly apparent that the tree was struck; a large portion of the bark being tom from the trunk.
For a few moments Stanley fancied that both he and Rose were injured, but he soon found, to his great relief, that such was not the case.
Rose screamed and became insensible, and had not quite recovered when the grooms returned. At that time she was clasping Stanley round the neck, and he could not disengage himself.
“Look there!” whispered Tom, winking at his companion.
But their attention was instantly diverted by the damage done to the tree, and they both congratulated themselves on their escape.
“I told you how it would be,” said Tom, pointing to the scathed oak. “Take warnin’ by this, and keep away from trees in a thunderstorm.”
But the storm was now quite over, and the sky began rapidly to clear. Tom deemed it right to prepare his master for the approach of the others, and before they came up both Stanley and Rose were again on horseback — though the latter still looked exceedingly pale.
Ever since the last tremendous crash, the newcomers felt sure that the tree had been struck, and were not surprised therefore to find that such was the fact.
“What an escape we have had, to be sure!” cried Lady Talmash. “I wouldn’t have been here when that mischief occurred.”
“You would have heard such a crash as you never heard before,” said Stanley. “I thought it would have deafened me. Now, what shall we do? There is a nice little inn on the way to Vale Royal. Shall we go and lunch there?”
“No — no—” replied Lady Talmash. “Let us get back as fast as we can. I am drenched through.”
So they rode off, a
nd made no stoppage till they got to Beaucliffe, where they were anxiously expected. One of the grooms was despatched to Brereton with tidings of their safe return.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
GEORGETTE UNINTENTIONALLY MAKES MISCHIEF.
THAT evening Sister Aline was sitting with Mildred in her dressing-room, when Georgette, without being summoned, came in. As she looked as if she had something to tell, her mistress inquired what it was.
“I have just heard a comical little story relating to the storm of this morning from Tom, the groom,” replied Georgette. “But I am not sure that Madame may care to hear it.”
“Oh yes, I should, very much,” replied Mildred.
“Madame has heard, I suppose, that an old tree, under which two persons took shelter during the storm, was struck by lightning?”
“Yes, but there is nothing comical in that, rather the reverse, I think,” replied her mistress.
“Tom thought the lady had fainted when he took away the horses,” said Georgette; “but, when he brought them back, she had recovered and was tenderly embracing the gentleman.”
“Embracing him!” exclaimed Mildred, surprised.
“Yes, she had got her arms round his neck and he was clasping her to his breast.”
“Are you certain of what you tell us?” observed Sister Aline.
“I only repeat what was told me and cannot vouch for its truth,” replied Georgette. “But I myself believe the story.”
“Do you know who the pair were?” asked Mildred.
“I fancy they must have been Lady Talmash and the Comte de Clairvaux,” said Georgette.
Mildred exchanged glances with Sister Aline.
“You don’t think one of them was Miss Rose Hylton?” asked Sister Aline.
“Oh, no! I’m certain not,” replied Georgette, perceiving the mistake she had made. “I’m quite sure Tom told me it was Lady Talmash.”
Mildred did not seem half reassured.
“Are the two ladies gone back to Brereton tonight?” asked Sister Aline.
Mildred replied in the affirmative.
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