Scenes and Characters

'That fool of a farmer!' cried Reginald.

'What is to be done?' said Lily, disconsolately.

'There is the road,' said Reginald. 'How do you propose to get into it?'

'There was a gap here last summer,' said the boy.

'Very likely! Come back; try the next field; it must have a gate somewhere.'

Back they went, after seeing the carrier's cart from Raynham pass by.

'Redgie, it must be half-past five! We shall never be in time. Aunt Rotherwood coming too!'

After a desperate plunge through a swamp of ice, water, and mud, they found themselves at a gate, and safely entered the turnpike road.

'How it rains!' said Lily. 'One comfort is that it is too dark for any one to see us.'

'Not very dark, either,' said Reginald; 'I believe there is a moon if one could see it. Ha! here comes some one on horseback. It is a gray horse; it is William.'

'Come to look for us,' said Lily. 'Oh, Redgie!'

'Coming home from Raynham,' said Reginald. 'Do not fancy yourself so important, Lily. William, is that you?'

'Reginald!' exclaimed William, suddenly checking his horse. 'Lily, what is all this?'

'We set out to South End, to take the broth to the old Martins, and we found the meadows flooded, which made us late; but we shall soon be at home,' said Lily, in a make-the-best-of-it tone.

'Soon? You are a mile and a half from home now, and do you know how late it is?'

'Half-past five,' said Lily.

'Six, at least; how could you be so absurd?' William rode quickly on; Reginald laughed, and they plodded on; at length a tall dark figure was seen coming towards them, and Lily started, as it addressed her, 'Now what is the meaning of all this?'

'Oh, William, have you come to meet us? Thank you; I am sorry-'

'How were you to come through the village in the dark, without some one to take care of you?'

'I am taking care of her,' said Reginald, affronted.

'Make haste; my aunt is come. How could you make the people at home so anxious?'

William gave Lily his arm, and on finding she was both tired and wet, again scolded her, walked so fast that she was out of breath, then complained of her folly, and blamed Reginald. It was very unpleasant, and yet she was very much obliged to him, and exceedingly sorry he had taken so much trouble.

They came home at about seven o'clock. Jane met them in the hall, full of her own and Lady Rotherwood's wonderings; she hurried Lily upstairs, and-skilful, quick, and ready-she helped her to dress in a very short time. As they ran down Reginald overtook them, and they entered the drawing-room as the dinner-bell was ringing. William did not appear for some time, and his apologies were not such as to smooth matters for his sister.

Perhaps it was for this very reason that Mr. Mohun allowed Lily to escape with no more than a jesting reproof. Lord Rotherwood wished to make his cousin's hardihood and enterprise an example to his sister, and, in his droll exaggerating way, represented such walks as every-day occurrences. This was just the contrary to what Emily wished her aunt to believe, and Claude was much diverted with the struggle between her politeness to Lord Rotherwood and her desire to maintain the credit of the family.

Lady Florence, though liking Lilias, thought this walk extravagant. Emily feared Lilias had lost her aunt's good opinion, and prepared herself for some hints about a governess. It was untoward; but in the course of the evening she was a little comforted by a proposal from Lady Rotherwood to take her and Lilias to a ball at Raynham, which was to take place in January; and as soon as the gentlemen appeared, they submitted the invitation to their father, while Lady Rotherwood pressed William to accompany them, and he was refusing.

'What are soldiers intended for but to dance!' said Lord Rotherwood.

'I never dance,' said William, with a grave emphasis.

'I am out of the scrape,' said the Marquis. 'I shall be gone before it takes place; I reserve all my dancing for July 30th. Well, young ladies, is the Baron propitious?'

'He says he will consider of it,' said Emily.

'Oh then, he will let you go,' said Florence, 'people never consider when they mean no.'

'No, Florence,' said her brother, 'Uncle Mohun's "consider of it" is equivalent to Le Roi's "avisera."'

'What is he saying?' asked Lily, turning to listen. 'Oh, that my wig is in no ball-going condition.'

'A wreath would hide all deficiencies,' said Florence; 'I am determined to have you both.'

'I give small hopes of both,' said Claude; 'you will only have Emily.'

'Why do you think so, Claude?' cried both Florence and Lilias.

'From my own observation,' Claude answered, gravely.

'I am very angry with the Baron,' said Lord Rotherwood; 'he is grown inhospitable: he will not let me come here to-morrow-the first Christmas these five years that I have missed paying my respects to the New Court sirloin and turkey. It is too bad-and the Westons dining here too.'

'Cousin Turkey-cock, well may you be in a passion,' muttered Claude, as if in soliloquy.

Lord Rotherwood and Lilias both caught the sound, and laughed, but Emily, unwilling that Florence should see what liberties they took with her brother, asked quickly why he was not to come.

'I think we are much obliged to him,' said Florence, 'it would be too bad to leave mamma and me to spend our Christmas alone, when we came to the castle on purpose to oblige him.'

'Ay, and he says he will not let me come here, because I ought to give the Hetherington people ocular demonstration that I go to church,' said Lord Rotherwood.

'Very right, as Eleanor would say,' observed Claude.

'Very likely; but I don't care for the Hetherington folks; they do not know how to make the holly in the church fit to be seen, and they will not sing the good old Christmas carols. Andrew Grey is worth all the Hetherington choir put together.'

'Possibly; but how are they to mend, if their Marquis contents himself with despising them?' said Claude.

'That is too bad, Claude. When you heard how submissively I listened to the Baron, and know I mean to abide by what he said, you ought to condole with me a little, if you have not the grace to lament my absence on your own account. Why, I thought myself as regular a part of the feast as the mince-pies, and almost as necessary.'

Here a request for some music put an end to his lamentations. Lilias was vexed by the uncertainty about the ball, and was, besides, too tired to play with spirit. She saw that Emily was annoyed, and she felt ready to cry before the evening was over; but still she was proud of her exploit, and when, after the party was gone, Emily began to represent to her the estimate that her aunt was likely to form of her character, she replied, 'If she thinks the worse of me for carrying the broth to those poor old people, I am sure I do not wish for her good opinion.'