"Who told you it was the right time?"

"My own heart, and my own knowledge of what is right and wrong."

"You are never liable to make a mistake, I suppose, John?"

"Not on this subject. I never saw such an unreasonable woman! Never! It is enough to discourage any man;" and as Mrs. Atheling rose and began to put away her silver without answering him a word, he grew angry at her want of approval, and put on his hat and went towards the stables.

He had no special intention of watching for Lord Exham, and indeed had for the moment forgotten his existence, when the young man leaped his horse over the wall of the Atheling plantation. The act annoyed the Squire; he was proud of his plantation, and did not like trespa.s.sing through it. Such a little thing often decides a great thing; and this trifling offence made it easy for the Squire to say,--

"Good-morning, Piers, I wish you would dismount. I have a few words to speak to you;" and there was in his voice that shivery half-tone which is neither one thing nor the other: and Exham recognised it without applying the change to himself. He was a little annoyed at the delay; but he leaped to the ground, put the bridle over his arm, and stood beside the Squire, who then said,--

"Piers, I have come to the decision not to sanction any longer your attentions to Kate--unless your father also sanctions them. It is high time your engagement was either publicly acknowledged or else put an end to."

"You are right, Squire; what do you wish me to do? I will make Kate my wife at any time you propose. I desire nothing more earnestly than this."

"Easy, Piers, easy. You must obtain the Duke's consent first."

"I could hardly select a worse time to ask him for it. I am of full age.

I am my own master. I will marry Kate in the face of all opposition."

"I say you will not. My daughter is not for you, if there is any opposition. The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess are at the head of your house; and Kate cannot enter a house in which she would be unwelcome."

"Kate will reside at Exham."

"And be a divider between you and your father and mother. No! In the end she would get the worst of it; and, even if she got the best of it, I am not willing she should begin a life of quarrelling and hatred. You can see the Duke at your convenience, and let me know what he says."

"I will see him to-day," he had taken out his watch and was looking at it as he spoke. "Will you excuse me now, Squire?" he asked. "I sent Kate a message early this morning promising to call for her about eleven.

I am already late."

"You may turn back. I will make an excuse for you. You cannot ride with Kate to-day."

"Squire, I made the offer and the promise. Permit me to honour my word."

"I will honour it for you. There has been enough, and too much, riding and walking, unless you are to ride and walk all your lives together.

Good-morning!"

"Squire, give me one hour?"

"I will not."

"A few minutes to explain."

"I have told you that I would explain."

"I never knew you unkind before. Have I offended you? Have I done anything which you do not approve?"

"That is not the question. I will see you again--when you have seen your father."

"You are very unkind, very unkind indeed, sir."

"Maybe I am; but when the surgeon's knife is to use, there is no use pottering with drugs and fine speeches. It is the knife between you and Kate--or it is the ring;" and the word reminded him of the lost love gage, and made his face hard and stern. Then he turned from the young man, and had a momentary pleasure in the sound of his furious galloping in the other direction; for he was in a state of great turmoil.

He had suddenly done a thing he had been wishing to do for a long time; and he was not satisfied. In short, pa.s.sionate e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, he tried to relieve himself of something wrong, and did not succeed. "He deserves it; he was all the time with that Other One,--day by day in the parks, night after night in the House and the opera; he gave her that ring--I'll swear he did; how else should she have it? My Kate is not going to be second-best--not if I can help it; what do I care for their dukedom?--confound the whole business! A man with a daughter to watch has a heart full of sorrow--and it is all her mother's fault!"

Setting his steps to such aggravating opinions, he reached the Manor House and went into the parlour. Kate stood at the window in her riding dress. She had lost her usual fine composure, and was nervously tapping the wooden sill with the handle of her whip. On her father's entrance, she turned an anxious face to him, and asked, "Did you see anything of Piers, Father?"

"I did. I have been having a bit of a talk with him."

"Then he is at the door? I am so glad! I thought something was wrong!"

"Stop, Kitty. He is not at the door. He has gone home. I sent him home.

Now don't interrupt me. I made up my mind in London that he should not see you again until your engagement was recognised by his father and mother."

"Should not see me again! Father!"

"That is right."

"But I must see him! I must see him! Where is mother?"

"Mother thinks as I do, Kate."

"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

"Go upstairs, and take off your habit, and think over things. You know quite well that such underhand courting--"

"Piers is not underhand. He is as straight-forward as you are, Father."

"There now! Don't cry. I won't have any crying about what is only right. Come here, Kitty. Thou knowest thy father loves every hair of thy head. Will he wrong thee? Will he give thee a moment's pain he can help? Kitty, I heard talk in London that fired me--I saw things that have to be explained."

"Father, you will break my heart!"

"Well, Kitty, I have had a good many heartaches all winter about my girl. And I have made up my mind, if I die for it, that there shall be no more whispering and wondering about your relationship to Piers Exham. Now don't fret till you know you have a reason. Piers has a deal of power over the Duke. He will win his way--if he wants to win it.

Then I will have a business talk with both men, and your engagement and marriage will be square and above-board, and no nodding and winking and shrugging about it. You are Kate Atheling, and I will not have you sought in any by-way. Before G.o.d, I will not! Cry, if you must. But I think better of you."

"Oh, Mother! Mother! Mother!"

"Yes! you and your mother have brought all this on, with your 'let things alone, be happy to-day, and to-morrow will take care of itself'

ways. If you were a milk-maid, that plan might do; but a girl with your lineage has to look behind and before; she can't live for herself and herself only."

"I wish I was a milk-maid!"

"To be sure. Let me have the lover I want, and my father, and my mother, and my brother, and my home, and all that are behind me, and all that are to come after, and all honour, and all grat.i.tude, and all decent affection can go to the devil!" and with these words, the Squire lifted his hat, and went pa.s.sionately out of the room.

Though he had given Kate the hope that Piers would influence his father, he had no such expectation. There was a very strained political feeling between the Duke and himself; and, apart from that, the Squire had failed to win any social liking from the Richmoors. He was so independent; he thought so much of the Athelings, and was so indifferent to the glory of the Richmoors. He had also strong opinions of all kinds, and did not scruple to express them; and private opinions are just the one thing _not_ wanted and not endurable in society. In fact, the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess had both been subject to serious relentings for having any alliance, either political or social, with their opinionated, domineering neighbour.

And Piers, driven by the anguish of his unexpected calamity, went into his father's presence without any regard to favourable circ.u.mstances.

Previously he had considered them too much; now he gave them no consideration at all. The Duke had premonitory symptoms of an attack of gout; and the d.u.c.h.ess had just told him that her brother Lord Francis Gower was going to Germany, and that she had decided to accompany his party. "Annabel looks ill," she added; "the season has been too much for a girl so emotional; and as for myself, I am thoroughly worn out."

"I do not like separating Piers and Annabel," answered the Duke. "They have just become confidential and familiar; and in the country too, where Miss Atheling will have everything in her favour!"