Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade Reade

this voluble youth, "sure you won't be so hard as sack my squire, and him got a bullet in his carcass, for love of you, this day."

      Kate started, and looked at him in surprise. "Oh!" said she, "a bullet! Did they fight again the moment they saw my back was turned? The cowards!" and she began to tremble.

      "No, no," said Tom; "that was done before ever you came up. Don't ye remember that single shot while we were climbing the Nob? Well, 'twas Squire Gaunt got it in the arm that time."

      "Oh!"

      "But I say, wasn't our man game? never let out he was hit while you was there. But as soon as ever you was gone, they cut the bullet out of him; and I seen it."

      "Ah!—ah!"

      "Doctor takes out his knife; precious sharp and shiny 'twas; cuts into his arm with no more ado than if he was carving a pullet; out squirts the blood, a good un."

      "Oh, no more! no more! You cruel boy; how could you bear to look?" And Kate hid her own face with both hands.

      "Why, 'twasn't my skin as was cut into. Squire Gaunt he never hollered; a winced though, and ground his teeth; but 'twas over in a minute, and the bullet in his hand. 'That is for my wife,' says he: 'if ever I have one,' and puts it in his pocket. Why, mistress, you be as white as your smock."

      "No, no. Did he faint, poor soul?"

      "Not he: what was there to faint about?"

      "Then why do I feel so sick, even to hear of it?"

      "Because you ha'n't got no stomach," said the boy, contemptuously. "Your courage is skin deep I'm thinking. However, I'm glad you feel for our Squire, about the bullet: so now I hope you will wed with him, and sack Squire Neville. Then you and I shall be kind o' kin; Squire Gaunt's feyther was my feyther. That makes you stare, mistress. Why, all the folk do know it. Look at this here little mole on my forehead. Squire Gaunt have got the fellow to that." At this crisis of his argument, he suddenly caught a glimpse of his personal interest; instantly he ceased his advocacy of Squire Gaunt, and became ludicrously impartial. "Well, mistress; wed whichever you like," said he, with sublime indifference; "only whichever you do wed, prithee speak a word to the gentleman, and get me to be his gamekeeper. I'd liever be your goodman's gamekeeper than King of England." He was proceeding with vast volubility to enumerate his qualifications for that confidential post, when the lady cut him short, and told him to go and get his supper in the kitchen, for she was wanted elsewhere. He made a scrape, and clattered away with his hobnailed shoes.

      Kate went to the hall window and opened it, and let the cold air blow over her face.

      Her heart was touched, and her bosom tilled with pity for her old sweetheart.

      How hard she had been. She had sided with Neville against the wounded man. And she thought how sadly and patiently he had submitted to her decision—and a bullet in his poor arm all the time.

      The gentle bosom heaved, and heaved, and the tears began to run.

      She entered the dining-room timidly, expecting some comment on her discourteous absence. Instead of that, both her father and her director rose respectfully, and received her with kind and affectionate looks. They then pressed her to eat this, and that, and were remarkably attentive and kind. She could see she was deep in their good books. This pleased her; but she watched quietly, after the manner of her sex, to learn what it was all about. Nor was she left long in the dark. Remarks were made that hit her, though they were none of them addressed to her.

      Father Francis delivered quite a little homily on "Obedience," and said how happy a thing it was when zeal, a virtue none too common in these degenerate days, was found tempered by humility, and subservient to ghostly counsel and authority.

      Mr. Peyton dealt in no general topics of that kind; his discourse was secular: it ran upon Neville's Cross, Neville's Court, and the Baronetcy; and he showed Francis how and why this title must, sooner or later, come to George Neville, and the heirs of his body.

      Francis joined in this topic for a while; but speedily diverged into what might be called a collateral theme. He described to Kate a delightful spot on the Neville estate, where a nunnery might be built and endowed by any good Catholic lady having zeal, and influence with the owner of the estate, and with the lord-lieutenant of the county.

      "It is three parts an island (for the river Wey curls round it lovingly); but backed by wooded slopes that keep off the north and east winds: a hidden and balmy place; such as the forefathers of the Church did use to choose for their rustic abbeys, whose ruins still survive to remind us of the pious and glorious days gone by. Trout and salmon come swimming to the door: hawthorn and woodbine are as rife there as weeds be in some parts; two broad oaks stand on turf like velvet, and ring with song-birds. A spot by nature sweet, calm, and holy: good for pious exercises and heavenly contemplation: there, methinks, if it be God's will I should see old age, I would love to end my own days, at peace with Heaven and with all mankind."

      Kate was much moved by this picture; and her clasped hands and glistening eyes showed the glory and delight it would be to her to build a convent on so lovely a spot. But her words were vague. "How sweet! how sweet!" was all she committed herself to. For, after what Tom Leicester had just told her, she hardly knew what to say, or what to think, or what to do: she felt she had become a mere puppet, first drawn one way, then another.

      One thing appeared pretty clear to her now; Father Francis did not mean her to choose between her two lovers; he was good enough to relieve her of that difficulty by choosing for her. She was to marry Neville.

      She retired to rest directly after supper; for she was thoroughly worn out. And the moment she rose to go, her father bounced up, and lighted the bed candle for her with novel fervor, and kissed her on the cheek, and said in her ear,—"Good night, my Lady Neville."