Heiress of Haddon. W. E. Doubleday
all the reverence of a fast-departing chivalry.
The chase was to be on foot, and in the rear followed a number of pages, each leading his dogs and carrying his own as well as his master's jumping pole. Everything promised well. The turf had dried after the recent floods, with a pleasing elasticity. The sun shone brilliantly upon the gold-trimmed jerkins of the hawks, and the hum of conversation, with its occasional outburst of merry ringing laughter, added to the tinkling of the sonorous little falcon bells, or the bark of the dogs every now and again as they ineffectually tried to break away from the leashes in which they were held, all tended to put the party in the best of spirits.
Dorothy Vernon, as usual, was surrounded by a circle of admirers, each of whom was anxious to bring himself under her especial notice by anticipating her wishes, or quickly fulfilling her slightest commands.
Sir Henry de la Zouch was there, as a matter of course. He was most assiduous in his attentions, and although it was plainly visible that his presence was as little appreciated as his suit, yet he still kept by her side.
"Methinks, fair demoiselle," he began, "thou art hardly so sprightly this morning as the occasion might warrant. Now, Mistress Margaret, there—"
"Aye, Margaret again, Sir Henry," interrupted the maiden; "thou art for ever placing me beside my sister Margaret. He bears too hardly upon a simple maiden, does he not, Sir John?"
Sir John de Lacey, a little fidgety old man on the wrong side of sixty, nervously played with his collar, and, delighted at the opportunity thus afforded him of paying back a grudge of long standing, he summoned to his aid all the dignity he was capable of assuming, and declared that the whole of Sir Henry's conduct was ungallant to the last degree.
De la Zouch darted a look of intense wrath at the old man, but as the latter was yet rearranging his collar, the effort was lost.
"Nay, nay, sweet Dorothy," he said, "I meant to say naught that would vex thee, for I would have thee smile upon me and not frown; and if my words have not been pleasing to thee in the past, I am sorry for it, and will endeavour to amend my ways in the future."
"Where do we go to-day?" asked Dorothy, not noticing his last remark. "We are full late for the woodcock, and the partridges are not yet ready."
"There are plenty of sparrows on the wing," exclaimed Sir Benedict à Woode, who had been anxiously awaiting an opportunity to join in the conversation.
"Aha! Sir Benedict," she replied. "Methought thou wert too unwell to join us to-day, but thou hast weathered the attack, I see."
"Now, could I stay away, fair cousin, when I knew thou wert among the merry company?" gallantly responded the knight.
"'Twas but the wine got into his head, Dorothy," insinuated Sir Henry.
Dorothy, according to the fashion of the time, was carrying a hawk, one which she herself had trained, upon her wrist, which was protected from the beak and talons of the bird by a large thick glove. She looked upon the noble bird, and felt proud of her treasure.
"St. George," she said, "would scorn a sparrow, though, or else, I fear, most noble Benedict, he shares not in the pride of his mistress."
St. George cocked his head on one side, as if to receive the compliment in a most befitting manner, and catching sight of a hand upon the saddle, it rapidly dipped down its head and made a vicious peck at the intruding fingers.
It was the hand of De la Zouch, and he withdrew with an ejaculation of anger.
"There, Mistress Dorothy," he exclaimed, "did I not say the bird was but imperfectly taught, and now see here;" and he ruefully pointed to the bleeding finger.
Dorothy was so overcome by the tragic attitude Sir Henry assumed, that instead of offering him her sympathy, she burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, in which the rest of the company joined; and, burning with indignation, the unlucky knight hastened away to join the group around the elder sister.
Having fallen behind, Dorothy and her companions had now to hurry forward, for they learned by the blowing of the horns and signals of Sir George Vernon that they were now close upon the scene of the day's sport.
"Come, Doll," shouted the baron, "we are waiting for you; we are ready to begin, and there are some strangers with whom I must acquaint you."
They soon joined company, and Master John Manners, together with his friend, Sir Everard Crowleigh, had soon passed through the pleasant formality of an introduction to one of the prettiest and wealthiest heiresses in England.
John Manners, who plays a prominent part in this veracious narrative, was the nephew of the Earl of Rutland. As he reverently kissed the dainty hand which Dorothy held out to him he was so smitten with the charm of her beauty that Cupid led him, an unresisting captive, to yield his heart to the keeping of the maid. He was deeply smitten, nor was Dorothy herself insensible to the more masculine beauty of the scion of the house of Rutland, for as his dark, flashing eyes met her own, in spite of herself, she felt the power of a strange attraction which drew her towards him. The sprightly god of love had already done his work, and, although perhaps neither of them was aware of the fact, they were each being bound by his chains.
It was a case of love at first sight.
CHAPTER II.
A JEALOUS HEART AND CRAFTY.
He that sows in craft does reap in jealousy.
MIDDLETON.
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand;
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
SHAKESPEARE.
The scene of the pastime had been reached, and the preparations for the hawking had already begun. The falconers brought up their birds, the pages gave up their masters' jumping poles, and the dogs were sniffing the air, eager for the chase to commence.
At last the jerkins were taken off, and the straps which had held the hawks were unloosed; the dogs were sent to the front, and the real work of the day began.
Sir George was in capital humour, and closely followed by Sir Benedict à Woode and the others, he led off at a rare pace, with the ladies following upon their steeds a little distance in the rear, and, behind all, a number of admiring rustics, eager to see a little of the sport in which it was not their lot to participate.
Sparrows were plentiful, but no other kind of bird was to be seen, and Sir Benedict was just thinking that Sir George would have to humble himself, when the dogs began to bark.
"Quails, as I'm alive! See!" shouted the baron, in high delight.
"And a whole bevy of them, too," added De la Zouch, turning round to the ladies.
The excitement, which had simmered before, now suddenly became intense, and away went lord and lady, knight and esquire, over wall and ditch, in their eagerness to keep up with the hunt.
Dorothy had not flown her bird, for she had noticed that Master Manners was without a hawk, and now she sent it forward to him by her page, and waited with a beating heart to learn whether her offer had been accepted.
Manners himself came back and thanked her.
"But marry, fair Mistress Vernon," said he, "I could no more rob you of your bird than I could steal away your beauty or take possession of your heart."
"Nay, now," replied Dorothy, not paying the proper amount of regard to the truth, "I am already for-wearied of the hawking; and it were more to my taste to follow on in a more leisurely fashion," she added, seeing that he was about to refuse. "St. George is a good bird, and is anxious to try a flight; and thou art a stranger, too; thou must