Of course her uncle John was among them, and
the simple-hearted old grandfather of her young cousins, and even, in a
way, Mr. Perrowne, who had behaved bravely, but there was a tall,
unclerical form, which Mr. Terry and the Squire had difficulty in
keeping up with, that her eye followed more closely. Every report of the
lawyer's rifle seemed to press a warm spot on her maiden cheek, and then
make the quick blood suffuse her face, as she thought of the morning and
Mr. Wilkinson. That gentleman was happy on guard at the top of the hill
meadow, for a tall female figure, muffled up slightly as a preventive to
chill from the night dews, came down the path towards his post, eager
for news from the seat of war.
"Be careful, Miss Du Plessis, I beg of you!" implored the dominie;
"heavy firing is going on not far off, and a stray bullet might easily
find its way hither. Permit me to conduct you to a place of safety." So
he led her with grave courtesy within the gate, and placed her on a
garden seat in front of two trees large of bole, and interceptive of
possible missiles. Of course, his own safety was a matter of no moment;
he went out of the gate and to the utmost limit of his watch to gain, by
eye and ear, tidings of the progress of the skirmish, which he returned
every minute or two to report to the anxious young lady.
Pages:
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407