The Children of the New Forest - Frederick Marryat (book recommendations based on other books TXT) 📗

him, when at prayer, call down blessings on your head. What can he do for you? I begged Oswald Partridge to bring you here that I might find out. Oh, sir, do, pray, let me know how we can show our gratitude by something more than words.”

“You have shown it already, Mistress Patience,” replied Edward; “have you not honored a poor forester with your hand in friendship, and even admitted him to sit down before you?”

“He who has preserved my life at the risk of his own becomes to me as a brother—at least I feel as a sister toward him: a debt is still a debt, whether indebted to a king or to a—”

“Forester, Mistress Patience; that is the real word that you should not have hesitated to have used. Do you imagine that I am ashamed of my calling?”

“To tell you candidly the truth, then,” replied Patience: “I can not believe that you are what you profess to be. I mean to say that, although a forester now, you were never brought up as such. My father has an opinion allied to mine.”

“I thank you both for your good opinion of me, but I fear that I can not raise myself above the condition of a forester; nay, from your father’s coming down here, and the new regulations, I have every chance of sinking down to the lower grade of a deer-stealer and poacher; indeed, had it not been that I had my gun with me, I should have been seized as such this very day as I came over.”

“But you were not shooting the deer, were you, sir?” inquired Patience.

“No, I was not; nor have I killed any since last I saw you.”

“I am glad that I can say that to my father,” replied Patience; “it will much please him. He said to me that he thought you capable of much higher employment than any that could be offered here, and only wished to know what you would accept. He has interest—great interest —although just now at variance with the rulers of this country, on account of the—”

“Murder of the king, you would or you should have said, Mistress Patience. I have heard how much he was opposed to that foul deed, and I honor him for it.”

“How kind, how truly kind you are to say so!” said Patience, the tears starting in her eyes; “what pleasure to hear my father’s conduct praised by you!”

“Why, of course, Mistress Patience, all of my way of thinking must praise him. Your father is in London, I hear?”

“Yes, he is; and that reminds me that you must want some refreshment after your walk. I will call Phoebe.” So saying, Patience left the room.

The fact was, Mistress Patience was reminded that she had been sitting with a young man some time, and alone with him—which was not quite proper in those times; and when Phoebe appeared with the cold viands, she retreated out of hearing, but remained in the room.

Edward partook of the meal offered him in silence, Patience occupying herself with her work, and keeping her eyes fixed on it, unless when she gave a slight glance at the table to see if any thing was required. When the meal was over, Phoebe removed the tray, and then Edward rose to take his leave.

“Nay, do not go yet—I have much to say first; let me again ask you how we can serve you.”

“I never can take any office under the present rulers of the nation, so that question is at rest.”

“I was afraid that you would answer so,” replied Patience, gravely: “do not think I blame you; for many are there already who would gladly retrace their steps if it were possible. They little thought, when they opposed the king, that affairs would have ended as they have done. Where do you live, sir?”

“At the opposite side of the forest, in a house belonging to me now, but which was inherited by my grandfather.”

“Do you live alone—surely not?”

“No, I do not.”

“Nay, you may tell me any thing, for I would never repeat what might hurt you, or you might not wish to have known.”

“I live with my brother and two sisters, for my grandfather is lately dead.”

“Is your brother younger than you are?”

“He is.”

“And your sisters, what are their ages?”

“They are younger still.”

“You told my father that you lived upon your farm?”

“We do.”

“Is it a large farm?”

“No; very small.”

“And does that support you?”

“That and killing wild cattle has lately.”

“Yes, and killing deer also, until lately?”

“You have guessed right.”

“You were brought up at Arnwood, you told my father; did you not?”

“Yes, I was brought up there, and remained there until the death of Colonel Beverley.”

“And you were educated, were you not?”

“Yes; the chaplain taught me what little I do know.”

“Then, if you were brought up in the house and educated by the chaplain, surely Colonel Beverley never intended you for a forester?”

“He did not; I was to have been a soldier as soon as I was old enough to bear arms.”

“Perhaps you are distantly related to the late Colonel Beverley.”

“No; I am not distantly related,” replied Edward, who began to feel uneasy at this close cross-examination; “but still, had Colonel Beverley been alive, and the king still required his services, I have no doubt that I should have been serving under him at this time. And now, Mistress Patience, that I have answered so many questions of yours, may I be permitted to ask a little about yourself in return? Have you any brothers?”

“None; I am an only child.”

“Have you only one parent alive?”

“Only one.”

“What families are you connected with?”

Patience looked up with surprise at this last question.

“My mother’s name was Cooper; she was sister to Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, who is a person well known.”

“Indeed! then you are of gentle blood?”

“I believe so,” replied Patience, with surprise.

“Thank you for your condescension, Mistress Patience; and now, if you will permit me, I will take my leave.”

“Before you go, let me once more thank you for saving a worthless life,” said Patience. “Well, you must come again, when my father is here; he will be but too glad to have an opportunity of thanking one who has preserved his only child. Indeed, if you knew my father, you would feel as much regard for him as I do. He is very good, although he looks so stern and melancholy; but he has seldom smiled since my poor mother’s death.”

“As to your father, Mistress Patience,” I will think as well as I can of one who is joined to a party which I hold in detestation; I can say no more.”

“I must not say all that I know, or you would, perhaps, find out that he is not quite so wedded to that party as you suppose. Neither his brother-in-law nor he are great friends of Cromwell’s, I can assure you; but this is in confidence.”

“That raises him in my estimation; but why then does he hold office?”

“He did not ask it; it was given to him, I really believe, because they wished him out of the way; and he accepted it because he was opposed to what was going on, and wished himself to be away. At least I infer so much from what I have learned. It is not an office of power or trust which leagues him with the present government.”

“No; only one which opposes him to me and my malpractices,” replied Edward, laughing. “Well, Mistress Patience, you have shown great condescension to a poor forester, and I return you many thanks for your kindness toward me: I will now take my leave.”

“And when will you come and see my father?”

“I can not say; I fear that I shall not be able very soon to look in his injured face, and it will not be well for a poacher to come near him,” replied Edward: “however, some day I may be taken and brought before you as a prisoner, you know, and then he is certain to see me.”

“I will not tell you to kill deer,” replied Patience; “but if you do kill them no one shall harm you—or I know little of my power or my father’s. Farewell then, sir, and once more gratitude and thanks.”

Patience held out her hand again to Edward, who this time, like a true Cavalier, raised it respectfully to his lips. Patience colored a little, but did not attempt to withdraw it, and Edward, with a low obeisance, quitted the room.

 

CHAPTER XIII.

 

As soon as he was out of the intendant’s house, Edward hastened to the cottage of Oswald Partridge, whom he found waiting for him, for the verderer had not failed to deliver his message.

“You have had a long talk with Mistress Patience,” said Oswald, after the first greeting, “and I am glad of it, as it gives you consequence here. The Roundhead rascal whom you met was inclined, to be very precise about doing his duty, and insisted that he was certain that you were on the look-out for deer; but I stopped his mouth by telling him that I often took you out with me, as you were the best shot in the whole forest, and that the intendant knew that I did so. I think that if you were caught in the act of killing a deer, you had better tell, them that you killed it by my request, and I will bear you out if they bring you to the intendant, who will, I’m sure, thank me for saying so; you might kill all the deer in the forest, after what you have done for him.”

“Many thanks; but I do not think I can take advantage of your offer. Let them catch me if they can, and if they do catch me, let them take me if they can.”

“I see, sir, that you will accept no favor from the Roundheads,” replied Oswald. “However, as I am now head keeper, I shall take care that my men do not interfere with you, if I can help it; all I wish is to prevent any insult or indignity being offered to you, they not being aware who you are, as I am.”

“Many thanks, Oswald; I must take my chance.”

Edward then told Oswald of their having taken the gipsy boy in the pit, at which he appeared much amused.

“What is the name of the verderer whom I met in the forest?” inquired Edward.

“James Corbould; he was discharged from the army,” replied Oswald.

“I do not like his appearance,” said Edward.

“No; his face tells against him,” replied Oswald; “but I know nothing of him; he has been here little more than a fortnight.”

“Can you give me a corner to put my head in tonight, Oswald? for I shall not start till tomorrow morning.”

“You may command all I have, sir,” replied Oswald; “but I fear there is little more than a hearty welcome; I have no doubt that you could be lodged at the intendant’s house if you choose.”

“No, Oswald, the young lady is alone, and I will not trust to Phoebe’s accommodation again; I will stay here, if you will permit me.”

“And welcome, sir; I will put your puppy in the kennel at once.”

Edward remained that night at Oswald’s, and at daylight he rose, and having taken a slight breakfast, throwing his gun over his shoulder, went to the kennel for Holdfast, and set off on his return home.

“That’s a very nice little girl,” were the words which Edward found himself constantly saying to