The Frobishers. Baring-Gould Sabine

she noticed the gentleman leading Ruby, and raised her eyebrows.

      "What ails your horse?" she inquired.

      "Sibylla—this is Mr. Beaudessart. Sir—my sister. Mr. Beaudessart has been so very kind. My poor Ruby is frightfully rawed; I could not ride him home, so this gentleman has most generously lent me his mount and has led my horse." Then to the young man: "Mr. Beaudessart, you must come into Pendabury and have a cup of tea or a glass of wine. You have eight or nine miles to cover before reaching home, and I have spoiled your day's hunting. Moreover, you positively must see the original Beaudessart Stammburg, as the Germans would term it."

      He bowed, and said in reply—

      "Are you sure that your father would desire it?"

      "Quite so. How could he do other?" Still he hesitated. Joan saw that he was desirous of accepting her invitation, but was unwilling to intrude.

      "No!" she said, "I will not take a refusal. A lady's invitation carries all the force of a command. If it be not accepted, she is mortally affronted."

      "In that case I have no alternative."

      They passed through the great gates into the grounds that unfolded before them as they proceeded, sweeping lawns, park-like, with the house, a Queen Anne mansion, square and stately, standing back against a well-wooded hill, the sun flashing golden in the long windows that looked to the west.

      "It is a beautiful spot," said the young man in a grave tone, and a change came over his face.

      "Oh, Joan!" exclaimed Sibyll, riding beside her sister, "such fun! I had never been in at the death before. And fancy! when puss was in extremis, fallen on and torn to pieces by the hounds—will you believe me? there was a butterfly flickering above the scene of blood and death-agony unconcernedly. Conceive! a butterfly at this period of the year; so out of season!"

      "So out of place," said Joan.

      Chapter 2

       Table of Contents

      PENDABURY

      Steps led to the front door, that was under a portico composed of Ionic pillars of Bath stone, that contrasted, as did the white coigns, with the red sandstone of which the house was built, one of the warmest and best of building materials. The long windows had casements painted creamy white, and the roof of the house was concealed by a balustrade of white stone.

      At the steps the ladies dismounted, and the groom and a boy who had run from the stables took the horses.

      Then the two girls, gathering up their habits, mounted to the door, and Joan, as she ascended, turned with a slight bow and a smile of encouragement to the young man, feeling at the same time not a little puzzled at the hesitation, even reluctance, that he manifested in accompanying her within.

      The butler opened the glass doors, and all then entered the lofty hall, out of which the staircase ascended to the upper apartments. It was a fine hall, rich with plaster work, and hung with full-length portraits.

      "Matthews," said Miss Frobisher, "will you kindly inform your master that a gentleman is here—Mr. Beaudessart? Yet stay, we will drink tea in the dining-room. Please to put cold meat and wine on the sideboard."

      "Yes, miss."

      The man withdrew with a bow.

      "Joan," said Sibyll," I am going to rid myself of my boots and shed my habit."

      "Have your tea first," urged. the elder. "There is no occasion for such a hurry."

      "Yes there is," answered the young girl. "It is all very well for you to sit down at once to a meal—you have been muddling along at a snail's pace on Ruby with a sore shoulder, but I have been in the swim all day, and was at the finish. I say, Joan, am I really much painted? It is rather horrible, is it not?—but such fun to have Reynard's blood on one's cheek. Only I suspect the painting was done in the slightest possible manner. I must send for the keeper to dress the brush for me. What is put on—borax? He will know. I will ring for Matthews to send after him."

      "You really must postpone changing for ten minutes. Papa will be so interested to hear of your adventures and success."

      "Oh, I shall run to him in the library on my way, and show him the badges of war and trophies of victory. I must go—I shall be down again in a trice. I have torn my skirt in a thorn bush, and am plastered with mud. Tally-ho! ta-ra-ra!"

      Then she departed, twittering, "We will all go a-hunting to-day."

      Joan turned to the young man with a pleasant smile, and said—

      "My sister is somewhat wilful. You must excuse her—she is the spoilt child of the house. My father dotes on her, and every man, woman, and child in the place is her humble servant. Now look about you. Here all the faces and figures that adorn the walls are Beaudessarts, from that grim-visaged gentleman in trunk hose and spindle legs, which is the earliest portrait we have. Is there, by the way, anything you would like? A whisky and soda? Perhaps a wash above all things? I will call the footman. I shall be making tea, and you can come to me in the dining-room. Papa will be there. The servant, Joseph, will be your guide."

      Joan expected her father to appear at once, but he did not arrive. Matthews had not found him in the study, he had gone forth into the grounds.

      Sibylla, as well, was disappointed; she had bounded into the library to display her spoils.

      Joan put tea in the silver pot over the lamp, and saw that the sideboard was well supplied with cold beef and pheasant, and that spirits and wine were set out; then she went to a glass and hastily arranged her hair.

      Mr. Beaudessart was shown in by Joseph.

      "Now," said the girl, "whilst the tea is brewing I am entirely at your service to show you the pictures. That over the mantelpiece is my father, and yonder is my mother, who was taken from us sixteen years go. She was a beautiful woman when young, and you can see that in middle age the traces were not gone Yonder is the portrait I told you of, Squire Hector Beaudessart, the last of the family in Pendabury. After his death the property fell to papa, though how it came about I cannot inform you. I believe it was a complicated affair."

      The young man walked up to the picture and stood before it, gazing intently on the canvas. The evening sun shone into the room, not, happily, on the painting itself, but on a side wall, and the reflected light illumined the picture sufficiently for him to be able to see it distinctly.

      "It is very well painted, I believe. Do you not consider it so?" asked Joan. "The artist was Knight, the academician."

      "It is admirable. It portrays not only the outward features, as nose and eyes, but the inner character, resolution and remorselessness."

      "I have heard that he was considered a determined old gentleman," said the girl.

      "Pertinacious in pursuing his own course, impatient of contradiction, implacable in his resentments, and then—proud."

      "If we have any good in us we are proud," said Joan. "Pride is a necessary factor in a man up to a certain point. It implies strength, or furnishes it. But vanity is mere weakness."

      "Yes," answered the young man, "we must all have self-respect, but at the same time respect others. That I do not think my grandfather ever did if they dared to differ from him."

      "Your grandfather!"

      A cough behind them, as they stood contemplating the picture.

      Joan knew it, whisked about, and saw her father entering the room with his stick in his hand.

      "Oh, papa! I am so glad that you have arrived. Here is Mr. Beaudessart from Canada, so interested in the family portraits."

      "Mr. Beaudessart," said Mr. Frobisher stiffly; "pray what Mr. Beaudessart?"

      "I must apologise, sir, for my intrusion," said the young