“Have you been crossed in love that you speak
so bitterly of the sex?”
“I don’t speak bitterly of the sex.
Examine any woman on her oath, and she’ll own
she is a sham, always has been, and always will be,
and is proud of it.”
“I am glad your mother is not by to hear you.
You will think differently one of these days.
Meanwhile, to turn to the other sex, is there no
young man of your own rank with whom you would like
to travel?”
“Certainly not. I hate quarrelling.”
“As you please. But you cannot go quite
alone: I will find you a good travelling-servant.
I must write to town to-day about your preparations,
and in another week or so I hope all will be ready.
Your allowance will be whatever you like to fix it
at; you have never been extravagant, and—boy—I
love you. Amuse yourself, enjoy yourself, and
come back cured of your oddities, but preserving your
honour.”
Sir Peter bent down and kissed his son’s brow.
Kenelm was moved; he rose, put his arm round his
father’s shoulder, and lovingly said, in an
undertone, “If ever I am tempted to do a base
thing, may I remember whose son I am: I shall
be safe then.” He withdrew his arm as he
said this, and took his solitary way along the banks
of the stream, forgetful of rod and line.
THE young man continued to skirt the side of the stream
until he reached the boundary pale of the park.
Here, placed on a rough grass mound, some former
proprietor, of a social temperament, had built a kind
of belvidere, so as to command a cheerful view of the
high road below. Mechanically the heir of the
Chillinglys ascended the mound, seated himself within
the belvidere, and leaned his chin on his hand in
a thoughtful attitude. It was rarely that the
building was honoured by a human visitor: its
habitual occupants were spiders. Of those industrious
insects it was a well-populated colony. Their
webs, darkened with dust and ornamented with the wings
and legs and skeletons of many an unfortunate traveller,
clung thick to angle and window-sill, festooned the
rickety table on which the young man leaned his elbow,
and described geometrical circles and rhomboids between
the gaping rails that formed the backs of venerable
chairs. One large black spider—who
was probably the oldest inhabitant, and held possession
of the best place by the window, ready to offer perfidious
welcome to every winged itinerant who might be tempted
to turn aside from the high road for the sake of a
little cool and repose—rushed from its
innermost penetralia at the entrance of Kenelm, and
remained motionless in the centre of its meshes, staring
at him. It did not seem quite sure whether the
stranger was too big or not.
