rtly,
'We'll leave it till we have seen more of the boy.'
Breakfast was very late at Castle Blanch; and Honora expected a tranquil
hour in her dressing-room with her children, but Owen alone appeared,
anxious for the shooting, but already wearying to be at home with his own
pleasures, and indignant with everything, especially the absence of
family prayers.
The breakfast was long and desultory, and in the midst Lucilla made her
appearance with Horatia, who was laughing and saying, 'I found this child
wandering about the park, and the little pussycat won't tell where she
has been.'
'Poaching, of course,' responded Charles; 'it is what pussycats always do
till they get shot by the keepers.'
_Et caetera_, _et caetera_, _et caetera_. Lucilla was among all the
young people, in the full tide of fun, nonsense, banter, and repartee of
a style new to her, but in which she was formed to excel, and there was
such a black look when Honor summoned her after the meal, as impressed
the awkwardness of enforcing authority among nearer relations; but it was
in vain, she was carried off to the dressing-room, and reminded of the
bargain for two hours' occupation. She murmured something about Owen
going out as he liked.
'He came to me before breakfast; besides, he is a boy. What made you go
out in that strange manner?'
There was no answer, but Honor had learnt by experience that to insist
was apt to end in obtaining nothing but a collision of wills, and she
merely put out the Prayer Books for the morning's reading of the Psalms.
By the time it was over, Lucilla's fit of temper had past, and she leant
back in her chair. 'What are you listening to, Lucy?' said Honor, seeing
her fixed eye.
'The river,' said Lucilla, pausing with a satisfied look to attend to the
deep regular rush. 'I couldn't think before what it was that always
seemed to be wanting, and now I know. It came to me when I went to bed;
it was so nice!'
'The river voice! Yes; it must be one of your oldest friends,' said
Honora, gratified at the softening. 'So that carried you out.'
'I couldn't help it! I went home,' said Lucilla.
'Home? To Wrapworth? All alone?' cried Honor, kindly, but aghast.
'I couldn't help it,' again said the girl. 'The river noise was so like
everything--and I knew the way--and I felt as if I must go before any one
was up.'
'So you really went. And what did you do?'
'I got over the palings our own old way, and there'
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