“Indeed, Mistress Rose,” I said, “I am not addressing myself to you, but to Lucy there, who knows—”
“Lucy knows that if we had not accepted Master Watson’s kindness we should have caught our deaths of cold,” she answered; “but that perhaps would have suited you better, so that your naughty pride should not be injured. For shame, Master Dale! And now go away and let me comfort Lucy. You should have Master Drumbleforth to lecture you for your unkindness to your sister.”
And therewith she made up to Lucy and put her arms round her, turning her own pretty face towards me with such a look of injury that I was completely subdued, and stumbled out of the kitchen, wondering how it is that a woman can beat a man nine times out of ten. For there was not a man in all Yorkshire could have scolded me with impunity, and yet I dared not say a word to Mistress Rose Lisle. So away I went to my chamber to change my own damp garments, and returning after a little time found Rose alone in the great kitchen, Lucy having gone to assist my mother in some household duty. Now, they had left to Rose the task of giving me my supper, so there she was ready to wait upon me, which she did very dutifully. Perhaps I looked somewhat ashamed of myself for my recent conduct (though indeed, upon reflection, I know not what there was to be ashamed of), and Rose, seeing it, thought to give me some comfort, for presently, while I was eating and drinking, and she sitting near busied with some woman’s work of sewing or shaping, she gave me a timid glance and said that she feared she had spoken too sharply but a little while ago, and begged my pardon for doing so.
“Though indeed, Will,” she continued, “you were too hard upon poor Lucy, who meant no ill. Do you really think she did wrong to accept Master Watson’s help?”
“Yes,” I said shortly, meaning not to be forced from my position on any account. “Yes, because she knew that the man is our enemy.”
“To have heard him speak,” she said, “I should not have thought him to be anyone’s enemy.”
“I know not how he speaks,” I answered. “Rough-spoken or soft-spoken, our enemy he is.”
“But why should you be enemies?” she asked. “Surely it is best to be at peace with all, is it not?”
“I cannot answer that, Mistress Rose. I suppose Parson Drumbleforth would say that it is, and therefore I ought to say so too; but, you see, the Dales and Watsons have always been at enmity, and always will be.”
“Nay,” she said, “why should they? Must strife go on forever? Why do you not heal your differences and be at peace?”
“Mistress Rose,” I said, “did you never hear tell of my father’s foul murder? Slain he was, as cruelly as ever man was slain-shot down on the high-road as if he had been a dog.”
“Yes,” she said, “I have heard of it.”
“And did you not know that we believe Rupert Watson, the father of this. Dennis, to have been the murderer? Yea, that we do! And now you know why these Watsons are our enemies, and why we must have neither part nor lot with them.”
She was silent for a little time after that, and sat diligently plying her needle.
“But, Master Dale,” she said after a time, “do you really think that this Master Rupert Watson killed your father? Can any man be so cruel as to commit such a deed? Might it not have been the work of some robber who was alarmed at the coming of others, and rode away after firing upon your poor father? It seems so hard to think that any man could foully slay another like that.”
“It may seem so to one like yourself,” I said; “but so far as I have seen, a man will do anything for revenge. And Rupert Watson had need of revenge.”
“But if he did it,” she said, “his son had naught to do with the wickedness. And it is so much better to be at peace with one’s neighbours that it would seem more kind not to visit the father’s faults on the son. It is not right, is it, to blame one for what another has done, nor to think the son is bad because the father was?”
“I know not whether it be right or wrong, Mistress Rose,” I answered; “but this I do know, that Dennis Watson comes of a bad stock and is our enemy, and will always be.”
So after that she said no more, only she seemed to think that I was one of an unforgiving temper. But I could not find it in my heart to think well of any Watson.
Now, the next morning was fine and frosty, and in accordance with our usual custom we walked along the high-road to the morning service at Darrington church. And we had not long been seated in the church when I caught sight of Dennis Watson, who occupied a seat near our own, and who was looking boldly upon Rose. Thereat a thought struck me which sent me first hot and then cold, and made my blood tingle in my veins. What if this ancient enemy of mine had seen Rose Lisle only to covet her and wish to win her for himself? Indeed, there was no reason why he should not fall in love with Rose Lisle if his heart inclined that way. But I felt that if such a thing should ever come to pass as that he should win her, then—But there I thought no more of it, only I made a great vow that
