Richard Bassett heard, and went out, scowling deeply. He found the
village all agog with expectation.
Presently there was a loud cheer from the steeple, and a flag floated
from the top of Huntercombe House. Murmurs. Distant cheers. Approaching
cheers. The clatter of horses' feet. The roll of wheels. Huntercombe
gates flung wide open by a cluster of grooms and keepers.
Then on came two outriders, ushered by loud hurrahs, and followed by a
carriage and four that dashed through the village amid peals of delight
from the villagers. The carriage was open, and in it sat Sir Charles
and Bella Bassett. She was lovelier than ever; she dazzled the very air
with her beauty and her glorious hair. The hurrahs of the villagers
made her heart beat; she pressed Sir Charles's hand tenderly, and
literally shone with joy and pride; and so she swept past Richard
Bassett; she saw him directly, shuddered a moment, and half clung to
her husband; then on again, and passed through the open gates amid loud
cheers. She alighted in her own hall, and walked, nodding and smiling
sunnily, through two files of domestics and retainers; and thought no
more of Richard Bassett than some bright bird that has flown over a
rattlesnake and glanced down at him.
But a gorgeous bird cannot always be flying.
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