That active young man picked himself up wondrous slowly; rheumatism seemed to have suddenly seized his well-oiled joints; he then addressed his antagonist, in his most ingratiating tones--“All right, sir,” said he. “You are the best man. I'll go to the old lady this minute.” “I'll see you go,” said Compton, sternly; “and mind I can run as well as hit: so none of your gypsy tricks with me.” Then he came sheepishly to the palings and said, “It is not my fault, Miss Bassett; he would not come to mamma without, and she wants to speak to him.” “Oh! he is hurt! he is wounded!” cried Ruperta. “Come here to me.” He came to her, and she pressed her white handkerchief tenderly on his eyebrow; it was bleeding a little. “Well, are you coming?” said Reginald, ironically, “or do _you_ like young women better than old ones?” Compton instantly drew back a little, made two steps, laid his hand on the palings, vaulted over, and followed Reginald. “That's your _boy,”_ said Mrs. Bassett. Ruperta made no reply, but began to gulp. “What is the matter, darling?” “The fighting--the blood”--said Ruperta, sobbing. Mrs. Bassett drew her on one side, and soon soothed her. When their gentle bosoms got over their agitation, they rather enjoyed the thing, especially Ruperta: she detested Reginald for his character, and for having insulted her father. All of a sudden, she cried out, “He has taken my handkerchief. How dare he?” And she affected anger. “Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Bassett, coolly, “we have got his tippet.” CHAPTER XLIII. COULD any one have looked through the keyhole at Lady Bassett waiting for Reginald, he would have seen, by the very movements of her body, the terrible agitation of the mind. She rose--she sat down--she walked about with wild energy--she dropped on the sofa, and appeared to give it up as impossible; but ere long that deadly languor gave way to impatient restlessness again. At last her quick ear heard a footstep in the corridor, accompanied by no rustle of petticoats, and yet the footstep was not Compton's. Instantly she glanced with momentary terror toward the door. There was a tap. She sat down, and said, with a tone from which all agitation was instantly banished, “Come in.” The door opened, and the swarthy Reginald, diabolically handsome, with his black snaky curls, entered the room. She rose from her chair, and fixed her great eyes on him, as if she would read him soul and body before she ventured to speak. “Here I am, mamma: sorry to see you look so ill.” “Thank you, my dear,” said Lady Bassett, without relaxing for a moment that searching gaze. She said, still covering him with her eye, “Would you cure me if you could?” To appreciate this opening, and Lady Bassett's sweet engaging manner, you must understand that this young man was, in her eyes, a sort of black snake. Her flesh crept, with fear and repugnance, at the sight of him. Yet that is how she received him, being a mother defending her favorite son.