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Miss Mina And The Groom
by
Prosperous and pleasant as it appeared on the surface, my life had its sad side for a young woman.
In the commonplace routine of our existence, as wealthy people in the upper rank, there was nothing to ripen the growth of any better capacities which may have been in my nature. Heartily as I loved and admired my uncle, he was neither of an age nor of a character to be the chosen depositary of my most secret thoughts, the friend of my inmost heart who could show me how to make the best and the most of my life. With friends and admirers in plenty, I had found no one who could hold this position toward me. In the midst of society I was, unconsciously, a lonely woman.
As I remember them, my hours of happiness were the hours when I took refuge in my music and my books. Out of the house, my one diversion, always welcome and always fresh, was riding. Without, any false modesty, I may mention that I had lovers as well as admirers; but not one of them produced an impression on my heart. In all that related to the tender passion, as it is called, I was an undeveloped being. The influence that men have on women, because they are men, was really and truly a mystery to me. I was ashamed of my own coldness–I tried, honestly tried, to copy other girls; to feel my heart beating in the presence of the one chosen man. It was not to be done. When a man pressed my hand, I felt it in my rings, instead of my heart.
These confessions made, I have done with the past, and may now relate the events which my enemies, among the ladies, have described as presenting a shocking story.
III.
WE were in London for the season. One morning, I went out riding with my uncle, as usual, in Hyde Park.
The General’s service in the army had been in a cavalry regiment–service distinguished by merits which justified his rapid rise to the high places in his profession. In the hunting-field, he was noted as one of the most daring and most accomplished riders in our county. He had always delighted in riding young and high-spirited horses; and the habit remained with him after he had quitted the active duties of his profession in later life. From first to last he had met with no accident worth remembering, until the unlucky morning when he went out with me.
His horse, a fiery chestnut, ran away with him, in that part of the Park-ride call ed Rotten Row. With the purpose of keeping clear of other riders, he spurred his runaway horse at the rail which divides the Row from the grassy inclosure at its side. The terrified animal swerved in taking the leap, and dashed him against a tree. He was dreadfully shaken and injured; but his strong constitution carried him through to recovery–with the serious drawback of an incurable lameness in one leg.
The doctors, on taking leave of their patient, united in warning him (at his age, and bearing in mind his weakened leg) to ride no more restive horses. “A quiet cob, General,” they all suggested. My uncle was sorely mortified and offended. “If I am fit for nothing but a quiet cob,” he said, bitterly, “I will ride no more.” He kept his word. No one ever saw the General on horseback again.
Under these sad circumstances (and my aunt being no horsewoman), I had apparently no other choice than to give up riding also. But my kind-hearted uncle was not the man to let me be sacrificed to his own disappointment. His riding-groom had been one of his soldier-servants in the cavalry regiment–a quaint sour tempered old man, not at all the sort of person to attend on a young lady taking her riding-exercise alone. “We must find a smart fellow who can be trusted,” said the General. “I shall inquire at the club.”