the hapless master of “delsrop” paced his dining-hall in a rare conflict of emotions. the wine gleamed on the table; but none was there to call a toast in it. his hospitality was abused; his company retired; and he was audibly cursing that cantrip of fortune that had endowed him with a wilderness and a party of lunatics and cut-throats to people it, and had made of it at the same time a perfect purgatory of misunderstanding.
“now,” he groaned to himself, “if i am not in the mind to call in jack fern and his gang to resolve a problem that gets beyond me!”
all had disappeared from the room, and he was alone. he had himself, in a fury of passion, borne away darda to the stables—whereto there was a covered passage leading from the north wing of the house—and had locked her in amongst the deer, as safe and appropriate to her animal outburst. angela—more frightened than hurt by the little punctured wound on her fair white shoulder which the knife had made in its fall—had been supported to an upper room by her brother and dunlone. betty was fled, he knew not whither, and luvaine gone to take his turn of guard in the chamber of the “priest’s hole,” which now, in the light of late discovery, was considered the nucleus of danger.
dusk was creeping on when, in the midst of his irritable tramping, he turned to find that dennis was come into the room.
“by all the devils of cross-purposes,” he said, stopping opposite the man, “i believe we are the only two in the house, whimple, that understand one another. tell me, then—what am i to do with the girl?”
“she must go, sir. her malady increases, and—sir, let me speak plainly. it is aggravated by some wild passion that—that your neighbourhood provokes—some—oh! how can i face you and cry the mad presumption?”
“yes—she must go.” (he spoke gloomily and thoughtfully.) “if only this eternal business of the stone were done with, and i could enter into peaceful possession of my own again. and sometimes i think that that will never be; that i hold a position only—a test of manliness and endurance, and that ‘delsrop’ is no more than a redoubt in the battle of life, to fight from the shelter of, and abandon when my next advance is called.”
“in truth, sir, i believe there is a melancholy curse upon the place.”
“we will hold it, nevertheless, dennis; but, our duty done by it, my heart, i think, wouldn’t die to see it fall. ’twould be a sombre rookery for a young mother to rear her brood in.”
he set to pacing the room once more, while the other hung his head in some sorrowful emotion.
“whimple,” he said, as he walked—“you have associations here—sinister enough; but they are a bond of a kind. i have none, and yet your father’s shadow creeps in mine and influences it, i am afraid, to evil.”
“oh, sir! don’t talk like that. i have so formed my faith on all of that in you which i lack—courage and——”
“tut, fellow! d’you think i’m to be overcrowed by a ghost? the sick dog must have his moan, dennis, and i’m scarce recovered yet of those rascals. look at my hands, you rabbit. are these fingers or forked radishes to pull a trigger withal?”
“god restore you, master!”
“as he will—as he will.”
he was still tramping.
“but the stone,” he muttered—“the stone, the stone.”
suddenly he paused before the servant, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“when you took the skull to your mother,” he said, “how did you carry it?”
“carry it, sir?”
“carry it, i say? did you put the grinning atrocity under your arm—under your coat—how?”
“i put it in a bag, sir.”
“what sort of bag, man; and what became of it?”
“oh! how can i say?—yes; i know. ’twas a canvas thing of my sister’s; that i stole and brought home again; and she rated me that i had appropriated it, for ’twas the one in which she conveyed her treasures to the lodge—the very bag, indeed, she found there and used to stuff her relics into before she escaped last night.”
“where is it?”
“indeed, i have no notion, sir.”
“what was its colour?”
“it had stripes of pale red, i only remember.”
“find it, if you can, and bring it to me.”
“now, sir, now. you think the stone may have escaped into it? it hath been in their hands, sir, down there. it is not possible.”
“go, at least, and look.”
he resumed his monotonous walk. a desperate impatience to somehow end all this overbearing insolence of circumstance raged in his veins. but fate must still be nagging at him like a hot wife. he heard the door opened and thought it was whimple returned. it was sir david, however, who stepped primly down and came up with a stony face to the poor man.
“miss royston is recovered?” said tuke.
“the shock dwells with her. the wound is superficial. she is seated with lord dunlone for distraction of her thoughts.”
“ah! women will dare bold remedies.”
“not less than men, sir, when they suffer a midsummer madness.”
“blythewood, let us, for heaven’s sake, be quit of mysteries! you want to quarrel, as i understand, and i’m in no mood to baulk you. what is another sting in this general attack of hornets? only give me the pretext, man—as to which i swear i’m in a wood of bewilderment.”
“i’ll speak plain enough for an adder to hear. didn’t you ask my favour to your suit with my sister?”
“certainly you put the question to me.”
“need i say more? was this late insult a calculated one? i know nothing of the claims of the lady, or as to how far her services may warrant your condescension; but——”
“you have gained your object. not another word, man; unless you wish to fight over a handkerchief here and now. the matter can be arranged when our responsibilities to these innocent folks are happily decided.”
the little baronet bowed.
“i regret you have forced me into this position.”
“oh! my friend—spare yourself! i am bullied beyond any desire of explanation. i can slash and shout in this mêlée of misunderstanding, and i only dread to die because of the good, sweet soul that has fastened her life to mine. wait; and for the sake of all give me your present services; and i will meet you with cannon, if you like, when the pother is over.”
“of course—our interest here is one. you have relieved my mind, by cock.”
“have i? then attack the bottle and be merry, and i’ll try to make you company.”
“no. i must go back to my sister. you want blood yourself, though. you’re peeked and haggard man; and no doubt late affairs have over-tried you.”
he went out. as the door closed upon him, a savage but irresistible sputter of laughter came from the lips of the other.
“was ever solicitude more impudent?” he murmured. “to press me to fatten on my own wine for the sacrifice!”
once more he went to and fro, while dark gathered about him. not long elapsed before he leapt towards the door with a positive curse to hear it turn on its hinges again.
“who’s there?” he cried angrily, and strode upon the offender.
he had no blame for it this time. he pulled her down into his arms, and pushed the door to, and fondled and caressed this poor partner of his disgrace. she was all frightened and trembling, it seemed; and she buried herself against him as a young rabbit snuggles into a corner.
“where have you been this long hour, my betty?” he said softly.
“i wanted to attend the lady of ‘chatters’; but she was angry with me and has been saying cruel things.”
“never mind them, my bird. people of her condition talk from the head; and that so often aches from confinement in close rooms that it makes them disagreeable.”
“it isn’t true what she said—that no foolish grace of yours can make an honest woman of me?”
“it isn’t true, betty.”
“why, i know my heart, and that the blame is mine. but you wouldn’t so punish me for a little offence. i would follow you through all the world, and take her gibes right meekly at your bidding. i am the better woman in my faith, and she’d give all her ladyship and her diamonds to know of you what i know.”
“if you are sure, betty, i must believe—for you never speak an untruth.”
“why should i, and shame my love? i have nothing but that to make me worthy of you.”
she clung to him and looked up in his eyes, imploring.
“when shall we be free? oh, ’tis all the same as if you were a plough-boy.”
“fortune favour us, my dear, and i will marry you in a month.”
she cried a little at that.
“shall i ever do you credit and repay your goodness? i only want to belong to you and not make people stare or call me a knowing jade that has captured her gentleman. let me live apart and not come to table again, and i’ll strive and strive to pick up the grand ways and read a book of fashion.”
“what! and cease to be yourself that i love? girl we will eschew the conventions, and entertain no company but that of kennels and hutches and beehives. i would rather know the nightingales in my wood than fifty birds of paradise in turbans round my table.”
they started apart as a knock came to the door.
bidden to enter, one of the grooms, pale, eager, and excited, stepped hurriedly down into the room, his gun over his arm.
“sir,” he said, “a man is come from the snow and is knocking at the door for admittance.”
