the two old gentlemen rode away, each in his own direction, in gloomy silence. not a word was said by either of them, even to one of his own followers. it was nearly twenty miles to mr. harkaway's house, and along the entire twenty miles he rode silent. "he's in an awful passion," said thoroughbung; "he can't speak from anger." but, to tell the truth, mr. harkaway was ashamed of himself. he was an old gentleman, between seventy and eighty, who was supposed to go out for his amusement, and had allowed himself to be betrayed into most unseemly language. what though the hound had not "shown a line?" was it necessary that he, at his time of life, should fight on the road for the maintenance of a trifling right of sport. but yet there came upon him from time to time a sense of the deep injury done to him. that man fairlawn, that blackguard, that creature of all others the farthest removed from a gentleman, had declared that in his, mr. harkaway's teeth, he would draw his, mr. harkaway's covert! then he would urge on his old horse, and gnash his teeth; and then, again, he would be ashamed. "tantaene animis coelestibus irae?"
but thoroughbung rode home high in spirits, very proud, and conscious of having done good work. he was always anxious to stand well with the hunt generally, and was aware that he had now distinguished himself. harry annesley was on one side of him, and on the other rode mr. florin, the banker. "he's an abominable liar!" said thoroughbung, "a wicked, wretched liar!" he was alluding to the hitchiner's whip, whom in his wrath he had nearly sent to another world. "he says that one of his hounds got into the covert, but i was there and saw it all. not a nose was over the little bank which runs between the field and the covert."
"you must have seen a hound if he had been there," said the banker.
"i was as cool as a cucumber, and could count the hounds he had with him. there were three of them. a big black-spotted bitch was leading, the one that i nearly fell upon. when the man went down the hound stopped, not knowing what was expected of him. how should he? the man would have been in the covert, but, by george! i managed to stop him."
"what did you mean to do to him when you rode at him so furiously?" asked harry.
"not let him get in there. that was my resolute purpose. i suppose i should have knocked him off his horse with my whip."
"but suppose he had knocked you off your horse?" suggested the banker.
"there is no knowing how that might have been. i never calculated those chances. when a man wants to do a thing like that he generally does it."
"and you did it?" said harry.
"yes; i think i did. i dare say his bones are sore. i know mine are. but i don't care for that in the least. when this day comes to be talked about, as i dare say it will be for many a long year, no one will be able to say that the hitchiners got into that covert." thoroughbung, with the genuine modesty of an englishman, would not say that he had achieved by his own prowess all this glory for the puckeridge hunt, but he felt it down to the very end of his nails.
had he not been there that whip would have got into the wood, and a very different tale would then have been told in those coming years to which his mind was running away with happy thoughts. he had ridden the aggressors down; he had stopped the first intrusive hound. but though he continued to talk of the subject, he did not boast in so many words that he had done it. his "veni, vidi, vici," was confined to his own bosom.
as they rode home together there came to be a little crowd of men round thoroughbung, giving him the praises that were his due. but one by one they fell off from annesley's side of the road. he soon felt that no one addressed a word to him. he was, probably, too prone to encourage them in this. it was he that fell away, and courted loneliness, and then in his heart accused them. there was no doubt something of truth in his accusations; but another man, less sensitive, might have lived it down. he did more than meet their coldness half-way, and then complained to himself of the bitterness of the world. "they are like the beasts of the field," he said, "who when another beast has been wounded, turn upon him and rend him to death." his future brother-in-law, the best natured fellow that ever was born, rode on thoughtless, and left harry alone for three or four miles, while he received the pleasant plaudits of his companions. in joshua's heart was that tale of the whip's discomfiture. he did not see that molly's brother was alone as soon as he would have done but for his own glory. "he is the same as the others," said harry to himself. "because that man has told a falsehood of me, and has had the wit to surround it with circumstances, he thinks it becomes him to ride away and cut me." then he asked himself some foolish questions as to himself and as to joshua thoroughbung, which he did not answer as he should have done, had he remembered that he was then riding thoroughbung's horse, and that his sister was to become thoroughbung's wife.
after half an hour of triumphant ovation, joshua remembered his brother-in-law, and did fall back so as to pick him up. "what's the matter, harry? why don't you come on and join us?"
"i'm sick of hearing of that infernal squabble."
"well; as to a squabble, mr. harkaway behaved quite right. if a hunt is to be kept up, the right of entering coverts must be preserved for the hunt they belong to. there was no line shown. you must remember that there isn't a doubt about that. the hounds were all astray when we joined them. it's a great question whether they brought their fox into that first covert. there are they who think that bodkin was just riding across the puckeridge country in search of a fox." bodkin was mr. fairlawn's huntsman. "if you admit that kind of thing, where will you be? as a hunting country, just nowhere. then as a sportsman, where are you? it is necessary to put down such gross fraud. my own impression is that mr. fairlawn should be turned out from being master. i own i feel very strongly about it. but then i always have been fond of hunting."
"just so," said harry, sulkily, who was not in the least interested as to the matter on which joshua was so eloquent.
then mr. proctor rode by, the gentleman who in the early part of the day disgusted harry by calling him "mister." "now, mr. proctor," continued joshua, "i appeal to you whether mr. harkaway was not quite right? if you won't stick up for your rights in a hunting county—" but mr. proctor rode on, wishing them good-night, very discourteously declining to hear the remainder of the brewer's arguments. "he's in a hurry, i suppose," said joshua.
"you'd better follow him. you'll find that he'll listen to you then."
"i don't want him to listen to me particularly."
"i thought you did." then for half an hour the two men rode on in silence.
"what's the matter with you harry?" said joshua. "i can see there's something up that riles you. i know you're a fellow of your college, and have other things to think of besides the vagaries of a fox."
"the fellow of a college!" said harry, who, had he been in a good-humor, would have thought much more of being along with a lot of fox-hunters than of any college honors.
"well, yes; i suppose it is a great thing to be a fellow of a college. i never could have been one if i had mugged forever."
"my being a fellow of a college won't do me much good. did you see that old man proctor go by just now?"
"oh yes; he never likes to be out after a certain hour."
"and did you see florin, and mr. harkaway, and a lot of others? you yourself have been going on ahead for the last hour without speaking to me."
"how do you mean without speaking to you?" said joshua, turning sharp round.
then harry annesley reflected that he was doing an injustice to his future brother-in-law.
"perhaps i have done you wrong," he said.
"you have."
"i beg your pardon. i believe you are as honest and true a fellow as there is in hertfordshire, but for those others—"
"you think it's about mountjoy scarborough, then?" asked joshua.
"i do. that infernal fool, peter prosper, has chosen to publish to the world that he has dropped me because of something that he has heard of that occurrence. a wretched lie has been told with a purpose by mountjoy scarborough's brother, and my uncle has taken it into his wise head to believe it. the truth is, i have not been as respectful to him as he thinks i ought, and now he resents my neglect in this fashion. he is going to marry your aunt in order that he may have a lot of children, and cut me out. in order to justify himself, he has told these lies about me, and you see the consequence;—not a man in the county is willing to speak to me."
"i really think a great deal of it's fancy."
"you go and ask mr. harkaway. he's honest, and he'll tell you. ask this new cousin of yours, mr. prosper."
"i don't know that they are going to make a match of it, after all."
"ask my own father. only think of it,—that a puling, puking idiot like that, from a mere freak, should be able to do a man such a mischief! he can rob me of my income, which he himself has brought me up to expect. that he can do by a stroke of his pen. he can threaten to have sons like priam. all that is within his own bosom. but to justify himself to the world at large, he picks up a scandalous story from a man like augustus scarborough, and immediately not a man in the county will speak to me. i say that that is enough to break a man's heart,—not the injury done which a man should bear, but the injustice of the doing. who wants his beggarly allowance! he can do as he likes about his own money. i shall never ask him for his money. but that he should tell such a lie as this about the county is more than a man can endure."
"what was it that did happen?" asked joshua.
"the man met me in the street when he was drunk, and he struck at me and was insolent. of course i knocked him down. who wouldn't have done the same? then his brother found him somewhere, or got hold of him, and sent him out of the country, and says that i had held my tongue when i left him in the street. of course i held my tongue. what was mountjoy to me? then augustus has asked me sly questions, and accuses me of lying because i did not choose to tell him everything. it all comes out of that."
here they had reached the rectory, and harry, after seeing that the horses were properly supplied with gruel, took himself and his ill-humor up-stairs to his own chamber. but joshua had a word or two to say to one of the inmates of the rectory.
he felt that it would be improper to ride his horse home without giving time to the animal to drink his gruel, and therefore made his way into the little breakfast-parlor, where molly had a cup of tea and buttered toast ready for him. he of course told her first of the grand occurrence of the day,—how the two packs of hounds had mixed themselves together, how violently the two masters had fallen out and had nearly flogged each other, how mr. harkaway had sworn horribly,—who had never been heard to swear before,—how a final attempt had been made to seize a second covert, and how, at last, it had come to pass that he had distinguished himself. "do you mean to say that you absolutely rode over the unfortunate man?" asked molly.
"i did. not that the man had the worst of it,—or very much the worse. there we were both down, and the two horses, all in a heap together."
"oh, joshua, suppose you had been kicked!"
"in that case i should have been—kicked."
"but a kick from an infuriated horse!"
"there wasn't much infuriation about him. the man had ridden all that out of the beast."
"you are sure to laugh at me, joshua, because i think what terrible things might have happened to you. why do you go putting yourself so forward in every danger, now that you have got somebody else to depend upon you and to care for you? it's very, very wrong."
"somebody had to do it, molly. it was most important, in the interests of hunting generally, that those hounds should not have been allowed to get into that covert. i don't think that outsiders ever understand how essential it is to maintain your rights. it isn't as though it were an individual. the whole county may depend upon it."
"why shouldn't it be some man who hasn't got a young woman to look after?" said molly, half laughing and half crying.
"it's the man who first gets there who ought to do it," said joshua. "a man can't stop to remember whether he has got a young woman or not."
"i don't think you ever want to remember." then that little quarrel was brought to the usual end with the usual blandishments, and joshua went on to discuss with her that other source of trouble, her brother's fall. "harry is awfully cut up," said the brewer.
"you mean these affairs about his uncle?"
"yes. it isn't only the money he feels, or the property, but people look askew at him. you ought all of you to be very kind to him."
"i am sure we are."
"there is something in it to vex him. that stupid old fool, your uncle—i beg your pardon, you know, for speaking of him in that way—"
"he is a stupid old fool."
"is behaving very badly. i don't know whether he shouldn't be treated as i did that fellow up at the covert."
"ride over him?"
"something of that kind. of course harry is sore about it, and when a man is sore he frets at a thing like that more than he ought to do. as for that aunt of mine at buntingford, there seems to be some hitch in it. i should have said she'd have married the old gentleman had he asked her."
"don't talk like that, joshua."
"but there is some screw loose. simpson came up to my father about it yesterday, and the governor let enough of the cat out of the bag to make me know that the thing is not going as straight as she wishes."
"he has offered, then?"
"i am sure he has asked her."
"and your aunt will accept him?" asked molly.
"there's probably some difference about money. it's all done with the intention of injuring poor harry. if he were my own brother i could not be more unhappy about him. and as to aunt matilda, she's a fool. there are two fools together. if they choose to marry we can't hinder them. but there is some screw loose, and if the two young lovers don't know their own minds things may come right at last." then, with some farther blandishments, the prosperous brewer walked away.
