"Now pray remark, sir," said the Lady Elizabeth Carlyon, seating herself in a shady arbour and taking up her needle and thread, "a woman, instead of sucking her thread and rubbing it into a black spike and cursing, threads her needle—so! Thereafter she takes the object to be sewed and holds it—no, she can't, sir, while you sit so much afar, prithee come closer to her—there! Yet no—'twill never do—she'll be apt to prick you sitting thus——"
"If I took off my coat, madam——"
"'Twould be monstrous indecorous, sir! No, you must kneel down—here at my feet!"
"But—madam——"
"To your knees, sir, or I'll prick you vilely! She now takes the article to be sewed and—pray why keep at such a distance? She cannot sew gracefully while you pull one way and she another! She then fits on her thimble, poises needle and—sews!" The which my lady forthwith proceeded to do making wondrous pretty play with white hand and delicate wrist the while.
And when she had sewn in silence for perhaps one half-minute she fell to converse thus:
"Indeed you look vastly appealing on your knees, sir. Pray have you knelt to many lovely ladies?"
"Never in my life!" he answered fervently.
"And yet you kneel with infinite grace—'tis quite affecting, how doth it feel to crouch thus humbly before the sex?"
"Uncommon hard to the knees, madam."
"Indeed I fear you have no soul, sir."
"Ha!" exclaimed the Major, rising hastily, "someone comes, I think!"
Sure enough, in due time, a somewhat languid but herculean footman appeared, who perceiving the Major, faltered, stared, pulled himself together and, approaching at speed, bowed in swift and supple humility and spoke:
"Four gentlemen to see your ladyship!"
"Only four? Their names?"
The large menial expanded large chest and spake with unction:
"The Marquis of Alton, Sir Jasper Denholm, Sir Benjamin Tripp and Mr. Marchdale."
"Well say I'm out—say I'm engaged—say I wish to be private!"
The large footman blinked, and the Major strove to appear unconscious that my lady held him tethered by needle and thread.
"Very good, madam! Though, 'umbly craving your ladyship's pardon, my lady, your aunt wished me to tell you most express——"
"Well, tell her I won't!"
"My lady, I will—immediate!" So saying, the large footman bowed again, blinked again and bore himself off, blinking as he went.
"And now, Major d'Arcy, if you will condescend to abase yourself we will continue our sewing lesson."
"But mam——"
"Do—not——"
"Your ladyship's guests——"
"Pooh! to my ladyship's guests! Come, be kneeling, sir, and take heed you don't break my thread."
"Now I wonder," said the Major, "I wonder what your lackey thinks——"
"He don't, he can't, he never does—except about food or drink or tobacco—faugh!"
Up started the Major again as from the adjacent yew-walk a faint screaming arose.
"Good God!" exclaimed the Major. "'Tis a woman!"
"Nay sir, 'tis merely my aunt!"
"But madam—hark to her, she is in distress!"
"Nay sir, she doth but wail—'tis no matter!"
"'Tis desperate sound she makes, madam."
"But extreme ladylike, sir, Aunt Belinda is ever preposterously feminine and ladylike, sir. Her present woe arises perchance because she hath encountered a grub on her way hither or been routed by a beetle—the which last I do fervently hope."
This hope, however, was doomed to disappointment for very suddenly a lady appeared, a somewhat faded lady who, with dainty petticoats uplifted, tripped hastily towards them uttering small, wailing screams as she came.
"O Betty!" she cried. "Betty! O Elizabeth, child—a rat! O dear heart o' me, a great rat, child! That sat in the path, Betty, and looked at me, child—with a huge, great tail! O sweet heaven!"
"Looked at you with his tail, aunt?"
"Nay, child—faith, my poor senses do so twitter I scarce know what I say—but its wicked wild eyes! And it curled its horrid tail in monstrous threatening fashion! And O, thank heaven—a man!"
Here the agitated lady tottered towards the Major and, supported by his arm, sank down upon the bench and closing her eyes, gasped feebly.
"Madam!" he exclaimed, bending over her in great alarm.
"O lud!" she murmured faintly.
"By heaven, she's swooning!" exclaimed the Major.
"Nay, sir," sighed Lady Betty, "'tis no swoon nor even a faint, 'tis merely a twitter. Dear aunt will be herself again directly—so come let me sew on that button or I'll prick you, I vow I will!"
At this Lady Belinda, opening her languid eyes, stared and gasped again.
"Mercy of heaven, child!" she exclaimed, "what do you?"
"Sew on this gentleman's buttons, aunt!"
"Buttons, child! Heaven above!"
"Coat-buttons, aunt!"
"Mercy on us! Buttons! In the arbour! With a man——"
"Major d'Arcy, our neighbour, aunt. Major, my aunt, Lady Belinda Damain."
Hereupon the Major bowed a trifle awkwardly since Lady Betty still had him in leash, while her aunt, rising, sank into a curtsey that was a wonder to behold and thereafter sighed and languished like the faded beauty she was.
"My undutiful niece, sir," said she, "hath no eye to decorum, she is for ever shocking the proprieties and me—alack, 'tis a naughty baggage—a romping hoyden, a wicked puss——"
"Aunt Belinda, dare to call me a 'puss' again and I'll scratch!"
"And you are Major d'Arcy—of the Guards?"
"Late of the Third, madam."
"Related to the d'Arcys of Sussex?"
"Very distantly, I believe."
"Charming people! A noble family!"
The Major would have bowed again but for my lady Betty's levelled needle; thereafter while her aunt alternately prattled of the joys of Bath and languished over the delights of London, the Major's buttons were rapidly sewn into place and my lady was in the act of nibbling the thread when once again the ponderous menial drew nigh who, making the utmost of his generous proportions, announced:
"Lord Alvaston, Captain West and Mr. Dalroyd——"
"O Betty!" exclaimed Lady Belinda, clasping rapturous fingers, "Mr. Dalroyd—that charming man who was so attentive at Bath and afterwards in London—such legs, my dear, O Gemini!"
"To see the Lady Elizabeth—most express, my ladies."
"Tell them to go—say I'm busy——"
"Betty!" wailed her aunt.
"Say I'm engaged, say——"
"O Bet—Betty—my child," twittered her aunt, "why this cruel coldness—this harsh rigour?"
"O say I'm out—say anything!"
"Which, my lady, I did—most particular and Mr. Dalroyd remarks as how he'll wait till you will—most determined!"
"O the dear, delightful, bold creature! And such a leg, my dear! Such an air and—O dear heart o' me, if he isn't coming in quest of us yonder! The dear, desperate, audacious man! I'll go greet him and do you follow, child!"
And Lady Belinda fluttered twittering away, followed by the ponderous lackey.
The Major sighed and glanced toward the distant ladder.
"You would appear to be in much request, madam," said he, "and faith, 'tis but natural, youth and such beauty must attract all men and——"
"All men, sir?"
"Indeed, all men who are blessed with eyes to see——"
Here chancing to meet her look he faltered and stopped.
"To see—what?" she enquired.
"'Bewitching Bet'!" he answered bowing very low.
"Ah—no!" she cried—"not you!" and turning suddenly away she broke off a rose that bloomed near by and stood twisting it in her white fingers.
"And wherefore not?" he questioned.
"'Tis not foryourlips," she said, softly.
The Major whose glance happened to be wandering, winced slightly and flushed.
"Aye—indeed, I had forgot," said he, rather vaguely—"Youth must to youth and——"
"Must it, sir?
"Inevitably, madam, it is but natural and——"
"How vastly wise you are, Major d'Arcy!" The curl of her lip was quite wasted on him for he was staring at the rose she was caressing.
"'Twas said also by one much wiser than I 'crabbed age and youth cannot live together.' And you are very young, my lady and—very beautiful."
"And therefore to be pitied!" she sighed.
"In heaven's name, why?"
"For that I am a lonely maid that suffers from a plague of beaux, sir, most of them over young and all of them vastly trying. 'Bewitching Bet'!" This time he did see the scorn of her curling lip. "I had rather you call me anything else—even 'child' or—'Betty.'"
They stood awhile in silence, the Major looking at her and she at the rose: "'Betty'!" said he at last, half to himself, as if trying the sound of it. "'Tis a most—pretty name!"
"I had not thought so," she answered. And there was silence again, he watching where she was heedlessly brushing the rose to and fro across her vivid lips and looking at nothing in particular.
"Your guests await you," said he.
"They often do," she answered.
"I'll go," said the Major and glanced toward the ladder. "Good-bye, my lady."
"Well?" she asked softly.
"And—er—my grateful thanks——"
"Well?" she asked again, softer yet.
"I also hope that—er—I trust that since we're neighbours, I—we——"
"The wall is not insurmountable, sir. Well? O man," she cried suddenly—"if you really want it so why don't you ask for it—or take it?"
The Major stared and flushed.
"You—you mean——"
"This!" she cried and tossed the rose to his feet. Scarcely believing his eyes he stooped and took it up, and holding it in reverent fingers watched her hasting along the yew-walk. Standing thus he saw her met by a slender, elegant gentleman, saw him stoop to kiss her white fingers, and, turning suddenly, strode to the ladder.
So the Major presently climbed back over the wall and went his way, the rose tenderly cherished in the depths of one of his great side-pockets and, as he went, he limped rather noticeably but whistled softly to himself, a thing very strange in him, whistled softly but very merrily.
Mrs. Agatha sat just within the kitchen-garden shelling peas—and Mrs. Agatha did it as only a really accomplished woman might; at least, so thought Sergeant Zebedee, who, busied about some of his multifarious carpentry jobs, happened to come that way. He thought also that with her pretty face beneath snowy mob-cap, her shapely figure in its neat gown, she made as attractive a picture as any man might see on the longest day's march—of all which Mrs. Agatha was supremely conscious, of course.
"A hot day, mam!" said he, halting.
Mrs. Agatha glanced up demurely, smiled, and gave all her attention to the peas again.
"You do be getting more observant every day, Sergeant!" she said, shelling away rapidly.
The Sergeant stroked his new-shaven cheek with a pair of pincers he chanced to be holding and stared down at her busy fingers; Mrs. Agatha possessed very shapely hands, soft and dimpled—of which she was also aware.
"But you look cool enough, mam," said he, ponderously, "and 'tis become a matter of——"
"Duty, Sergeant?" she enquired.
"No, mam, a matter of wonder to me how you manage it?"
"Belike 'tis all because Nature made me so."
"Natur', mam—aye, 'tis a wonderful institootion——"
"For making me cool?"
"For making you at all, mam!" Having said which, he wheeled suddenly, and took three quick strides away but, hearing her call, he turned and took three slow ones back again. "Well, mam?" he enquired, staring at the pincers.
"'Tis a hot day, Sergeant!" she laughed. At this he stood silent awhile, lost in contemplation of her dexterous hands.
"Egad!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "'Tis a beautiful finger!"
"Is it, Sergeant?"
"For a trigger—aye mam. To shoot straight a man must have a true eye, mam, but he must also have a shooting-hand, quick and light o' the finger, d'ye see, not to spoil alignment. If you'd been a man, now, you'd ha' handled a musket wi' the best if you'd only been a man——"
"But I'm—only a woman."
"True, mam, true—'tis Natur' again—fault o' circumstance——"
"And I don't want to be a man——"
"Certainly not, mam——"
"And wouldn't if I could!"
"Glad, o' that, mam."
"O, and prithee why?"
"Because as a woman you're—female, d'ye see—I mean as you're what Natur' intended and such being so you're—naturally formed—I mean——"
"What d'you mean, pray?"
"A woman. And now, talking o' the Major——"
"But we're not!"
"Aye, but we are, mam, and so talking, the Major do surprise me—same be a-changing, mam."
"Changing? How?"
"Well, this morning he went——"
"Into the orchard!" said Mrs. Agatha, nodding.
"Aye, he did. Since I finished that arbour he's took to it amazing—sits there by the hour—mam!" Mrs. Agatha smiled at the peas. "But this morning, mam, arter breakfast, he went and turned out all his—clothes, mam. 'Sergeant,' says he, 'be these the best I've got'—and him as never troubled over his clothes except to put 'em on and forget 'em."
"But you hadn't built the arbour then!" said Mrs. Agatha softly.
"Arbour!" exclaimed the Sergeant, staring.
"You've known him a long time?"
"I've knowed him nigh twenty years and I thought I did know him but I don't know him—there's developments—he's took to whistling of late. Only this morning I heard him whistling o' this song 'Barbary Allen' which same were a damned—no, a devilish—no, a con-founded barbarious young maid if words mean aught."
"True, she had no heart, Sergeant!"
"And a woman without an 'eart, mam——"
"A heart, Sergeant!"
"Aye, mam," said he, staring at the pincers, "a maid or woman without an 'eart is no good for herself or any——"
"Man!" suggested Mrs. Agatha, softly.
"True, mam, and speaking o' men brings us back to the Major and him a-whistling as merry as any grig."
"Grigs don't whistle, Sergeant."
"No more they do, mam, no—lark's the word. Also he's set on buying a noo wig, mam, and him with four brand-noo—almost, except his service wig which I'll grant you is a bit wore and moth-eaten like arter three campaigns which therefore aren't to be nowise wondered at. But what is to be wondered at is his honour troubling about suchlike when 'tis me as generally reports to him when garments is outwore and me as has done the ordering of same, these ten year and more. And now here's him wanting to buy a noo wig all at once! Mam, what I say is—damme!"
"Sergeant, ha' done!"
"Ax your pardon, mam, but 'tis so strange and onexpected. A noo wig! Wants one more modish! Aye," said the Sergeant, shaking his head, "'modish' were the word, mam—'modish'! Now what I says to that is——"
"Sergeant, hush!"
"Why I ain't said it yet, mam——"
"Then don't!"
"Very well, mam!" he sighed. "But 'modish'——"
"And why shouldn't he be modish?" demanded Mrs. Agatha warmly, "he's young enough and handsome enough."
"He's all that, mam, yet——"
"Why should any man be slovenly and old before his time?"
"Aye, why indeed, mam but——"
"There's yourself, for instance."
"Who—me, mam?" exclaimed the Sergeant, hitting himself an amazed blow on the chest with the pincers, "me?"
"Aye, you! Not that you're slovenly, but you talk and act like a Methusalem instead of a—a careless boy of forty."
"Three, mam—forty-three."
"Aye, a helpless child of forty-three."
"Child!" murmured the Sergeant. "Helpless child—me? Now what I says to that is——"
"Hush!" said Mrs. Agatha, severely; but beholding his stupefaction she laughed merrily and taking up the peas, vanished into the kitchen, laughing still.
"Child—me—helpless child!" said the Sergeant, staring after her. "Now what I says is——"
And there being none to hush him, the Sergeant, in English, French and Low Dutch, proceeded to "say it" forthwith.
The Major rubbed his chin with dubious finger, pushed back his wig and taking up the letter from the desk before him, broke the seal and read as follows:
"MY VERY DEAR UNCLE:
"Being in a somewhat low state of health and spirits—"
"Spirits!" said the Major. "Ha!"
"—induced by a too close application to my duties—"
"Hum!" quoth the Major, rubbing his chin harder than ever.
"—I purpose (subject to your permission) to inflict myself upon you—"
"The devil he does!"
"—having been ordered rest and quiet and country air."
"Hum! I wonder!" mused the Major.
"Pray spare yourself the fatigue of writing as I leave London at once and well knowing your extreme kindness I hope to have the felicity of greeting you within a day or so,
Your most grateful, humble and obedient nephew,TOM."
Having read this through the Major fell to profound meditation.
"I wonder?" he mused and pulled the bell.
"Sergeant!" said he, as the door opened.
"Sir?" said the Sergeant advancing three paces and coming to attention.
"Are there any—er—strangers in the village?"
"Last time I chanced to drop into the 'George and Dragon' there was a round dozen gentlemen a-staying there, sir."
"Young gentlemen?"
"Aye, sir, them as I ob-served was, and very fine young gents too—almost as fine as their lackeys, sir."
"A dozen of 'em, Zebedee!"
The Major rubbed his chin again and frowned slightly.
"Then my nephew will make the thirteenth. Tell Mrs. Agatha to have a chamber ready for him to-night."
"The Viscount a-comin' here, sir? Always thought same couldn't abide country!"
"He hath changed his mind it seems or——"
The Major paused suddenly and glanced toward the open window, for, upon the air without was a distant clamour of voices and shouting pierced, ever and anon, by a wild hunting yell. As the uproar grew nearer and louder the Major rose, and crossing to the casement, beheld his lodge-gates swung wide before an insurging crowd, a motley throng, for, among rustic homespun and smock-frock he espied velvet coats brave with gold and silver lace. Before this riot a tall and slender gentleman strode waving a richly be-laced hat in one hand and flourishing a whip in the other.
"Hark away! Hark away!" he yelled, while from those behind came boisterous laughter and shouts of "Yoick!" "Tally-ho!" "Gone away!" and the like.
At the terrace steps the concourse halted and out upon this clamorous throng the quiet figure of the Major limped, his wig a little askew as usual. As he came, the clamour subsided and the crowd, falling back, discovered half-a-dozen stalwart keepers who dragged between them a slender youth, bruised and bloody.
"Ah," said the Major, surveying the scene with interest, "and what may all this be?"
"O demmit, sir!" cried the slender young gentleman, clapping hat to gorgeous bosom and bowing, "Step me vitals, sir—what should it be but a demmed rogue and a rebbit, sir!"
"O, a rabbit?" said the Major.
"And a rogue, sir! Pink me, 'tis the demmdest, infernal, long-leggedest rascal and led us the demmdest chase I promise you! Hill and dale, hedge and wall, copse and spinney, O demn! Better than any fox I ever hunted, there was only Alvaston, Marchdale, your humble and one or two keeper-fellows in at the death—pace too hot, sir—strike me dumb!"
"And pray, sir," enquired the Major, "whom have I the fortune to address?"
"O Ged, sir, to be sure—I'm Alton—very obedient, humble—gentleman yonder blowing his nose like a demmed trumpet is my friend Tony Marchdale of Marchdale—big fellow in the purple coat and nose to match is Sir Benjamin Tripp" (here Sir Benjamin bowed, spluttering mildly) "gentleman with the sparrow-legs is Lord Alvaston" (here his lordship posturing gracefully with his slender legs, bowed, cursing amiably)—"stand-and-deliver gentleman with hook-nose, Captain West of the Guards—die-away gentleman in lavender and gold, Mr. Dalroyd—fat fellow in abominable scratch-wig who looks as if he'd swallowed a lemon the wrong way, don't know—and there we are, sir—demme!"
"And I, gentlemen, am John d'Arcy, at your service. What can I do for you?"
"O egad, sir—strike me everlasting blue, 'tis we have been doing for you! Here we've caught your rogue for you—chased him high—chased him low—here, there and everywhere—bushes, burrs and briers, dirt and dust sir—O demmit!
"If," began the Major, "if you will have the goodness to be a little more explicit——"
But here the short, plump, fierce-eyed gentleman in the scratch-wig, elbowing aside the yokels who stood near strode forward excitedly:
"You are Major d'Arcy?" he challenged.
The Major bowed.
"Why then, sir, give me leave to say we've had the extreme good fortune to catch a poacher on your land. You'll know me of course. I'm Sir Oliver Rington of Chevening."
"No!" said the Major.
"Then you'll have heard of me, to be sure?"
"I fear not."
"Sir, I'm your member—and——"
"I rejoice to know it!"
"And justice o' the peace."
"I felicitate you!"
"As such, sir, 'tis my present endeavour to get an enactment passed making the law more rigorous against poaching——"
"A noble work!" sighed the Major.
"In the which, sir, I am being vigorously supported by the neighbouring gentry. You are a stranger in these parts, I think?"
"I have resided at the Manor precisely a month and two days, sir."
"Then, sir, permit me to say that the quality hereabouts are united against such miserable rogues as this damned poaching rascal."
"You are something in the majority, 'twould seem!" said the Major, glancing from the blood-smeared face of the solitary captive to the shuffling throng.
"We are determined to put down such roguery with a firm hand, sir," answered Sir Oliver, truculently, "I have already succeeded in having four such rascals as yon transported for life, sir."
"For a dem rebbit—O Ged!" exclaimed Lord Alton.
"You forget, Alton," interposed Mr. Dalroyd, languidly, "you forget, the rabbit may be a sheep next week, a horse the next, your purse the next and——"
"And this, sir, was merely a rabbit, I believe, which happens to be mine," said the Major, turning to glance at the speaker.
Mr. Dalroyd was tall and slim and pallidly handsome; from black periwig to elegant riding boots he waspoint-de-vice, a languid, soft-spoken, very fine gentleman indeed, who surveyed the Major's tall, upright figure, with sleepy-lidded eyes. So for a long moment they viewed each other, the Major serene of brow, his hands buried in the pockets of his threadbare Ramillie coat, Mr. Dalroyd cool and leisuredly critical, yet gradually as he met the other's languid gaze, the Major's expression changed, his black brows twitched together, his keen eyes grew suddenly intent and withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he began absently to finger the scar that marked his temple; then Mr. Dalroyd smiled faintly and turned a languid shoulder.
"Gentlemen," said he, "our sport is done, the play grows wearisome—let us be gone."
At this, Sir Oliver Rington approached the Major and in his eagerness tapped him on the arm with his whip.
"With your permission, Major, I'll see this rogue set in the stocks and after safely under lock and key. You'll prosecute, of course."
Very gently the Major set aside Sir Oliver's whip and limped over to the prisoner:
"He looks sufficiently young!" said he.
"A criminal type!" nodded Sir Oliver, "I've convicted many such—a very brutal, desperate rogue!"
"To be sure he's very bloody!" said the Major.
"Aye," growled Sir Oliver, "and serve him right—he gave enough trouble for six."
"And something faint!"
"Aye, feint it is sir—the rascal's shamming."
"And dusty!"
"O, a foul beast!" agreed Sir Oliver.
"And hath a hungry look. So shall he go wash and eat——"
"Wash—eat—how—what in the devil's name, sir——"
"Sergeant!"
"Sir!" answered the Sergeant, very upright and stiff in the back.
"Take the fellow to the stables and when he's washed—feed him!"
"Very good, sir!" Saying which, the Sergeant advanced upon the drooping prisoner, set hand to ragged coat-collar, and wheeling him half-left, marched him away.
"Strike me everlasting perishing purple!" exclaimed the Marquis.
"Damnation!" cried Sir Oliver, his whip quivering in his fist, "d'ye mean to say, sir—d'ye mean——" he choked.
"I mean to say, that since the prisoner stole my property I will dispose of him as I think fit——"
"Fit sir—fit—as you think fit!" spluttered Sir Oliver.
"Or as it pleases me, sir."
"You sir—you!" panted Sir Oliver in sudden frenzy, "and who the devil are you that dare run counter to the law—a beggarly half-pay soldier——"
"O demmit, sir!" exclaimed the Marquis, restraining plump ferocity, "try to be a little decent, I beg, just a little—remember you are not in the House now, sir!"
Sir Oliver sulkily permitted himself to be drawn a little aside, then, halting suddenly, wheeled about and pointed at the Major with his whip.
"Gentlemen all," he cried, "behold a man who hath no respect for the Constitution, for Church, State or King God save him! Behold a—a being who is traitor to his class! A man who—who'd—O damme—who'd—shoot a fox!"
The Major laughed suddenly and shook his head.
"No," said he, "no, I'll shoot neither foxes—nor even fools, sir—if—I say if—it may be avoided. And so, gentlemen, thanking you for your extreme zeal on my behalf in the matter of my poacher, I have the honour to bid you, each and every, good day."
So saying, the Major bowed and turning, limped into the house.
The rising sun made a glory in the east, purple, amber and flaming gold; before his advent sombre night fled away and sullen mists rolled up and vanished; up he came in triumphant majesty, his far-flung, level beams waking a myriad sparkles on grass and leaf where the dew yet clung; they woke also the blackbird inhabiting the great tree whose spreading boughs shaded a certain gable of the Manor. This blackbird, then, being awake, forthwith prepares to summon others to bid welcome to the day, tunes sleepy pipe, finds himself astonishingly hoarse, pauses awhile to ruminate on the wherefore of this, tries again with better effect, stretches himself, re-settles a ruffled feather and finally, being broad awake, bursts into a passionate ecstasy of throaty warblings.
It was at this precise moment that the Major thrust cropped head from his open lattice and leaned there awhile to breathe in the dawn's sweet freshness and to feast his eyes upon dew-spangled earth. And beholding noble house and stately trees with smiling green fields beyond where goodly farmsteads nestled, all his own far as the eye could see and farther, he drew a deep and joyous breath, contrasting all this with his late penury. Now, as he leaned thus in the warm sun, his wandering eye fell upon a small isolated outbuilding, its narrow windows strongly barred, its oaken door padlocked. Instantly the Major drew in his head and began to dress; which done, he clapped on his peruke and opening the door with some degree of care, stepped forth of his chamber, and, carrying his shoes in his hand, tiptoed along the wide gallery, and, descending the great stairs with the same caution, proceeded to a certain small room against whose walls were birding-pieces, fishing-rods, hunting-crops, spurs and the like. From amid these heterogeneous articles he reached down a great key and slipping it into his pocket, proceeded to furtively unbar, unlock and let himself out into the young morning. Outside he put on his shoes and descending marble steps and crossing trim lawns presently arrived at a forbidding oaken door, which he opened forthwith.
The poacher lay half-buried among a pile of hay in one corner but at the Major's entrance started up, disclosing a pale, youthful face, whose dark, aquiline features were vaguely reminiscent.
"Hum!" said the Major, rubbing his chin and staring, whereat the prisoner, scowling sullenly, turned away.
"Ha!" said the Major. "Sirrah, 'tis a fair day for walking I think, therefore, an you be so minded—walk!"
"D'ye mean you'll let me—go?" demanded the prisoner.
"Aye!"
"Free?"
"There's the door!"
The prisoner sprang to his feet, brushed the hay from his rough and stained garments, glanced from his deliverer to the glory of the morning and stepped out into the sunlight.
"You were wiser to avoid Sir Oliver Rington's neighbourhood, and here's somewhat to aid you on your way."
So saying, the Major strode off and left the poacher staring down at the gold coins in his palm.
The Major wandered thoughtfully along box-bordered paths, past marble fauns and nymphs; between hedges of clipped yew and so to the rose-garden, ablaze with colour and fragrant with bloom. In the midst was a time-worn sundial set about with marble seats and here the Major leaned to muse awhile and so came upon a quaint-lettered posy graven upon the dial which ran as follows:
"Youth is joyous; Age is melancholy:Age and Youth together is but folly."
"Hum!" said the Major and sighed, and sighing, turned away, limping more than usual, for his meditations were profound. Thus, deep in thought he came back to the isolated building, locked it up again, and wended his way back to the house.
Having replaced the key he sat himself down in his study and tucking up his ruffles, fell to work on his History of Fortification, though, to be sure, his pen was frequently idle and once he opened a drawer to stare down at a rapidly fading rose.
Gradually the great house about him awoke to life and morning bustle; light feet tripped to and fro, maids' voices chattered and sang merrily, dusters flicked, mops twirled and Mrs. Agatha admonished, while, from the kitchens afar came the faint but delectable rattle of crockery while the Major drove parallels, constructed trenches and covered ways and dreamed of the Lady Betty Carlyon, of her eyes, her hair, the dimple in her wilful chin and of all her alluring witchery. And bethinking him of her warm, soft daintiness, as when she had leaned in his clasp for that much-remembered moment, he almost thought to catch again the faint, sweet fragrance of her.
Moved by a sudden impulse he rose, and crossing to a mirror, stood to examine himself critically as he had never done before in all his life.
And truly, now he came to notice, his wig was shabby despite the Sergeant's unremitting care; then his shoes were clumsy and thick of sole, his cotton stockings showed a darn here and there and his coat—!
The Major shook his head and sighed:
"'Tis a very beast of a coat!"
In his heart he ruefully admitted that it was.
Now, as to his face?
The Major stared keenly at well-opened, grey eyes which stared back at him under level brows; at straightish nose, widish mouth and strong, deep-cleft chin; each feature in turn was the object of his wistful scrutiny and he must even trace out the scar that marked his left temple and seek to hide it with the limp side-curls of his peruke. Then he turned away and seating himself at his desk leaned there, head on hand, staring blindly at the written sheets before him.
And behind his thoughts was a line from the posy on the sundial:
"Youth is joyous, Age is melancholy:"
The Major sighed. Suddenly he started and turned as a knock sounded on the door, which, opening forthwith, disclosed the Sergeant, his usually trim habit slightly disordered, his usually serene brow creased and clammy, his eye woeful.
"Ah, Sergeant," said the Major placidly, "good morning, Zeb."
"Sir," said the Sergeant, advancing three steps and coming to attention. "I've come, sir, to report gross dee-reliction of dooty, sir."
"Indeed—whose?"
"Mine, sir. You put prisoner in my charge, sir—same has took French leave, sir, by aid o' witchcraft, hocus-pocus, or the devil, sir, prisoner having vanished himself into thin air, sir——"
"Remarkable!" said the Major.
"Found the place locked up and all serene, sir, but on opening door found prisoner had went which didn't seem nowise nat'ral, sir. Hows'mever, fell in a search party immediate, self and gardeners, sir, but though we beat the park an' the spinney, sir, owing to spells and witchcraft 'twas but labour in vain, prisoner having been spirited away, d'ye see?"
"Astonishing!" said the Major.
The Sergeant mopped his brow and sighed.
"Prisoner having bolted and altogether went, sir—same being vanished, though suspecting witches and hocus-pocus, must hold myself responsible for same——"
"No, no, Zeb."
"And feel myself defaulter, sir, owing to which shall stop and deny myself customary ale to-day, sir."
"Very good, Zeb."
"And talking of ale, sir, think it my dooty to report as in the 'George and Dragon' last evening Sir Oliver Rington were talking agin' you, sir—very fierce."
"I'm not surprised, Zeb, his kind must talk."
"Same person, sir, made oncommon free wi' your name, laying thereto certain and divers eppythets, sir, among which was 'vulgar fellow' and 'beggarly upstart' which me overhearing was forced to shout 'damn liar' as in dooty bound, sir. Whereupon his two grooms, wi' five or six other rogues, took me front, flank and rear and run me out into the road. Whereupon, chancing to have pint-pot in my hand, contrived with same to alter the faces o' two or three of 'em for time being, as in dooty bound, sir. All of which has caused more talk which I do truly lament."
"A pint-pot is an awkward weapon, Zebedee!"
"True, sir, same being apt to bend."
"I trust you did no serious hurt, Sergeant?"
"Not so serious as I could ha' wished, sir."
"And I hope it won't occur again."
"I hope so too, sir! Regarding the prisoner, sir——"
"He has escaped, I understand, Zeb."
"He has so, your honour."
"Then there is no prisoner."
"Why as to that, sir," began the Sergeant, scratching his big chin—
"As to that, Zeb, 'tis just as well for everyone concerned, especially the prisoner, that—er—isn't, as 'twere and so forth, d'ye see, Sergeant?" So saying the Major took up his pen and the Sergeant strode away, though more than once he shook his head in dark perplexity.