Viscount Merivale sighed ecstatic.
"Beautiful!" he murmured. "O beautiful, nunky! Here we have perfection of fit, excellence of style, harmony of colour and graciousness of line!"
"Colour," reflected the Major, "is't not a little fevered, Tom, a little—hectic as 'twere?"
"Hectic—O impiety! You are a sentient rhapsody, a breathing poem, sir, blister me!"
The Major regarded his reflection in the mirror dubious and askance; his plum-coloured, gold-braided coat, his gorgeous embroidered waistcoat, his clocked stockings and elegant French shoes; his critical glance roved from flowing new periwig to flashing diamond shoe-buckles and he blinked.
"I find myself something too dazzling, Tom!"
"Entirelyà la mode, sir, let me perish!"
"A little too—exotic, Tom!"
"Rat me sir—no, not a particle."
"And I feel uncomfortably stiff in 'em——"
"But, sir, reflect on the joy you confer on the beholder!"
"True, I had forgot that!" said the Major smiling.
"You are a joy to the eye nunky, an inspiration, you are, I vow you are. If your breeches cramp you, suffer 'em, if your coat gall you, endure it for the sake o' the world in general—be unselfish, sir. Look at me—on state occasions my garments pinch me infernally, cause me pasitive torture, sir, but I endure for the sake of others, sir."
"You are a martyr, Tom."
"Gad love me, sir, 'tis so, a man of fashion must be. So there you stand as gay a young spark as ever ruffled it——"
"These shoe-buckles, now," mused the Major, "here was an egregious folly and waste of money——"
"Nay, you could afford 'em, sir, and there's nothing can show your true man of taste like an elegant foot."
"Still, considering my age, Tom—
"A man is as old as he looks, sir, and you look no older than thirty-one."
The Major shook his head.
"I could ha' wished myself a little more sombre-clad——"
"Sambre sir—O Gad support me, sambre? Permit me to say, sir, with the greatest deference in the world—tush t'you, sir! Why must ye pine to be sambre? You ain't a parson nor a Quaker, nor yet a funeral! With all due respect, sir—pish! You are as sober clad as any self-respecting gentleman could desire."
"D'ye think so, Tom?"
"Sure of it, sir, 'pon my honour!"
"Hum!" said the Major still a little dubious and reaching for his gold-laced hat, was in the act of setting it on his head when a cry from the Viscount arrested him.
"Gad love me, sir, what are you about with your hat?"
"I am about to put it on, sure, nephew."
"O Lard, sir, never do so, I beg!"
"In heaven's name why not?"
"Because 'tis never done sir. Fie, 'tis a curst barbarian act never committed by the 'ton'!"
"But damme, Tom, what are hats for?"
"To show off one's hand sir, to fan one's self gracefully, to be borne negligently 'neath the arm, to point a remark or lend force to an epigram, to woo and make love with, to offend and insult with, 'tis for a thousand and one things, sir, but never O never to put on one's head—'tis a practice unmodish, reprehensible and altogether damnable!"
"Tom," said the Major, looking a little dazed, "now look'ee, Tom, I'm no town gallant nor ever shall be, to me a hat is a hat, and as such I shall use it——"
"But reflect sir, consider how it will discommode your peruke."
"Tom, well-nigh all my days I have worn a uniform and consequently any other garments feel strange on me—these cursedly so. But since I've bought 'em, I'll wear 'em my own way. And now, since 'tis a fine evening, I'll walk abroad and try to get a little used to 'em."
Saying which the Major clapped on his hat a little defiantly and strode out of the room.
In the wide hall he met Mrs. Agatha and conscious of her glance of surprised approval, felt himself flushing as he acknowledged her curtsey; thereafter on his way out he stepped aside almost stealthily to avoid one of the neat housemaids; even when out in the air he still felt himself a mark for eyes that peeped unseen and hastened his steps accordingly.
And now, as luck would have it, he came upon the Sergeant busied at one of the yew hedges with a pair of shears; checking a momentary impulse to dodge out of sight, the Major advanced and touched him with his gold-mounted cane. The Sergeant turned, stared, opened his mouth, shut it again and came to attention.
"Well, Sergeant?" he enquired. Sergeant Zebedee blinked and coughed. "Sergeant, I—ah—er—O damme, Zeb, what d'ye think of 'em?"
"Sir, being by natur' a man o' few words all I can say is—Zounds!"
"D'ye—d'ye like 'em Zeb?"
"Sir," answered the Sergeant, sloping the shears across his arm and standing at ease, "I've a seen you in scarlet and jacks, I've a seen you in cuirass and buff but—I ain't never a seen you look younger, no, nor better, and that's God's truth amen, your honour."
"I'm glad o' that, Zeb, very!" and the Major glanced full-skirted coat and silk stockings with a kindlier eye. "To speak truth, Zeb, I found 'em a little—er—overpowering at first, as 'twere."
"So they are, sir, as overpowering as ever was!"
"Eh?" said the Major, starting.
"Like the old regiment at Malplaquet, sir, they ain't to be took lightly, nor yet withstood, sir."
"Hum!" said the Major, his eyes travelling up to a patch of fleecy cloud. "And now as regards yourself, Sergeant. Since you refuse to accept more pay——"
"Not a groat, sir! Which ain't to be wondered at when you consider as you've rose me twice since you dropped in for this here fortun'—not a stiver, sir!"
"Just so, Zeb, just so! Therefore I propose to advance you an extra ten guineas a year as—er—a clothes-bounty, as 'twere."
"Clo'es, sir! And me wi' two soots as refuses to be wore out not to mention this here. Take these breeches, for example, they've done dooty noble and true for three years and no sign o' weakness front or rear——"
"Still, 'tis time they were retired from the active list, Zeb. So at the first opportunity you will proceed to fit yourself out anew—from head to foot. See to it, Sergeant Tring!"
"Very good, sir. Orders is orders."
"And the sooner the better, Zebedee." And the Major nodded and went his way.
"Nom d'un chien!" exclaimed the Sergeant looking after his master's tall, elegant figure. "All I says is—Lord—Lord bless his eyes and limbs!"
Reaching the highway the Major turned aside from the village and mounting a stile with due heed to his dainty apparel, followed a footpath that led over a sloping upland, crossed a murmurous rill and led on beside a wood from whose green depths came leafy stirrings and the evening song of thrush and blackbird. As he progressed, the leaping rill grew to a gurgling brook, widened to a splashing stream, hurrying over pebbly bed until it deepened to a slumberous pool spanned by a rustic bridge.
Evening was at hand and the westering sun cast long shadows making of these drowsy waters a pool of sombre mystery. Being upon the bridge the Major paused to look down into these stilly depths and, leaning well over the handrail, to survey himself in this watery mirror—the graceful fall of his lace steenkirk, the flowing curls of his glossy peruke, the cock of his laced hat; all of which he observed with a profound and grave attention. So lost and absorbed was he that he leaned there quite unconscious of one that had halted just within the wood, crouching furtively amid the leaves. A tall, burly, gipsy-looking fellow this, who caressed a knotty bludgeon in hairy fingers and whose narrowed eyes roved over the indolent, lolling figure on the bridge from gemmed cravat to glittering shoe-buckles; once he took a stealthy forward step, the knobby club a-swing in eager hand but, heeding the wide spread of these plum-coloured shoulders, the vigorous length of these resplendent limbs, scowled and crouched back among the leaves again. Presently, the Major, having settled his hat more to his liking, went on across the bridge and along a path that led over a wide sweep of green meadow and so to another stile flanked by high hedges. Here he paused again to watch a skylark hovering against the blue and to catch the faint, sweet ripple of song. And leaning there with gaze aloft, he fell to deep thought, turning over in his mind a problem that had vexed him much of late, a problem he had pondered by day and thought over by night, to wit:—
Could a feminine being blessed by a bounteous Nature in all the outward attributes most desirable in womanhood, a face beyond compare and goddess-shape, but one who had wantonly exposed that shape to public regard clad in the baser garb of masculinity—could such a one be worthy of a man's humble respect and reverent homage? Would his mother (God rest her sweet soul) have thought her virginal? Would his aunt Clarissa have endured her for a moment?
He sighed heavily and like an echo, came a sob and then another. He started, and guided by these sounds, discovered a very small damsel who wept bitterly, a huddled, woeful little figure in the grassy ditch beneath the hedge.
"Why, child," said he, "what's your sorrow?"
At this she glanced up in sudden fear but, like his voice, the Major's grey eyes were gentle and very kindly; perceiving which she rose, the better to bob him a curtsey, and sobbed forth her woe:
"O sir, 'tis all along of another grand gentleman like you as took away my letter."
Forgetting fine clothes and dignity together, the Major sat down in the ditch, drew the small, woebegone figure beside him and patted her tear-stained cheek.
"Tell me all about it, you very small maid," said he. The little girl hesitated, viewing him with the quick, intuitive eyes of childhood then, checking her sobs, nestled within his velvet-clad arm.
"'Twas a letter, sir, as was gave me by a dirty man as did meet me by the old mill, sir."
"You mean the ruined mill beyond the park wall, child?"
"Yes, please sir."
"And a dirty fellow, was he?"
"Yes sir, only with a clean voice—soft, like yours. And he give me a groat and says I must take the letter to the Lady Carlyon as lives at Densmere Court——"
"Lady Carlyon!" exclaimed the Major staring. "Good Lord! 'Tis strange, very strange. Sure that was the name, child?"
"Sure, sir—the man did say it over and over and how I must give it to only her. So I went 'long the road, sir, but a grand gentleman came up behind me—so fine he was and grand and asked to see the letter and took it and says as how he will give it to my lady and bid me run away and that's all, sir."
"Well, never grieve, my small maid. You've done no harm—come let me dry those pretty cheeks," which the Major with belaced handkerchief did forthwith. "What's your name, child?" he enquired, lifting her to her feet.
"Charity Bent, sir."
"'Tis a pretty name. Many brothers and sisters?"
"No, sir. I do be all father's got to take care o' him."
"So you take care of him, do you, child?"
"When he be at home, sir, he do work at the great house."
"Which is that?"
"The Manor, sir. And now I must go an' cook his supper, he'll be along home soon."
"Eh—cook?" said the Major, staring at the small speaker. "Child, how old are you?"
"Nine, please sir."
"Lord!" exclaimed the Major, and lifting her up he kissed her rosy cheek and, taking off his hat, stood to watch the small figure flit away down the grassy way beyond.
Hat in hand he leaned there once again, revolving in his mind the old problem under a new aspect, thus:
Question: Which is the more worthy, a humble village child of nine who cooks her father's supper or a proud and idle young goddess who wears——
The Major sighed and put on his hat.
It was at this juncture that the Major became aware of a tall, buxom, not to say strapping country-wench approaching down the lane, sun-bonnet on head and large basket on comely arm; one garbed as all maids should be, in simple gown that allowed free play to vigorous, young limbs; one who moved with step blithe and purposeful, doubtless busied upon some useful and womanly duty as all women should be.
So thought the Major as he watched the approach of this rustic lass, comparing her in her naturalness and simplicity to wood-nymphs and dryads and goddesses of groves and fountains, and altogether to the disadvantage of patched and powdered beauties in their coquettish frills and furbelows. Sighing again, he turned to go back.
"God bless your honour and, so please your honour, a humble good day to your honour!" said a voice.
The Major stopped, wheeled, and dropped his cane:
"Betty!" he exclaimed.
"John!" said she. But, meeting his look, flushed and drooped her lashes, whereupon he fell to stammering.
"I—I was but now—'Tis strange but I was——"
"Thinking of me, Major John?"
"Indeed!" he answered.
"Kindly, Major Jack?"
"Pray," he enquired, "pray—er—are you alone?"
"Momentarily!" she sighed. "But Sir Benjamin Tripp is somewhere about, the Marquis is not far hence and Mr. Marchdale mopes at hand——"
"You mean they seek you——?"
"Most pertinaciously, sir, but quite vainly by reason that I can climb."
"Climb?" repeated the Major, staring, "pray what?"
"A wall, sir."
"Wall?" he murmured.
"Two, sir. I had to run away. They're dear creatures, to be sure, but the Marquis persists in recounting pedigrees of horses and dogs, Sir Benjamin rhapsodises in metre and poor Mr. Marchdale, being very young, is so egregiously in love with me that I climb and clamber over walls and here I am. Pray aid me over this stile ere they find me."
The Major's aid was so energetic and prompt that Lady Betty was over the stile and walking beside him, flushed and a little breathless all in a moment.
"You are forgetting your fine cane, sir," said she in a small voice.
"Aye, to be sure!" And flushing, he picked it up rather hastily.
"And now prithee my basket—'twould never suit so fine a gentleman." The Major flushed, seeing which she added: "Though indeed I do like you infinitely so."
"And I," said he impulsively, his keen, bright glance appraising her from head to foot, "I find you infinitely more—more—er—womanly as 'twere—but pray why so large a basket?"
"To carry eggs, sir, and butter and such. Some of your tenants are miserably poor, Major John."
"Hum!" said he, thoughtfully. "And you buy them butter——"
"I make them butter, sir."
"Ha—do you, by Jove!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining.
"I make them butter with the aid of certain polite, perspiring, and I greatly fear, profane gentlemen." The Major's smooth brow grew ruffled.
"Meaning whom, mam?"
"Well, to-day 'twas Sir Benjamin Tripp, the Marquis, Sir Jasper Denholm and Mr. Marchdale. To see Sir Benjamin churning is—O 'tis rare, 'tis killing!" And my lady stood still the better to laugh.
"Sir Benjamin Tripp—churning?" exclaimed the Major.
"So hot—so scant o' breath!" she gurgled. "And his ruffles flip-flopping and his fine peruke all askew. To-morrow 'twill be Lord Alvaston and Captain West and—O 'twill be pure!" and once again she trilled with laughter until, beholding the Major's expression, she stopped breathless and wiping her eyes on the back of slender hand like any rustic lass. "Doth it not strike you as comical?" she demanded.
"O vastly!" said he, and sighed.
"If you had but seen Sir Benjamin, poor, dear, good creature—he did so blow and pant!"
"Extreme diverting!" admitted the Major and sighed again.
"And pray, Major d'Arcy, do you always utter deep-fetched and doleful breathings when amused? Smile, sir, this instant!" The Major obeyed, whereupon she shook critical head: "'Twas much like a grimace caused by an extreme anguish, but 'twill serve for one so preternaturally grave as Major d'Arcy."
"Do I seem so grave, indeed?" he questioned wistfully.
"As the tomb, sir!" The Major blinked: walked a dozen yards or so in silence and sighed deeper than ever, strove to disguise it in a cough and failing, stood rueful. My lady stopped and faced him:
"Major John—Major d'Arcy, sir, look at me. Now prithee why all this windy woe, this sighful sorrow—what evil thought harrows your lofty serenity to-day?"
"I think," said he, hands tight-clenched upon his cane, "I am haunted by a certain evening in the Mall!"
"O? Indeed? The Mall?"
"Aye, my lady, the Mall." Slowly, slowly her red lips curved, her gaze sank beneath his.
"You mean, I think, when I wore——"
"I do!" said he hastily.
"So you have not forgot?"
"Would to heaven I might!"
"And prithee why?"
"'Twas so unworthy your proud womanhood!"
My lady flushed, averted her head and walked on in a dignified silence until they reached the rustic bridge; here she paused to look down into the stilly pool.
"Heigho!" she sighed. The Major was silent and seeing how he frowned with his big chin out-thrust, she bit her lip and dimpled.
"The moon will be at the full to-night!" Still he didn't speak. "And when the moon is full I always feel excessive feminine and vapourish!" The Major, staring into the gloomy water, gloomed also. "And when I feel vapourish, chiding nauseates me and reproaches give me the megrims."
"I would not reproach you, child——"
"Ancient sir, I am not a child. And you do reproach me—you said 'twas unworthy!"
"Aye, I said so," he admitted, keeping his gaze bent upon the sleepy pool, "I said so, my lady, because I would have you in all things most noble, most high and far removed 'bove fear of reproach. Because I would have you worthy of all reverence."
"Alas!" she sighed, "here is a something trying role for a poor maid who chances to be very human flesh and blood!"
"And yet," said he in his grave, gentle voice, "knowing you flesh and blood, in my thought you were very nigh to divinity also."
"Were?" she questioned softly. "Is my poor divinity lost so soon?" And her arm touched his upon the handrail. The Major sighed and immediately the arm withdrew itself and, before he could speak, she laughed, though her merriment rang a little hollow. "And forsooth is it so deep a sin, so black a crime to have ventured abroad in my brother's clothes? And if it were, pray who is Major d'Arcy to sit in judgment? Am I dishonoured, smirched beyond redemption——"
"No—no——" he exclaimed.
"So stained, so steeped in depravity——"
"Ah no indeed!" he cried, "indeed madam—ah, Betty it was but that it seemed so—so——"
"So what, sir?"
"So—so—unmaidenly."
My lady Betty caught her breath in a gasp, her cheeks glowed hot and angry and she fronted him with head upflung.
"How dare you—how dare you think me so—speak me so!" Even as she spoke, proud colour ebbed, hot anger was ousted by cold disdain and he blenched before the scorn of her eyes; he grew humble, abject, reached out hands in supplication:
"My lady I—I—God knows I would not hurt you! Indeed I did but mean——"
"Enough sir, 'tis sufficient!" said she disdainfully. "Major d'Arcy doth pronounce me unmaidenly—O, 'tis all-sufficing!" and, as she turned her back on him, her very garments seemed to radiate scorn unutterable.
"Stay!" he pleaded, as she moved away. "Ah, never leave me so—do but let me explain—hear me!"
"Be silent, sir!" she commanded, speaking over her shoulder, "I've heard enough, aye—enough for a lifetime!" And stepping from the bridge she turned aside into the wood; but there, his hand upon her arm arrested her.
"Child, whither go you?"
"Whereso I will, sir. A fair, good even to you and—good-bye!"
"Not through the wood, madam! There be rough folk about, the Sergeant tells me—gipsies, tramping folk and the like."
"O sir," she sighed, "I may prefer such to Major—Prudery—d'Arcy!" and setting aside a bramble-shoot she went on into the wood, and, when he would have followed, checked him with an imperious gesture. "Come no further, sir, here be thorns to spoil gay finery—and besides," she added, glancing back at him with merciless eyes, "your sober airs annoy me, your lofty virtue is an offence—pray suffer me to go alone!"
The Major flushed painfully, took off his hat and bowed.
"As you will, madam!" said he and, stepping aside, watched her go until the leaves had hidden her from sight. Then, putting on his hat, he took a score or so of slow strides away and as many slow strides back again, until, being come some little way in among the trees, he halted to listen. Faint and far he caught a rustle, a leafy stirring that told where she moved and, guided by this he began to follow into the depths of the wood. Suddenly he paused to listen intently, cane grasped in powerful fist, then hurried on at speed, choosing his way with quick, soldierly eye and making very little sound for all his haste and so reached a little clearing.
She stood, back set to a tree, hands gripping her basket, head erect and defiant but in her wide eyes a sickening fear as she fronted a tall, burly, gipsy-looking fellow who carried a knobby bludgeon and whose eyes, heedful and deliberate, roved over her trembling loveliness and whose hairy lips curled as he slowly advanced. Then the Major stepped out from the leaves, his gait unhurried and limping a little as was usual. But at sight of him my lady, uttering a gasp, let fall her basket almost forgetting shuddering fear in amazement as she beheld the face that looked out between the precise curls of the Major's great periwig. The gipsy fellow saw it also, and, reading its expression aright, sprang immediately to a defensive posture and spoke between a growl and a whine:
"What now, master? There be no harm done, sir—nought but a bit o' pleasantry wi' a country wench!" The Major neither spoke nor altered his leisurely advance until, coming within striking distance, he leapt. Heavy bludgeon whirled, long cane whizzed and the fellow, uttering a hoarse gasp, dropped his weapon and gave back, clutching at useless, dangling limb. But the Major's long arm rose and fell, beating the man to his knees, to his face; even then, as the fellow writhed helpless, those merciless blows rained down tirelessly until a voice cried:
"Don't! Don't! Ah, Major John—you'll kill him!" The Major stepped back, panting a little.
"Kill him," he repeated gently, "why no, mam, no—his sort take a vast deal of killing. I would but give him such a—er—reminder as shall not fade awhile."
"Nay sir, no more, I beg! And see, your cane is broke——"
"Why so 'tis!" said the Major and tossing it aside he picked up the knobby bludgeon, seeing which Lady Betty caught his arm and held it:
"Nay, you are cruel—cruel! You shall not, I say. He has enough!"
"Aye, perhaps he has," said the Major, "and 'twould be distressing for you of course, though when one must fight 'tis as well to be thorough." Saying which he resettled his ruffles, tucked the bludgeon under his arm and bowed. "Pray let us be going, madam!" My lady hesitated and glanced at her assailant's prostrate figure. "A few bruises, mam, he will be well enough in an hour or so—though somewhat sore. And now, with your leave I'll see you out o' the wood, evening falls apace and the Sergeant was right, it seems." Then he picked up her basket and motioning her to lead the way, followed her through the wood.
For once in her twenty-two years of life my lady Betty felt herself at a disadvantage; twice she turned to speak but he, walking behind with head bowed, seemed utterly oblivious of her, wherefore she held her peace and threw up proud head disdainfully. And yet he had saved her and—from what? At this she shivered and disdain was forgotten. Still it is difficult to express gratitude with proper dignity to a man upon a narrow, brier-set path especially when that man keeps himself perseveringly behind one. So my lady waited until they should be out of the hateful wood.
Thus they went in a silence unbroken until they came out in a bye-lane that gave upon the highway. Here, with the glory of the sunset all about her, she paused, quick-breathing, flushed and with witching eyes a-droop and reached out her hands to him; but the Major chanced to be looking just then at a tall gentleman lounging toward them down the shady lane.
"Yonder is Mr. Dalroyd, I think, madam," said the Major, "he shall relieve you of my presence," and into those pleading, outstretched hands he set—the basket.
My lady started away, her lips quivered and, blinded by sudden tears she turned and sped away.
So the Major limped homeward through the afterglow, quite unconscious of the ugly, knobby bludgeon beneath his arm, his mind once more busied with the problem viewed from yet another aspect:
Question: Might it be possible that a true woman can be womanly no matter what she chance to wear?
Mrs. Agatha, gathering beans and aided by the Viscount's two valets, smiled and dimpled on each in turn while the Sergeant, busied in an adjacent corner with a ladder, cursed softly but with deep and sustained heartiness.
Mrs. Agatha's basket was three parts full and Sergeant Zebedee, having pretty well exhausted the English and French tongues, was vituperating grimly in Low Dutch, when a bell jangled distantly, a faint but determined summons, and immediately after, the Viscount's voice was heard near at hand and imperative:
"Arthur! Charles! Where a plague are the prepasterous dags! Oho, Charles! Arthur!"
The two valets, galvanised to action exceeding swift, started, saluted Mrs. Agatha and betook themselves within doors at commendable speed, and the Sergeant, having at last juggled his ladder into position, vituperated them out of sight and was in the act of mounting when he was aware of Mrs. Agatha at his elbow.
"'Tis surely a lovely day, Sergeant!" said she demurely.
"Is it so, mam?"
"Well, isn't it?"
"Why mam, I ain't had doo time to notice same, d'ye see. But, since you ax me I say no, mam, 'tis a dam—no, a cur—no, a plaguy hot day." Saying which, the Sergeant rolled snowy shirt-sleeve a little higher above a remarkably hairy and muscular arm and mounted one rung of the ladder.
"The house do be very—gay these days, Sergeant."
"O mam! And why?"
"Well, since Viscount Merivale came with his two gentlemen."
"His two what, mam? Meaning who, mam?"
"Lud, Sergeant, his gentlemen for sure, Mr. Arthur and Mr. Charles—so polite, so witty and they never swear!" The Sergeant snorted. "One can never be dull in their company. Mr. Charles has such a flow of talk and Mr. Arthur is a perfect mine of anecdote, ha'n't you noticed?"
"Why no, mam. The only mines as I'm acquainted with is the kind that explodes."
"But indeed, Sergeant, everything seems changing for the better—take his honour the Major, see how young he looks in his fine things—aye, as young as his nephew and handsomer. And now 'tis your turn to change——"
"I ain't given to change, mam."
"A frill to your shirt, say, and your wig powdered——"
"Frills, mam—never! And I haven't powdered my wig since we quit soldiering, why should I? What's a man of forty-three want to go a-powdering of his wig for? Frills, mam? Powder, mam? Now what I say to that is——"
"Ha' done, Sergeant!"
"Very good, mam! Only I leave frills and powder and such to young fly-b'-nights——"
"Powder, and frills, and ruffles at your wrists, Sergeant——"
"And talkin' o' fly-b'-nights, mam, brings me to a question I wish to ax you and meant to ax you afore."
"A—a question, Sergeant?" she repeated faintly, beginning to trace out a pattern on the path with the toe of her neat shoe.
"As I want you to answer prompt, mam, aye or no."
"Very well, Sergeant," said she, fainter than before. "I'm listening."
"D'ye sleep well o' nights, mam?"
Mrs. Agatha started, glanced up swiftly and, for no apparent reason, blushed very red under the Sergeant's direct gaze.
"Lud, Sergeant Zebedee, what's that to do with it—I mean——"
"Everything, mam!"
"And why shouldn't I sleep? I've no bad conscience to wake me, thank God."
"Then ye do sleep well?"
"Ye-es!"
"Then you ain't heard nor seen nothing toward the hour o' midnight—footsteps, say?"
"Footsteps! O Lud—where?"
"Anywhere! You never have?"
"Never!"
"P'r'aps you don't believe in ghostes, mam, spectres, or say—apparations?"
"I—I don't know. Why?"
"You've never happened to see a pale shape a-fluttering and a-flitting by light o' moon?"
"Gracious me—no, Sergeant! You make me all of a shiver! Have you?"
"No, mam!"
"O cruel, to fright one so!"
"But hope an' expect to observe same to-night towards the hour o' midnight or thereabouts and if so, shall immediately try what cold steel can do agin it."
"Gracious goodness, Sergeant, what d'you mean?"
"I mean as I'm a-going to find out what it is as walks o' nights."
"But ghosts don't walk, they glide."
"Maybe so, mam, but this ghost or apparation ain't a glider 'tis a walker, same being observed to leave footmarks. Also Roger Bent the second gardener as lives nigh the old mill has seen it twice—says same haunts the old mill o' moony nights, says—but there's Roger now, he shall tell you!" The Sergeant whistled, beckoned and the second gardener, a young-old, shock-headed man, approached, knuckling his forehead to Mrs. Agatha.
"Roger," said the Sergeant, "tell us what ye saw last night."
"A gobling!" said Roger, "a grimly gobling an' that's what."
"Bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha, "what was it like?"
"Why," answered Roger, ruffling his shock of hair with a claw-like right hand, "'twere rayther like a phamtom, mam—very much so, that's what!"
"O—where was it?"
"'Twas a-quaking i' the ruin o' the owd mill, mam, dithering and dathering glowersome like."
Mrs. Agatha gasped, noting which, Roger shook his head gloomily. "Always know'd th' owd mill was haunted but never seed nowt afore. I do 'ope as my hens aren't witched from laying, that's what."
"And then you followed it, Roger?"
"Aye, I did so, Sergeant, me 'aving a dried hare's-foot 'ung round my neck d'ye see which same do be a powerful charm, give me by old Betty the witch, a spell as no gobling nor speckiter can abide."
"And where did it go?"
"Along by the spinney, Sergeant, then along the back lane and I see it vanish it-self through th' orchard wall and that's what!"
"And there was its footmarks in the earth this morning, mam, sure enough. All right, Roger."
Hereupon Roger knuckled again to Mrs. Agatha and betook himself back to his duties.
"'Tis dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Agatha, clasping her pretty hands.
"'Tis queer, mam, queer—but 'twill be queerer if I don't find out all about it 'twixt now and to-morrow morning."
"Sergeant Zebedee—Zebedee, don't!"
"Mam, I must."
"For—my sake."
"Mam, I—'tis become a matter o' dooty with me."
"Have you any charm to ward off evil, Sergeant?"
"Why no, mam."
"Then I'll give you one," and speaking, she took a ribbon from her white neck, a blue ribbon whereon a small gold cross dangled. "You shall wear this!" said she, blushing a little. "Come, stoop your head!"
"Why, Mrs. Agatha I—I——"
"O pray stoop your head!"
The Sergeant obeyed and it naturally followed that the Sergeant's neat wig was very near Mrs. Agatha's pretty mob-cap, so near, indeed that a tress of her glossy hair tickled his bronzed, smooth-shaven chin; the Sergeant saw her eyes, grave and intent, the oval of a soft cheek, the curve of two lips—full, soft lips, ripely delicious and tempting and so near that he had but to turn his head——
The Sergeant turned his head and for a long, breathless moment lips met lips then:
"Why, Sergeant!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "O Sergeant—Zebedee—Tring!" And turning, she sped away into the house.
Left alone the Sergeant picked up his hammer, stared at it and put it carefully into his pocket; having done which, he laughed, grew solemn, and sighed.
"Well," said he at last, "all I says is——"
But for once he could find no words for it in English, French or Dutch.
Mr. Marchdale threw down his cards pettishly and swore, Lord Alvaston, sprawling in his chair, surveyed his slender legs with drowsy approval, the Marquis of Alton yawned and Mr. Dalroyd shuffled for a new deal; hard by the Captain and Sir Jasper diced sleepily and in the ingle Sir Benjamin snored outright.
"Sink me!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "sink me if I've touched an ace all the evening!"
"Aye, Dalroyd and Alton have all the luck!" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale with youthful petulance.
"Dem'd queer thing, but I feel dooced sleepy!" yawned the Marquis.
"'S'ffect o' country air," murmured Lord Alvaston, "look at Ben."
"Aye begad, will some one be good enough to stir him up, his dem'd snoring makes me worse——"
"Who's snoring?" demanded Sir Benjamin, sitting bolt upright, broad awake in a moment, and straightening his wig. "Od's body, I do protest I did but close my eyes for a moment——"
"And snored, Ben, damnably—'ffect o' country air——"
"And churning, Ben—eh, Benjamin?" suggested Mr. Dalroyd. "You've taken up dairy-work, I understand."
Sir Benjamin reached for and filled his wine-glass and grew a little more rubicund than usual.
"Od so, sir," said he, "'When in Rome'—od's body! 'do as Rome does.' And we are in the country and—ah—being here 'mid rural things simple and sweet I—hem! I say I——"
"Snore, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "and very natural too!"
"And churn, Ben!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd, his delicate nostrils quivering in his sleepy smile, "You churn till you sweat, churn till you blow like any grampus, I understand."
Sir Benjamin took a gulp of wine, choked, coughed, and grew purple.
"Eh? What? Ho!" exclaimed the Captain. "A churn? Ben? Split me! Some pretty dairy-wench? Aha! Ben—confess!"
Pompous, dignified, Sir Benjamin rose and took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation and apparent satisfaction.
"Od, gentlemen," said he, lace handkerchief a-flutter, "since you'd have it, I'll freely—hem! freely confess it. But 'twas no rustic charmer, no village beauty, no dainty wench o' the dairy bewitched me—no, no! Od's my life, sirs, I've been beforehand wi' most of ye—body o' me—yes! For 'twas my joy and felicity to—ah—hem! to labour at the delightful art of—ah—buttermaking 'neath the bright and witching eyes of—our Admirable Betty!"
"O sly, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "O Ben—curst sly, sink me!"
"But—a churn!" said the Captain. "Begad! So fatiguing!"
"I churned, firstly, gentlemen, because 'twas so my lady's will and such is, and ever will be, my law, as the mighty Hercules span for the tender Omphale so did I churn for my lady. I churned, secondly, because the churn is a—hem! a romantic engine—I appeal to Alton!"
"So 'tis," mumbled his lordship, "demme if 'tisn't!"
"And I churned thirdly, because the labour entailed is admirable for the—hem! for tuning up the liver—I refer you to Marchdale."
"Nothing like it!" assented that youthful man of the world, "for liver, megrims or the pip give me a churn—and Betty along with it o' course."
"Ha," said Mr. Dalroyd, his smile growing a little malicious, "and then, having put your liver in tune with the churn you proceeded to put it out again by swallowing deep potations of—rhubarb wine of my lady's own decoction."
Sir Benjamin sat down, his plump features took on a careworn expression and he shuddered slightly.
"Rhubarb!" whispered Lord Alvaston, staring.
"Rhubarb!" muttered the Captain. "O Gad! Poor Ben!"
"Heroic Ben!" said Sir Jasper, his fine eyes more soulful than ever.
"Three glasses!" sighed Sir Benjamin. "Aye—three—she insisted! But, body o' me, sirs, what would you? Beauty is the—hem! the fount, the source, the mainspring of valour, is't not? As in olden days our ancestors were ready and eager to adventure life and limb for the bright eyes of their fair ladies, surely we, in like manner, should be equally willing to risk our—hem! our—I say to risk our——"
"Stomachs!" suggested Alvaston, "my own 'pinion precisely! Stomach's only stomach but th' heart's a noble organ—seat o' the 'flections and all that sort o' thing. Which reminds me, not a single ace have I held this game."
"But—split me! Why rhubarb?" demanded the Captain, "Why endeavour t' poison poor Ben? O burn me!"
"'Twas a woman's notion," explained Sir Jasper, "a whim, a fancy. The whole sex, dear creatures, be full of 'em, 'tis what makes 'em so infinite captivating——"
"Not," enquired the Captain, "not rhubarb——"
"No, no—'tis the mystery of 'em—the wonder of their changing moods that makes women so alluring and Bet the most bewitching of 'em all. By Venus, she's elusive as a sunbeam, mysterious as fate, changeable as——"
"Begad," exclaimed the Marquis, "and that's the dem'd truth—that's Betty to a T and that's how I'm coming continual croppers—if she were only a little more like a horse or a dog I should know what to expect and how to treat her——"
"I suggest—precisely the same," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "and horses one spurs and dogs one whips and my lady would be better for a little of both. Women should be managed, they expect it and they love the strong hand!"
Sir Benjamin gaped, the Captain stared, Sir Jasper rolled his eyes and Mr. Marchdale, furrowing youthful brow, spoke:
"As a man of the world I vow there's wisdom in't. The lovely creatures look for strength in a man—mastery, d'ye see, though a whip——"
"Od sir," ejaculated Sir Benjamin, "'tis rank heresy!"
"Pure savagery!" gasped Sir Jasper.
"Precisely my own 'pinion!" murmured Lord Alvaston. "For if a dog's a dog he's only a dam dog—'sequently whip him when needful. Same with a horse. But a woman being a woman ain't a dog nor a horse, therefore since she is a woman 'stead of whipping, worship——"
"Talking o' whips," said the Marquis, "I should devoutly and vastly desire to see some masterful ass attempt to horsewhip Bet, 'twould be a sight for the gods—she has all her brother's fire and spirit with a cleverer head."
"None the less, Alton," retorted Mr. Dalroyd, "the man who wins her will be the man who masters her."
"No, no, Dalroyd," exclaimed Sir Jasper soulfully, "who shall master a goddess? Who but the humblest of her admirers shall hope to win the queen of women?"
"I'm with you there, Denholm!" said Lord Alvaston heartily, "and talking o' queens, not an ace have I touched this game—I'm done!"
"Same here!" growled Mr. Marchdale. "You've all the luck, Dalroyd. I owe you another fifty, I think?"
"Seventy-five!" murmured Mr. Dalroyd.
"Well, I'm for bed!" yawned his lordship.
"So'm I!" nodded Mr. Marchdale.
"Eh—bed?" cried the Marquis reproachfully. "Bed—and not gone twelve yet—shameful, O dem!"
"'Tis the country air," explained Marchdale, "in London I'm at my best and brightest at three o'clock in the morning as you very well know, Alton, but here I'm different, 'tis the curst country air, I think."
"And the churn!" said the Marquis, "Betty kept you at it, you and Ben, not to mention the rhubarb wine, I escaped that—eh, Ben?"
"You were nearer the window!" sighed Sir Benjamin, rising.
"What, are you for bed too? Nay, stop at least for a nightcap or so—let's have up another half-dozen o' burgundy!"
"Nay, bed for me," yawned his lordship of Alvaston, "we may be set a-digging or a-ploughing or some such, to-morrow—one never can tell——"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Captain, "would lose a hundred—joyfully, to see Alvaston perform on the hoe, begad!"
So amid much laughter and banter the company arose and in twos and threes sauntered up to their various rooms, all save Mr. Dalroyd who, left alone, sat awhile playing idly with the cards that littered the table. At last he slipped a white hand into the bosom of his coat and taking thence a scrap of soiled and crumpled paper, smoothed it out and perused it thoughtfully, and, as he read, his lips curved and his nostrils quivered; then, re-folding this strange missive he put it away and, ringing the bell, demanded his valet.
In due time came a discreet knock and thereafter a discreet person entered, tall, quick-eyed, low-voiced, soft-stepping, he was a very model of a fashionable gentleman's gentleman though his eyes were perhaps a little too close together and their glance a trifle furtive.
"Joseph," said Mr. Dalroyd, surveying his 'gentleman' with a languid interest yet with eyes that seemed to observe his entire person at one and the same time. "Joseph, this afternoon I gave you leave to ramble abroad, well knowing your passion for country roads and cross-roads." Joseph bowed supple back and smiled deferentially, though his eyes appeared somehow to come a little closer together. "Consequently, Joseph, you rambled, I take it?"
"I did, sir!"
"And in your rambles you may have chanced by the old mill, Joseph?"
"Indeed, sir, a charming ruin, very picturesque, the haunt of bats and owls, sir."
"Anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Nothing? Are you sure, Animal?"
"Positively, sir!"
"Were there no signs, Thing?"
"None, sir."
"Did you use your eyes well, Object?"
"Everywhere, sir."
"Have you heard any talk in the village of this ghost lately?"
"Frequently, sir. Three people swear they've seen it."
"How do they describe it?"
"They all agree to horns, sir, and a shapeless head."
"Do you believe in ghosts, Joseph?"
"That depends, sir."
"On what, fool?"
"On who sees them sir."
"You were almost famous for the possession of what is called 'nerves of iron' in your predatory days, if I remember rightly, Joseph?"
The obsequious Joseph started slightly and his bow was servile.
"Consequently you don't fear ghosts?"
"No, sir."
"Neither do I, Joseph, and 'tis nigh upon the witching hour, bring me my hat and cane." And Mr. Dalroyd rose languidly.
"Sir," said Joseph as he handed his master the articles in question, "might I suggest one of your travelling-pistols——"
"No, Joseph, no, 'twould drag my pocket out o' shape, and ghosts are impervious to pistols or shall we say 'barkers' 'tis the more professional term for 'em, I believe?"
Once again the obsequious Joseph started slightly, observing which, Mr. Dalroyd flashed white teeth in languid amusement. "I may be gone an hour or more, Joseph, remain awake to undress me."
"Very good, sir! And if I might suggest, sir, 'tis said the ghost walks the churchyard o' nights latterly."
"That sounds sufficiently ghostly!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd. "And by the way, let your tongue remain discreetly inactive—for your own sake, Joseph!"
"Very good, sir—certainly!—and may you burn in everlasting fire!" added the obsequious Joseph under his breath as he watched his master's languid figure out of sight—his eyes seeming closer together than ever.