THE Gidleys had always been keen sportsmen; and the present owner of the Manor House had been noted, in former years, as one of the best shots in the county. There were fire-arms of all sorts decorating the walls of the hall, hanging side by side with swords of a bygone date, which Lionel had been strictly commanded never to touch; he had never done so, though he had often cast longing eyes upon them; consequently, he had been delighted at the finding of the old blunderbuss, and additionally pleased when his grandfather had not forbidden its being used as a plaything.
The boy was extremely thoughtful and quiet on the morning after Sir Richard's unexpected interruption of the game in the disused room, so that Ruth, who understood her brother's ways perfectly, knew there was something weighing upon his mind. She was devoured with curiosity to find out what it was, but at the same time, she was quite aware it would be useless to question him. However, she kept a watchful eye on him during the morning, greatly to his annoyance; but she could not follow him about all day, especially as her mother invited her to drive to a neighbouring town, to do some shopping in the afternoon—a pleasure which she could not refuse. At the last moment, when the carriage was at the door, Sir Richard decided to accompany them, so Lionel was left to his own devices.
His first act on being alone was to repair to the study. It was a dingy room with heavy mahogany furniture, upholstered in a dull shade of green; the walls were lined with book-cases containing old volumes, mostly covered in leather; no one ever read them, for Sir Richard was not of a studious disposition. A writing-table occupied a prominent position in front of the window. On this table a few rusty pens, a sheet of blotting paper almost unsoiled, and a handful of bills were scattered, whilst the ink in the inkstand—fashioned in the shape of a fox's head in bronze—had become clotted.
From the writing-table Lionel's eyes travelled to an old oak bureau, placed across one corner of the room; he tried the drawers, but much to his disappointment, found them all locked.
"Bother!" he exclaimed aloud, irritably; "what shall I do now? It's just possible grandfather may have some powder and shot in one of these drawers. I wish I knew where he keeps his keys!"
Lionel was perfectly aware he had no right to pry into any place which was locked nevertheless, when his roving glance caught sight of a bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, he seized them at once, and tried if he could find one to fit the lock of the top drawer of the bureau. Some were too large, others were too small, but at length he found one that fitted the lock exactly, and in another moment the drawer was open. He was disappointed with its contents, which comprised a tangle of fishing lines, a book containing hooks and flies, a few floats, and a ball of whip-cord. The key fitted all the drawers, so he opened them in succession; but it was not until he came to the last that his hopes of finding what he was searching for went up with a bound.
"At last!" he exclaimed exultantly.
The drawer was full of ammunition. There were boxes of cartridges; but those Lionel turned aside, whilst his eager fingers grasped a flask, which proved on examination to contain gunpowder. On searching a little further, at the back of the drawer, he discovered a bag full of shot. This was a find indeed! He had taken possession of these treasures, and was about to shut and lock the drawer, when some one, who had quietly entered the room unnoticed by him, touched him on the shoulder. He started violently, and could not repress a slight shriek.
"What are you doing here, Master Lionel?" asked a well-known voice, in tones of mingled astonishment and reproof.
"Nothing!" he answered shortly, relieved to find that it was Susan Morecombe, and not his grandfather, who had come upon him unawares.
"Nothing!" the woman repeated, her eyes resting upon the bag of shot and flask of gunpowder which Lionel still grasped. "Oh, Master Lionel, how can you tell me such a big story as that!"
"I mean I'm doing nothing wrong," he amended, flushing hotly. "I—I—the truth is, I want a little ammunition to fire off my toy cannon—it's like a real cannon, you know, but only a few inches long—and I thought grandfather would not mind if I took some?"
"Have you Sir Richard's permission to help yourself," she asked, looking at him sharply.
"Well—no!" he admitted with reluctance.
"Then you must put back that bag and flask, sir. You must, indeed! I cannot allow you to take them. Do you mean to say you helped yourself to Sir Richard's keys and searched these drawers? Oh, how could you do it? What would Sir Richard say if he knew—or your mother?"
With a sigh, for he realised all his trouble had been in vain, Lionel replaced the articles he had taken from the drawer, and shut it, turning the key in the lock. He looked sullen, and though his face was crimson, it was more with anger at having been foiled than from any sense of shame.
"Are you going to sneak on me, Susan?" he asked, thinking he had better ascertain her intentions upon that point.
The woman hesitated. She had no desire to get the boy into trouble; but at the same time she was indignant at his dishonourable conduct, and doubted his tale about the toy cannon.
"It is a serious matter to take keys belonging to another, and open locked drawers," she said gravely, "and I believe it is my duty to inform Sir Richard."
"Oh, Susan!" Lionel cried earnestly, thoroughly alarmed. "Don't tell him! He'll be so awfully angry!"
"You should have thought of that before, Master Lionel," she reminded him.
"I know I should! Oh, please don't tell him! Think what a fearful row you will get me into!"
"I want to do what is right," Susan said, her kind face full of distress. "I cannot imagine, Master Lionel, how you could have come here and pried into those locked drawers! Then you were going to take away that flask of gunpowder and bag of shot without asking leave! You knew well enough Sir Richard would have refused them to you! You have behaved very badly!"
Lionel was silent, thinking what the consequences would be if Susan betrayed him. He did not fear his mother's anger—that he could face unabashed—but he did fear his grandfather's.
"I believe it is my duty to inform Sir Richard," Susan said again.
"Oh, don't tell him, please don't!" Lionel pleaded.
"Tell mother if you like, but not grandfather, won't it do if you tell mother?"
Susan considered the matter, and finally decided that if she told Mrs. Compton she would relieve herself from all sense of responsibility.
"Very well, Master Lionel," she said. "I will tell your mother what you've been up to this afternoon, and she can do as she pleases about informing your grandfather of your conduct."
Lionel heaved a sigh of deep relief, and thanked her, feeling for the moment quite grateful. She gave him a well-meant lecture, pointing out to him in what a dishonourable way he had behaved; but though he thought it wise to listen to all she had to say, he was not in the least impressed. Susan watched him replace the bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, then she followed him from the room.
He took his hat and went out of the front door, raging against Susan Morecombe in his heart for having balked his plans; his sense of gratitude to her was lost in the thought that, but for her, he would have had the ammunition he wanted.
Through the gardens he went into the grounds beyond; but instead of following the carriage drive to across the park to the sloping woods which spread to the hill above the village of Holton. It was cool and pleasant beneath the shade of the trees and Lionel was hot with anger against Susan. He sat down on a large moss-covered stone under the spreading branches of a big oak, and thought how foolish he had been not to lock the study door against intruders. A bright-eyed squirrel on a bough overhead peeped down at him inquisitively; and a rabbit, at a little distance, seated on its haunches, solemnly washed its face with its forepaws regardless of his presence.
He had been there some time when he heard footsteps approaching; some one was pushing his way through the bracken and undergrowth—a lanky youth of about eighteen, clad in fustian, with a greasy cap upon his unkempt head. He was closely followed by a dog—a lean, hungry-looking animal of the lurcher breed. Lionel recognised the slouching, ungainly figure as that of Bill Coysh, who was regarded in Holton as a ne'er-do-weel, because he apparently never did anything for a living. It was popularly supposed that he was a poacher, and all the gamekeepers in the neighbourhood looked upon him with great suspicion, though no direct charge had ever been brought against him. Now, when he came upon Lionel perched upon the stone, he paused irresolutely, glancing back to see that the dog was at his heels.
"Hulloa!" cried Lionel. "What are you doing here?"
"No harm, sir!" was the quick reply, whilst the lanky individual touched his cap, and looked sideways at his interrogator.
"If a gamekeeper saw you, he might think you were doing a bit of poaching, especially as you've got that dog with you!" Lionel told him.
"What, sir? Poaching? And because I've got Spring with me? Bless you, sir, Spring wouldn't look at a rabbit if one passed in front of his nose!"
This was such an evident piece of bounce, that Lionel burst into a loud laugh. Bill Coysh's wide mouth was distorted into a grin; and he met the other's glance with a broad wink.
"I say," said Lionel, his face brightening as a sudden thought crossed his mind, "have you got a gun?"
"Maybe," was the cautious response, "but what's that to you, sir? I an't shot anything belonging to you, have I?"
"No, no! I daresay you've had some of my grandfather's game, though! Oh, it doesn't matter to me if you have or not! What I want to know is whether your gun is a breech-loader or a muzzle-loader?"
Bill Coysh looked extremely surprised at this question. He opened his eyes and his mouth too, but he made no reply.
"Because if it's a breech-loader, of course you fire it with cartridges," Lionel proceeded; "but if it's a muzzle-loader I thought you might possibly keep a stock of powder and shot, and I wondered if you'd feel inclined to sell me some!"
A crafty expression crossed Bill Coysh's face upon hearing this, and a particularly shrewd gleam came into the small gray eyes, which, set near together, close to his nose, were not pleasant to look into.
"My gun's a breech-loader," he said slowly.
"Oh, what a pity!" exclaimed Lionel in much disappointment, his countenance falling perceptibly.
"But that's not to say I don't keep a small stock o' powder and shot," the other continued. "What's to prevent my filling my cartridges myself, eh? I might be able to supply them as is ready to pay for what they require!" —and the lanky youth grinned broadly again.
"Oh, of course I will pay you if you will supply me with some ammunition!" Lionel cried eagerly.
"What do you want it for?" Bill Coysh questioned. "I can't let you get me into trouble, you know!"
"Oh, no, no! I wouldn't do that for the world! If you'll let me have what I want no one shall ever know where I got it! I promise that faithfully! Besides, I'm not going to do any harm! I want the powder and shot to fire off a gun, and if you'll sell me some I'll pay you well. Look here!" —and Lionel drew half-a-crown from his pocket.
Bill Coysh looked at the coin, then he shook his head decidedly.
"Half-a-crown's not enough!" he declared contemptuously, "but if you care to fork out five shillings, I'll bring you enough powder and shot to fire off your gun half-a-dozen times or more!"
"That will do capitally!" said Lionel, whilst his companion regretted he had not asked for a larger sum. "Can you meet me here with the ammunition this evening, about seven o'clock?"
"Money to be paid in advance, sir?"
"No!" Lionel replied, after a moment's consideration, during which he reflected that that would not be wisdom on his part, seeing he had no guarantee for his companion's good faith; "no—half-a-crown now, and the rest when we meet this evening!"
"Very well," Bill Coysh agreed, accepting the proferred coin. "You're a sharp un, you are! I suppose you think I might run word, but I won't! I'll play fair, sir!"
"See you do!" Lionel retorted good-humouredly.
"And you'll never let on where you got the powder and shot?" the other questioned.
"No, certainly not; and I won't tell Sir Richard you were prowling about the woods with a lurcher! Mind you're here this evening about seven! We'd better not stay talking now, for if a gamekeeper came along—"
"He might think you weren't keeping good company!" Bill Coysh broke in with a harsh laugh, as he turned away and motioned to the dog to follow him. The intelligent brute, who had been trained to understand and obey the slightest sign, fell behind his master, close to his heels, and silently followed him out of sight.
Lionel went back to the Manor House much elated; and not until he was informed that the driving party had returned, and his mother desired to see him in her own room, did a damper fall upon his spirits.
He found his mother much distressed by the tale she had heard from Susan Morecombe.
"Oh, Lionel, how could you have acted in such a dishonourable way!" she cried reproachfully. "What were you going to do with the powder and shot?" Then, as he remained silent, she continued: "I am thankful Susan found you out! You are not thinking of firing off that old blunderbuss, are you? If that was your idea, I forbid you to do it! You know how nervous I am of fire-arms!"
"I put back what I took," Lionel said sulkily.
"So Susan said! Are you not ashamed of your conduct? I believe if your grandfather knew about it, he would give you a sound thrashing! I wonder how it is you have so little sense of honour!"
Poor Mrs. Compton, who had been in the habit of scolding her children so frequently that they had grown to take little notice of her words, and had never punished them in her life, looked at her son with reproachful eyes. She was realising how little influence she had over him, and wondering why it was.
"I am very sorry, mother," he said, and he spoke the truth as far as being sorry for her evident distress went, for he was really fond of her, though she was too indulgent with him to command his obedience. "I promise never to pry into anything belonging to grandfather again!"
She gave a sigh of relief, for far stronger than her sorrow for her son's conduct was her fear of her father's anger. It never crossed her mind that Lionel would try to obtain the articles he had endeavoured in vain to get from the bureau in the study from another source; so after a few more reproaches, to which he listened without making a remark, she sent him away with his offence condoned as far as she was concerned.
THE next occasion on which Dick spent a few hours at the Manor House, he was informed by Lionel that they could fire off the old blunderbuss as soon as ever there was a suitable opportunity, for the necessary ammunition had been procured, and was at the present moment hidden away in one of the disused rooms. The boys were alone together in the hall when Lionel imparted this information to his cousin.
"We'll try to slip away quietly to the woods by ourselves presently," Lionel said, carefully lowering his voice to a whisper for fear of being overheard, "and soon find out if the old gun's fit for anything. Mother's going for a drive, and she'll take Ruth with her; and grandfather's having his afternoon nap in the dining-room, so there'll be no one to interfere with us!"
Whilst he was speaking his mother and sister descended the wide staircase. The former smiled upon Dick, and gave him an affectionate kiss; she was moving away when a sudden thought struck her, and she paused as she was going out of the front door followed by her little daughter, and said impressively:—
"Remember what I told you about that old blunderbuss, Lionel! Ruth tells me you really spoke of firing it! Understand, I forbid you to attempt to do so. Where is it now?"
"Upstairs," Lionel answered shortly.
"That's right. I dislike fire-arms for playthings even when I know they are unloaded; that toy cannon of yours always makes me shudder!"
She nodded to the boys, and a few minutes later she and Ruth were driven away.
Dick had listened to his aunt's parting words with dismay and disappointment; he now turned a very serious countenance towards his cousin.
"What a pity!" he exclaimed.
"It's all Ruth's fault!" Lionel cried vindictively. "She's such a chatterbox, and repeats everything she hears! She hasn't found out that I've got the powder and shot, thank goodness! We'll fire off the blunderbuss in spite of her!"
"But Aunt Arabella said we were not to!" Dick objected, amazed that his cousin should contemplate such an act of deliberate disobedience, for he had been taught himself that to obey those set in authority over him was his plain duty in life.
"I know she said so," Lionel acknowledged with a frown, "but I mean to do as I like. We'll take the blunderbuss a long distance from the house, far away into the woods, and mother will never know whether we've been firing it or not!"
"Oh, Lionel! you don't mean it—you can't! It would be awfully wrong! And if she doesn't know we've disobeyed her, God will! Oh, you don't mean to be so wicked as that!"
"You miserable little coward!" Lionel cried irately. "What a funk you're in! Now it's coming to the point you're afraid to fire off the blunderbuss, I suppose!"
"No, I'm not," Dick replied, his eyes flashing angrily at this taunt; "but I'm not going to disobey Aunt Arabella. I won't go with you—there! I know what father would say about it!"
"Oh, do you? What, then?"
"That it's our duty to obey Aunt Arabella! I'm certain he'd think so! Father says the first lesson a soldier has to learn is to obey, and I'm going to be a soldier when I'm a man! I'm not a miserable little coward, and I dare you to say it!"
Dick was vastly indignant. As usual when deeply moved he had turned very pale.
Lionel glanced at him doubtfully, longing to box his ears soundly, and "put the youngster in his place," as he mentally expressed it; but he remembered the first occasion on which he and his cousin had met, and recalled the swift blow which had proved to him far more effectually than any words would have done, that Dick had a temper which it was unwise to rouse. Except for that one disagreement, the boys had been excellent friends until this moment, simply because Lionel had refrained from disparaging those Dick loved, and Dick had allowed him to take the lead in every way. Now it was a question of right and wrong, the younger boy refused to be led. He never for a moment hesitated, but flatly declined to join in an act of disobedience.
"Do you really mean you won't help me fire off the blunderbuss after all the trouble I've taken to get the powder and shot?" inquired Lionel, putting a curb upon his temper, and affecting a reproachful tone. "I declare it's too bad of you!"
"I can't help it," Dick responded; "I'm very sorry."
"You're not!"
"I am! I am indeed! Oh, Lionel, do say you won't—"
"But I will!" Lionel interrupted angrily. "Mother's no right to spoil our fun! She treats me like a baby!"
"I can't think how you can want to fire off the blunderbuss after what she said! I know if my mother—"
"Your mother!" Lionel cried, rudely interrupting again. "You think a lot of her, don't you? Your mother, indeed! You're about the only one in this house who thinks anything of her. Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother! So, there!"
For a moment Dick's face expressed nothing but blank amazement, then the colour rushed to his cheeks in a flood of crimson, and dying away, left him ghastly pale. The two boys looked at each other, the elder triumphant, the younger with a great horror slowly creeping into his eyes. Neither spoke, and neither noticed that the dining-room door had opened, and Sir Richard was watching them. The old man had heard every word of Lionel's last speech, and knew that the boys must have been quarrelling. Perhaps, never until he had heard his sentiments towards his son's wife so plainly stated— "Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother!" —did he realise in what an unfavourable light his unforgiving spirit must appear to others. Strange as it may seem, he was not angry with Lionel for blurting out the truth; perhaps he recognised that a spirit of vindictiveness very like his own had animated the cruel speech. As he slowly stepped towards the boys, they suddenly became aware of his presence. Lionel slunk out of the hall by way of the front door without a word; and Dick, after one shrinking glance at his grandfather, sped wildly upstairs.
Sir Richard followed the small flying figure, which in another instant was out of sight; but the old man heard the heavy door leading to the picture-gallery open and shut, and knew where the fugitive had fled. The little boy, hiding in the darkest corner of the picture-gallery, heard Sir Richard's slow footsteps pause momentarily outside the door, and hoped they would proceed further. He did not want to face his grandfather when his heart was bursting with mingled pain and indignation; but there was no help for it, he must do so, for Sir Richard had entered, and was peering about in search of him.
"Dick," he said anxiously, "Dick, where are you?"
"Here," Dick answered, from the distant corner where he was crouching behind an old velvet settee. He was not crying, but he felt as though he had been struck a blow which had stunned him. He turned a white face with a pair of miserable eyes towards Sir Richard as he approached.
"Dick, don't look like that!" Sir Richard said, with an unusually gentle intonation in his voice. "Lionel had no right to speak as he did of—of your mother. He said it to anger you. Think no more of it."
"Wasn't it true?" Dick asked, his countenance brightening; then, as his grandfather hesitated to reply, he continued in a broken, hopeless tone: "Yes, I know it's true! And that's why father never spoke of you! That's why I couldn't understand! Oh, it's dreadful—dreadful! Oh, how can you be so wicked as to hate mother! Oh, mother! mother!" —and the little boy sobbed aloud.
"Don't, child, don't!" Sir Richard exclaimed. He was strangely moved by the intensity of Dick's grief and despair. "Don't, don't!" he said again.
Dick raised his head and looked at him suddenly with an ominous flash in his tearful eyes, whilst he slowly came out of the corner, and stood in front of his grandfather—a small forlorn figure with a stern, set face.
"I'm going," he said, "and I'm never coming to see you again. She—she said I was to treat you with respect, and I can't—not now I know you hate her! I am very sorry, because I—I liked you—rather—I didn't at first, you know, because I thought you were cross and disagreeable; but you've been kind to me. I'm never coming here again—I'll stay at home with Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus—they love her—and I wish I'd never seen you, or the Manor House, or Lionel!"
"Stop, stop!" interposed Sir Richard hastily. He saw the child was trembling with passion, and deep in his heart he sympathised with him, and admired him for his plain speaking. "Don't be hasty, Dick! There are many things little boys can't understand about their elders!"
"Why do you hate her?" Dick enquired suddenly, his accusing eyes still fixed on his grandfather's face. "There's no one like mother, no one! Father says so too! He ought to know! Oh, why did they ever send me to England away from them both!"
"I—I hardly knew your mother," Sir Richard said, "and—and I have little doubt now that she is all you say. Did you ever hear me speak a word against her?"
"No," the little boy acknowledged. "You couldn't," he added quickly, "not without you said what wasn't true, and I don't think you tell stories—I know you don't!"
Sir Richard literally gasped with astonishment at this very plain speaking; but he was anxious to be at peace with the child, and proceeded:—
"You see, Dick, your father's marriage was a disappointment to me—you are too young to understand why—and I was naturally offended with him. I said I should never forgive him, but I should like to be friendly with him again, and let bygones be bygones. Now, I'm sure you'll try to forget what Lionel said, and come to the Manor House as usual?"
"No," said Dick stubbornly, "because I should always be thinking of how you hate mother!"
"Nonsense, my boy, I don't hate your mother now!" The words were out almost before Sir Richard was aware he had said them, so eager was he that Dick's frequent visits should not cease. "I think she must be a good woman if her son loves her so well," he continued, speaking gruffly to hide deep feeling, "and she has taught you to be honest and truth-loving—a gentleman at heart!"
Dick flushed, and a slight tremulous smile played around his mouth, whilst the hard, stern expression which had looked so out of place on his young face, disappeared altogether.
"There is no one like mother!" he said again. It was his favourite formula when speaking of her. "If you are sure, quite sure that you don't hate her, I will come to the Manor House as often as you like; and I shall know it is not true if Lionel says it again!"
"What were you quarrelling about?" Sir Richard enquired, with a return of his old, sharp manner.
"I would rather not say," Dick responded firmly; "please don't ask me, because I don't mean to tell!"
His grandfather did not press the question, supposing they had disagreed upon some unimportant matter. He turned the conversation into another channel; and seated on the faded velvet settee beyond which Dick had hidden, he watched the little boy draw the curtain back from Paul Gidley's picture.
"He was a soldier too, wasn't he?" Dick said softly, as he stood looking up into the martyr's face. "Uncle Theophilus says he was a soldier of Christ. He fought the good fight of faith; and a man must be very brave to do that!"
The mellow August sunshine fell upon the pale, calm countenance of the young monk, and upon the uplifted face of the boy; once again Sir Richard was struck by the likeness between the two.
"Dick," he said suddenly, "come here!"
Dick let the curtain fall before the picture, and returned to his grandfather, regarding him with questioning brown eyes.
"I'm getting an old man, Dick," Sir Richard said gravely. "I wish your father was coming home before next year! Since he went to India I've neglected the property; I've had no heart to see to things; but when he comes back he shall do as he likes here!"
"Then I expect he'll begin by shooting the rabbits," Dick replied seriously; "Groves says they're a great nuisance, but I rather like to see them about!"
Sir Richard laughed, whilst Dick continued to regard him with great gravity.
"Well?" the old man said. "There is a question in your eyes, Dick! What is it?"
"Don't be angry," Dick responded, "but I should like to know—something."
"Well?"
"I should like to know, if you hated mother, why you've changed your mind! Did God show you it was wrong?"
"Yes," Sir Richard replied briefly; and his little interrogator was quite satisfied.
Dick was very subdued during the remainder of his visit that day. When the time came for him to return to No. 8 Fore Street, Mrs. Compton and Ruth had been home for more than an hour; but Lionel had not reappeared upon the scene. Dick wondered if he had gone away to fire off the blunderbuss, or if he was ashamed to face him after the way he had spoken of his mother.
Ruth accompanied her cousin as far as the lodge gates, and then went back to the Manor House whilst Dick turned towards Holton. His way led through lanes which lay between rich pasture-lands where feathery meadow-sweet grew in the lush hedgerows, scenting the air with its heavy perfume. The sun was setting like a ball of fire behind the hills, promising a hot day on the morrow, and over all hung the hush of coming night.
Dick had been much upset that day, and he had started from the Manor House depressed in spirits; but he had not gone far before the peace and beauty of the early autumn evening stole into his heart; and he fell to thinking of next year, when he hoped his parents would be coming home. He dwelt on the joy of his reunion with them, and forgot the passionate pain which had filled his heart at the thought of his grandfather's hatred for his mother. Then he looked up at a turn in the lane, and saw Aunt Mary Ann coming to meet him with a welcoming smile upon her happy face, and he quickened his pace to a run, crying,—
"Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, how good of you to come to meet me! Oh, I have such a lot to tell you!" —and he poured into her attentive ears the story of his interview with his grandfather in the picture-gallery subsequent to Lionel's cruel speech.
MISS Warren was so overcome when she found that Dick had learnt the cause of the ill-feeling between his father and grandfather that the pretty colour left her cheeks, and she sat down on a moss-covered bank beneath a hazel-bush by the hedge-side, whilst the tears ran down her face. "Oh, my dear," she cried, "what a wicked, cruel boy your cousin must be to deliberately wound you like that! I am glad Sir Richard heard what he said, though—very glad! It does people good to hear the truth about themselves sometimes!"
"But grandfather doesn't hate mother, he doesn't indeed!" Dick interposed eagerly. "He seemed so sorry Lionel spoke like that! I think he is very lonely and unhappy. He wishes father was coming home sooner than next year, and he said he should like bygones to be bygones. What did he mean, Aunt Mary Ann?"
"Did he really say that?" Miss Warren asked, greatly astonished. "Then he must mean to forgive your father for—for—Oh, Dick, it's no good our trying to keep it from you any longer? It was your father's marriage that offended Sir Richard!"
"Won't you tell me about it?" Dick said coaxingly, his face expressive of mingled anxiety and curiosity.
"Perhaps I had better try to make you understand," Miss Warren replied with a sigh. "It was ten years ago, and Sir Richard was abroad in Egypt—he often wintered abroad in those days. Your father had leave, and came down to the Manor House for a few weeks' shooting and hunting. He met your mother, they grew to love each other, and one day he came and told your Uncle Theophilus she had promised to be his wife. Your Uncle Theophilus gave his consent to the match, providing Sir Richard did the same. Well, Dick, your father wanted to be married at once, because his regiment had been ordered on foreign service, and, of course, he wished to take your mother with him. He wrote to Sir Richard, but no answer came—afterwards we learnt the letter had been delayed in the post through the negligence of an official. Your father said he should take silence for consent, and pointed out to us that if the marriage did not take place then, our niece would have to go out to him to India to be married. We did not like that idea at all, and so, Dick, your dear parents were married; and later—a few days after they had sailed—your Uncle Theophilus received a letter from Sir Richard saying he would never give his consent to his son marrying our niece."
Miss Warren paused. She had no intention of telling Dick all his grandfather had said in that letter; although the words had been written so long ago, the remembrance of them made her angry still. She proceeded:—
"Your Uncle Theophilus wrote and told Sir Richard the marriage had taken place; and when your grandfather came home in the spring, he gave us to understand that he never meant to have anything to do with your mother."
"Why not?" Dick questioned in amazement.
"My dear, your grandfather considered she was beneath his son in position!"
"Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, I wish you could have heard how he spoke of mother this afternoon! He didn't say much; but he was very nice about her—he was indeed! He said he didn't hate her now God has shown him how wrong it was!"
"It gives me great pleasure to hear it," Miss Warren said, a trifle dubiously. "No one would be more glad than your dear mother if your father and grandfather were on good terms again, and I am sure, judging from the conversation I had with Mrs. Compton the other day, that she would be pleased. Dear me! I wonder what Theophilus will think!"
She rose as she spoke, and they proceeded homewards, Dick asking dozens of questions which Miss Warren found some difficulty in answering, for she did not like to tell him that Sir Richard's pride had been at the root of his dislike to his son's marriage. He had felt that his heir should have looked above a country surgeon's adopted niece in choosing a wife. Dick, who realised how good and loving his mother was, and had been taught by her to respect all who were honourable and true-hearted, whatever their station in life might be, would have faint sympathy with his grandfather's pride, Miss Warren knew; and she felt, with a thrill of deep joy and satisfaction, that the boy was happier at No. 8 Fore Street than he would ever have been at the Manor House; and in her heart she prayed that God would keep his soul so unspotted from the world that he would be always able to judge people apart from their surroundings and belongings.
The village street was empty as Miss Warren and her nephew turned into it; and the shops were shut with the exception of the post-office, which had to be kept open till half-past eight. Miss Tidy was peering disconsolately over the wire blind; her queer little face brightened perceptibly as Miss Warren and Dick came in sight, but clouded again as they passed by—she had hoped they might have had an errand at the post-office, so that the monotony of the evening would have been broken.
"Look, Aunt Mary Ann!" cried Dick, as they reached their own door. "What a lot of people! All coming this way too!"
Miss Warren glanced hastily up the street in the direction indicated. Not a person had been in sight a few moments before; but now quite a small crowd had appeared around the bend of the hill above the village. She immediately concluded something had happened, and sent Dick into the house to ascertain if her brother was in, whilst she stood on the doorstep waiting.
The crowd, mostly composed of village children, with a few of their elders, drew nearer and nearer.
Upon seeing Miss Warren, a man hurried forward, and enquired eagerly if Dr. Warren was at home.
"Yes," the doctor answered for himself, as he appeared with Dick. "Am I wanted? What is it? An accident?"
"Yes, sir! Master Compton has been found in the woods above the village, insensible, and Bill Coysh—'twas he who found him—says he's been shot, he thinks! They're bringing him here because it's so far to the Manor House!"
Dr. Warren turned to his sister and gave her some whispered directions; then he told Dick to go into the sitting-room, and wait there. The little boy obeyed reluctantly.
He was pale and trembling in every limb, and very frightened, for he did not doubt but that Lionel had met with some accident in connection with firing off the blunderbuss. Looking out of the window, he watched the crowd draw up in front of the house, and recognised Lionel's figure stretched out on a hurdle carried by four stalwart villagers. He could not see his cousin's face, for it was covered with a pocket-handkerchief; he shuddered as the idea presented itself to his mind that the unfortunate boy might be already dead.
Only a short while before Dick had been full of bitterness and resentment against Lionel, but now his naturally sympathetic heart could find no room for any sentiment but pity. He knew from the sounds in the house that Lionel was being carried upstairs; then someone went to the front door and asked the crowd to disperse; and soon only one or two lingerers remained.
After that everything was very still for a long time. Dick was beginning to fear he had been forgotten altogether, when he heard light footsteps coming downstairs, and in another instant Miss Warren, looking pale and scared, entered the room. The little boy rushed to her and began asking for particulars of Lionel's accident. Had he really been shot? Was he much hurt?
"He's living, and that's all I can tell you yet," she replied, shaking her head sadly. "He has been badly shot in the right thigh, and has lost a lot of blood. How it happened I have not heard, and Lionel is perfectly unconscious still. Your Uncle Theophilus has extracted some of the shots, and has dressed the wounds—I am thankful he was at home to see to the poor boy at once! Oh dear, this is a bad business, I fear!"
"Oh, what will Aunt Arabella say!" Dick cried distressfully. "Oh, poor, poor Lionel!"
"We have sent a message to the Manor House to let them know there what has happened," Miss Warren said, her bright eyes full of tears. "I expect Mrs. Compton will be here directly! Poor woman! It will be a terrible shock for her!"
When Mrs. Compton arrived a little later, in company with her father, she insisted upon at once going upstairs to see Lionel. Sir Richard joined Dick in the sitting-room, and listened in silence to the rather incoherent story the little boy told him.
"I'm afraid he is dreadfully hurt," Dick said in conclusion. "Oh, I do hope he won't die! It would be so awful, especially after Aunt Arabella telling us—"
He paused abruptly, mindful that his grandfather knew nothing of Lionel's intentions with regard to the blunderbuss.
"What did she tell you?" Sir Richard asked sternly, noticing the uneasy look on Dick's telltale countenance. "Come, speak out!"
"She-she said we were not to fire off the blunderbuss," Dick replied, coming to the conclusion that everything would be discovered, and therefore he could not help his cousin by keeping silence. "That was what we quarrelled about this afternoon. I had promised to help Lionel, but when Aunt Arabella said that, I told him I wouldn't go to the woods with him to fire off the blunderbuss without her knowing, and he was angry with me, and so—and so—"
"And so he went by himself, I conclude!" Sir Richard exclaimed, frowning.
"I don't know, but I expect he did!" Dick responded in a low tone, looking deeply distressed.
"Unhappy boy!" groaned the old man. "He is indeed severely punished for his disobedience! God grant his life may be spared for his mother's sake!"
"Here comes Uncle Theophilus!" Dick cried, as he heard the doctor's slow footsteps descending the stairs. He ran to the door, and went into the hall to meet him, followed by his grandfather.
"How is he?" asked Sir Richard somewhat nervously, as he shook hands with Dr. Warren. "Not seriously injured, I trust?"
"Seriously, but not necessarily fatally," was the grave reply. "We must hope for the best. He has been badly shot in the thigh, and is very weak from loss of blood; he will be ill for many weeks even if all goes well."
"There is danger?" Sir Richard questioned, whilst Dick listened with breathless anxiety.
"There is always danger from gunshot wounds," the doctor answered. "It would not be right for me to hide the fact that he is very seriously ill, but I am hopeful that I may be able to save his leg, and that he will recover."
"Do you mean it may be necessary to amputate his leg?" Sir Richard said in a tone of horror, whilst Dick shuddered at the thought.
"It may be necessary, but I hope not. Mrs. Compton will remain here to nurse her son, and to-morrow we can get a trained nurse to assist. It was very fortunate the boy was brought here, for much valuable time would have been lost if he had been taken to the Manor House. I need hardly tell you, Sir Richard, that I shall do my best for him!"
"As you do for all your patients," Sir Richard said, with unexpected cordiality. "But having Lionel in the house will upset your domestic arrangements, I fear! What does Miss Warren say?"
"The same as I do—that it was providential the poor lad was brought here. Don't look so frightened, Dick! Why, you are trembling like a leaf!" —and Dr. Warren laid his big gentle hand on the little boy's shoulder, and smiled as he met the gaze of the troubled dark eyes.
"Oh, Uncle Theophilus, will he die?" breathed Dick with a painful sob. "Oh, I hope God won't let him die!"
"I hope not!" was the fervent reply.
For a few minutes there was silence, save for the ticking of the tall clock. Dick raised his eyes to its face, and watched the ship in full sail rocking to and fro; then Sir Richard remarked that as he could do no good there, he should go home. He was profuse in his thanks to the doctor, who saw him into his carriage, and said he would send early in the morning for news of Lionel, adding that he hoped Dick would come to the Manor House on the morrow, and try to comfort Ruth, who was in terrible distress about her brother.
As the carriage disappeared from sight, a slouching figure, followed by a lurcher, approached the doctor and Dick, and requested to know if the young gentleman was dead.
"No, no," Dr. Warren replied, "he is badly hurt, but I have hopes of his recovery. Why, it was you who found him, was it not?"
Bill Coysh—for it was he—nodded assent, and was turning away, when the doctor asked him if he had any idea how the accident happened. At first he declared he knew nothing about it; but, seeing he was not believed, he wavered in his statement, and finally acknowledged that he had been with Lionel when he was shot.
After his quarrel with Dick, Lionel had slipped out of the house, and returning a little later, had fetched the blunderbuss and ammunition, armed with which he had gone off to the woods in search of a suitable place for putting his plans into execution. He had found a secluded spot in a fir plantation, situated at the top of the hill above the village, where he had met Bill Coysh, and there had proceeded to load the blunderbuss according to his grandfather's directions; after which he had tied the gun securely to a tree with a stout piece of rope, and making a squib of gunpowder, had lit it and applied it to the touch-hole, so firing the charge.
"'Twas exactly like letting off a cannon," Bill Coysh said; "I never heard such a report from any gun before. Master Compton fired it several times, and then he agreed to let me do it. I shall never forget it, never! He went a little distance away to hear what the sound was like further off; and I suppose I took longer than he expected, and he was coming to see what I was doing, for just as I'd lit the squib, he came right in a line with the gun, and the next thing I knew was he'd been shot, and was lying groaning, looking like death. It wasn't my fault! I wouldn't have injured him for anything! I ran to him, and asked him if he was hurt, but he didn't answer, and then I saw he'd fainted, and I went to get help. There, I've told the truth, doctor, and if I'm had up for murder—" He broke off, shuddering at the thought, then added:— "If Master Compton lives, he'll tell you the same tale!"
There was a genuine ring of truth in Bill Coysh's voice which Dr. Warren was quick to notice. Dick enquired what had become of the blunderbuss, and was told it was still attached to the tree in the fir plantation. It was found there the next day by the village policeman, who had serious thoughts whether he ought not to arrest Bill Coysh. But by that time Lionel had recovered consciousness, and was able to say that Bill had told the truth about his accident; no one was to blame but himself, he solemnly declared. He confessed everything to his mother, the sight of her pale tear-stained face awakening remorse and repentance in his wayward heart; needless to say he had no difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.