"Has anyone called, Dixon?"
"No; we need not look out for visitors in this weather."
Dixon was a privileged person; she had been in command at Anselm Manor long before Warren Courtly's mother died, and Irene declined to have her removed, although her husband would have been pleased to see the back of her.
Martha Dixon had a strong affection for Irene,although she would not abate a jot of her sternness or abrupt manner under any consideration. She also knew that Warren Courtly had been anything but a saint before he married, but that was none of her business.
"I suppose this is a gentle hint that I ought not to be riding about this weather?" said Irene, smiling.
Martha Dixon smiled back at her mistress and said, in a soft tone—
"If you take care of yourself it will do you no harm, and I know it's precious lonely at the Manor. How did you find the Squire?"
"He looks wonderfully well, but it was a bad night for him last night."
"Then he remembers; he has forgotten nothing?"
"And never will. He thinks Ulick will come back on the anniversary of the night he left home, and he has steeled himself to wait another year," said Irene.
"That minx Janet is at the bottom of it all. A regular little flirt; I have no patience with 'em," said Martha.
"Poor Janet, she has suffered for her wrongdoing, perhaps she is not to blame."
"Mr. Ulick ought to have packed her off somewhere and remained at home," she said.
"He was too much of a man to do that," saidIrene. "Do you know, Dixon, I met Eli as I came here, and his faith in Ulick is as strong as ever?"
"It does him credit, but he knows different in his heart."
"You are mistaken; he believes Ulick is not guilty of wronging his daughter, I am sure of it."
"I wish it would come true," said Martha.
"I must go now," said Irene. "Please order my horse."
This being done, Martha Dixon fixed the picture firmly on Irene's back, and fastened the straps.
"The Squire will be pleased with that; it was Mr. Ulick's favourite horse."
"I believe that is why he was glad when I chose Random," said Irene, as she walked to the door and quickly mounted Rupert.
"If any letters come, shall I send them to Hazelwell?" asked Martha.
"No," replied Irene; then added quickly, as she thought of the mysterious Felix Hoffman, "on second thoughts, perhaps you had better do so, but I may ride over again in a day or two. Mr. Courtly writes that he will not be back for a week."
She rode quickly away, and Martha Dixon watched her until she was out of sight.
"I have nothing to say against Mr. Warren," muttered Martha, as she shut the door, "but I wish Mr. Ulick had not got into a mess. She'd have been happier with him, although I say it, as shouldn't."
Itwas New Year's Eve, and Eli Todd was passing through a series of varying emotions. A stranger watching him might, with considerable excuse, have put him down as a lunatic. No sooner was he comfortably seated in his armchair by the cosy fire than he jumped up again suddenly, seized his hat, and dashed out into the wintry night.
After a quarter of an hour's absence he returned, settled down again, commenced to doze and, waking with a start, rushed out of the house in the same erratic manner as before.
The cause of these proceedings on the part of Eli was the mare, Honeysuckle. Never was a man placed in such a predicament, all on account of a mare, as Eli Todd on this occasion. It wanted four hours to midnight, and every moment the studmaster expected Honeysuckle's foal would come forth into the cold and heartless world an hour or two before the New Year. It was enough to drive him to despair. This would in all probability be Honeysuckle's last foal, but the Squire had already made up his mind that "what's last is best."
Blissfully ignorant was the Squire of the throes of anxiety his trusty servant was enduring. It was his firm belief that Honeysuckle would not foal until the middle of January at the earliest, and Eli had not undeceived him.
"I do wish you would keep still and not worry yourself," said Mrs. Marley. "It can do no good, the mare will get on quite as well without you; leave it to nature."
"Much you know about it," grumbled Eli. "Leaving it to nature is all very well, but you ought to know that nature requires a little assistance at times."
"You never take advice," she replied.
"I do when it is good," was the effectual reply.
Again Eli Todd opened the door, and a cold blast struck him in the face. A light was burning in Honeysuckle's box across the yard, and he plodded through the snow to it.
His head man was inside sitting in a chair, looking drowsy, and nodding.
Eli thought he had better go to bed, and said he would take his place.
"I'll call you if I want you," he said, and the man thanked him as he went out.
Eli sat in the chair watching the old mare and frequently looking at his watch. He had never wished time to fly so rapidly before.
Honeysuckle was restless, and from time to time looked at him with her big, soft eyes in a most pathetic way.
"I can't do anything for you, old girl," he said. "But you can oblige me very much by staving off the great event until the clock has struck twelve. After that the sooner you are over your trouble the better."
Another half hour passed, and still found Eli wakeful and on guard.
A slight noise outside aroused him, and he listened attentively. "It sounded like a man walking, perhaps Joe has come back. I know he is as anxious as I am about her," muttered Eli.
A knock on the door made him start, and he said—
"Who's there?"
No answer. It was mysterious at this hour of the night.
He asked the question again, and the reply was another rap.
Picking up his stick, he cautiously opened the door and peered out. He saw a man, muffled up; standing a yard or two away. Something about the figure seemed familiar to him, and a peculiar sensation passed through his body, making his pulses tingle with anticipation.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Have you forgotten me, Eli?"
The studmaster started back, exclaiming—
"My God, it's Mr. Ulick!"
"Yes, it's me, none other; may I come in?"
For answer Eli dropped his stick, took him by both hands, and dragged him into the box.
Ulick Maynard unbuttoned his coat and unwound the scarf around his neck. He was a tall, handsome man, with a clear, open countenance. It was the face of a man to be trusted, if ever there was one.
"I am glad to see you, but it's a strange time to come," said Eli. "Are you going up to the house?"
"No," was the emphatic reply. "I shall never go back to Hazelwell until my father asks my pardon for the insult he put upon me."
"You don't know how he has suffered since you left," said Eli. "He sat up all night on Tuesday. You know what date it was?"
"Yes; I left home on that night two years ago."
"And Mrs. Courtly came over from the Manor and stayed with him," said Eli.
"Irene," he said softly.
"Yes, and she told me the Squire would be a young man again if you came back."
"Do they still believe I wronged your daughter?"
Eli made no reply, he thought it better to keep silent, for he would not tell a lie or deceive him.
"I see," said Ulick, bitterly. "I am still the black sheep, a disgrace to the name. And you, what do you think?"
"No need to ask me, Mr. Ulick. You know what I think. I never believed you guilty, and I never will, no, not even if Janet accused you, because she would be forced to it by the man who led her astray," said Eli.
Ulick took his hand and shook it heartily.
"Thank you, Eli," he said. "I give you my solemn word I did not wrong Janet. We may have flirted a trifle, as a man will do with a pretty girl, but I never injured her by word or deed. Is she at home still?"
Eli looked at him curiously. He evidently had no idea Janet left her home the same night he went away from Hazelwell.
"My girl has been away from me for two years."
It was Ulick's turn to look surprised.
"You thought it better to send her away, no doubt?"
"I did not send her away."
"She left her home, ran away from you?"
"That's what happened."
"When did she go?"
"The same night you did."
"Good heavens! No wonder my father still believes me guilty. No doubt he thinks I went with her," said Ulick.
"He came to my house in a towering passion the morning after she left, and when he found out she had gone he was very bitter against you both. He said words he ought not to have said, but I am sure he repented them afterwards."
"Have you heard anything of her?"
"No," replied Eli. "Not a line from her."
"I wonder who took her away? I'd give a good deal to find out," said Ulick.
"And so would I. She must be in London, I think; it is a good place to hide in," said Eli.
"So I find. A man can bury himself in London without much fear of recognition."
"Have you been in London since you left Hazelwell?" asked Eli.
"Most of the time. I very seldom came across anyone I know. You see, I have money of my own, independent of my father, so it enables me to live comfortably."
"And what has brought you down here?" asked Eli.
"Curiosity, a desire to see the old place, call it what you will. I wanted to have a chat with you, and hear how my father was going on," said Ulick.
"You had better go and see him. I am sure he has suffered enough by your absence."
"And do you not think I have suffered? And it makes it none the easier to bear because it is unjust. Have you ever suspected any one?"
"You mean about Janet?"
"Yes."
"I would rather not say. I have no proof, and if I am right it would cause even more trouble than the suspicion about you did."
"Then you have some idea who the man is?"
"I have, but we will not talk of that. If everything comes to light, well and good, but I am not going to be the one to cause more unhappiness."
"You ought to tell me. I have a right to know."
"Granted, but you must forgive me if I decline to say anything. This much I may tell you, that if what I suspect is true it will bring shame and disgrace upon someone who is very dear to you," said Eli.
Ulick was astonished, and wondered if Eli really had any grounds for suspicion. He would think the matter over on his return to London; it might possibly afford him some clue. If he found out the real culprit he would be able to judge what was best to be done. It was no use questioning Eli further.
"Old Honeysuckle looks in rather a bad way," he said, changing the subject, for which Eli was very thankful.
Eli explained the situation to him, and Ulick, looking at his watch, said—
"It only wants half an hour to midnight; we have been talking a long time. I'll stay with you and see it through. There is no danger of the Squire suddenly coming down?"
"Not at this hour, I am glad to say. He thinks there is no cause for anxiety. But will you not come into the house? Mrs. Marley has gone to bed, and we shall not be disturbed," said Eli.
"Let us remain here until it is all over," replied Ulick, and he sat down on the straw.
"Take this chair," said Eli.
"I prefer to be here, it is more comfortable."
It was a quiet night, and the light wind was blowing from the village of Helton.
Honeysuckle was in considerable pain, and they both watched her with anxious eyes, knowing what a vast difference a few minutes would make.
"There's the church clock at Helton striking," said Eli, as he opened the door of the box. He gave a sigh of relief when the last stroke of twelve came. The bells pealed forth a welcome to the New Year, and the old year, with all itsjoys and sorrows, was gone for ever. What would the New Year bring forth?
"This was a curious way of seeing the Old Year out and the New Year in," said Ulick, smiling.
A quarter of an hour after midnight Honeysuckle's troubles were over, and a fine colt foal had come into the world almost at the sound of the church bells.
"We must make a note of this," said Eli, putting down the date and hour of foaling.
"I shall not forget it," said Ulick. "If there happened to be any dispute my father would be rather surprised if I was called as a witness."
"Go across to my cottage," said Eli. "I'll ring Joe up, there is no occasion for you to see him."
"I will wait outside the gate for you," said Ulick, as he went across the yard.
Leaving Joe in charge, with strict injunctions to call him at once if wanted, Eli hurried after Ulick, and, opening the door, led him into the room where he had an interview with Janet the night they both left home.
Ulick sank into a chair tired out, and soon fell asleep.
Eli stood looking on him with a sorrowful expression on his face.
"I wish he'd go and see the Squire," he saidto himself. "There would be a reconciliation between them, I am sure; but Mr. Ulick is as proud and stubborn as his father when he knows he is in the right. He looks a trifle older, but not much. It's a blessing he does not lack for money. I wonder what he has been doing with his time, racing probably—it runs in the blood. He never was a great gambler; I hope he has not taken to it to kill time and drown his feelings."
Eli was accustomed to night watches, and did not go to sleep. He locked the door so that no one could intrude, and about four o'clock he roused Ulick and asked him to have something to eat.
"The cold and long walk made me drowsy," he said, with a yawn. "I acknowledge to feeling hungry, likewise thirsty. If you have any cold meat; that will do, and some of your noted beer."
"I suppose you wish to keep this visit a secret?" asked Eli.
"Yes; it has done me good to run down to the old place. I shall try and find out Janet when I get back to town. You have no objection, I suppose?"
"On the contrary, I hope you will find her. If you do, try and induce her to come home."
"I'll bring her myself if I can," said Ulick. "They think we went away together, so we mayas well return together; but she will have to give me the name of the man who has caused all the trouble."
He ate ravenously, and Eli was pleased to see him make such a hearty meal.
"I must be going now," said Ulick. "You will not tell anyone I have been here."
"No. Which way are you going?"
"I shall walk to Haydon Station and catch the early train to London. I got out there; there is a new station-master, he does not know me."
"That's more than ten miles," said Eli.
"It will do me good. I have not done much country walking lately."
"Will you leave me your address in town, I will take care no one sees it?" asked Eli.
Ulick wrote on a sheet in his pocket-book, and handed it to Eli, saying, "That address will always find me, no matter whether I am in London or otherwise. I always have my letters sent on, even if I am only away for a few days at a race meeting."
"Then you go in for racing?" said Eli, smiling.
"Yes, I have attended many meetings since I left Hazelwell."
"Do you bet?"
Ulick laughed, as he replied, "Sometimes, but I know too much about it to risk large sums.Between you and me, Eli, I own a couple of horses, one I daresay you have heard of, his name is the Saint."
"You own the Saint!" exclaimed Eli; "why, he was about the best of the two-year-olds last season."
"He was, and he will not be far off being the best of the three-year-olds this season. I bought him for a reasonable figure. Of course, you know his breeding: by Father Confessor out of Hilda. I hope to win some good races with him. He runs in the assumed name of Mr. Lanark. I hope when brighter days have dawned he will come to Hazelwell. It would rather surprise the Squire if he knew he belonged to me."
Ulick went into the hall and put on his coat.
"We might ride part of the way," said Eli.
"It's better for me to walk," replied Ulick, and added, "I will let you know if I hear anything of Janet, and will try and persuade her to come home."
"Thank you, Mr. Ulick, and if you do come across her, tell her home is the best place for her, and that I shall never remind her of what has happened."
"And you still have faith in me?" asked Ulick, smiling, as he shook hands.
"Yes, and always shall have, as I told you before," said Eli, who watched him until he disappeared in the darkness, and wondered at the strange chance that brought him to Hazelwell the night Honeysuckle's foal was born.
Ina small, but comfortably-furnished house at Feltham, lived Mrs. Hoffman and her son, Felix. She was not a widow, but her husband had left her some years before. At that time her son was seventeen, now he was five-and-twenty, and a sore trial and trouble to her. Felix Hoffman was one of many men who prefer idleness to work, and he took good care not to find any suitable employment. It troubled his mother that he was seldom short of money. How did he obtain it? Not by work of any kind, of that she was certain. Once or twice she questioned him as to how he made sufficient to supply his wants, which were by no means few or inexpensive, but he always flew into a passion on such occasions, and his attitude became so threatening that she forebore to make further inquiries.
Felix Hoffman was not bad looking. He had a Jewish cast of features, black curly hair, and a fierce moustache of the same colour. His eyes were dark brown, shifty and uncertain, and whenhe conversed he seldom looked his companion in the face.
He did not resemble his mother in the least; she was English, and married Milas Hoffman when quite a girl. Had she been more experienced in the ways of the world he would have had but little chance of winning her. A few months after their marriage she found out her mistake. Milas Hoffman called himself a travelling jeweller. He certainly went about the country with a case packed with glittering ornaments, which he disposed of on most advantageous terms to servant girls, young grooms, and others of the same class in different countries. His profits were large, and he made a very fair income out of the gullibility of his customers. He became more daring in his transactions, and at last came within the grasp of the law. Not wishing to face the charges of swindling brought against him, he left England, and his wife had never heard of him since. She did not mourn over his desertion. She had sufficient money by her to carry on for a time, and she fixed her hopes upon her son Felix. They were doomed to be rudely shattered when he coolly told her there were plenty of ways of making money without working for it. What those ways were he failed to tell her, but it saddened her to see that he was right, and he drew suppliesfrom sources she felt sure she could not approve of.
Felix Hoffman met many men in London in very different positions in life to himself. He was a frequenter of racecourses, one of the undesirables whose presence gives the sport a bad name, and its enemies a handle wherewith to pump obloquy upon all connected with it, the just and the unjust. At first he was a bookmaker's tout, and rushed about the ring watching the fluctuation of the odds, scenting out stable commissions and repeating the same to his employer with lightning speed. It was seldom the bookmaker was let in for a big bet "over the odds" when Felix Hoffman was hovering about with hawk-like keenness. The said bookmaker, whose sham diamonds were the envy of the uninitiated, became so impressed with the fertile resources of Felix Hoffman that he actually ventured to take him into partnership "in the book." This was a grave mistake, for in a very short time the versatile Felix had transformed the firm, and his name alone figured on the bag and tickets. The members of Tattersall's smiled; many of them had seen these mysterious changes before and knew what it meant. Felix Hoffman, in his turn, made a mistake. He handed over the "bag" to two men he fancied he could trust, and proceeded to back horses on his own account.He saw no reason why, with his skill in scenting out commissions and spotting genuinely-backed horses, he should not be able to lay the losers and back the winners. Better men than Felix had endeavoured to accomplish this feat before, and come lamentably to grief, and he followed them into the same quandary. It puzzled Felix not a little to find out the cause of his failure. He had not yet learned that to be successful on the turf a man must be either a backer or a layer, but not both, and in the one capacity a good share of luck must be his to succeed.
Warren Courtly was fond of racing, especially "chasing," and during the off-season he was frequently seen at meetings round London. Even the attractions of the hunting field could not, on many occasions, lure him from the racecourse. Irene knew he frequented such places, but she had no idea of the extent of his gambling transactions, or they would have appalled her. She thought his statement that the Anselm Manor estates required a good deal of looking after was an excuse for his visits to London, but, as a matter of fact, he was correct in his assertion. Everything he could mortgage he did, and even the Manor itself had sundry charges upon it, which he found it difficult to meet. The racecourse is a rare levelling ground, and men of verydifferent types fraternise together with a freedom never seen elsewhere. Warren Courtly had noticed Felix Hoffman's energy in ferreting out information, and on more than one occasion had taken the trouble to find out whether he was right or wrong. In this way he gathered that his advice was generally good. He approached him one day at Hurst Park, and asked his advice about Milander in a hurdle race.
Felix Hoffman was not at all surprised at a stranger speaking to him about such matters. He eyed Warren Courtly over, and came to the conclusion it would pay him to tell him all he knew. As luck would have it, he did know Milander was a very fair thing for the hurdle race.
"I'll make it worth your while if it wins," said Warren.
"What will you put me on?"
"I will lay you the odds to a fiver."
"Milander has a very good chance. Dyer rides him, and he told me, bar accident, he would win. I think you can back him for a good stake."
"Meet me here after the race," said Warren, and walked out of the paddock into the ring.
"He's a real swell," thought Felix. "He may come in useful."
Milander won comfortably, and started at theremunerative odds of five to one. Warren Courtly won a good stake, and handed Felix "a pony," the winnings on the five pounds he put on for him.
"I'd give Dyer something, sir, if I were you," said Felix. "He's not a bad sort, and generally tells me when he has a chance."
"Give him this," said Warren, handing Felix a ten-pound note.
"Shall I see you again, sir?"
"I am often at these meetings. If you know anything, come and tell me, and I will see you are a gainer thereby."
It was in this way Warren Courtly became acquainted with Felix Hoffman, who later on helped him in another way, which did not redound to his credit, and which eventually gave that wily young man a hold over the master of Anselm Court.
Mrs. Hoffman was surprised one day when her son brought Warren Courtly down to Feltham. She wondered how Felix became acquainted with him, and still more why his friend condescended to associate with him. She knew her son was not at all a desirable companion for a man of Warren Courtly's stamp.
Felix introduced him as Mr. Warren. "A gentleman I have frequently met on the racecourse, mother; he wishes to consult you on aprivate matter, and I hope you will agree to his request."
Mrs. Hoffman was surprised, but expressed her readiness to hear what he had to tell her.
"It is rather a delicate matter," commenced Warren, when Felix left the room; "the fact of the matter is, I am anxious to find a comfortable home for my wife until my father can be informed of our marriage. He is very much set against it because the lady is hardly in the same set as ourselves. I have married for love, but that is no reason why I should forfeit the many advantages I now have, and which I should certainly lose if my father found out I was married. My wife is young and pretty, and would, I am sure, cause very little trouble in a house. I asked your son if he knew of any place where I could leave her, in or near London, and he said he had no doubt his mother would be pleased to have her, and he was quite certain would make her comfortable. If you have no objection, Mrs. Hoffman, I should like my wife to have rooms here, and I am sure I could rely upon you to treat her kindly, and be a companion to her."
Mrs. Hoffman was not at all displeased at this proposal, but she foresaw one danger, and that was Felix. She knew him to be utterly unscrupulous, and feared his influence over a young married woman living apart from her husband,for that was what it meant. However, she would take very good care he had no opportunities of making himself objectionable to her.
Warren Courtly noticed the hesitation, and said, "I do not think there will be any trouble over the terms. I know very little about these matters, but if you will make a suggestion I will consider it."
Mrs. Hoffman had no intention of asking too little. Her experience of life had taught her much, and she had her doubts as to the truth of the story she had heard. Still, that was none of her business, and she meant to do her duty by the girl when she came to her house.
"Would three guineas a week be too much, sir? There may be a few extras, which I suppose you would not mind paying for?"
"That is reasonable," said Warren, who had expected a higher figure, "and I hope you will do all in your power to make Mrs. Warren comfortable."
"I can safely promise you that, and that I shall be very pleased to have someone in the house, for my son is generally away from home. When may we expect you, sir?"
Warren named the date, and she replied—
"That is quite close to Christmas. Shall youstay here during that week, if so I will prepare for you?"
"I am sorry to say I shall be away; my father will expect me to be at home with the rest of the family," said Warren.
In due course, Warren arrived at Mrs. Hoffman's house at Feltham with Janet Todd, and she had been there two years living under the name of Mrs. Warren.
Seven or eight months after he had found Janet a home with Mrs. Hoffman, Warren married Irene Carstone, and considered he had done his duty by Janet, and that this discreditable action in his life was closed.
It troubled him when he heard Ulick Maynard was looked upon as the wrongdoer, but he had not the manliness or the courage to confess, and thus place the blame upon his own shoulders.
It was a strange coincidence, he thought, that the Squire should have made this accusation against Ulick on the same night he had planned to take Janet away. He had not much difficulty in persuading her to go, and he knew she was fully convinced he would marry her. This did not trouble him much, his anxiety was to get her away from Hazelwell, because he had at that time made up his mind to marry Irene, if she would have him.
Fate played into his hands, and worked everything smoothly for him. When he heard from Janet that Ulick had been at her father's, and told her the Squire had accused him of being the cause of her misfortune, Warren was astounded. He saw at once how Janet's flight would confirm the Squire's charge, and that everyone would believe she had left her home with Ulick.
"What did he say to you?" asked Warren.
Janet hung her head, and her cheeks became crimson.
"Tell me what he said," Warren asked, sharply.
"He was very angry, and said I deserved to be thrashed for bringing disgrace upon my father; as for myself, it was no more than I deserved. He asked me who had got me into trouble."
"You did not tell him?" said Warren, anxiously.
"How can you ask such a question? Of course I did not tell him."
"That's a good girl, Janet; you must always keep our secret."
"That depends upon how you treat me," she replied, and at this answer Warren Courtly commenced to see it might not be all plain sailing with her.
"Did Mr. Maynard tell you he was suspected of being the cause of your trouble?"
"Yes, and I offered to write to his father and tell him it was untrue, but he was very angry and forbade me doing so, saying his father ought to have known him better, and that he must find out the truth for himself," said Janet.
Warren was relieved at this. He knew Ulick Maynard had a proud, stubborn disposition, and that his father's suspicions would sting him to the quick. It was not at all likely he would ask Janet to prove his innocence, and when she was at Feltham he would have but little chance of finding her, even if he changed his mind.
They arrived in London, and went from Waterloo to Feltham.
"Remember, you are Mrs. Warren," he said, "and do not let anyone find out where you come from. Mrs. Hoffman you will like, but her son is a scamp, and you will do well to avoid him."
Mrs. Hoffman soon grew very fond of Janet, and the girl reciprocated the motherly feelings thus shown. She was not unhappy, but she would have been more contented had Warren allowed her to write to her father and tell him all was well with her. This, however, he strictlyforbade; he did not wish her to have any communication with Hazelwell.
The first serious quarrel took place when Warren told her he was to marry Irene Carstone.
Janet wept, and then flew into a rage, vowing she would write to her father, the Squire, and Irene, and confess all. He dare not leave her for a week, and during that time he used all his persuasive powers to calm her, and at times resorted to threats, which she only laughed at.
Eventually he took Mrs. Hoffman into his confidence, and discovered that she had suspected the truth all along.
"I wish you would use your influence with her," he said; "I am quite willing to make her a good allowance, and also settle a sum of money upon her, provided she holds her tongue."
Mrs. Hoffman promised she would do all that lay in her power to bring Janet to a proper frame of mind. She really liked her, and thought she was far happier as she was than if she had married Warren.
She succeeded in her endeavour, but Janet was mercenary when it came to terms with Mr. Courtly. She was determined to have adequate remuneration for all she had lost, and the deception he had practised on her. He grumbled at her demands, but she was firm,and as there was no other way out of the difficulty, except exposure, he gave in.
Janet knew her power over him, and his marriage with Irene materially increased it.
"I wonder what she would do if she knew all?" thought Janet.
Itwas hardly to be expected that Janet should remain under the roof of Mrs. Hoffman without attracting the attention of her unscrupulous son, and at last Felix Hoffman annoyed her so persistently that his mother gave him to understand if he did not desist he would be forbidden the house. Janet hated the sight of him, and seldom answered his questions. This annoyed him, and offended his pride, of which he possessed a ridiculous quantity. One day, when Janet was out, he came across a letter she had carelessly left on her table, and without scruple picked it up and read it. The contents did not afford him much gratification, but the heading to the paper gave food for reflection. Anselm Manor, Rushshire, sounded well, and the letter was signed Warren.
"Warren what? He must have another name," thought Felix. "I should like to know what it is."
He set to work to find out, and was not long before he succeeded. Warren Courtly was wellknown amongst sporting men, and Felix soon discovered who and what he was.
He chuckled to himself as he thought what a commotion it would cause if Mrs. Courtly knew about Janet Todd's connection with her husband. He foresaw a profitable harvest from this source, but had no intention of putting Warren Courtly on his guard at present.
He had written many begging letters in the course of his life, and several of them had proved effective. It occurred to him it would be a neat stroke of business to write to Mrs. Courtly for assistance, and after several attempts he decided to dispatch the one already alluded to.
It reached Irene safely, with the result that Felix was enriched by five pounds. He was quite proud of this achievement, for he had doubts as to the success of his missive.
He wrote back thanking her, and repeating that he would refund the money at some future date.
This was how Irene came to have a knowledge of Felix Hoffman. His reply was sent on to Hazelwell, and she decided to show both letters to the Squire.
"I hope you will not think me very foolish," she said, as she handed him the letters; "you will gather from them what has taken place."
Redmond Maynard read them, and said—
"This man, whoever he is, must be a clever rogue, it is a form of begging-letter writing I have never seen before. I do not blame you for sending the money, although had you consulted me I should have felt more inclined to hand over the matter to the police. You must not send him any more money," said the Squire.
"Do you think he will write for more?"
"Most decidedly, especially as his first letter was such a success."
"I had thought of going to Feltham the next time I am in London, and finding out where he lives and the kind of man he is," she said.
"You must not do anything of the kind. There is no telling where he is; at any rate, you must not venture there alone," he replied.
"It is merely from a desire to gratify my curiosity that I wish to go. I am sure no harm will come of it."
The Squire shook his head, as he replied—
"The letter has cost you five pounds, let the matter drop and think no more about it."
"Feltham is not far from Kempton Park," said Irene. "I wonder if Warren knows anything about the place?"
"Probably. Ask him when he returns home," said the Squire. "By the way, Irene, I had almost forgotten it is New Year's Day. Weare not a very jolly household for the occasion, but we must not commence another year with gloomy thoughts and melancholy countenances."
"I hope this year will bring Ulick home again," she said.
"So do I, with all my heart," said the Squire. "There's Eli coming up the walk, I wonder what he wants."
"Shall I tell Bob to send him in when he arrives?" she asked.
"Yes, do, Irene."
Eli Todd came into the room, and wished them a cheery Happy New Year. "We have made a good start at the stud, although I had a terribly anxious time of it," he said.
"Made a good start, what do you mean?" said the Squire. "There are no foals yet?"
"Only one," replied Eli, smiling, "and he was precious near being born before midnight. As luck would have it, he came into the world a quarter of an hour after, so that is all right."
"But there was no mare due to foal so early," remarked the Squire.
"Only old Honeysuckle," said Eli, with a smile.
"You mean to tell me the old mare has a foal? I was certain it would be the middle of the month before that event came off," said the Squire.
"I knew you were wrong, but I did not contradict you," replied Eli.
"Then if you knew I was wrong, it was your business to tell me, and you ought to have done so," said the Squire.
Eli was a privileged servant, and although always respectful to the Squire, occasionally answered him bluntly.
"It is not an easy matter to contradict you, Squire; you generally like to have your own way," said Eli.
Irene laughed, and said she must certainly side with him in his remark.
"That is rather hard upon me," replied the Squire. "I had no idea I was so obstinate."
"Oh, but you are," laughed Irene, "and once you have made up your mind you stick to it through thick and thin."
"That is about a correct summing up of the situation," said Eli.
"What sort of a youngster is it?" asked the Squire.
"Very promising, so far as I can judge at this stage; he ought to make a good one."
"Do let us go and see him," said Irene.
The Squire walked to the window and looked out. The snow still lay deep upon the ground, but it was hard and crisp, and afforded good walking.
"I think we may venture," he said. "Will you come, Irene?"
"With pleasure, I will not be more than a few minutes putting on my things." She left the room, and returned enveloped in a seal-skin jacket, trimmed with heavy sable, and a toque to match. She looked very attractive, and the Squire glanced at her admiringly. Eli Todd thought he had never seen a prettier woman, and wondered how Ulick could have been so foolish as to leave the way clear for Warren Courtly to win her.
They thoroughly enjoyed the walk in the brisk, frosty air, and when they arrived at the stud farm Eli took them to Honeysuckle's box.
He quietly opened the door, and, stepping inside, they saw a pretty sight. The mare was standing sideways to them, and as they entered the foal looked at them with big, inquiring eyes. He sidled up close to his mother, and playfully pushed her with his nose. He was a well-made colt, long on the leg, and with a beautiful head and well-shaped body.
The Squire eyed him critically for several minutes, and then said—
"He ought to make a good one, there is plenty of room for him to fill out and develop. I am glad Honeysuckle has thrown such a good one, it will probably be her last."
"I thought you would like him," said Eli.
Irene went up to him and patted him gently. The colt was not at all alarmed, and sniffed at her jacket and fur with evident relish.
"He's a dear little fellow," she said, "and I hope he will win a good race or two for you. I should like to see him win."
"You may have that pleasure next year," said the Squire, "that is if he goes on all right; so many promising foals turn out badly, one never knows what may happen."
Bersak put his head in the door, and the colt started back in alarm. It was his first introduction to another animal, and he evidently regarded Bersak as some wild savage beast of prey. Honeysuckle turned round, and looked straight at the intruder, but she and Bersak were friends and had met many times before.
Eli thought of the scene the previous night, and wished he could tell the Squire he had seen Ulick. He had given his word not to mention the visit, and therefore his lips were sealed.
"We will walk through the plantation on the way home," said the Squire, "it is a short cut, and I feel I shall be ready for luncheon when we get in."
They set off at a brisk pace, Bersak following at their heels. It was a pleasant walk, and hares and rabbits frequently ran across their path,while the pheasants strutted about proudly, their brilliant plumage affording a sharp contrast to the snow.
After luncheon the Squire had his usual nap, and Irene looked over the various papers and magazines.
A paragraph caught her eye, and she read it with feelings of wonder and amazement. It was to the effect that Mr. Warren Courtly, of Anselm Manor, had disposed of Holme Farm for the sum of ten thousand pounds, and this was instanced as another proof of the decreased value of land.
"Sold the Holme Farm, there must be some mistake!" thought Irene, and read the paragraph again.
"He never mentioned anything about it to me, and I know of no reason why he should sell it. I wonder where these rumours originate; they have no business to insert them in the paper until they ascertain whether they are correct."
She was troubled over it, although she did not believe it to be true. The Holme Farm was one of the best on the Anselm estate, and even if Warren had been compelled to sell it, she thought he might have given the Squire the first refusal. She failed to understand the meaning of it, and was still puzzling over the matter when theSquire awoke and looked at her through his half-closed eyes.
He saw something had disturbed her, and, sitting up in his chair, inquired the cause.
"There is an announcement in the paper I cannot understand," she said. "This is it."
He read the paragraph and said, "What an abominable statement to make. It must be some other farm of that name, and Warren's name has been inadvertently inserted as that of the owner."
He looked at it again, and saw it was an announcement made by the auctioneers who sold the property. This made the matter more serious, the sellers would not be likely to make such a mistake.
"Warren would never have sold it without telling me he was about to do so," said Irene.
"He has done a very foolish thing if he has sold it," said the Squire. "He cannot possibly be short of money with the income he has. Ten thousand pounds is a ridiculous sum for the Holme Farm, it ought to be worth five thousand more at least. He will explain what it all means when he returns home."
Notwithstanding he spoke confidently, the Squire had his misgivings. He had heard vague rumours from his brother magistrates, when he met them as chairman of the county bench andof the quarter sessions, that all was not well with Warren Courtly. He paid very little attention to the statements, treating them as so much idle gossip, but they came home to him forcibly now. He had heard that Warren Courtly had been going the pace on the racecourse and gambling heavily, but he thought Warren quite capable of looking after himself. They passed a somewhat quiet afternoon and evening, for the announcement disturbed them both, and Irene was anxious for the next morning to come, in the hope it might bring her some explanation from her husband.
It was quite true that Warren Courtly had sold the Holme Farm for ten thousand pounds, and the bulk of the money received from it went to pay his debts. He was in no very enviable frame of mind when he stepped into the Windsor train at Waterloo on his way to Feltham to see Janet. He was heartily sick and tired of her, and of the deception he had to practise in connection with her. Moreover, Janet was becoming troublesome, and, what was still worse, homesick. She was constantly imploring him to allow her to return to her father, promising to keep his secret and never to breathe a word about their intimacy. Warren Courtly would not hear of it. He knew of Eli Todd's great affection and devotedness to Ulick, and felt certain he wouldextract the truth from Janet if she lived with him again. He had wronged Irene, and deceived her, but he meant to shield her from the consequences of his folly at any cost. She must never know that he had been cowardly enough to allow Ulick to lie under the ban of a false accusation.
He left the train at Feltham, and walked to Mrs. Hoffman's.
Janet shook hands with him as an ordinary acquaintance; there was no love between them now, whatever there had been a couple of years ago. The more she saw of him and learned his nature, the more she despised him.
"You are looking well," he said, "the world is treating you better than me."
"Is it?" she answered, carelessly. "I am very unhappy, I want to go home again. I cannot rest until Mr. Ulick's name is cleared. It is a shame he should suffer for your fault."
"My fault and yours," he said, angrily. "You always lay all the blame at my door."
"And that is where it ought to be. I was a fool ever to trust you."
"I have done all I can for you, more than I can afford."
She laughed as she replied—
"That is nice talk for the owner of Anselm Manor."
"It is true nevertheless. I have sold the Holme Farm to pay my debts."
"I don't believe it."
"Read that," he said, and handed her the paper with an account of the sale.
"Ten thousand pounds!" she exclaimed. "That is a lot of money. I am rather short of cash, you must give me some."
"You had twenty pounds last month."
"And I want twenty more now."
"You cannot have it."
"Then you must take the consequences," she said.
"What shall you do?"
"Pack up my things, go down to Helton, see my father, and tell the truth," she replied.
"You dare not, no one would believe your story."
"One person would, I am certain," she answered.
"Your father?"
"Probably, but I meant your wife," said Janet.
"You dare not speak to her of such things," he said, angrily.
"And why not? She has every right to know the truth."
"If I give you the money will you hold your tongue?" he asked.
"Yes, until I require more," was her reply.
He gave her twenty pounds, thankful to be able to stave off the evil day, hoping in the meantime to find some way out of his difficulties.
Warren Courtlyreturned home during the week, and Irene was at the Manor to receive him. She did not welcome him with her usual heartiness, and he expected there was something wrong.
"You have been away a long time," she said. "I expected you home last week. Your business must have been very important."
"It was," he replied, "and I have not finished it. I shall have to go to London again soon."
"I will accompany you," she said; "I have not been to London for some time."
"As you wish. I shall be glad of your society. Have you been staying with the Squire?"
"Yes, and we have managed to pass the time pleasantly. I took him the picture of Random, and he was delighted with it; he has it in his study. We were very much surprised to see an announcement in the paper that you had sold the Holme Farm, but I suppose it is incorrect?"
"I am sorry to say it is correct. I had to sell it, Irene, I was in difficulties."
"You, in difficulties!" she exclaimed. "How is that possible, you have a large income?"
"I have been gambling, and owed more than I could pay. So I thought the best way would be to sell Holme Farm and clear them all off. I shall be more cautious next time, you may be sure."
"You might have told me how matters stood," she said, reproachfully. "And if you were compelled to sell the Farm, why did you not offer it to the Squire, he would have given you a better price than that for it?"
"I had no idea he would buy it; he is always grumbling about land, and saying it is no good investing in it."
"He said Holme Farm was worth five thousand more than you accepted for it, and I believe he would have given it."
He was angry with himself when he heard this, but he knew the real reason he had not offered it to the Squire was that he was ashamed to do so. As he looked at Irene, he recognised her beauty more clearly than he had ever done before. He felt he was dealing her blow after blow, and the worst was yet to come. It made him desperate when he thought of Janet, and the trouble she could cause. Why had he been such a fool to fall into the toils of such a minx? He hated her name, and it was sacrilege to thinkof her in the presence of Irene. As for Irene she was depressed and uneasy at her husband's statement. If he was compelled to sell the Holme Farm, others might follow, and the estate gradually dwindle down to small proportions. It was not a bright prospect after only eighteen months of married life. She saw he was worried and troubled, and did not look himself.
"Are you feeling unwell?" she asked.
"No, why?"
"Because you do not look in your usual health; if you have any trouble, Warren, I wish you would confide in me, and I might possibly help you. It will be far better for me to hear it from you than from any outsiders, and you know what gossips people are."
He felt a strong impulse to tell her everything even to confess his fault with Janet, and how he had allowed suspicion to rest upon Ulick, but he dare not do it. He knew she would never forgive him, although she might condone his failings. If an outsider made her acquainted with the fact it would be far worse, but he must risk that.
"I have nothing to tell you," he said. "It troubled me to have to part with the farm, but I saw no other way out of the difficulty."
"I can quite understand that," she replied. "As it was necessary for you to do it, we will sayno more about it; but I expect the Squire will pull you over the coals," she added, with a smile.
Next morning a thaw set in, and the pure white landscape quickly changed to a dull, leadened colour. The melting snow dripped from the roof in a monotonous splash, the trees were wet and dismal, and the ground was a mass of sticky slush and mud. The sky was dark and lowering, and the effect depressing.
They both felt the effects of the change at breakfast time. Irene was naturally of a bright disposition, and tried to cheer her husband's drooping spirits, but with ill-success.
"Honeysuckle had a colt foal half an hour after midnight on New Year's Day," she said. "That was a slice of luck, and Eli had a very anxious time until he was born."
"What an extraordinary thing," he said. "The Squire would be pleased. What kind of a colt is he?"
"A good one I should say; we saw him the same day, and he pleased both the Squire and Eli."
"I must have a look at him," he replied; then, glancing out of the window, went on: "There is nothing more miserable than a thaw; I shall be glad when all the snow is gone, and there is a chance of hunting again."
"It will be a treat to be in the saddle after such a long spell," she replied. Then, changing the subject, she said, "I had a peculiar letter when you were away. I showed it to the Squire, and he thought it was written by a clever rogue. My impression was that the man was genuinely in want of a small loan, but how he came to write to me I do not know. Here is the letter and his reply to my note."
Warren Courtly took it carelessly, but no sooner did he see the handwriting than he hastily turned to look at the signature, and when he saw "Felix Hoffman" the letter fell upon the table and he sank back into his chair, his face white and drawn.
Irene was surprised and alarmed at the effect it produced, and said—
"What is the matter, Warren? Is it the letter causes you anxiety? Do you know the man?"
He made no answer, but took the letter and read it, wondering how it came about that Felix Hoffman should have discovered who he was and have the audacity to write to his wife. Janet must have confided in him, that was the only solution he arrived at, and he vowed she should suffer for her betrayal. These brief minutes, when his wife's eyes were upon him, noting every change and movement, were the worst he had ever spent in his life.
"Do you know the man?" she asked, again.
"Yes, I know him."
"Who is he?"
"A racecourse sharper, a scoundrel, an unprincipled blackguard," said Warren, savagely.
"Then how is it you know him?" she asked.
"We meet many undesirable people on racecourses; he is one of the most undesirable."
"But you have no necessity to associate with such men."
"They are useful sometimes; even the man Hoffman has given me good information."
"If he is such a man as you describe, I should be ashamed to be seen with him. How dare he write to me?" she said, angrily.
"It was a gross piece of impertinence," replied Warren, "for which he shall pay dearly. Leave me to deal with him, Irene."
"He ought to be thrashed," she said.
"He shall be, and he will not forget it as long as he lives. You were very foolish to send the money."
"The Squire said the letter ought to have been handed over to the police."
"It was a blessing it was not," thought Warren.
It was a rapid thaw, and at the end of the week not a vestige of snow was to be seen, except in some shaded corner where the sunlight nevercrept in, and where the overhanging cavern kept off the dripping water.
Warren Courtly rode over to Hazelwell, and did not receive a very hearty greeting from Redmond Maynard.
They looked at Honeysuckle's foal, and Warren pronounced it one of the best she had had. Eli Todd, he fancied, treated him in a somewhat off-hand manner. Surely he did not suspect anything, he could not unless Janet had written to him.
Everything jarred upon him, his nerves were disordered, and he felt irritable and out of sorts. He dreaded an exposure, and felt it was gradually coming. He knew what the Squire's wrath would be when he found out Ulick had been unjustly suspected, as he must do sooner or later.
"Tell him all and get rid of the burden," whispered conscience. He dare not, and yet it would have been the best way out of the sea of trouble into which he was floundering.
In the Squire's study hung the painting of Random, and he pointed it out to Warren with pride, and said—
"Irene has done it splendidly; it is lifelike. I never saw a picture of a horse more natural. You ought to be proud of your wife, she does many things, and does them all well."
"I am proud of her," said Warren, in a half-heartedtone that irritated the Squire, who of late had been constantly blaming himself for being the cause of Irene throwing herself away upon Warren Courtly.
"She is the best woman I know, and her heart is in the right place. Confound it, Warren, you have no right to leave her alone as you do, it is not fair to her. Why don't you take her up to London, if you really have to go to town so often?"
"I will next time," said Warren, lamely. He seemed at a loss for words, and the Squire thought he had a shame-faced look.
"He's been up to some devilment, I'm sure of it," he thought. "By Jupiter, if he's done anything to trouble Irene's peace of mind he'll find he has me to reckon with."
"Your journey to London does not seem to have benefited you much," said the Squire.
"I hate town," grumbled Warren.
"Then why go there?"
"Because it is so deuced dull at the Manor when there is no hunting on."
"The selfish beggar," thought the Squire, as he said aloud, "And do you not think it is dull for Irene when you are away?"
"She is generally at Hazelwell, and you are excellent company, Squire."
"Am I? Much you know about it. Let metell you if it had not been for Irene I should have had a fit of the blues that would have got the best of me a few nights back. Perhaps you can imagine what night it was?" said the Squire.
"No, I cannot; but, anyway, I am glad she was here to cheer you up. I told her to ride over and see you."
"Have you forgotten what happened over two years ago?"
He could not pretend to misunderstand, although they were getting on rather dangerous ground.
"You mean the night Ulick left home?"
"Yes, and I sat up all that night, and I shall sit up every night when it comes round, year by year, until he returns home again."
"Then you have changed your mind?" said Warren.
"I have forgiven him, but he must prove his innocence, and I am beginning to believe he will. Something tells me he will," he said, as he looked at Warren in a way that made him feel very uncomfortable, and yet he knew nothing had been found out—at present.
"Ulick was hardly the sort of man one would have expected to get into such a mess," said Warren.