TheSaint's wonderful victory was the chief topic of conversation for the remainder of the afternoon, and it was discussed all over the course. It was acknowledged to have surpassed the Derby victory of Sandstone, and the merits of the pair were a fruitful source of conversation. Perhaps Warren Courtly had as much reason to rejoice as anyone over the Saint's win, for he had landed a large stake. He left the box and went into the ring, where he met several acquaintances, who congratulated him.
Felix Hoffman stood alone in the paddock, his face gloomy and desperate. He had been hard hit again, his bad luck stuck to him, and he had lost the hundred pounds he received from Irene. He had plunged on Vulture and lost, and cursed "the curiosity" for beating him.
The Squire and his companions went down to the paddock to see the winner, and congratulate Ben Sprig.
Warren was not with them, but he followed later on.
Ulick and Irene returned to the box, as she was anxious to sit down and rest after the excitement of the race.
The Squire stood talking with the trainer and Ben Sprig, and Warren Courtly was coming towards them when he encountered Felix Hoffman.
He tried to avoid him, but Felix was in a desperate plight, and meant to obtain assistance somehow.
"Had any luck?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Warren.
"I'm dead broke; lend me a tenner to try and get a bit back."
"Not a farthing," replied Warren, who moved on, but stopped when he found Felix Hoffman following him, and said, angrily—
"Go away, I will have nothing to do with you."
"You must help me; I have done a lot of dirty work for you."
Warren was losing his temper, and his eyes had an angry gleam in them.
"If you pester me I shall give you in charge; go away."
Still Felix held his ground, and said—
"I only ask for a trifle; it will pay you to give it me."
"Get out of my way or I will knock you down," was the reply.
The Squire, walking across the paddock talking to Ben Sprig, was so engrossed he failed to notice them.
"Knock me down, will you?" said Felix. "I'd like to see you do it. If you don't do as I ask, I'll go straight to your wife and tell her all about your dealings with Mrs. Warren. She's here; I saw her in the box with you."
Warren raised his hand and in another moment would have struck him, but the Squire heard the words, and held his arm back in time to prevent the blow.
"Who is this fellow?" asked the Squire.
"Felix Hoffman is my name, at your service."
"Do you know him?" he said to Warren.
"Oh, yes; he knows me very well," answered Felix.
"I did not address you," replied the Squire; and repeated his question.
Warren nodded as he said, "Unfortunately I do; he is a regular scoundrel."
"I am not as bad as you," was Felix's retort. "I haven't got one wife; you have two."
"What does the man mean?" asked the Squire.
"He's a fool, or worse; come away from him," said Warren, "or I shall do him an injury."
"I don't know who you are," said Felix, addressing the Squire; "but if you are his father-in-law I can tell you he is a bad lot. His wife, Mrs. Warren, lives with my mother, and that is the address; you can call and see for yourself," he said, as he handed him a card.
Warren snatched it out of his hand and tore it up.
"Give me another card," said the Squire, and Felix handed one to him, Warren not daring to interfere on this occasion.
They moved away from Felix Hoffman, and the Squire said—
"What is the meaning of this? Is there any truth in it?"
"He's a confounded liar," said Warren, angrily.
Felix Hoffman heard him, and said—
"I am not. If you want to learn the truth, ask his wife; she knows all about it."
Warren stepped up to him in fury, struck him a heavy blow on the mouth, and knocked him down.
Fortunately a race was being run at the time, and there were only a few people in the paddock.The Squire forced Warren away with him, and they left Felix sprawling on the grass.
"You ought not to have struck him," said the Squire.
"He deserved it."
"Was there any truth in what he said?"
"No, none whatever. It is true I have been to his house, and that a Mrs. Warren lives there, but I have nothing to do with her, you may rest assured of that."
"He said Irene knew all about it."
"Which is absurd, because there is nothing to know. That is the man who wrote the begging-letter Irene showed you, and you said the matter ought to be placed in the hands of the police."
"The scoundrel; he deserves all he got and more," said the Squire.
Warren was relieved at this change of front, and said—
"He once gave me a winner at Hurst Park, and he has pestered me for money ever since. He was asking me to lend him ten pounds just before you came up. It was because I refused he trumped up this story about Mrs. Warren. It is all a fabrication."
"I am glad to hear it," answered the Squire, not quite satisfied.
Warren went into the ring, and when theSquire entered the box Ulick left Irene in his charge.
"We have had rather an unpleasant scene in the paddock," said the Squire; "that fellow Hoffman, who wrote to you, insulted Warren, and he knocked him down. It served him right."
Irene turned pale and said, in an agitated voice—
"What did he say?"
"Told a pack of lies about Warren and some woman living at his house. I don't believe a word of it," said the Squire. "He gave me his address and told me to go and find out for myself. Here it is," and he handed her the card.
Irene was in desperate straits. He must be prevented from visiting Mrs. Hoffman's house at any cost.
"Of course, you will take no notice of it," she said.
"The fellow actually said you knew all about it, but I did not believe him. By gad, if I thought Warren had deceived you I would make things hot for him."
"He has not deceived me," she replied. "Please do me a favour; take no further notice of the matter."
"Warren snatched the first card he offered meout of his hand. Why did he do that?" asked the Squire.
"No doubt he thought it an insult for him to offer it to you," she replied.
"That may have been the reason. I hope so," he replied.
A feeling of depression seemed to have come over them, and Ulick, who had returned, said—
"I am afraid the excitement has been too much for you all. Shall we go home, there are only two more races?"
They readily agreed, with the exception of Warren, who said he would see it out and return after the last race.
This irritated the Squire, but he made no remark, and they left him to his own devices.
Warren immediately sent a telegram to Janet telling her to go away at once, as the Squire had her address.
Janet was surprised at this, but she wondered still more when another wire came from Irene to the same effect, and asking her to send an address to the Walton.
The Squire, however, had no intention of going to Feltham, and when he returned to Hazelwell Janet went back to Mrs. Hoffman's.
Warren Courtly felt he had better make aclean breast of it. He would tell Irene all, and trust to her generosity to forgive him.
A week after the races, when they had returned to Anselm Manor, Warren Courtly said to his wife—
"Irene, I have something to tell you: it is humiliating for me to have to confess that I have done wrong, and it will cause you pain to hear my story."
She knew what he was about to say, but thought it better to allow him to tell his own story. She was glad he made her his confidante, and confessed his fault. She felt she could almost forgive him. To love him was impossible, for her heart was not in her own keeping.
"You recollect when Janet Todd disappeared from home?"
"And Ulick Maynard was, and still is by many people, suspected of wronging her," she said.
"He did not wrong her, he is perfectly innocent. It was before I became on intimate terms with you that I was infatuated with Janet. She was pretty and attracted me, and gradually we drifted together, until we became more than mere friends. I persuaded her to leave home and go to London. She is there now, and I have never deserted her, or let her want for anything. When I knew you, Irene, and loved you, I severed allconnection with Janet, and we have been almost strangers to each other ever since our marriage. Can you forgive me for what I have done? It would have been unpardonable had I continued to see Janet, but I have only done so when she requested more money than I thought necessary."
He felt relieved now he had told her, and waited for her reply.
"I have not much to forgive," she said. "It is Ulick Maynard who has been wronged. You must tell the Squire all."
"Never," he exclaimed.
"Then I shall be compelled to do so, to clear Ulick. That reparation you owe him, if not more," she said, firmly.
"I would not have told you had I thought you would act like this."
"It was needless; I knew all. I have seen Janet, and she has confessed everything to me," was Irene's reply.
He looked amazed. "You have seen her!" he exclaimed. "How did you find her out?"
"Felix Hoffman sent me her address, for a consideration."
"So you have been spying on me, playing the lady detective. I am much obliged to you, and am sorry I confessed my fault," he said, sneeringly.
"When you confessed I admired you for it; you are changing my opinion of you," she replied.
"I forbid you to tell the Squire. Perhaps you would like to confide in Ulick, you appear to be very good friends?"
"It would be useless, he already knows everything," she said, quietly.
Warren Courtly felt decidedly small, but he hardly believed her.
"He knows nothing," he said.
"He does, for he was in her house on one occasion when you called to see Janet. He heard her story, and for my sake forbade her to speak of it, or return home," she said.
"For your sake," he said, sarcastically. "Did he tell you this?"
"No; Ulick is far too honourable for that," she replied, hotly. "He is not mean or underhand. Janet gave me the information."
"Which, no doubt, you were glad to receive," he said.
"I was, for it proved there was at least one man in the world who thought me worthy of sacrifices on his part," she answered, bitterly.
"If he knows I took Janet away, why does he not tell his father?" asked Warren.
"He will never tell him."
"Because he loves you?" said Warren.
"And if he does?" she asked, proudly. "What then? Am I not worthy to be loved by a good man?"
"Do you return his love?" he asked, savagely.
"Yes," she said, calmly.
He laughed harshly, as he replied—
"Then you have no cause to complain of my conduct with Janet."
"You degrade yourself and me by speaking in that manner. You know that Ulick has no knowledge that I love him, or is aware that I know he loves me. I am your wife and will do my duty. You will have no cause to complain, all the wrong is on your side," she said.
"Tell the Squire if you like," he said. "Only remember, if you do I shall sell Anselm Manor and leave the country, and you will go with me. You are my wife, and must obey me."
"That is a threat you will never carry out," she said.
"I will; so you can think it over. There is another thing I wish to mention. If you inform the Squire, I will make matters very unpleasant for yourself and Ulick. I have ample grounds for suspicion."
She did not deign to answer him, but walked proudly out of the room.
"So he knows," thought Warren, moodily. "What a coward he must think me. I'll prove to him I am not one before this year is out, how or when I do not know, but I'll do it."
He went into the stable yard and mounted a horse that stood ready saddled.
Irene saw him ride away at a breakneck pace, and wondered where he was going. After all, he was her husband, and she felt anxious about him. She knew how he would feel about Ulick, and dreaded the consequences. She wished she had spoken more kindly to him, but he insulted her with his implied suspicions.
As the evening wore on, and he did not return, she became more and more uneasy.
It was after eleven when she heard the sound of horse's hoofs coming up the drive, and shortly after Warren entered the room.
"I am glad you have returned," she said, softly. "I was anxious about you. I spoke harshly to you, perhaps, but I was excited, and hardly knew what I said. If you wish I will not tell the Squire about Janet."
He was surprised at her words. His ride had done him good, the gallop across country had aroused him to a better frame of mind.
"I thought you would not care what became of me," he said. "When I can screw up mycourage I will tell the Squire Ulick is innocent, but I cannot do it yet. Give me a little time, Irene, and all will come right in the end."
"I hope so," she said. "Do not be reckless because we have quarrelled. Let us make the best of things as they are. I am very glad to hear you have decided to tell the Squire all, it is the very best thing you can do, and I am sure it will be a relief to you."
Theyear passed rapidly away, and the hunting season was in full swing. The Rushshire hounds were to meet at Hazelwell, and Ulick saw the fixture in the paper.
"By Jove! I should like to have a spin with them again," he said to himself; "it is more than two years since I had a rousing gallop over our country. I cannot go to Hazelwell, but I have a good mind to join them as they pass through Helton village on the way to Brecon Wood. I'll write to Eli and ask him to put me up for the night, and he will be able to give me a mount. My father will be out with the hounds, and many people will recognise me, but I can vanish when the hunt is over. It will be amusing to see how the good folks take it, and whether they object to my presence."
He wrote to Eli, who was in a flutter of excitement when he received the letter. Of course, he would give him a bed, and be glad to see him. "If I could only get Random for him to ride," he said to himself, "that would be a treat. I'll try it on, anyway."
He rode over to Anselm Manor and fortunately found Irene alone. To her he showed Ulick's letter and she was delighted to hear he was coming down.
"I have come to ask a favour of you," said Eli.
"I shall have much pleasure in granting it, if I can," she replied, with a smile.
"Will you lend me Random to mount him on?" he asked.
"I shall be delighted," she replied. Then she wondered what Warren would say, as he would be sure to inquire where the horse was. She could tell him she had lent him to Eli for a friend to ride, as she did not intend to hunt that day, but merely to be at the breakfast at Hazelwell.
"You can take him back with you now; one of the grooms can ride over," she said.
Eli was delighted at the success of his plan, and as he looked at Random in his box, said—
"You will be surprised to have your old master on your back, but I expect you will know him again."
Ulick arrived at the Hazelwell stud farm, and Eli greeted him heartily.
"Something tells me you will not leave us again," he said.
"You are wrong, Eli; I cannot go to Hazelwell yet, not until——" he hesitated.
"Not until what?" asked Eli.
"Until the man who ran away with Janet thinks fit to confess to my father," said Ulick.
"Then you will have to wait a long time," said Eli, "for he has not got it in him."
"You know him!" exclaimed Ulick.
"Not for certain, but I have a very good idea. We will not talk about that. Have you heard anything of Janet?"
"Yes," said Ulick. "She is well, and I know is leading a respectable life, but she cannot come home at present, and does not wish you to see her until she has asked you to forgive her."
"I am glad to hear that, it is good news; but I should like to have her here again. If you know where she is, tell her I have forgiven her long ago." He did not ask why she did not come home, but her refusal to do so confirmed his suspicions, and he thought he understood her reason for remaining away, and approved of it.
"I have a good mount for you," said Eli. "Would you like to see him, or will you wait until the morning?"
"We may as well look at him now," said Ulick, "and then I can dream of one of the best runs on record."
They went out and across the yard, Eli lighting the way with a lantern. He opened the door of a box near to that in which Ulick entered the night he gave him such a surprise.
Holding up the light, Eli said—
"He's not a bad sort, is he?"
At first Ulick did not recognise the horse, as the light was not particularly good. He stepped up to his side, and Random sniffed and pushed his head against him.
"He seems to know me," said Ulick. Then, as he took another look at him, he exclaimed—
"Why it's Random! Good old Random; where on earth did he spring from?"
He patted the horse, and it was quite like the meeting of two friends after a long separation.
"I borrowed him," said Eli.
"From Mrs. Courtly?"
"Yes, and she was delighted to lend him."
"Will she be at the meet to-morrow?"
"No, only at the breakfast."
"I wonder what Warren will think when he sees me on him?" thought Ulick. "I expect she will merely explain that she lent him to Eli, and not mention my name."
He looked forward eagerly to riding his old favourite at a meet of the Rushshire hounds again, and yet he had strange misgivings when he was dressing, that something was about to happen which would change the whole course of his life. He had no inkling as to what it was, but the impression was there, and he could not getrid of it. He said nothing to Eli, and was as cheerful as usual at breakfast, and when he mounted Random he almost wished the day was over. He rode towards Helton, and met several people on horseback going to Hazelwell. Some of them recognised him, others he fancied did so but avoided looking in his direction.
James Bard, the veterinary surgeon, gave him a hearty welcome, and insisted on riding back with him to his house in the village.
"I am right glad to see you again," he said, briskly. "You have been away from us so long. I hope you have returned to stay."
"Not yet," replied Ulick. "I have not been to Hazelwell; I am going to join them as they pass through the village; they are sure to draw Brecon Wood first."
"Then I remain with you," said James Bard.
"You must go to Hazelwell; my father will miss you at the breakfast, and will be angry."
"Not when he learns why I remained away," replied Bard.
They rode together to James Bard's house, and remained there until the hounds came in sight. They stood at the window and watched them pass, and there was a large muster at the meet, the Hazelwell hunt breakfast always drawing a big crowd.
"It will be comparatively easy to remain unrecognisedamongst that lot," said Ulick. "I did not see my father."
"The Squire has been down with the gout," said Bard, "and Dr. Harding has made him rest. I expect he will chafe a good deal at having to remain at home to-day."
Ulick was sorry his father had the gout, yet was glad he was absent from the hunt.
When the party cleared the village, James Bard and Ulick rode after them, in the direction of Brecon Wood.
As they neared the well-known haunt of the best foxes in Rushshire, they heard the hounds making music, and in a few minutes the well-known cry was heard, and they had "gone away" after the fox.
Ulick set Random going, and, followed by James Bard, quickly came in sight of the field. In front, well ahead, the hounds were streaming away over some open pastures, the fox going at a great pace, and the field in straggling order.
"He's got a capital start," said Ulick. "We are in for a good run."
"If it's the 'old dog' we went after last season, he'll make it hot. We shall soon tell, he generally doubles round and makes for Hazelwell Coppice at the other side of Glen church."
"Sixteen miles if it's a yard," said Ulick.
"And good going all the way, but there aresome stiff fences, and we shall have to face the Tone river."
"Swim it or leap it?" laughed Ulick.
"You'll get over it on that fellow. I don't know about mine. I fancy I have seen yours before."
"So you have. It's Random."
"Good gracious, so it is. You'll have nothing to fear, and if anyone is in at the death, it will be yourself," said Bard.
It was not long before Random left the veterinary surgeon in the rear, and carried Ulick well to the front of the field. The horse fenced splendidly, and had a good rider on his back.
Warren Courtly inquired where Random was, and Irene told him she had lent him to Eli for a friend of his to ride, and with this he was satisfied, and did not ask who he was, much to her relief.
Ulick saw Warren ahead of him on a big Irish grey, a strong puller, but a good fencer, rather a dangerous horse to ride when his blood was up.
"He'll be surprised when he sees me on Random," thought Ulick, who had by this time forgotten all about his early-morning presentiment in the excitement of the chase.
They were galloping over a ploughed field, and the going was heavy, beyond was a meadow, and in the distance the river Tone could be seen.It was narrow in some parts, and not deep, but the banks were treacherous, and often brought riders to grief.
Out of the plough into the meadow they went at a fast pace. The old fox knew his way about, and bore away to the left. There was an old tree fallen, three parts of the way across the river, and he headed for it. Racing along the huge trunk with sure steps, he reached the end, made a long jump, and scrambled up the opposite side, and raced away up the steep incline towards Hazelwell Spinney and Glen church.
Warren set the grey at the water, and he cleared it gallantly. Ulick flew over on Random, and as they galloped up the hill got ahead of him, but was not within shouting distance as he passed him. At first Warren did not see him, but presently he recognised Random, and then Ulick.
He was never more surprised in his life than to see Ulick on Random at that particular moment. It staggered him for a few minutes, and when he recovered from the shock he was extremely angry.
"So it was to him she lent Random," he muttered savagely. "She knew he was here, at Helton. I wonder if they met when I was out. You shall suffer for this, Irene. Perhaps he thinks I am a coward; I'll show him who is the betterman to-day. Damn him, I'll beat him, or know the reason why."
He rode the grey roughly, and the horse resented it. He pulled harder than ever, and the wild Irish blood in him revolted at his rider's handling.
Only half-a-dozen horsemen were near them, the bulk of the field had cut across country, knowing where the fox was making for. All the men following the track of the hounds were hard riders, and would have scorned to adopt such tactics.
"That's Ulick Maynard," muttered the huntsman. "I'm glad to see him out again, and on Random too. I wonder what he's done with old Eli's girl? She was a pretty wench. It was a bit rough on Eli, that was, and I didn't think Mr. Ulick was the man to do it. However, there's no telling what will happen when there's a woman in the case."
Ulick was thoroughly enjoying himself. He loved following the hounds, and had done so ever since he was a boy. He knew the country well, and was aware it would take Random all his time to keep going to the finish at this pace.
They were nearing Glen church, and beyond, in the distance, was Hazelwell Coppice, the house being hidden amongst the trees a couple of miles away.
Ulick took in the well-remembered scene at aglance. He called to mind how he had galloped over this country with the Squire and Irene, and how they had found it a difficult task to keep up with his father. He wished Irene was there now, so that he could give her a lead over that big, stiff-set hedge a hundred yards ahead of him. He forgot all about Warren on the grey. There were the hounds scrambling through the bars of the gate, dashing through the holes in the hedge near the bank. Once he caught sight of the fox streaking along with his tail straight out, his head down, and his body almost level with the ground.
"He's not half done yet," thought Ulick. "He deserves to get away, and I hope he will save his brush."
The fox meant doing so if possible, there could be no doubt about that.
Round Glen church was a high, rough stone wall, built in the old style, stone piled upon stone, not bound together in any way, except by the pressure of one upon another. The coping on the top was loose, and in places big stones had rolled off on to the grass, for the church stood in a field, and was approached by a footpath.
The fox seemed of a pious turn of mind, for he headed straight for the church, as though hoping to find sanctuary there from his desperate pursuers.
Ulick expected to see him run round the churchyard, but instead of that he scrambled up the wall and made his way amongst the tombstones and over the graves of men who had hunted his ancestors in years gone by.
"If you think I am going to follow you over there you are mistaken," said Ulick. "I have no desire to join the silent residents in that locality. I'll ride round and catch you up on the other side, it is not far out of the way."
He watched the hounds scrambling over the rough wall, which stood on a rise on the ground, and saw from their movements they were well-nigh beaten.
Warren Courtly was not far behind. He saw Ulick check his mount, and then make for the corner of the churchyard. He was near enough to be heard, if he shouted, and he called out—
"Follow me over the wall, if you have pluck enough; don't sneak round that way."
Ulickheard him, and, turning round, saw the grey galloping at a great pace straight for the churchyard wall. He did not accept the challenge; it would have been madness to do so. He called at the top of his voice to Warren to stop.
"He'll never clear it! Pull up!" shouted Ulick, excitedly.
For answer, Warren merely looked in his direction, and smiled grimly.
"Come on!" he shouted again. "Are you afraid?"
Ulick was not afraid, but he had no desire to break his neck, and that was probably what Warren would do if the grey failed to top the wall. There was no chance of stopping him, and Ulick determined to see the result of the dare-devil leap.
"He's mad to attempt it!" he said. "The horse is a good one, but he'll never get over it. I would not risk it on Random for a fortune!"
There was no one else near; the four or five horsemen had skirted round the wall, and were riding hard after the hounds, who had by this time cleared the churchyard.
Ulick waited for Warren's rash leap, and his heart almost stopped beating in his intense anxiety to see him safely over.
The presentiment of the morning flashed across his mind, and he wondered if this was to be the result.
Warren knew what lay before him; but his blood was up, and so was the grey's. The horse pricked his ears as he saw the formidable obstacle in front of him, but he did not shirk his work. On the contrary, he regulated his stride, and prepared for the desperate leap.
As Warren drew near to the wall Ulick rode forward, in order to render assistance should it be required, for he feared the result, and wished to do all in his power to help him.
Up the incline galloped the grey. Had the wall stood on the level he might have jumped it, although that was doubtful. The horse took off well, rose at the wall, and would have cleared it safely but for the fact that a huge raised gravestone, over a vault in the churchyard, stood close beneath it.
The horse saw it, tried to avoid it as he leaped, caught his hind legs on the wall, fell heavily forward, and threw Warren with terrific force head first on to the slab.
Ulick heard the crash and shuddered. Horse and rider failed to rise. He rode quickly to thespot, flung Random's bridle over a big coping stone, and scrambled over the wall, almost falling over the horse as he landed on the other side. He merely cast a rapid glance at the grey, and saw he was fatally injured, and rushed forward to Warren Courtly, who lay stretched out on the top of the slab where he had fallen.
Ulick stooped over him, and said, in an agitated voice—
"Warren! Warren! are you alive? Speak to me!"
There was no answer, no movement in the body, which lay dangerously still and inanimate.
Ulick tore open his vest and collar, and lifted him up. As he did so the head fell back, resting on his chest, and for a moment the eyes opened with the shock, but quickly closed again.
Ulick shuddered. That limp movement of the head, he knew what it meant. There was no hope. Warren's neck was broken. He had pitched on to his head, and the fall was bound to be fatal. He supported the dead man for a considerable time, hoping against hope that he would show some sign of life. His thoughts wandered to Irene, and he wondered how she would bear the shock. He must break it to her as gently as possible. She must hear it from no one but himself. He was of no use here. Warren was beyond human aid. He laid the body gently down, and covered the facewith a handkerchief; it looked weird and uncanny, resting there in the scarlet coat on the top of a vault, in the picturesque old churchyard.
Getting over the wall, he remounted Random and rode away for assistance.
There was no one in sight. Then he espied two figures in the distance walking towards him; one was his father, the other Irene. They saw him, and his father waved his stick. There was no excuse; he had to pull up and meet them.
He was bewildered, at a loss what to do, what to say; and as he thought of Warren lying still in the churchyard he shuddered, and was almost tempted to make a bolt.
"You are not often out of the hunt," said the Squire. "Irene let the cat out of the bag, and told me you were here, and that Eli had borrowed Random for you. I am glad to see you out with the hounds again, but you ought to have come to breakfast."
"Have you had a fall, or missed the hounds?" asked Irene. "I am afraid I have taught Random bad manners. Have you seen Warren?"
He made no answer, but looked vacantly before him, and she said, anxiously, as she noticed the green moss from the stone on his coat—
"Have you hurt yourself? You look as though you have had a fall."
"I have not had a fall," he said, in a voice strangely unlike his own.
The Squire was quick at reading faces, and knew something had happened. Did it concern Irene? Had Warren been injured? He took her by the arm and said—
"Come, let us go home; and, as Ulick has missed the hounds, he can come with us."
Irene hesitated. She felt Ulick was concealing something, either from her or his father. What was it? Had anything happened to her husband?
She stepped forward before he dismounted, placing her hand on Random's neck, and, looking up into his face, said, quickly—
"Something has happened; I can see it in your face. There has been an accident. Is it Warren?"
He avoided her gaze. How could he tell her, and the churchyard where he lay quite close by?
The Squire saw there was serious news, and said, as cheerfully as possible—
"Has Warren had a spill? I hope it is not serious."
"Yes, he had a bad fall. I have just left him. I was riding for assistance when I met you."
Irene turned white, and the Squire supported her.
"Where is he?" she said. "Let me go to him."
Ulick dismounted and said—
"You must be brave, Irene! Warren has had a very bad fall."
"Where is he?" she asked again.
"He attempted to leap the churchyard wall and follow the hounds. It is a dangerous jump, and the horse fell, throwing him heavily."
"Then why do you delay? Ride for assistance at once! We will go to him," she said, and started off at a rapid pace in the direction of Glen church.
This was Ulick's opportunity. He stepped up to his father, and said—
"Do what you can to comfort her. He's in the churchyard, lying on Harewood's vault. I am better away."
"He is not——?" asked the Squire, and paused.
Ulick nodded. "He fell on his head on the slab and broke his neck. Now go after her."
"Call out to her to stop; I can hardly limp along," said the Squire.
"Irene!" called Ulick.
She turned round, and he pointed to his father.
She came hurriedly back, and said—
"Take my arm—we will go together."
Ulick mounted Random and rode rapidly away to Hazelwell, where he ordered a carriage and the requisite necessaries to be sent to the church, and dispatched a man for the doctor.
Meanwhile the Squire and Irene were nearing Glen church.
"Irene," he said, in a low voice, "Ulick has told me Warren is very badly injured; you must be prepared for the worst."
She looked at him with frightened eyes.
"Prepared for the worst!" she muttered. "Is his life in danger?"
"I am afraid so."
She gave a little sharp cry, and hurried forward again.
"You had better remain with me," he called, and she obeyed him without a murmur.
They reached the churchyard, and passed under the porch through the gateway, and at the far side, near the wall, the Squire saw a red coat on a tombstone; then he distinguished the form of a man. Irene had not seen it, and he led her down a side path.
"Be brave, Irene!" he said. "If he is in danger you will have to summon up all your courage to help him."
"I will," she said; "indeed I will."
Then she saw the red coat, and started back, her hand pressed against her heart, her eyes filled with horror.
"He is lying on the stone on the top of a vault," she said, in a hollow voice. "How did he get there?"
She stumbled forward over the graves, leaving the Squire to follow. She grazed herankles, but heeded not, and at last she reached him.
Snatching the handkerchief away, she stood looking at his face, with the closed eyes and the black mark on the neck. She stood perfectly still; no cry came from her; but her look of horror told she knew he was dead.
The Squire reached her just as she fell forward, insensible, on her husband's body. He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and sat down on the slab. With one hand he drew the handkerchief over Warren's face again.
"This is a sad blow," he thought. "It is a blessing she is insensible. It may be all for the best."
He allowed her to remain in this state for some minutes, and then tried to rouse her. His foot pained him, but he scarcely felt it.
Irene opened her eyes and shuddered. At first she did not realise where she was, but, as she caught sight of the gravestones, they recalled all.
"He is dead!" she said, slowly. "Poor Warren! he is dead!"
The tears came to her relief, and the Squire remained silent, with his arm supporting her.
Suddenly she flung herself on Warren's body and moaned bitterly.
The Squire placed his hand on her shoulder, and said—
"Irene, bear up; there is much to be done. We must take him home—to Hazelwell first, if you wish; it is nearer."
"No, no!" she said. "To the Manor. I want to be there with him alone!"
The carriage came, and was closely followed by Ulick and Dr. Harding, who examined Warren, and found his neck broken.
Tenderly they placed him in the carriage. Irene insisted upon getting in, and the Squire followed her, saying to Ulick—
"You and Dr. Harding had better follow us to the Manor."
Warren Courtly was taken back to his home, which he had left in the morning full of health and spirits, if not happiness. He little thought, when he mounted the fiery grey, how he was to return.
The news of the fatal accident soon spread, but it had not reached Anselm Manor, and there was consternation when they arrived.
Mrs. Dixon did all in her power for her mistress, and managed to calm and soothe her.
"It is dreadful!" moaned Irene.
She did not love Warren, but the shock of his death affected her terribly. It was so sudden, so unlooked for; and he was so young. She could hardly believe it. Dixon remained with her during the night, and towards early morning she sank into a troubled slumber.
"I cannot remain here," said Ulick, soon after their arrival. "It would not be right for me to do so. You will remain, father?"
"Yes; but you must go to Hazelwell," was the reply.
Warren was dead, and Irene knew nothing of his connection with Janet. He was glad of that; he had no hesitation in going to Hazelwell now.
"I will," he replied, and the Squire gave a sigh of relief.
"Home again, at last!" he thought. "Warren's death has brought us together again; once at Hazelwell he will not leave it."
Warren Courtly was buried in Anselm church, in the vault where several of his ancestors reposed; and Irene was a widow, having been only a very short time a wife, and that only in name.
It was a shock to the county, and the members of the Rushshire Hunt in particular, and it was generally acknowledged Warren's rashness at attempting such a leap caused his early death.
Ulick and the Squire examined the wall where the grey and his rider were killed, and the latter said—
"I wonder what made him attempt it? As a rule he was not rash."
Ulick explained what had happened, and how Warren had dared him to follow him.
"I wonder sometimes if he was angry becauseIrene lent me Random to ride, and that caused him to act as he did."
"I should not be disposed to look at it in that light," answered his father. "He may have been surprised to see you out, more especially on Random; but there was no harm in your riding him. There was something else at the bottom of the challenge he threw out to you. Did you ever doubt his courage?"
"If I did, he was unaware of it," was the answer.
"Then it must have been in a sudden fit of rashness he did it," said the Squire.
Janet Todd read the account of the fatal accident to Warren Courtly in the paper, but she did not grieve much over his death, although she felt sorry it had taken place. There was nothing now to hinder her returning to her father, and it was the only thing she could do, as she had very little money.
She wrote to Eli begging his forgiveness, and asking if he would take her back. Needless to say, his reply was loving and fatherly, and he implored her to come home without delay.
Janet returned, and Eli—good, large-hearted man that he was—received her with open arms, and she was grateful for his kindness.
Some weeks after her return he said to her one night—
"Janet, I had made up my mind never to alludeto the past, but I will ask you one question and have done with it."
She knew what the question was, and decided there could be no harm in answering it now, more especially as Irene knew the whole circumstances.
"I will answer any question you care to ask me," she said.
"Who induced you to run away and leave me?" he asked.
"Warren Courtly."
"I thought as much," was his reply.
Itwas over twelve months since Warren Courtly came to an untimely end, and the Squire and his son were in the morning-room, where he had kept vigil on the anniversary of Ulick's departure. There was no snow on this occasion, as they looked out of the window at the familiar scene; but the ground was held in the grip of a hard frost, and the white crystals had not yet vanished from the trees.
"Irene is coming for dinner to-night," said the Squire, as he looked at him.
"And who else is coming?"
"Only Dr. Harding and the Vicar and his wife," replied his father.
Ulick did not immediately reply, but stood at the window while the Squire sat down.
Bersak, who was lying on the hearthrug, went to him and licked his hand. He patted the dog's head, but, as he made no movement to go away, Bersak went and laid down at the Squire's feet.
During the months that had elapsed since Warren's death he had seen very little of Irene, had, in fact, avoided her as much as possible, and absented himself a good deal from Hazelwell, his excuse being that he liked to see his horses run, especially the Saint.
The "curiosity" had won some good handicaps, and, at the Squire's request, he had been sent down to Hazelwell at the end of his four-year-old career, much to Fred May's chagrin, as he wished to keep him in work, and said it was throwing money away to send him to the stud at that age. Ulick, however, wished to please his father, so the Saint was now an important member of the Hazelwell stud, and Eli Todd was as proud of him as the trainer had been.
The Squire knew it was not altogether racing that caused his son to vanish from home for weeks at a time. He appreciated the delicacy of feeling which actuated him and took him away from Irene's presence in the early months of her widowhood. He saw in his conduct a sure sign that he was in love with her, and he gleaned from Irene's look of disappointment, when she saw Ulick was absent, that she returned his affection.
It had always been a thorn in the Squire's side that he had induced Irene to marry WarrenCourtly, who was unsuited to her, and had thus placed an insurmountable barrier in Ulick's way.
By an accident that obstacle had been removed, and he did not intend his cherished idea should again come to nothing.
The Squire did not mourn for Warren Courtly. He was no hypocrite, and, although sorry for his early death, he argued that it was all for the best, more especially when he came to examine into his affairs, and afterwards when he had made Janet tell him who had run away with her. This she did on giving his word he would keep her secret.
Warren, who had left the Squire joint executor with Irene, had involved the Anselm estate heavily, and it would take some years to wipe off the debt that had accumulated. Irene had a considerable income, but not more than half she had a right to have expected. There was a mortgage on the Manor itself, but the Squire quickly took that up on his own account.
As Ulick looked out of the window, his thoughts were busy with memories of the past, and in them Irene was a conspicuous figure. He had waited more than twelve months, and held his peace, although he was impatient to pour out his love toher now she was free. He was thinking whether he would have an opportunity of doing so to-night, and, if it occurred, whether he would take it. What would her answer be? He did not wish to be over-confident, but he looked forward to a favourable reply, and his heart beat fast in expectation.
He was not aware Irene knew who ran away with Janet, and he was pleased to think she had no knowledge of Warren's conduct.
His father watched him with a smile on his face, and thought—
"He means to ask her to-night. He is making up his mind, and I will see he has the chance."
"Is there anything particularly striking to look at out there?" asked the Squire. "If so, I will join you."
Ulick laughed as he replied, "I was taking very little notice of the view. I was thinking over old times."
"Pleasant thoughts?"
"Yes, most of them."
"We were a couple of fools to remain separated for such a long time," said the Squire.
"We appreciate being together again the more now," replied Ulick.
"Eli is precious glad to have that girl of his back again," said the Squire. "I hope the lesson she has had will teach her to behave better in the future."
"There is no fear about that," replied Ulick. "It has been severe."
"Not nearly so severe as she deserved," was the reply.
It was a merry dinner party, and they were all in high spirits. Later on in the evening the Squire and the Vicar's wife challenged the Vicar and the Doctor to a quiet rubber, which was eagerly accepted.
"You two young people can look after yourselves," said the Squire to Irene and his son, and she flushed slightly at his words.
Whist was an interesting game to the players, but Ulick and Irene evidently found it slow as spectators, and quietly left the room.
A bright fire was blazing in the drawing-room, and Irene sat down at the piano and idly ran her hands over the keys. The lamps shed a soft, yellow light over the room, and the effect was soothing and tranquil.
Presently Irene sang a simple song, and, when it was ended, went on with another. She was fond of music; so was Ulick, and he listened to her sweet, low notes, and watchedher face as she sang, half unconscious of his presence.
When she stopped and looked up she found him standing near her. Their eyes met, and, taking her hand, he said—
"Irene, I have something to say to you."
She knew what he meant, and knew what her answer must be.
He pleaded his cause well, and she listened, smiling encouragement when he faltered.
He asked her to be his wife, and she consented without any false hesitation.
They were very happy, and Ulick felt that somehow the world was a very good place to live in, and that the ways of life were not quite so crooked as some people were desirous of making out.
He could not realise that Irene had ever been Warren Courtly's wife. He seemed to have possessed her ever since she came to Hazelwell on the death of her father. She was his Irene, always had been, and always would be for ever more.
And Irene was very happy. She knew her brief life with Warren had been all a mistake. She regretted his death, and the manner of it, but it had not blighted her life. She had known of people who had mourned distractedly the loss of a dear one, and in a few months hadchanged the garments of widowhood for those of marriage.
In a few years Warren would be merely a memory, nothing more, and it had been his own fault. Having neglected her during life, it was not reasonable to expect he would be reverenced when dead.
She knew she had always loved Ulick, although she had been unaware of it, and now the realisation of her happiness was at hand.
She was to remain at Hazelwell for the night, and when the other guests departed the Squire was told what had happened.
"I knew it was coming," he said, joyfully. "I saw it in your faces. Come and kiss me, Irene; you are not jealous, are you, Ulick?"
"Not at all," he replied, laughing; "but I envy you."
"What!" he exclaimed. "Not had one yet?"
"Dozens," whispered Irene, in his ear, and the Squire laughed heartily.
"You recollect this room when I sat up all night waiting for Ulick to return?" said the Squire.
"Yes," replied Irene; and then she added, "it is the very day."
"So it is, my child," he replied, "and I take it as a happy omen for your married life."
In the summer, when the trees were full of leaf, and the birds carolled their sweetest and best, Ulick and Irene were married. It was a quiet wedding, and they went abroad for some considerable time. On their return they resided at Anselm Manor, and the Squire divided his time between Hazelwell and their home.
Ulick had learned from his wife that she knew all about Janet and Warren, and it was not long before they found out that the Squire was in possession of the facts. As for Janet, she accepted the position of lady's maid to Irene when Mary Marley and Bob Heather were married. This bold move on Irene's part effectually silenced the gossips, who clung to the belief that Ulick was the cause of Janet's trouble, and that they had run away together. It was acknowledged that Mrs. Maynard would never have had Janet in her service had such been the case.
Happiness reigned supreme at Anselm Manor, and when the Squire heard of the arrival of a son, and that he was a grandfather, he gave a whoop of joy that startled the decorous quietude of Hazelwell.
"And if it isn't on the very day, the same day that Ulick left me, and the day on which Irene consented to be his wife."
The new arrival made the Squire feel young again, and no signs were wanting that the little one would be a prime favourite with him.
Years soon roll by and time never stands still. The child grew into a fine boy, and there were others to keep him company. There was every sign that Anselm Manor would be the home of many happy children. The laughter of youth rang through the old rooms, and echoed down the passages and along the walls, where monks and friars had revelled and prayed and told their beads hundreds of years before. Anselm Manor had taken on a new lease of life; a new spirit was infused into it—the buoyant spirit of youth.
Ulick and his wife were often seen in the hunting field, and occasionally at some of the principal race meetings; and there was much rejoicing at Hazelwell when Fred May pulled off the Jockey Club Stakes with the colt out of Honeysuckle, that had only just escaped being born nearly "a year old."
The Saint was making a name at the stud, and his early foals were promising, but none of them were the colour of their sire.
Ulick, however, wanted a grey by him, and in due time got his wish, and a promising youngster he looked.
Janet did not forget Mrs. Hoffman. The woman had been kind to her in her way, and she often received a present from the Manor. As for Felix Hoffman, he got into trouble with the police, and had to leave the country in a hurry, only just escaping the meshes of the law, in which he thoroughly deserved to be entangled.
Squire Maynard, so everyone said, had grown young since his son's marriage with Irene, and a fine, noble country gentleman he looked as he walked or rode, with his grandson on a cob at his side.
Young Ulick was very like the Squire, who saw his own youth reflected in him, and indulged him accordingly.
Irene, as a mother, was far more attractive than she had ever been before, and her husband and children adored her. They were proud of her good looks and of the admiration she invariably excited.
Ulick sometimes thought of that fatal leap Warren Courtly took when he passed Glen church, and saw again the red-coated figure on the cold slab near the wall, but the melancholy remembrance quickly vanished. There is too muchsunshine in his life to be hidden by passing clouds, and happiness leaves no room for discord. Everything is in harmony; there are no jarring notes; and long may it be so with them all.
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.