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Cursed by a Fortune

by George Manville Fenn · English · Gutenberg #34537 · 586,842 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Cursed by a Fortune

Author: George Manville Fenn


        
Release date: December 1, 2010 [eBook #34537]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34537

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CURSED BY A FORTUNE ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Cursed by a Fortune, by George Manville Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________
CURSED BY A FORTUNE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

"Yes, James; this is my last dying speech and confession."

"Oh, papa!" with a burst of sobbing.

"Be quiet, Kitty, and don't make me so miserable.  Dying is only going
to sleep when a man's tired out, as I am, with the worries of the world,
money-making, fighting for one's own, and disappointment.  I know as
well as old Jermingham that it's pretty nearly all over.  I'm sorry to
leave you, darling, but I'm worn out, and your dear mother has been
waiting for nearly a year."

"Father, dearest father!" and two white arms clung round the neck of the
dying man, as their owner sank upon her knees by the bedside.

"I'd stay for your sake, Kitty, but fate says no, and I'm so tired,
darling, it will be like going into rest and peace.  She always was an
angel, Kitty, and she must be now; I feel as if I must see her
afterwards.  For I don't think I've been such a very bad man, Will."

"The best of fellows, Bob, always," said the stout, florid,
country-looking gentleman seated near the great heavily-curtained
four-post bed.

"Thanks, James.  I don't want to play the Pharisee, but I have tried to
be an honest man and a good father."

"Your name stands highest in the city, and your charities--"

"Bother!  I made plenty of money by the bank, and I gave some away, and
I wish it had done more good.  Well, my shares in the bank represent a
hundred and fifty thousand; those are Kitty's.  There's about ten
thousand pounds in India stock and consols."

"Pray, pray don't talk any more, papa, dear."

"Must, Kitty, while I can.  That money, Will, is yours for life, and
after death it is for that boy of yours, Claud.  He doesn't deserve it,
but perhaps he'll be a better boy some day.  Then there's the lease of
this house, my furniture, books, plate, pictures, and money in the
private account.  You will sell and realise everything; Kitty does not
want a great gloomy house in Bedford Square--out of proceeds you will
pay the servants' legacies, and the expenses, there will be ample; and
the residue is to be given to your wife for her use.  That's all.  I
have made you my sole executor, and I thought it better to send for you
to tell you than for you to wait till the will was read.  Give me a
little of that stuff in some water, Kitty."

His head was tenderly raised, and he drank and sank back with a sigh.

"Thank you, my darling.  Now, Will, I might have joined John Garstang
with you as executor, but I thought it better to give you full control,
you being a quiet country squire, leading your simple, honest,
gentleman-farmer's life, while he is a keen speculative man."

James Wilton, the banker's brother, uttered something like a sigh,
muttered a few words about trying to do his duty, and listened, as the
dying man went on--

"I should not have felt satisfied.  You two might have disagreed over
some marriage business, for there is no other that you will have to
control.  And I said to myself that Will would not try to play the
wicked uncle over my babe.  So you are sole executor, with very little
to do, for I have provided for everything, I think.  Her money stays in
the old bank I helped to build up, and the dividends will make her a
handsome income.  What you have to see to is that she is not snapped up
by some plausible scoundrel for the sake of her money.  When she does
marry--"

"Oh, papa, dear, don't, don't!  You are breaking my heart.  I shall
never marry," sobbed the girl, as she laid her sweet young face by the
thin, withered countenance on the pillow.

"Yes, you will, my pet.  I wish it, when the right man comes, who loves
you for yourself.  Girls like you are too scarce to be wasted.  But your
uncle will watch over you, and see to that.  You hear, Will?"

"Yes, I will do my duty by her."

"I believe you."

"But, papa dear, don't talk more.  The doctor said you must be kept so
quiet."

"I must wind up my affairs, my darling, and think of your future.  I've
had quite enough of the men hanging about after the rich banker's
daughter.  When my will is proved, the drones and wasps will come
swarming round you for the money.  There is no one at all, yet, is
there?" he said, with a searching look.

"Oh, no, papa, I never even thought of such a thing."

"I know it, my darling.  I've always been your sweetheart, and we've
lived for one another, and I'm loth to leave you, dear."

"Oh, father, dearest father, don't talk of leaving me," she sobbed.

He smiled sadly, and his feeble hand played with her curls.

"God disposes, my own," he said.  "But there, I must talk while I can.
Now, listen.  These are nearly my last words, Will."

His brother started and bent forward to hear his half-whispered words,
and he wiped the dew from his sun-browned forehead, and shivered a
little, for the chilly near approach of death troubled the hale,
hearty-looking man, and gave a troubled look to his florid face.

"When all is over, Will, as soon as you can, take her down to Northwood,
and be a father to her.  Her aunt always loved her, and she'll be happy
there.  Shake hands upon it, Will."

The thin, white, trembling hand was placed in the fat, heavy palm
extended, and rested there for some minutes before Robert Wilton spoke
again.

"Everything is set down clearly, Will.  The money invested in the bank
is hers--one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, strictly tied up.  I
have seen to that.  There, you will do your duty by her, and see that
all goes well."

"Yes."

"I am satisfied, brother; I exact no oaths.  Kate, my child, your uncle
will take my place.  I leave you in his hands."  Then in a low voice,
heard only by her who clung to him, weeping silently, he whispered
softly, "And in Thine, O God."

The next morning the blinds were all down in front of Number 204,
Bedford Square, which looked at its gloomiest in the wet fog, with the
withered leaves falling fast from the great plane trees; and the iron
shutters were half drawn up at the bank in Lothbury, for the old
leather-covered chair in the director's rom was vacant, waiting for a
new occupant--the chairman of the Great British and Bengalie Joint Stock
Bank was dead.

"As good and true a man as ever breathed," said the head clerk, shaking
his grey head; "and we've all lost a friend.  I wonder who will marry
Miss Kate!"



CHAPTER TWO.

"Morning, Doctor.  Hardly expected to find you at home.  Thought you'd
be on your rounds."

The speaker was mounted on a rather restive cob, which he now checked by
the gate of the pretty cottage in one of the Northwood lanes; and as he
spoke he sprang down and placed his rein through the ring on the post
close by the brass plate which bore the words--"Pierce Leigh, M.D.,
Surgeon, etc.," but he did not look at the ring, for his eyes gave a
furtive glance at the windows from one to the other quickly.

He was not a groom, for his horse-shoe pin was set with diamonds, and a
large bunch of golden charms hung at his watch chain, but his coat, hat,
drab breeches, and leggings were of the most horsey cut, and on a near
approach anyone might have expected to smell stables.  As it was, the
odour he exhaled was Jockey Club, emanating from a white pocket
handkerchief dotted with foxes' heads, hunting crops and horns, and
saturated with scent.

"My rounds are not very regular, Mr Wilton," said the gentleman
addressed, and he looked keenly at the commonplace speaker, whose ears
stood out widely from his closely-cropped hair.  "You people are
dreadfully healthy down here," and he held open the garden gate and drew
himself up, a fairly handsome, dark, keen-eyed, gentlemanly-looking man
of thirty, slightly pale as if from study, but looking wiry and strong
as an athlete.  "You wished to see me?"

"Yes.  Bit off my corn.  Headache, black spots before my eyes, and that
sort of thing.  Thought I'd consult the Vet."

"Will you step in?"

"Eh?  Yes.  Thankye."

The Doctor led the way into his flower-decked half-study,
half-consulting room, where several other little adornments suggested
the near presence of a woman; and the would-be patient coughed
unnecessarily, and kept on tapping his leg with the hunting crop he
carried, as he followed, and the door was closed, and a chair was placed
for him.

"Eh?  Chair?  Thanks," said the visitor, taking it by the back, swinging
it round, and throwing one leg across as if it were a saddle, crossing
his arms and resting his chin there--the while he stared rather
enviously at the man before him.  "Not much the matter, and you mustn't
make me so that I can't get on.  Got a chap staying with me, and we're
going after the pheasants.  I say, let me send you a brace."

"You are very good," said the Doctor, smiling rather contemptuously,
"but as I understand it they are not yet shot?"

"Eh?  Oh, no; but no fear of that.  I can lick our keeper; pretty sure
with a gun.  Want to see my tongue and feel my pulse?"

"Well, no," said the Doctor, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.  "I
can pretty well tell."

"How?"

"By your looks."

"Eh?  Don't look bad, do I?"

"Rather."

"Something nasty coming on?" said the young man nervously.

"Yes; bad bilious attack, if you are not careful.  You have been
drinking too much beer and smoking too many strong cigars."

"Not a bad guess," said the young man with a grin.  "Last boxes are
enough to take the top of your head off.  Try one."

"Thank you," was the reply, and a black-looking cigar was taken from the
proffered case.

"Mind, I've told you they are roofers."

"I can smoke a strong cigar," said the Doctor, quietly.

"You can?  Well, I can't.  Now then, mix up something; I want to be
off."

"There is no need to give you any medicine.  Leave off beer and tobacco
for a few days, and you will be all right."

"But aren't you going to give me any physic?"

"Not a drop."

"Glad of it.  But I say, the yokels down here won't care for it if you
don't give them something."

"I have found out that already.  There, sir, I have given you the best
advice I can."

"Thankye.  When am I to come again?"

"Not until you are really ill.  Not then," said the Doctor, smiling
slightly as he rose, "for I suppose I should be sent for to you."

"That's all then?"

"Yes, that is all."

"Well, send in your bill to the guv'nor," said the young man, renewing
his grin; "he pays all mine.  Nice morning, ain't it, for December?
Soon have Christmas."

"Yes, we shall soon have Christmas now," said the Doctor, backing his
visitor toward the door.

"But looks more like October, don't it?"

"Yes, much more like October."

"Steady, Beauty!  Ah, quiet, will you!" cried the young man, as he
mounted the restive cob.  "She's a bit fresh.  Wants some of the dance
taken out of her.  Morning.--Sour beggar, no wonder he don't get on,"
muttered the patient.  "Take that and that.  Coming those games when I'm
mounting!  How do you like that?  Wanted to have me off."

There was a fresh application of the spurs, brutally given, and after
plunging heavily the little mare tore off as hard as she could go, while
the Doctor watched till his patient turned a corner, and then resumed
his walk up and down the garden--a walk interrupted by the visit.

"Insolent puppy!" he muttered, frowning.  "A miserable excuse."

"Pierce, dear, where are you?" cried a pleasant voice, and a piquant
little figure appeared at the door.  "Oh, there you are.  Shall I want a
hat?  Oh, no, it's quite mild."  The owner of the voice hurried out like
a beam of sunshine on the dull grey morning, and taking the Doctor's arm
tried to keep step with him, after glancing up in his stern face, her
own looking merry and arch with its dimples.

"What is it, Jenny?" he said.

"What is it, sir?  Why, I want fresh air as well as you; but don't
stride along like that.  How can I keep step?  You have such long legs."

"That's better," he said, trying to accommodate himself to the little
body at his side.

"Rather.  So you have had a patient," she said.

"Yes, I've had a patient, Sis," he replied, looking down at her; and a
faint colour dawned in her creamy cheeks.

"And you always grumbling, sir!  There, I do believe that is the
beginning of a change.  Who was the patient?"

The Doctor's hand twitched, and he frowned, but he said, calmly enough,
"That young cub from the Manor."

"Mr Claud Wilton?" said the girl innocently; "Oh, I am glad.  Beginning
with the rich people at the Manor.  Now everyone will come."

"No, my dear; everyone will not come, and the sooner we pack up and go
back to town the better."

"What, sell the practice?"

"Sell the practice," he cried contemptuously.  "Sell the furniture, Sis.
One man--fool, I mean--was enough to be swindled over this affair.
Practice!  The miserable scoundrel!  Much good may the money he
defrauded me of do him.  No, but we shall have to go."

"Don't, Pierce," said the girl, looking up at him wistfully.

"Why?" he said angrily.

"Because it did do me good being down here, and I like the place so
much."

"Any place would be better than that miserable hole at Westminster,
where you were getting paler every day, but I ought to have been more
businesslike.  It has not done you good though; and if you like the
place the more reason why we should go," he cried angrily.

"Oh, Pierce, dear, what a bear you are this morning.  Do be patient, and
I know the patients will come."

"Bah!  Not a soul called upon us since we've been here, except the
tradespeople, so that they might get our custom."

"But we've only been here six months, dear."

"It will be the same when we've been here six years, and I'm wasting
time.  I shall get away as soon as I can.  Start the New Year afresh in
town."

"Pierce, oh don't walk so fast.  How can I keep up with you?"

"I beg your pardon."

"That's better.  But, Pierce, dear," she said, with an arch look; "don't
talk like that.  You wouldn't have the heart to go."

"Indeed!  But I will."

"I know better, dear."

"What do you mean?"

"You couldn't go away now.  Oh, Pierce, dear, she is sweet!  I could
love her so.  There is something so beautiful and pathetic in her face
as she sits there in church.  Many a time I've felt the tears come into
my eyes, and as if I could go across the little aisle and kiss her and
call her sister."

He turned round sharply and caught her by the arm, his eyes flashing
with indignation.

"Jenny," he cried, "are you mad?"

"No, only in pain," she said, with her lip quivering.  "You hurt me.
You are so strong."

"I--I did not mean it," he said, releasing her.

"But you hurt me still, dear, to see you like this.  Oh, Pierce,
darling," she whispered, as she clung to his arm and nestled to him;
"don't try and hide it from me.  A woman always knows.  I saw it from
the first when she came down, and we first noticed her, and she came to
church looking like some dear, suffering saint.  My heart went out to
her at once, and the more so that I saw the effect it had on you.
Pierce, dear, you do love me?"

"You know," he said hoarsely.

"Then be open with me.  What could be better?"

He was silent for a few moments, and then he answered the pretty,
wistful eyes, gazing so inquiringly in his.

"Yes," he said.  "I will be open with you, Sis, for you mean well; but
you speak like the pretty child you have always been to me.  Has it ever
crossed your mind that I have never spoken to this lady, and that she is
a rich heiress, and that I am a poor doctor who is making a failure of
his life?"

"What!" cried the girl proudly.  "Why, if she were a princess she would
not be too grand for my brave noble brother."

"Hah!" he cried, with a scornful laugh; "your brave noble brother!
Well, go on and still think so of me, little one.  It's very pleasant,
and does not hurt anyone.  I hope I'm too sensible to be spoiled by my
little flatterer.  Only keep your love for me yet awhile," he said
meaningly.  "Let's leave love out of the question till we can pay our
way and have something to spare, instead of having no income at all but
what comes from consols."

"But Pierce--"

"That will do.  You're a dear little goose.  We must want the Queen's
Crown from the Tower because it's pretty."

"Now you're talking nonsense, Pierce," she said, firmly, and she held
his arm tightly between her little hands.  "You can't deny it, sir.  You
fell in love with her from the first."

"Jenny, my child," he said quietly.  "I promised our father I would be
an honorable man and a gentleman."

"And so you would have been, without promising."

"I hope so.  Then now listen to me; never speak to me in this way
again."

"I will," she cried flushing.  "Answer me this; would it be acting like
an honorable man to let that sweet angel of a girl marry Claud Wilton?"

"What!" he cried, starting, and gazing at his sister intently.  "Her own
cousin?  Absurd."

"I've heard that it is to be so."

"Nonsense!"

"People say so, and where there's smoke there's fire.  Cousins marry,
and I don't believe they'll let a fortune like that go out of the
family."

"They're rich enough to laugh at it."

"They're not rich; they're poor, for the Squire's in difficulties."

"Petty village tattle.  Rubbish, girl.  Once more, no more of this.
You're wrong, my dear.  You mean well, but there's an ugly saying about
good intentions which I will not repeat.  Now listen to me.  The coming
down to Northwood has been a grave mistake, and when people blunder the
sooner they get back to the right path the better.  I have made up my
mind to go back to London, and your words this morning have hastened it
on.  The sooner we are off the better."

"No, Pierce," said the girl firmly.  "Not to make you unhappy.  You
shall not take a step that you will repent to the last day of your life,
dear.  We must stay."

"We must go.  I have nothing to stay for here.  Neither have you," he
added, meaningly.

"Pierce!" she cried, flushing.

"Beg pardon, sir; Mr Leigh, sir."

They had been too much intent upon their conversation to notice the
approach of a dog-cart, or that the groom who drove it had pulled up on
seeing them, and was now talking to them over the hedge.

"Yes, what is it?" said Leigh, sharply.

"Will you come over to the Manor directly, sir?  Master's out, and
Missus is in a trubble way.  Our young lady, sir, Miss Wilton, took
bad--fainting and nervous.  You're to come at once."

Jenny uttered a soft, low, long-drawn "Oh!" and, forgetful of everything
he had said, Pierce Leigh rushed into the house, caught up his hat, and
hurried out again, to mount into the dog-cart beside the driver.

"Poor, dear old brother!" said Jenny, softly, as with her eyes
half-blinded by the tears which rose, she watched the dog-cart driven
away.  "I don't believe he will go to town.  Oh, how strangely things do
come about.  I wish I could have gone too."



CHAPTER THREE.

John Garstang stood with his back to the fire in his well furnished
office in Bedford Row, tall, upright as a Life Guardsman, but slightly
more prominent about what the fashionable tailor called his client's
chest.  He was fifty, but looked by artificial aid, forty.  Scrupulously
well-dressed, good-looking, and with a smile which won the confidence of
clients, though his regular white teeth were false, and the high
foreheaded look which some people would have called baldness was so
beautifully ivory white and shiny that it helped to make him look what
he was--a carefully polished man of the world.

The clean japanned boxes about the room, all bearing clients' names, the
many papers on the table, the waste-paper basket on the rich Turkey
carpet, chock full of white fresh letters and envelopes, all told of
business; and the handsome morocco-covered easy chairs suggested
occupancy by moneyed clients who came there for long consultations, such
as would tell up in a bill.

John Garstang was a family solicitor, and he looked it; but he would
have made a large fortune as a physician, for his presence and urbane
manner would have done anyone good.

The morning papers had been glanced at and tossed aside, and the
gentleman in question, while bathing himself in the warm glow of the
fire, was carefully scraping and polishing his well-kept nails, pausing
from time to time to blow off tiny scraps of dust; and at last he took
two steps sideways noiselessly and touched the stud of an electric bell.

A spare-looking, highly respectable man answered the summons and stood
waiting till his principal spoke, which was not until the right hand
little finger nail, which was rather awkward to get at, had been
polished, when without raising his eyes, John Garstang spoke.

"Mr Harry arrived?"

"No, sir."

"What time did he leave yesterday?"

"Not here yesterday, sir."

"The day before?"

"Not here the day before yesterday, sir."

"What time did he leave on Monday?"

"About five minutes after you left for Brighton, sir."

"Thank you, Barlow; that will do.  By the way--"

The clerk who had nearly reached the door, turned, and there was again
silence, while a few specks were blown from where they had fallen inside
one of the spotless cuffs.

"Send Mr Harry to me as soon as he arrives."

"Yes, sir," and the man left the room; while after standing for a few
moments thinking, John Garstang walked to one of the tin boxes in the
rack and drew down a lid marked, "Wilton, Number 1."

Taking from this a packet of papers carefully folded and tied up with
green silk, he seated himself at his massive knee-hole table, and was in
the act of untying the ribbon, when the door opened and a short,
thick-set young man of five-and-twenty, with a good deal of French
waiter in his aspect, saving his clothes, entered, passing one hand
quickly over his closely-shaven face, and then taking the other to help
to square the great, dark, purple-fringed, square, Joinville tie,
fashionable in the early fifties.

"Want to see me, father?"

"Yes.  Shut the baize door."

"Oh, you needn't be so particular.  It won't be the first time Barlow
has heard you bully me."

"Shut the baize door, if you please, sir," said Garstang, blandly.

"Oh, very well!" cried the young man, and he unhooked and set free a
crimson baize door whose spring sent it to with a thud and a snap.

Then John Garstang's manner changed.  An angry frown gathered on his
forehead, and he placed his elbows on the table, joined the tips of his
fingers to form an archway, and looked beneath it at the young man who
had entered.

"You are two hours late this morning."

"Yes, father."

"You did not come here at all yesterday."

"No, father."

"Nor the day before."

"No, father."

"Then will you have the goodness to tell me, sir, how long you expect
this sort of thing to go on?  You are not of the slightest use to me in
my professional business."

"No, and never shall be," said the young man coolly.

"That's frank.  Then will you tell me why I should keep and supply with
money such a useless drone?"

"Because you have plenty, and a lot of it ought to be mine by right."

"Why so, sir?  You are not my son."

"No, but I'm my mother's."

"Naturally," said Garstang, with a supercilious smile.

"You need not sneer, sir.  If you hadnt deluded my poor mother into
marrying you I should have been well off."

"Your mother had a right to do as she pleased, sir.  Where have you
been?"

"Away from the office."

"I know that.  Where to?"

"Where I liked," said the young man sulkily, "I'm not a child."

"No, and this conduct has become unbearable.  It is time you went away
for good.  What do you say to going to Australia with your passage paid
and a hundred pounds to start you?"

"'Tisn't good enough."

"Then you had better execute your old threat and enlist in a cavalry
regiment.  I promise you that I will not buy you out."

"Thank you, but it isn't good enough."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Never mind."

Garstang looked up at him sharply, this time from outside the finger
arch.

"Don't provoke me, Harry Dasent, for your own sake.  What are you going
to do?"

"Get married."

"Indeed?  Well, that's sensible.  But are there not enough pauper
children for the parish to keep?"

"Yes, but I am not going to marry a pauper.  You have my money and will
not disgorge it, so I must have somebody's else."

"Indeed!  Then you are going to look out for a lady with money?"

"No.  I have already found one."

"Anyone I know?"

"Oh, yes."

"Who is it, pray?"

"Katherine Wilton."

Garstang's eyes contracted, and he gazed at his stepson for some moments
in silence.  Then a contemptuous smile dawned upon his lip.

"I was not aware that you were so ambitious, Harry.  But the lady?"

"Oh, that will be all right."

"Indeed!  May I ask when you saw her last?"

"Yesterday evening at dinner."

"You have been down to Northwood?"

"Yes; I was there two days."

"Did your Uncle Wilton invite you down?"

"No, but Claud did, for a bit of shooting."

"Humph!" ejaculated Garstang thoughtfully, and the young man stood
gazing at him intently.  Then his manner changed, and he took one of the
easy chairs, drew it forward, and seated himself, to sit leaning
forward, and began speaking confidentially.

"Look here, step-father," he half-whispered, "I've been down there
twice.  I suspected it the first time; yesterday I was certain.  They're
playing a deep game there."

"Indeed?"

"Yes.  I saw through it at once.  They're running Claud for the stakes."

"Please explain yourself, my good fellow; I do not understand racing
slang."

"Well, then, they mean Claud to marry Kate, and I'm not going to stand
by and see that done."

"By the way, I thought Claud was your confidential friend."

"So he is, up to a point; but it's every man for himself in a case like
this.  I'm in the race myself, and I mean to marry Kate Wilton myself.
It's too good a prize to let slip."

"And does the lady incline to my stepson's addresses?"

"Well, hardly.  I've had no chance.  They watched me like cats do mice,
and she has been so sickly that it would be nonsense to try and talk to
her."

"Then your prospects are very mild indeed."

"Oh, no, they're not.  This is a case where a man must play trumps, high
and at once.  I may as well speak out, and you'll help me.  There's no
time shilly-shallying.  If I hesitate my chance would be gone.  I shall
make my plans, and take her away."

"With her consent, of course."

"With or without," said the young man, coolly.

"How?"

"Oh, I'll find a means.  Girls are only girls, and they'll give way to a
stronger will.  Once I get hold of her she'll obey me, and a marriage
can soon be got through."

"But suppose she refuses?"

"She'll be made," said the young man, sharply.  "The stakes are worth
some risk."

"But are you aware that the law would call this abduction?"

"I don't care what the law calls it if I get the girl."

"And it would mean possibly penal servitude."

"Well, I'm suffering that now, situated as I am.  There, father, never
mind the law.  Don't be squeamish; a great fortune is at stake, and it
must come into our family, not into theirs."

"You think they are trying that?"

"Think?  I'm sure.  Claud owned to as much, but he's rather on somewhere
else.  Come, you'll help me?  It would be a grand coup."

"Help you?  Bah! you foolish young ass!  It is impossible.  It is
madness.  You don't know what you are talking about.  The girl could
appeal to the first policeman, and you would be taken into custody.  You
and Claud Wilton must have been having a drinking bout, and the liquor
is still in your head.  There, go to your own room, and when you can
talk sensibly come back to me."

"I can talk sensibly now.  Will you help me with a couple of hundred
pounds to carry this through?  I should want to take her for a couple of
months on the Continent, and bring her back my wife."

"Two hundred pounds to get you clapped in a cell at Bow Street."

"No; to marry a hundred and fifty thousand pounds."

"No, no, no.  You are a fool, a visionary, a madman.  It is impossible,
and I shall feel it my duty to write to James Wilton to forbid, you the
house."

"Once more; will you help me?"

"Once more, no.  Now go, and let me get on with my affairs.  Someone
must work."

"Then you will not?"

"No."

"Then listen to me: I've made up my mind to it, and do it.  I will, at
any cost, at any risk.  She shan't marry Claud Wilton, and she shall
marry me.  Yes, you may smile, but if I die for it I'll have that girl
and her money."

"But it would cost two hundred pounds to make the venture, sir.  Perhaps
you had better get that first.  Now please go."

The young man rose and looked at him fiercely for a few minutes, and
Garstang met his eyes firmly.

"No," he said, "that would not do, Harry.  The law fences us round
against robbery and murder, just as it does women against abduction.
You are not in your senses.  You were drinking last night.  Go back home
and have a long sleep.  You'll be better then."

The young man glanced at him sharply and left the room.

Ten minutes spent in deep thought were passed by Garstang, who then
rose, replaced the papers in the tin case, and crossed and rang the
bell.

"Send Mr Harry here."

"He went out as soon as he left your room, sir."

"Thank you; that will do."  Then, as the door closed upon the clerk,
Garstang said softly:

"So that's it; then it is quite time to act."



CHAPTER FOUR.

"Will that Doctor never come!" muttered plump Mrs Wilton, who had been
for the past ten minutes running from her niece's bedside to one of the
front casement windows of the fine old Kentish Manor House, to watch the
road through the park.  "He might have come from London by this time.
There, it's of no use; it's fate, and fate means disappointment.  She'll
die; I'm sure she'll die, and all that money will go to those wretched
Morrisons.  Why did he go out to the farms this morning?  Any other
morning would have done; and Claud away, too.  Was ever woman so
plagued?--Yes, what is it?  Oh, it's you, Eliza.  How is she?"

"Quite insensible, ma'am.  Is the Doctor never coming?"

"Don't ask me, Eliza.  I sent the man over in the dog-cart, with
instructions to bring him back."

"Then pray, pray come and stay with me in the bedroom, ma'am."

"But I can't do anything, Eliza, and it isn't as if she were my own
child.  I couldn't bear to see her die."

"Mrs Wilton!" cried the woman, wildly.  "Oh, my poor darling young
mistress, whom I nursed from a babe--die!"

"Here's master--here's Mr Wilton," cried the rosy-faced lady from the
window, and making a dash at a glass to see that her cap was right, she
hurried out of the room and down the broad oaken stairs to meet her lord
at the door.

"Hallo, Maria, what's the matter?" he cried, meeting her in the hall,
his high boots splashed with mud, and a hunting whip in his hand.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you've come!  Kate--fainting fits--one after
the other--dying."

"The devil!  What have you done?"

"Cold water--vinegar--burnt--"

"No, no.  Haven't you sent for the Doctor?"

"Yes, I sent Henry with the dog-cart to fetch Mr Leigh."

"Mr Leigh!  Were you mad?  What do you know about Mr Leigh?  Bah, you
always were a fool!"

"Yes, my dear, but what was I to do?  It would have taken three hours to
get--Oh, here he is."

For there was the grating of carriage wheels on the drive, the dog-cart
drew up, and Pierce Leigh sprang down and entered the hall.

Mrs Wilton glanced timidly at her husband, who gave her a sulky nod,
and then turned to the young Doctor.

"My young niece--taken bad," he said, gruffly, "You'd better go up and
see her.  Here, Maria, take him up."

Unceremonious; but businesslike, and Leigh showed no sign of resentment,
but with a peculiar novel fluttering about the region of the heart he
followed the lady, who, panting the while, led the way upstairs, and
breathlessly tried to explain how delicate her niece was, and how after
many days of utter despondency, she had suddenly been seized with an
attack of hysteria, which had been succeeded by fit after fit.

The next minute they were in the handsome bedroom at the end of a long,
low corridor, where, pale as death, and with her maid--erst nurse--
kneeling by her and fanning her, Kate Wilton, in her simple black, lay
upon a couch, looking as if the Doctor's coming were too late.

He drew a deep breath, and set his teeth as he sank on one knee by the
insensible figure, which he longed with an intense longing to clasp to
his breast.  Then his nerves were strung once more, and he was the calm,
professional man giving his orders, as he made his examination and
inspired aunt and nurse with confidence, the latter uttering a sigh of
relief as she opened the window, and obeyed sundry other orders, the
result being that at the end of half an hour the sufferer, who twice
over unclosed her eyes, and responded to her aunt's questions with a
faint smile, had sunk into the heavy sleep of exhaustion.

"Better leave her now, madam," said Leigh, softly.  "Sleep is the great
thing for her."  Then, turning to the maid--"You had better stay and
watch by her, though she will not wake for hours."

"God bless you, sir," she whispered, with a look full of gratitude which
made Leigh give her an encouraging smile, and he then followed Mrs
Wilton downstairs.

"Really, it's wonderful," she said.  "Thank you so much, Doctor.  I'm
sure you couldn't have been nicer if you'd been quite an old man, and I
really think that next time I'm ill I shall--Oh, my dear, she's ever so
much better now."

"Humph!" ejaculated Wilton; and then he gave his wife an angry look, as
she pushed him in the chest.

"Come in here and sit down, Mr Leigh.  I want you to tell us all you
think."

The Doctor followed into the library, whose walls were covered with
books that were never used, while, making an effort to be civil, their
owner pointed to a chair and took one himself, Leigh waiting till his
plump, amiable-looking hostess had subsided, and well-filled that
nearest the fire.

"Found her better then?" said Wilton.

"No, sir," said Leigh, smiling, "but she is certainly better now."

"That's what I meant.  Nothing the matter, then.  Vapours, whims, young
girls' hysterics, and that sort of thing?  What did she have for
breakfast, Maria?"

"Nothing at all, dear.  I can't get her to eat."

"Humph!  Why don't you make her?  Can't stand our miserable cookery, I
suppose.  Well, Doctor, then, it's a false alarm?"

"No, sir; a very serious warning."

"Eh?  You don't think there's danger?  Here, we'd better send for some
big man from town."

"That is hardly necessary, sir, though I should be happy to meet a man
of experience in consultation."

"My word!  What airs!" said Wilton, to himself.

"As far as I could I have pretty well diagnosed the case, and it is very
simple.  Your niece has evidently suffered deeply."

"Terribly, Doctor; she has been heart-broken."

"Now, my dear Maria, do pray keep your mouth shut, and let Mr Leigh
talk.  He doesn't want you to teach him his business."

"But James, dear, I only just--"

"Yes, you always will only just!  Go on, please, Doctor, and you'll send
her some medicine?"

"It is hardly a case for medicine, sir.  Your niece's trouble is almost
entirely mental.  Given rest and happy surroundings, cheerful female
society of her own age, fresh air, moderate exercise, and the calmness
and peace of a home like this, I have no doubt that her nerves will soon
recover their tone."

"Then they had better do it," said Wilton, gruffly.  "She has everything
a girl can wish for.  My son and I have done all we can to amuse her."

"And I'm sure I have been as loving as a mother to her," said Mrs
Wilton.

"Yes, but you are mistaken, sir.  There must be something more.  I'd
better take her up to town for advice."

"By all means, sir," said Leigh, coldly.  "It might be wise, but I
should say that she would be better here, with time to work its own
cure."

"Of course, I mean no disrespect to you, Mr Leigh, but you are a young
man, and naturally inexperienced."

"Now I don't want to hurt your feelings, James," broke in Mrs Wilton,
"but it is you who are inexperienced in what young girls are.  Mr Leigh
has spoken very nicely, and quite understands poor Kate's case.  If you
had only seen the way in which he brought her round!"

"I really do wish, Maria, that you would not interfere in what you don't
understand," cried Wilton, irascibly.

"But I'm obliged to when I find you going wrong.  It's just what I've
said to you over and over again.  You men are so hard and unfeeling, and
don't believe there are such things as nerves.  Now, I'm quite sure that
Mr Leigh could do her a great deal of good, if you'd only attend to
your out-door affairs and leave her to me--You grasped it all at once,
Mr Leigh.  Poor child, she has done nothing but fret ever since she has
been here, and no wonder.  Within a year she has lost both father and
mother."

"Now, Maria, Mr Leigh does not want to hear all our family history."

"And I'm not going to tell it to him, my dear; but it's just as I felt.
It was only last night, when she had that fit of hysterical sobbing, I
said to myself, Now if I had a dozen girls--as I should have liked to,
instead of a boy, who is really a terrible trial to one, Mr Leigh--I
should--"

"Maria!"

"Yes, my dear; but you should let me finish.  If poor dear Kate had come
here and found a lot of girls she would have been as happy as the day is
long.--And you don't think she wants physic, Mr Leigh?  No, no, don't
hurry away."

"I have given you my opinion, madam," said Leigh, who had risen.

"Yes, and I'm sure it is right.  I did give her some fluid magnesia
yesterday, the same as I take for my acidity--"

"Woman, will you hold your tongue!" cried Wilton.

"No, James, certainly not.  It is my duty, as poor Kate's aunt, to do
what is best for her; and you should not speak to me like that before a
stranger.  I don't know what he will think.  The fluid magnesia would
not do her any harm, would it, Mr Leigh?"

"Not the slightest, madam; and I feel sure that with a little motherly
attention and such a course of change as I prescribed, Miss Wilton will
soon be well."

"There, James, we must have the Morrison girls to stay here with her.
They are musical and--"

"We shall have nothing of the kind, Maria," said her husband, with
asperity.

"Well, I know you don't like them, my dear, but in a case of urgency--by
the way, Mr Leigh, someone told me your sister played exquisitely on
the organ last Sunday because the organist was ill."

"My sister does play," said Leigh, coldly.

"I wish I had been at church to hear her, but my poor Claud had such a
bad bilious headache I was nearly sending for you, and I had to stay at
home and nurse him.  I'm sure the cooking must be very bad at those
cricket match dinners."

"Now, my dear Maria, you are keeping Mr Leigh."

"Oh, no, my dear, he was sent for to give us his advice, and I'm sure it
is very valuable.  By the way, Mr Leigh, why has not your sister called
here?"

"I--er--really--my professional duties have left me little time for
etiquette, madam, but I was under the impression that the first call
should be to the new-comer."

"Why, of course.  Do sit down, James.  You are only kicking the dust out
of this horrid thick Turkey carpet--they are such a job to move and get
beaten, Mr Leigh.  Do sit down, dear; you know how it fidgets me when
you will jump up and down like a wild beast in a cage."

"Waffle!" said Mr Wilton aside.

"You are quite right, Mr Leigh; I ought to have called, but Claud does
take up so much of my time.  But I will call to-morrow, and then you two
come up here the next day and dine with us, and I feel sure that our
poor dear Kate will be quite pleased to know your sister.  Tell her--no;
I'll ask her to bring some music.  She seems very nice, and young girls
do always get on so well together.  I know she'll do my niece a deal of
good.  But, of course, you will come again to-day, and keep on seeing
her as much as you think necessary."

"Really I--" said Leigh, hesitating, and glancing resentfully at the
master of the house.

"Oh, yes, come on, Mr Leigh, and put my niece right as soon as you
can," he said.

"But your regular medical attendant--Mr Rainsford, I believe?"

"You may believe he's a pig-headed, obstinate old fool," growled Wilton.
"Wanted to take off my leg when I had a fall at a hedge, and the horse
rolled over it.  Simple fracture, sir; and swore it would mortify.  I
mortified him."

"Yes, Mr Leigh, and the leg's stronger now than the other," interposed
Mrs Wilton.

"How do you know, Maria?" said her husband gruffly.

"Well, my dear, you've often said so."

"Humph!  Come in again and see Miss Wilton, Doctor, and I shall feel
obliged," said the uncle.  "Good morning.  The dog-cart is waiting to
drive you back.  I'll send and have you fetched about--er--four?"

"It would be better if it were left till seven or eight, unless, of
course, there is need."

"Eight o'clock, then," said Wilton; and Pierce Leigh bowed and left the
room, with the peculiar sensation growing once more in his breast, and
lasting till he reached home, thinking of how long it would be before
eight o'clock arrived.



CHAPTER FIVE.

"I should very much like to know what particular sin I have committed
that I should have been plagued all my life with a stupid, garrulous old
woman for a wife, who cannot be left an hour without putting her foot in
it some way or another."

"Ah, you did not say so to me once, James," sighed Mrs Wilton.

"No, a good many hundred times.  It's really horrible."

"But James--"

"There, do hold your tongue--if you can, woman.  First you get inviting
that young ruffian of John Garstang's to stay when he comes down."

"But, my dear, it was Claud.  You know how friendly those two always
have been."

"Yes, to my sorrow; but you coaxed him to stay."

"Really, my dear, I could not help it without being rude."

"Then why weren't you rude?  Do you want him here, fooling about that
girl till she thinks he loves her and marries him?"

"Oh, no, dear, it would be horrid.  But you don't think--"

"Yes, I do, fortunately," snapped Wilton.  "Why don't you think?"

"I do try to, my dear."

"Bah!  Try!  Then you want to bring in those locusts of Morrisons.  It's
bad enough to know that the money goes there if Kate dies, without
having them hanging about and wanting her to go."

"I'm very, very sorry, James.  I wish I was as clever as you."

"So do I.  Then, as soon as you are checked in that, you dodge round and
invite that Doctor, who's a deuced sight too good-looking, to come
again, and ask him to bring his sister."

"But, my dear, it will do Kate so much good, and she really seems very
nice."

"Nice, indeed!  I wish you were.  I believe you are half mad."

"Really, James, you are too bad, but I won't resent it, for I want to go
up to Kate; but if someone here is mad, it is not I."

"Yes, it is.  Like a weak fool I spoke plainly to you about my plans."

"If you had always done so we should have been better off and not had to
worry about getting John Garstang's advice, with his advances and
interests, and mortgages and foreclosures."

"You talk about what you don't understand, woman," said Wilton, sharply.
"Can't you see that it is to our interest to keep the poor girl here?
Do you want to toss her amongst a flock of vulture-like relatives, who
will devour her?"

"Why, of course not, dear."

"But you tried to."

"I'm sure I didn't.  You said she was so ill you were afraid she'd die
and slip through our fingers."

"Yes, and all her money go to the Morrisons."

"Oh, yes, I forgot that.  But I gave in directly about not having them
here; and what harm could it do if Miss Leigh came?  I'm sure it would
do poor Kate a lot of good."

"And Claud, too, I suppose."

"Claud?"

"Ugh!  You stupid old woman!  Isn't she young and pretty?  And artful,
too, I'll be bound; poor Doctor's young sisters always are."

"Are they, dear?"

"Of course they are; and before she'd been here five minutes she'd be
making eyes at that boy, and you know he's just like gunpowder."

"James, dear, you shouldn't."

"I was just as bad at his age--worse perhaps;" and Mr James Wilton, the
stern, sage Squire of Northwood Manor, J.P., chairman of the Quarter
Sessions, and several local institutions connected with the morals of
the poor, chuckled softly, and very nearly laughed.

"James, dear, I'm surprised at you."

"Humph!  Well, boys will be boys.  You know what he is."

"But do you really think--"

"Yes, I do really think, and I wish you would too.  Kate does not take
to our boy half so well as I should like to see, and nothing must occur
to set her against him.  It would be madness."

"Well, it would be very disappointing if she married anyone else."

"Disappointing?  It would be ruin.  So be careful."

"Oh, yes, dear, I will indeed.  I have tried to talk to her a little
about what a dear good boy Claud is, and--why, Claud, dear, how long
have you been standing there?"

"Just come.  Time to hear you say what a dear good boy I am.  Won't
father believe it?"



CHAPTER SIX.

Claud Wilton, aged twenty, with his thin pimply face, long narrow jaw,
and closely-cropped hair, which was very suggestive of brain fever or
imprisonment, stood leering at his father, his appearance in no wise
supporting his mother's high encomiums as he indulged in a feeble smile,
one which he smoothed off directly with his thin right hand, which
lingered about his lips to pat tenderly the remains of certain
decapitated pimples which redly resented the passage over them that
morning of an unnecessary razor, which laid no stubble low.

The Vicar of the Parish had said one word to his lady re Claud Wilton--a
very short but highly expressive word that he had learned at college.
It was "cad,"--and anyone who had heard it repeated would not have
ventured to protest against its suitability, for his face alone
suggested it, though he did all he could to emphasise the idea by
adopting a horsey, collary, cuffy style of dress, every article of which
was unsuited to his physique.

"Has Henry Dasent gone?"

"Yes, guvnor, and precious glad to go.  You were awfully cool to him, I
must say.  He said if it wasn't for his aunt he'd never darken the doors
again."

"And I hope he will not, sir.  He is no credit to your mother."

"But I think he means well, my dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.
"It is not his fault.  My poor dear sister did spoil him so."

"Humph!  And she was not alone.  Look here, Claud, I will not have him
here.  I have reasons for it, and he, with his gambling and racing
propensities, is no proper companion for you."

"P'raps old Garstang says the same about me," said the young man,
sulkily.

"Claud, my dear, for shame," said Mrs Wilton.  "You should not say such
things."

"I don't care what John Garstang says; I will not have his boy here.
Insolent, priggish, wanting in respect to me, and--and--he was a deal
too attentive to Kate."

"Oh, my dear, did you think so?" cried Mrs Wilton.

"Yes, madam, I did think so," said her husband with asperity, "and, what
was ten times worse, you were always leaving them together in your
blundering way."

"Don't say such things to me, dear, before Claud."

"Then don't spend your time making mistakes.  Just come, have you, sir?"

"Oh, yes, father, just come," said the young man, with an offensive
grin.

"You heard more than you said, sir," said the Squire, "so we may as well
have a few words at once."

"No, no, no, my dear; pray, pray don't quarrel with Claud now; I'm sure
he wants to do everything that is right."

"Be quiet, Maria," cried the Squire, angrily.

"All right, mother; I'm not going to quarrel," said the son.

"Of course not I only want Claud to understand his position.  Look here,
sir, you are at an age when a bo--, when a man doesn't understand the
value of money."

"Oh, I say, guv'nor!  Come, I like that."

"It's quite true, sir.  You boys only look upon money as something to
spend."

"Right you are, this time."

"But it means more, sir--power, position, the respect of your fellows--
everything."

"Needn't tell me, guv'nor; I think I know a thing or two about tin."

"Now, suppose we leave slang out of the matter and talk sensibly, sir,
about a very important matter."

"Go on ahead then, dad; I'm listening."

"Sit down then, Claud."

"Rather stand, guv'nor; stand and grow good, ma."

"Yes, my dear, do then," said Mrs Wilton, smiling at her son fondly.
"But listen now to what papa says; it really is very important."

"All right, mother; but cut it short, father, my horse is waiting and I
don't want him to take cold."

"Of course not, my boy; always take care of your horse.  I will be very
brief and to the point, then.  Look here, Claud, your cousin,
Katherine--"

"Oh!  Ah, yes; I heard she was ill.  What does the Doctor say?"

"Never mind what the Doctor says.  It is merely a fit of depression and
low spirits.  Now this is a serious matter.  I did drop hints to you
before.  I must be plain now about my ideas respecting your future.  You
understand?"

"Quite fly, dad.  You want me to marry her."

"Exactly.  Of course in good time."

"But ain't I `owre young to marry yet,' as the song says?"

"Years do not count, my boy," said his father, majestically.  "If you
were ten years older and a weak, foolish fellow, it would be bad; but
when it is a case of a young man who is bright, clever, and who has had
some experience of the world, it is different."

Mrs Wilton, who was listening intently to her husband's words, bowed
her head, smiled approval, and looked with the pride of a mother at her
unlicked cub.

But Claud's face wrinkled up, and he looked inquiringly at his elder.

"I say, guv'nor," he said, "does this mean chaff?"

"Chaff?  Certainly not, sir," said the father sternly.  "Do I look like
a man who would descend to--to--to chaff, as you slangly term it, my own
son?"

"Not a bit of it, dad; but last week you told me I was the somethingest
idiot you ever set eyes on."

"Claud!"

"Well, he did, mother, and he used that favourite word of his before it.
You know," said the youth, with a grin.

"Claud, my dear, you shouldn't."

"I didn't, mother; it was the dad.  I never do use it except in the
stables or to the dogs."

"Claud, my boy, be serious.  Yes, I did say so, but you had made me very
angry, and--er--I spoke for your good."

"Yes, I'm sure he did, my dear," said Mrs Wilton.

"Oh, all right, then, so long as he didn't mean it.  Well, then, to cut
it short, you both want me to marry Kate?"

"Exactly."

"Not much of a catch.  Talk about a man's wife being a clinging vine;
she'll be a regular weeping willow."

"Ha! ha! very good, my boy," said Wilton, senior; "but no fear of that.
Poor girl, look at her losses."

"But she keeps going on getting into deeper misery.  Look at her."

"It only shows the sweet tenderness of her disposition, Claud, my dear,"
said his mother.

"Yes, of course," said his father, "but you'll soon make her dry her
eyes."

"And she really is a very sweet, lovable, and beautiful girl, my dear,"
said Mrs Wilton.

"Tidy, mother; only her eyes always look as red as a ferret's."

"Claud, my dear, you shouldn't--such comparisons are shocking."

"Oh, all right, mother.  Very well; as I am such a clever,
man-of-the-world sort of a chap, I'll sacrifice myself for the family
good.  But I say, dad, she really has that hundred and fifty thou--?"

"Every shilling of it, my boy, and--er--really that must not go out of
the family."

"Well, it would be a pity.  Only you will have enough to leave me to
keep up the old place."

"Well--er--I--that is--I have been obliged to mortgage pretty heavily."

"I say, guv'nor," cried the young man, looking aghast; "you don't mean
to say you've been hit?"

"Hit?  No, my dear, certainly not," cried Mrs Wilton.

"Oh, do be quiet, ma.  Father knows what I mean."

"Well, er--yes, my boy, to be perfectly frank, I have during the past
few years made a--er--two or three rather unfortunate speculations, but,
as John Garstang says--"

"Oh, hang old Garstang!  This is horrible, father; just now, too, when I
wanted to bleed you rather heavily."

"Claud, my darling, don't, pray don't use such dreadful language."

"Will you be quiet, ma!  It's enough to make a fellow swear.  Are you
quite up a tree, guv'nor?"

"Oh, no, no, my boy, not so bad as that.  Things can go oh for years
just as before, and, er--in reason, you know--you can have what money
you require; but I want you to understand that you must not look forward
to having this place, and er--to see the necessity for thinking
seriously about a wealthy marriage.  You grasp the position now?"

"Dad, it was a regular smeller, and you nearly knocked me out of time.
I saw stars for the moment."

"My dearest boy, what are you talking about?" asked Mrs Wilton,
appealingly.

"Oh, bother!  But, I say, guv'nor, I'm glad you spoke out to me--like a
man."

"To a man, my boy," said the father, holding out his hand, which the son
eagerly grasped.  "Then now we understand each other?"

"And no mistake, guv'nor."

"You mustn't let her slip through your fingers, my boy."

"Likely, dad!"

"You must be careful; no more scandals--no more escapades--no follies of
any kind."

"I'll be a regular saint, dad.  I say, think I ought to read for the
church?"

"Good gracious me, Claud, my dear, what do you mean?"

"White choker, flopping felt, five o'clock tea, and tennis, mother.
Kate would like that sort of thing."

Wilton, senior, smiled grimly.

"No, no, my boy, be the quiet English gentleman, and let her see that
you really care for her and want to make her happy.  Poor girl, she
wants love and sympathy."

"And she shall have 'em, dad, hot and strong.  A hundred and fifty
thou--!"

"Would clear off every lien on the property, my boy, and it would be a
grand thing for my poor deceased brother's child."

"You do think so, don't, you, my dear?" said Mrs Wilton, mentally
extending a tendril, to cling to her husband, "because I--"

"Decidedly, decidedly, my dear," said the Squire, quickly.  "Thank you,
Claud, my boy," he continued.  "I shall rely upon your strong common
sense and judgment."

"All right, guv'nor.  You give me my head.  I'll make it all right.
I'll win the stakes with hands down."

"I do trust you, my boy; but you must be gentle, and not too hasty."

"I know," said the young man with a cunning look.  "You leave me alone."

"Hah!  That's right, then," said the Squire, drawing a deep breath as he
smiled at his son; but all the same his eyes did not look the confidence
expressed by his words.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

"Why, there then, my precious, you are ever so much better.  You look
quite bright this morning."

"Do I, 'Liza?" said Kate sadly, as she walked to her bedroom window and
stood gazing out at the sodden park and dripping trees.

"Ever so much, my dear.  Mr Leigh has done you a deal of good.  I do
wonder at finding such a clever gentlemanly Doctor down in an
out-of-the-way place like this.  You like him, don't you?"

The girl turned slowly and gazed at the speaker, her brow contracting a
little at the inner corners of her straight eyebrows, which were drawn
up, giving her face a troubled expression.

"I hardly thing I do, nurse, dear; he is so stern and firm with me.  He
seems to talk to me as if it were all my fault that I have been so weak
and ill; and he does not know--he does not know."

The tears rose to her eyes, ready to brim over as she spoke.

"Ah! naughty little girl!" cried the woman, with mock anger; "crying
again!  I will not have it.  Oh! my own pet," she continued, changing
her manner, as she passed her arm lovingly about the light waist and
tenderly kissed her charge.  "Please, please try.  You are so much
better.  You must hold up."

"Yes, yes, nurse, I will," cried the girl, making an effort, and kissing
the homely face lovingly.

"And what did I tell you?  I'm always spoken of as your maid now--lady's
maid.  It must not be nurse any longer."

"Ah!" said Kate, with the wistful look coming in her eyes again; "it
seems as if all the happy old things are to be no more."

"No, no, my dear; you must not talk so.  You not twenty, and giving up
so to sadness!  You must try and forget."

"Forget!" cried the girl, reproachfully.

"No, no, not quite forget, dear; but try and bear your troubles like a
woman now.  Who could forget dear old master, and your poor dear mother?
But would they like you to fret yourself into the grave with sorrow?
Would they not say if they could come to you some night, `Never forget
us, darling; but try and bear this grief as a true woman should'?"

"Yes," said the girl, thoughtfully, "and I will.  But I don't feel as if
I could be happy here."

The maid sighed.

"Uncle is very kind, and my aunt is very loving in her way, but I feel
as if I want to be alone somewhere--of course with you.  I have lain
awake at night, longing to be back home."

"But that is impossible now, darling.  Cook wrote to me the other day,
and she told me that the house and furniture had been sold, and that the
workmen were in, and--oh, what a stupid woman I am.  Pretty way to try
and comfort you!"

"It's nothing, 'Liza.  It's all gone now," said the girl, smiling
piteously.

"That's nice and brave of you; but I am very stupid, my dear.  There,
there, you will try and be more hopeful, and to think of the future?"

"Yes, I will; but I'm sure I should be better and happier if I went away
from here.  Couldn't we have a cottage somewhere--at the seaside,
perhaps, and live together?"

"Well, yes, you could, my dear; but it wouldn't be nice for you, nor yet
proper treatment to your uncle and aunt.  Come, try and get quite well.
So you don't like Doctor Leigh?"

"No, I think not."

"Nor yet Miss Jenny?"

"Oh, yes, I like her," said Kate, with animation.  "She is very sweet
and girlish.  Oh, nurse, dear, I wish I could be as happy, and
light-hearted as she is!"

"So you will be soon, my darling.  I don't want to see you quite like
her.  You are so different; but she is a very nice girl, and by-and-by
perhaps you'll see more of her.  You do want more of a companion of your
own age.  There goes the breakfast bell!  What a wet, soaking morning;
but it isn't foggy down here like it used to be in the Square, and the
sun shines more; and Miss Kate--"

"Oh, don't speak like that, nurse!"

"But I must, my dear.  I have to keep my place down here."

"Well, when we are alone then.  What were you going to say?"

"I want you to try and make me happy down here."

"I?  How can I?"

"By letting the sunshine come back into your face.  You've nearly broken
my heart lately, what with seeing you crying and being so ill."

"I'm going to try, nurse."

"That's right.  What's that?  Hail?"

At that moment there was a tap at the door.

"Nearly ready to go down, my darling?"

The door opened, and Mrs Wilton appeared.

"May I come in?  Ah, quite ready.  Come, that's better, my pretty pet.
Why, you look lovely and quite a colour coming into your face.  Now,
don't she look nice this morning?"

"Yes, ma'am; I've been telling her so."

"I thought we should bring her round.  I am pleased, and you're a very
good girl.  Your uncle will be delighted; but come along down, and let's
make the tea, or he'll be going about like a roaring lion for his food.
Oh! bless me, what's that?"

"That" was a sharp rattling, for the second time, on the window-pane.

"Not hail, surely.  Oh, you naughty boy," she continued, throwing open
the casement window.  "Claud, my dear, you shouldn't throw stones at the
bedroom windows."

"Only small shot.  Morning.  How's Kate?  Tell her the breakfast's
waiting."

"We're coming, my dear, and your cousin's ever so much better.  Come
here, my dear."

Kate coloured slightly, as she went to the open window, and Claud stood
looking up, grinning.

"How are you?  Didn't you hear the shot I pitched up before?"

"Yes, I thought it was hail," said Kate, coldly.

"Only number six.  But come on down; the guv'nor's been out these two
hours, and gone to change his wet boots."

"We're coming, my dear," cried Mrs Wilton; "and Claud, my dear, I'm
sure your feet must be wet.  Go in and change your boots at once."

"Bother.  They're all right."

"Now don't be obstinate, my dear; you know how delicate your throat is,
and--There, he's gone.  You'll have to help me to make him more
obedient, Kate, my dear.  I've noticed already how much more attention
he pays to what you say.  But there, come along."

James Wilton was already in the breakfast-room, looking at his letters,
and scowling over them like the proverbial bear with the sore head.

"Come, Maria," he growled, "are we never to have any--Ah, my dear, you
down to breakfast!  This makes up for a wet morning," and he met and
kissed his niece, drew her hand under his arm, and led her to a chair on
the side of the table nearest the fire.  "That's your place, my dear,
and it has looked very blank for the past fortnight.  Very, very glad to
see you fill it again.  I say," he continued, chuckling and rubbing his
hands, "you're quite looking yourself again."

"Yes," said Mrs Wilton, "but you needn't keep all the good mornings and
kisses for Kitty.  Ah, it's very nice to be young and pretty, but if
Uncle's going to pet you like this I shall grow quite jealous."  This
with a good many meaning nods and smiles at her niece, as she took her
place at the table behind the hissing urn.

"You've been too much petted, Maria.  It makes you grow too plump and
rosy."

"James, my dear, you shouldn't."

"Oh, yes, I should," said her husband, chuckling.  "I know Kitty has
noticed it.  But is that boy coming in to breakfast?"

"Yes, yes, yes, my dear; but don't shout so.  You quite startle dear
Kitty.  Recollect, please, that she is an invalid."

"Bah!  Not she.  Going to be quite well again directly, and come for
rides and drives with me to the farms.  Aren't you, my dear?"

"I shall be very pleased to, Uncle--soon."

"That's right.  We'll soon have some roses among the lilies.  Ha! ha!
You must steal some of your aunt's.  Got too many in her cheeks, hasn't
she, my dear--Damask, but we want maiden blush, eh?"

"Do be quiet, James.  You really shouldn't."

"Where is Claud?  He must have heard the bell."

"Oh, yes, and he, came and called Kitty.  He has only gone to change his
wet boots."

"Wet boots!  Why, he wasn't down till nine.  Oh, here you are, sir.
Come along."

"Did you change your boots, Claud?"

"No, mother," said that gentleman, seating himself opposite Kate.

"But you should, my dear."

Wilton gave his niece a merry look and a nod, which was intended to
mean, "You attend to me."

"Yes, you should, my dear," he went on, imitating his wife's manner;
"and why don't you put on goloshes when you go out?"

Claud stared at his father, and looked as if he thought he was a little
touched mentally.

"Isn't it disgusting, Kitty, my dear?" said Wilton.  "She'd wrap him up
in a flannel and feed him with a spoon if she had her way with the great
strong hulking fellow."

"Don't you take any notice of your uncle's nonsense, my dear.  Claud, my
love, will you take Kitty's cup to her?"

"She'd make a regular molly-coddle of him.  And we don't want doctoring
here.  Had enough of that the past fortnight.  I say, you're going to
throw Leigh overboard this morning.  Don't want him any more, do you?"

"Oh, no, I shall be quite well now."

"Yes," said her uncle, with a knowing look.  "Don't you have any more of
it.  And I say, you'll have to pay his long bill for jalap and pilly
coshy.  That is if you can afford it."

"I do wish, my dear, you'd let the dear child have her breakfast in
peace; and do sit down and let your cousin be, Claud, dear; I'm sure she
will not eat bacon.  It's so fidgeting to have things forced upon you."

"You eat your egg, ma!  Kitty and I understand each ether.  She wants
feeding up, and I'm going to be the feeder."

"That's right, boy; she wants stamina."

"But she can't eat everything on the table, James."

"Who said she could?  She isn't a stout elderly lady."

The head of the family looked at his niece with a broad smile, as if in
search of a laugh for his jest, but the smile that greeted him was very
wan and wintry.

"Any letters, my dear?" said Mrs Wilton, as the breakfast went on, with
Kate growing weary of her cousin's attentions, all of which took the
form of a hurried movement to her side of the table, and pressure
brought to bear over the breakfast delicacies.

The wintry look appeared to be transferred from Kate's to her uncle's
face, but it was not wan; on the contrary, it was decidedly stormy.

"Yes," he said, with a grunt.

"Anything particular?"

"Yes, very."

"What is it, my dear?"

"Don't both--er--letter from John Garstang."

"Oh, dear me!" said Mrs Wilton, looking aghast; and her husband kicked
out one foot for her special benefit, but as his leg was not eight feet
long the shot was a miss.

"Says he'll run down for a few days to settle that little estate
business; and that it will give him an opportunity to have a few chats
with Kate here.  You say you like Mr Garstang, my dear?"

"Oh, yes," said Kate, quietly; "he was always very nice and kind to me."

"Of course, my darling; who would not be?" said Mrs Wilton.

"Claud, boy, I suppose the pheasants are getting scarce."

"Oh, there are a few left yet," said the young man.

"You must get up a beat and try and find a few hares, too.  Uncle
Garstang likes a bit of shooting.  Used to see much of John Garstang, my
dear, when you were at home?"

"No, uncle, not much.  He used to come and dine with us sometimes, and
he was always very kind to me from the time I was quite a little girl,
but my father and he were never very intimate."

"A very fine-looking man, my dear, and so handsome," said Mrs Wilton.

"Yes, very," said her husband, dryly; "and handsome is as handsome
does."

"Yes, my dear, of course," said Mrs Wilton; and very little more was
said till the end of the breakfast, when the lady of the house asked
what time the guest would be down.

"Asks me to send the dog-cart to meet the mid-day train.  Humph! rain's
over and sun coming out.  Here, Claud, take your cousin round the
greenhouse and the conservatory.  She hasn't seen the plants."

"All right, father.  Don't mind me smoking, do you, Kitty?"

"Of course she'll say no," said Wilton testily; "but you can surely do
without your pipe for an hour or two."

"Oh, very well," said Claud, ungraciously; and he offered his cousin his
arm.

She looked surprised at the unnecessary attention, but took it; and they
went out through the French window into the broad verandah, the glass
door swinging to after them.

"What a sweet pair they'll make, James, dear," said Mrs Wilton, smiling
fondly after her son.  "How nicely she takes to our dear boy!"

"Yes, like the rest of the idiots.  Girl always says snap to the first
coat and trousers that come near her."

"Oh, James, dear! you shouldn't say that I'm sure I didn't!"

"You!  Well, upon my soul!  How you can stand there and utter such a
fib!  But never mind; it's going to be easy enough, and we'll get it
over as soon as we decently can, if you don't make some stupid blunder
and spoil it."

"James, dear!"

"Be just like you.  But a nice letter I've had from John Garstang about
that mortgage.  Never mind, though; once this is over I can snap my
fingers at him.  So be as civil as you can; and I suppose we must give
him some of the best wine."

"Yes, dear, and have out the china dinner service."

"Of course.  But I wish you'd put him into a damp bed."

"Oh, James, dear!  I couldn't do that."

"Yes, you could; give him rheumatic fever and kill him.  But I suppose
you won't."

"Indeed I will not, dear.  There are many wicked things that I feel I
could do, but put a Christian man into a damp bed--no!"

"Humph!  Well, then, don't; but I hope that boy will be careful and not
scare Kitty."

"What, Claud?  Oh, no, my dear, don't be afraid of that.  My boy is too
clever; and, besides, he's beginning to love the very ground she walks
on.  Really, it seems to me quite a Heaven-made matter."

"Always is, my dear, when the lady has over a hundred thousand pounds,"
said Wilton, with a grim smile; "but we shall see."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

"I say, don't be in such a jolly hurry.  You're all right here, you
know.  I want to talk to you."

"You really must excuse me now, Claud; I have not been well, and I'm
going back to my room."

"Of course you haven't been well, Kitty--I say, I shall call you Kitty,
you know--you can't expect to be well moping upstairs in your room.
I'll soon put you right, better than that solemn-looking Doctor.  You
want to be out in the woods and fields.  I know the country about here
splendidly.  I say, you ride, don't you?"

"I?  No."

"Then I'll teach you.  Get your old maid to make you a good long skirt--
that will do for a riding-habit at first--I'll clap the side-saddle on
my cob, and soon show you how to ride like a plucky girl should.  I say,
Kitty, I'll hold you on at first--tight."

The speaker smiled at her, and the girl shrank from him, but he did not
see it.

"You'll soon ride, and then you and I will have the jolliest of times
together.  I'll make you ride so that by this time next year you'll
follow the hounds, and top a hedge with the best of them."

"Oh, no, I have no wish to ride, Claud."

"Yes, you have.  You think so now, because you're a bit down; but you
wait till you're on the cob, and then you'll never want to come off.  I
don't.  I say, you haven't seen me ride."

"No, Claud; but I must go now."

"You mustn't, coz.  I'm going to rouse you up.  I say, though, I don't
want to brag, but I can ride--anything.  I always get along with the
first flight, and a little thing like you after I've been out with you a
bit will astonish some of them.  I shall keep my eye open, and the first
pretty little tit I see that I think will suit you, I shall make the
guv'nor buy."

"I beg that you will not, Claud."

"That's right, do.  Go down on your poor little knees and beg, and I'll
get the mount for you all the same.  I know what will do you good and
bring the blood into your pretty cheeks.  No, no, don't be in such a
hurry.  I won't let you go upstairs and mope like a bird with the pip.
You never handled a gun, I suppose?"

"No, never," said Kate, half angrily now; "of course not."

"Then you shall.  You can have my double-barrel that father bought for
me when I was a boy.  It's light as a feather, comes up to the shoulder
splendidly, and has no more kick in it than a mouse.  I tell you what,
if it's fine this afternoon you shall put on thick boots and a hat, and
we'll walk along by the fir plantations, and you shall have your first
pop at a pheasant."

"I shoot at a pheasant!" cried Kate in horror.

"Shoo!" exclaimed Claud playfully.  "Yes, you have your first shot at a
pheasant.  Shuddering?  That's just like a London girl.  How horrid,
isn't it?"

"Yes, horrible for a woman."

"Not a bit of it.  You'll like it after the first shot.  You'll be ready
enough to shove in the cartridges with those little hands, and bring the
birds down.  I say, I'll teach you to fish, too, and throw a fly.
You'll like it, and soon forget all the mopes.  You've been spoiled; but
after a month or two here you won't know yourself.  Don't be in such a
hurry, Kitty."

"Don't hold my hand like that, Claud; I must really go now," said Kate,
whose troubled face was clouded with wonder, vexation, and something
approaching fear.  "I really wish to go into the house."

"No, you don't; you want to stop with me.  I shan't have a chance to
talk to you again, with old Garstang here.  I say, I saw you come out to
have this little walk up and down here.  I was watching and came after
you to show you the way about the grounds."

"It was very kind of you, Claud.  Thank you; but let me go in now."

"Shan't I don't get a chance to have a walk with such a girl as you
every day.  I am glad you've come.  It makes our house seem quite
different."

"Thank you for saying so--but I feel quite faint now."

"More need for you to stop in the fresh air.  You faint, and I'll bring
you to again with a kiss.  That's the sort of thing to cure a girl who
faints."

She looked at him in horror and disgust, as he burst into a boisterous
laugh.

"I suppose old Garstang isn't a bad sort but we don't much like him
here.  I say, what do you think of Harry Dasent?"

"I--I hardly know," said Kate, who was trying her best to get back along
the path by some laurels to where the conservatory door by the
drawing-room stood open.  "I have seen so little of him."

"So much the better for you.  He's not a bad sort of a fellow for men to
know, but he's an awful cad with girls.  Not a bit of a gentleman.  You
won't see much more of him, though, for the guv'nor says he won't have
him here.  I say, a month ago it would have made me set up on bristles,
because I want him for a mate, but I don't mind now you've come.  We'll
be regular pals, and go out together everywhere.  I'll soon show you
what country life is.  Oh, well, if you will go in now I won't stop you.
I'll go and have the little gun cleaned up, and--I say, come round the
other way; I haven't shown you the dogs."

"No, no--not now, please, Claud.  I really am tired out and faint."

He still kept her hand tightly under his arm, in spite of her effort to
withdraw it, and followed her into the conservatory, which was large and
well-filled with ornamental shrubs and palms.

"Well, you do look a bit tired, dear, but it becomes you.  I say, I am
so glad you've come.  What a pretty little hand this is.  You'll give me
a kiss before you go?"

She started from him in horror.

"Nobody can't see here.  Just one," he whispered, as he passed his arm
round her waist; and before she could struggle free he had roughly
kissed her twice.

"Um-m-m," exclaimed Mrs Wilton, in a soft simmering way.  "Claud,
Claud, my dear, shocking, shocking!  Oh, fie, fie, fie!  You shouldn't,
you know.  Anyone would think you were an engaged couple."

"Aunt, dear!" cried Kate, in an agitated voice, as she clung to that
lady, but no further words would come.

"Oh, there, there, my dear, don't look like that," cried Mrs Wilton.
"I'm not a bit cross.  Why, you're all of a flutter.  I wasn't blaming
you, my dear, only that naughty Claud.  It was very rude of him, indeed.
Really, Claud, my dear, it is not gentlemanly of you.  Poor Kate is
quite alarmed."

"Then you shouldn't have come peeping," cried the oaf, with a boisterous
laugh.

"Claud! for shame!  I will not allow it.  It is not respectful to your
mamma.  Now, come in, both of you.  Mr Garstang is here--with your
father, Claud, my love; and I wish you to be very nice and respectful to
him, for who knows what may happen?  Kate, my dear, I never think
anything of money, but when one has rich relatives who have no children
of their own, I always say that we oughtn't to go out of our way to
annoy them.  Henry Dasent certainly is my sister's child, but one can't
help thinking more of one's own son; and as Harry is nothing to Mr
Garstang, I can't see how he can help remembering Claud very strongly in
his will."

"Doesn't Claud wish he may get it!" cried that youth, with a grin.  "I'm
not going to toady old Garstang for the sake of his coin."

"Nobody wishes you to, my dear; but come in; they must be done with
their business by now.  Come, my darling.  Why, there's a pretty bloom
on your cheeks already.  I felt that a little fresh air would do you
good.  They're in the library; come along.  We can go in through the
verandah.  Don't whistle, Claud, dear; it's so boyish."

They passed together out of the farther door of the conservatory into
the verandah, and as they approached an open window, a smooth bland
voice said:

"I'll do the best I can, Mr Wilton; but I am only the agent.  If I
stave it off, though, it can only be for a short time, and then--Ah, my
dear child!"

John Garstang, calm, smooth, well-dressed and handsome, rose from one of
the library chairs as Kate entered with her aunt, and held out both his
hands: "I am very glad to see you again--very, very sorry to hear that
you have been so ill.  Hah!" he continued, as he scrutinised the
agitated face before him in a tender fatherly way, "not quite right yet,
though," and he led her to a chair near the fire.  "That rosy tinge is a
trifle too hectic, and the face too transparently white.  You must take
care of her, Maria Wilton, and see that she has plenty of this beautiful
fresh air.  I hope she is a good obedient patient."

"Ve-ry, ve-ry, good indeed, John Garstang, only a little too much
disposed to keep to her room."

"Oh, well, quite natural, too," said Garstang, smiling.  "What we all do
when we are ailing.  But there, we must not begin a discussion about
ailments.  I'm very glad to see you again, though, Kate, and
congratulate you upon being here."

"Thank you, Mr Garstang," she replied, giving him a wistful look, as a
feeling of loneliness amongst these people made her heart seem to
contract.

"Well, Wilton, I don't think we need talk any more about business?"

"Oh, we're not going to stay," cried Mrs Wilton.  "Come, Kate, my
child, and let these dreadful men talk."

"By no means," said Garstang; "sit still, pray.  We shall have plenty of
time for anything more we have to say over a cigar to-night, for I've
come down to throw myself upon your hospitality for a day or two."

"Of course, of course," said Wilton, quickly; "Maria has a room ready
for you."

"Yes, your old room, John Garstang; and it's beautifully aired, and just
as you like it."

"Thank you, Maria.  You aunt always spoils me, Kate, when I come down
here.  I look upon the place as quite an oasis in the desert of drudgery
and business; and at last I have to drag myself away, or I should become
a confirmed sybarite."

"Well, why don't you?" said Claud.  "Only wish I had your chance."

"My dear Claud, you speak with the voice of one-and-twenty.  When you
are double your age you will find, as I do, that money and position and
life's pleasures soon pall, and that the real enjoyment of existence is
really in work."

"Walker!" said Claud, contemptuously.

Garstang laughed merrily, and while Wilton and his wife frowned and
shook their heads at their son, he turned to Kate.

"It is of no use to preach to young people," he said, "but what I say is
the truth.  Not that I object to a bit of pleasure, Claud, boy.  I'm
looking forward to a few hours with you, my lad--jolly ones, as you call
them, and as I used.  How about the pheasants?"

"More than you'll shoot."

"Sure to be.  My eye is not so true as it was, Maria."

"Stuff!  You look quite a young man still."

"Well, I feel so sometimes.  What about the pike in the lake, Claud?
Can we troll a bit?"

"It's chock full of them.  The weeds are rotten and the pike want
thinning down.  Will you come?"

"Will I come!  Indeed I will; and I'd ask your cousin to come on the
lake with us to see our sport, but it would not be wise.  How is the
bay?"

"Fit as a fiddle.  Say the word and I'll have him round if you're for a
ride."

"After lunch, my dear, after lunch," said Mrs Wilton.

"Yes, after lunch I should enjoy it," said Garstang.

"Two, sharp, then," said Claud.

"Yes, two, sharp," replied Garstang, consulting his watch.  "Quarter to
one now."

"Yes, and lunch at one."

"By the way," said Garstang, "Harry said he had been down here, and you
gave him some good sport.  I'm afraid I have made a mistake in tying him
down to the law."

Wilton moved uneasily in his chair and darted an angry look at his wife,
who began to fidget, and looked at Kate and then at her son.

Garstang did not seem to notice anything, but smiled blandly, as he
leaned back in his chair.

"Oh, yes, he blazed away at the pheasants," said Claud, sneeringly; "but
he only wounded one, and it got away."

"That's bad," said Garstang.  "But then he has not had your experience,
Master Claud.  It's very good of you, though, James, to have him down,
and of you, Maria, to make the boy so welcome.  He speaks very
gratefully about you."

"Oh, it isn't my doing, John Garstang," said the lady, hurriedly; "but
of course I am bound to make him welcome when he comes;" and she uttered
a little sigh as she glanced at her lord again, as if feeling satisfied
that she had exonerated herself from a serious charge.

"Ah, well, we'll thank the lord of the manor, then," said Garstang,
smiling at Kate.

"Needn't thank me," said Wilton, gruffly.  "I don't interfere with
Claud's choice of companions.  If you mean that I encourage him to come
and neglect his work you are quite out.  You must talk to Claud."

"I don't want him," cried that gentleman.

"But I think I understood him to say that you had asked him down again."

"Not I," cried Claud.  "He'd say anything."

"Indeed!  I'm sorry to hear this.  In fact, I half expected to find him
down here, and if I had I was going to ask you, James, if you thought it
would be possible for you to take him as--as--well, what shall I say?--a
sort of farm pupil."

"I?" cried Wilton, in dismay.  "What!  Keep him here?"

"Well--er--yes.  He has such a penchant for country life, and I thought
he would be extremely useful as a sort of overlooker, or bailiff, while
learning to be a gentleman-farmer."

"You keep him at his desk, and make a lawyer of him," said Wilton
sourly.  "He'll be able to get a living then, and not have to be always
borrowing to make both ends meet.  There's nothing to be made out of
farming."

"Do you hear this, Kate, my dear?" said Garstang, with a meaning smile.
"It is quite proverbial how the British farmer complains."

"You try farming then, and you'll see."

"Why not?" said Garstang, laughingly, while his host writhed in his
seat.  "It always seems to me to be a delightful life in the country,
with horses to ride, and hunting, shooting and fishing."

"Oh, yes," growled Wilton, "and crops failing, and markets falling, and
swine fever, and flukes in your sheep, and rinderpest in your cattle,
and the bank refusing your checks."

"Oh, come, come, not so bad as that!  You have fine weather as well as
foul," said Garstang, merrily.  "Then Harry has not been down again,
Claud?"

"No, I haven't seen him since he went back the other day," said Claud,
and added to himself, "and don't want to."

"That's strange," said Garstang, thoughtfully.  "I wonder where he has
gone.  I daresay he will be back at the office, though, by now.  I don't
like for both of us to be away together.  When the cat's away the mice
will play, Kate, as the old proverb says."

"Then why don't you stop at the office, you jolly old sleek black tom,
and not come purring down here?" said Claud to himself.  "Bound to say
you can spit and swear and scratch if you like."

There was a dead silence just then, which affected Mrs Wilton so that
she felt bound to say something, and she turned to the visitor.

"Of course, John Garstang, we don't want to encourage Harry Dasent here,
but if--"

"Ah, here's lunch ready at last," cried Wilton, so sharply that his wife
jumped and shrank from his angry glare, while the bell in the little
wooden turret went on clanging away.

"Oh, yes, lunch," she said hastily.  "Claud, my dear, will you take your
cousin in?"

But Garstang had already arisen, with bland, pleasant smile, and
advanced to Kate.

"May I?" he said, as if unconscious of his sister-in-law's words; and at
that moment a servant opened the library door as if to announce the
lunch, but said instead:

"Mr Harry Dasent, sir!"

That gentleman entered the room.



CHAPTER NINE.

"Hello, Harry!" said Claud, breaking up what is generally known as an
awkward pause, for the fresh arrival had been received in frigid
silence.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," said Garstang, with a pleasant smile, "I half
expected to find you here."

"Did you?" said the young man, making an effort to be at his ease.
"Rather a rough morning for a walk--roads so bad.  I've run down for a
few hours to see how Kate Wilton was.  Thought you'd give me a bit of
lunch."

"Of course, my dear," said Mrs Wilton, stiffly, and glancing at her
husband afterwards as if to say, "Wasn't that right?"

"One knife and fork more or less doesn't make much difference at my
table," said Wilton, sourly.

"And he does look pretty hungry," said Claud with a grin.

"Glad to see you looking better, Kate," continued the young man, holding
out his hand to take that which was released from his step-father's for
the moment.

"Thank you, yes," said Kate, quietly; "I am better."

"Well, we must not keep the lunch waiting," said Garstang.  "Won't you
take in your aunt, Harry?  And, by the way, I must ask you to get back
to-night so as to be at the office in good time in the morning, for I'm
afraid my business will keep me here for some days."

"Oh, yes, I'll be there," replied the young man, with a meaning look at
Garstang; and then offering his arm to Mrs Wilton, they filed off into
the dining-room, to partake of a luncheon which would have been eaten
almost in silence but for Garstang.  He cleverly kept the ball rolling
with his easy, fluent conversation, seeming as he did to be a master of
the art of drawing everyone out in turn on his or her particular
subject, and as if entirely for the benefit of the convalescent, to whom
he made constant appeals for her judgment.

The result was that to her own surprise the girl grew more animated, and
more than once found herself looking gratefully in the eyes of the
courtly man of the world, who spoke as if quite at home on every topic
he started, whether it was in a discussion with the hostess on cookery
and preserves, with Wilton on farming and the treatment of cattle, or
with the young men on hunting, shooting, fishing and the drama.

And it was all so pleasantly done that a load seemed to be lifted from
the sufferer's breast, and she found herself contrasting what her life
was with what it might have been had Garstang been left her guardian,
and half wondered why her father, who had been one of the most refined
and scrupulous of men, should have chosen her Uncle James instead of the
polished courtly relative who set her so completely at her ease and
listened with such paternal deference to her words.

"Wish I could draw her out like he does," thought Claud.--"These old
fogies! they always seem to know what to say to make a wench grin."

"He'll watch me like a cat does a mouse," said Harry to himself, "but
I'll have a turn at her somehow."

James Wilton said little, and looked glum, principally from the pressure
of money on the brain; but Mrs Wilton said a great deal, much more than
she should have said, some of her speeches being particularly
unfortunate, and those which followed only making matters worse.  But
Garstang always came to her help when Wilton's brow was clouding over;
and the lady sighed to herself when the meal was at an end.

"If Harry don't come with us I shall stop in," said Claud to himself;
and then aloud, "Close upon two.  You'd like a turn with us, Harry,
fishing or shooting?"

"I?  No.  I'm tired with my walk, and I've got to do it again this
evening."

"No, you haven't," said Claud, sulkily; "you know you'll be driven
back."

"Oh, yes," said Garstang; "your uncle will not let you walk.  Better
come, Harry."

"Thanks, no, sir; I'll stop and talk to Aunt and Kate, here."

"No, my dear; we must not tire Kate out, she'll have to go and lie down
this afternoon."

"Oh, very well then, Aunt; I'll stop and talk to you and Uncle."

"Then you'll have to come round the farms with me if you do," growled
Wilton.

"Thanks, no; I've walked enough through the mud for one day."

"Let him have his own way, Claud, my lad," cried Garstang.  "We must be
off.  See you down to dinner, I hope, Kate, my child?"

She smiled at him.

"Yes, I hope to be well enough to come down," she replied.

"That's right; and we'll see what we can get to boast about when we come
back.  Come along, boy."

Claud was ready to hesitate, but he could not back out, and he followed
Garstang, the young men's eyes meeting in a defiant gaze.

But he turned as he reached the door.

"Didn't say good-bye to you, Mamma.  All right," he cried, kissing her
boisterously.  "I won't let them shoot me, and I'll mind and not tumble
out of the boat.  I say," he whispered, "don't let him get Kate alone."

"Oh, that's your game, is it?" said Harry to himself; "treats it with
contempt.  All right, proud step-father; you haven't all the brains in
the world."

He followed the gentlemen into the hall, and then stood at the door to
see them off, hearing Garstang say familiarly: "Let's show them what we
can do, Harry, my lad.  It's just the day for the pike.  Here, try one
of these; they tell me they are rather choice."

"Oh, I shall light my pipe," said the young man sulkily.

"Wise man, as a rule; but try one of these first, and if you don't like
it you can throw it away."

Claud lit the proffered cigar rather sulkily, and they went off; while
Harry, after seeing Wilton go round to the stables, went back into the
hall, and was about to enter the drawing-room, but a glance down at his
muddy boots made him hesitate.

He could hear the voice of Mrs Wilton as she talked loudly to her
niece, and twice over he raised his hand to the door knob, but each time
lowered it; and going back into the dining-room, he rang the bell.

"Can I have my boots brushed?" he said to the footman.

"Yes, sir, I'll bring you a pair of slippers."

"Oh, no, I'll come to the pantry and put my feet up on a chair."

The man did not look pleased at this, but he led the way to his place,
fetched the blacking and brushes, and as he manipulated them he
underwent a kind of cross-examination about the household affairs,
answering the first question rather shortly, the rest with a fair amount
of eagerness.  For the visitor's hand had stolen into his pocket and
come out again with half-a-crown, which he used to rasp the back of the
old Windsor chair on which he rested his foot, and then, balancing it on
one finger, he tapped it softly, making it give forth a pleasant
jingling sound that was very grateful to the man's ear, for he brushed
away most diligently, blacked, polished, breathed on the leather, and
brushed again.

"Keep as good hours as ever?" said Dasent, after several questions had
been put.

"Oh, yes, sir.  Prayers at ha'-past nine, and if there's a light going
anywhere with us after ten the governor's sure to see it and make a row.
He's dreadful early, night and morning, too."

"Yes, he is very early of a morning, I noticed.  Well, it makes the days
longer."

"Well, sir, it do; but one has to be up pretty sharp to get his boots
done and his hot water into his room by seven, for if it's five minutes
past he's there before you, waiting, and looking as black as thunder.
My predecessor got the sack, they say, for being quarter of an hour late
two or three times, and it isn't easy to be ready in weather like this."

"What, dark in the mornings?"

"Oh, no, sir, I don't mean that.  It's his boots.  He gets them that
clogged and soaked that I have to wash 'em overnight and put 'em to the
kitchen fire, and if that goes out too soon it's an awful job to get 'em
to shine.  They don't have a hot pair of feet in 'em like these, sir.
Your portmanteau coming on by the carrier?"

"Oh, no, I go back to-night.  And that reminds me--have they got a good
dog-cart in the village?"

"Dog-cart, sir?" said the man, with a laugh; "not here.  The baker's got
a donkey-cart, and there's plenty of farmers' carts.  That's all there
is near."

"I thought so, but I've been here so little lately."

"But you needn't mind about that, sir.  Master's sure to order our trap
to be round to take you to the station, and Tom Johnson'll be glad
enough to drive you."

"Oh, yes; of course; but I like to be independent.  I daresay I shall
walk back."

"I wouldn't, sir, begging your pardon, for it's an awkward road in the
dark.  Tell you what, though, sir, if you did, there's the man at
Barber's Corner, at the little pub, two miles on the road.  He has a
very good pony and trap.  He does a bit of chicken higgling round the
country.  You mention my name, sir, and he'd be glad enough to drive you
for a florin or half-a-crown."

"Ah, well, we shall see," said Dasent, putting down his second leg.
"Look a deal better for the touch-up.  Get yourself a glass."

"Thankye, sir.  Much obliged, sir.  But beg your pardon, sir, I'll just
give Tom Johnson a 'int and he'll have the horse ready in the dog-cart
time enough for you.  He'll suppose it'll be wanted.  It'll be all
right, sir.  I wouldn't go tramping it on a dark night, sir, and it's
only doing the horse good.  They pretty well eat their heads off here
sometimes."

"No, no, certainly not," said Dasent.  "Thank you, though, er--Samuel,
all the same."

"Thank you, sir," said the man, and the donor of half-a-crown went back
through the swing baize-covered door, and crossed the hall.

"Needn't ha' been so proud; but p'raps he ain't got another half-crown.
Lor', what a gent will do sooner than be under an obligation!"

Even that half-crown seemed to have been thrown away, for upon the giver
entering the drawing-room it was to find it empty, and after a little
hesitation he returned to the hall, where he was just in time to
encounter the footman with a wooden tray, on his way to clear away the
lunch things.

"Is your mistress going out?" he said.  "There is no one in the
drawing-room."

"Gone upstairs to have her afternoon nap, sir," said the man, in a low
tone.  "I suppose Miss Wilton's gone up to her room, too?"

Dasent nodded, took his hat, and went out, lit a cigar, and began
walking up and down, apparently admiring the front of the old, long,
low, red-brick house, with its many windows and two wings covered with
wistaria and roses.  One window--that at the end of the west wing--took
his attention greatly, and he looked up at it a good deal before slowly
making his way round to the garden, where he displayed a great deal of
interest in the vineries and the walls, where a couple of men were busy
with their ladders, nailing.

Here he stood watching them for some minutes--the deft way in which they
used shreds and nails to rearrange the thin bearing shoots of peach and
plum.

After this he passed through an arched doorway in the wall, and smoked
in front of the trained pear-trees, before going on to the yard where
the tool shed stood, and the ladders used for gathering the apples in
the orchard hung beneath the eaves of the long, low mushroom house.

Twice over he went back to the hall, but the drawing-room stood open,
and the place was wonderfully quiet and still.

"Anyone would think he was master here," said one of the men, as he saw
Dasent pass by the third time.  "Won't be much he don't know about the
place when he's done."

"Shouldn't wonder if he is," said the other.  "Him and his father's
lawyers, and the guv'nor don't seem none too chirpy just now.  They say
he is in Queer Street."

"Who's they?" said his companion, speaking indistinctly, consequent upon
having two nails and a shred between his lips.

"Why, they.  I dunno, but it's about that they've been a bit awkward
with the guv'nor at Bramwich Bank."

"That's nothing.  Life's all ups and downs.  It won't hurt us.  We shall
get our wages, I dessay.  They're always paid."

The afternoon wore on and at dusk Garstang and Claud made their
appearance, followed by a labourer carrying a basket, which was too
short to hold the head and tail of a twelve-pound pike, which lay on the
top of half-a-dozen more.

"Better have come with us, Harry," said Claud.  "Had some pretty good
sport.  Found it dull?"

"I?  No," was the reply.  "I say, what time do you dine to-night?"

"Old hour--six."

"Going to stay dinner, Harry?" said Garstang.

"Oh, yes; I'm going to stay dinner," said the young man, giving him a
defiant look.

"Well, it will be pleasanter, but it is a very dark ride."

"Yes, but I'm going to walk."

"No, you aren't," said Claud, in a sulky tone of voice; "we're going to
have you driven over."

"There is no need."

"Oh, yes, there is.  I want a ride to have a cigar after dinner, and I
shall come and see you off.  We don't do things like that, even if we
haven't asked anyone to come."

Kate made her appearance again at dinner, and once more Garstang was the
life and soul of the party, which would otherwise have been full of
constraint.  But it was not done in a boisterous, ostentatious way.
Everything was in good taste, and Kate more than once grew quite
animated, till she saw that both the young men were eagerly listening to
her, when she withdrew into herself.

Mrs Wilton got through the dinner without once making her lord frown,
and she was congratulating herself upon her success, as she rose, after
making a sign, when her final words evolved a tempestuous flash of his
eyes.

"Don't you think you had better stop till the morning, Harry Dasent?"
she said.

But his quick reply allayed the storm at once.

"Oh, no, thank you, Aunt," he said, with a side glance at Garstang.  "I
must be back to look after business in the morning."

"But it's so dark, my dear."

"Bah! the dark won't hurt him, Maria, and I've told them to bring the
dog-cart round at eight."

"Oh, that's very good of you, sir," said the young man; "but I had made
up my mind to walk."

"I told you I should ride over with you, didn't I?" growled Claud.

"Yes, but--"

"I know.  There, hold your row.  We needn't start till half-past eight,
so there'll be plenty of time for coffee and a cigar."

"Then I had better say good-night to you now, Mr Dasent," said Kate,
quietly, holding out her hand.

"Oh, I shall see you again," he cried.

"No; I am about to ask Aunt to let me go up to my room now; it has been
a tiring day."

"Then good-night," he said impressively, and he took and pressed her
hand in a way which made her colour slightly, and Claud twitch one arm
and double his list under the table.

"Good-night.  Good-night, Claud."  She shook hands; then crossed to her
uncle.

"Good-night, my dear," he said, drawing her down to kiss her cheek.
"Glad you are so much better."

"Thank you, Uncle.--Good-night, Mr Garstang."  Her lip was quivering a
little, but she smiled at him gratefully as he rose and spoke in a low
affectionate way.

"Good-night, my dear child," he said.  "Let me play doctor with a bit of
good advice.  Make up your mind for a long night's rest, and ask your
uncle and aunt to excuse you at breakfast in the morning.  You must
hasten slowly to get back your strength.  Good-night."

"You'll have to take great care of her, James," he continued, as he
returned to his seat.  "Umph!  Yes, I mean to," said the host.  "A very,
very sweet girt," said Garstang thoughtfully, and his face was perfectly
calm as he met his stepson's shifty glance.

Then coffee was brought in; Claud, at a hint from his lather, fetched a
cigar box, and was drawn out by Garstang during the smoking to give a
lull account of their sport that afternoon with the pike.

"Quite bent the gaff hook," he was saying later on, when the grating of
wheels was heard; and soon after the young men started, Mrs Wilton
coming into the hall to see them off and advise them both to wrap up
well about their chests.

That night John Garstang broke his host's rules by keeping his candle
burning late, while he sat thinking deeply by the bedroom fire; for he
had a good deal upon his brain just then.  "No," he said at last, as he
rose to wind up his watch; "she would not dare.  But fore-warned is
fore-armed, my man.  You were never meant for a diplomat.  Bah!  Nor for
anything else."

But it was a long time that night before John Garstang slept.



CHAPTER TEN.

"I say, guv'nor, when's old Garstang going?"

"Oh, very soon, now, boy," said James Wilton testily.

"But you said that a week ago, and he seems to be settling down as if
the place belonged to him."

The father uttered a deep, long-drawn sigh.

"It's no use for you to snort, dad; that doesn't do any good.  Why don't
you tell him to be off?"

"No, no; impossible; and mind what you are about; be civil to him."

"Well, I am.  Can't help it; he's so jolly smooth with a fellow, and has
such good cigars--I say, guv'nor, rather different to your
seventeen-and-six-penny boxes of weeds.  I wouldn't mind, only he's in
the way so.  Puts a stop to, you know what.  I never get a chance with
her alone; here are you two shut up all the morning over the parchments,
and she don't come down; and when she does he carries me off with him.
Then at night you're all there."

"Never mind! he will soon go now; we have nearly done."

"I'm jolly glad of it.  I've been thinking that if it's going on much
longer I'd better do without the four greys."

"Eh?"

"Oh, you know, guv'nor; toddle off to Gretna Green, or wherever they do
the business, and get it over."

"No, no, no, no.  There must be no nonsense, my boy," said Wilton,
uneasily.  "Don't do anything rash."

"Oh, no, I won't do anything rash," said Claud, with an unpleasant grin;
"only one must make one's hay when the sun shines, guv'nor."

"There's one thing about his visit," said Wilton hurriedly; "it has done
her a great deal of good; she isn't like the same girl."

"No; she has come out jolly.  Makes it a little more bearable."

"Eh, what, sir?--bearable?"

"Yes.  Fellow wants the prospect of some sugar or jam afterwards, to
take such a sickly dose as she promised to be."

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense.  But--er--mind what you're about; nothing
rash."

"I've got my head screwed on right, guv'nor.  I can manage a girl.  I
say, though, she has quite taken to old Garstang; he has got such a way
with him.  He can be wonderfully jolly when he likes."

"Yes, wonderfully," said Wilton, with a groan.

"You've no idea how he can go when we're out.  He's full of capital
stories, and as larky when we're fishing or shooting as if he were only
as old as I am.  Ever seen him jump?"

"What, run and jump?"

"Yah!  When he is mounted.  He rides splendidly.  Took Brown Charley
over hedge after hedge yesterday like a bird.  Understands a horse as
well as I do.  I like him, and we get on swimming together; but we don't
want him here now."

"Well, well, it won't be long before he has gone," said Wilton, hurrying
some papers away over which he and Garstang had been busy all the
morning.  "Where are you going this afternoon?"

"Ride.  He wants to see the Cross Green farm."

"Eh?" said Wilton, looking up sharply, and with an anxious gleam in his
eyes.  "Did he say that?"

"Yes; and we're off directly after lunch.  I say, though, what was that
letter about?"

"What letter?" said Wilton, starting nervously.

"Oh, I say; don't jump as if you thought the bailiffs were coming in.  I
meant the one brought over from the station half-an-hour ago."

"I had no letter."

"Sam said one came.  It must have been for old Garstang then."

"Am I intruding?  Business?" said Garstang, suddenly appearing at the
door.

"Eh?  No; come in.  We were only talking about ordinary things.  Sit
down.  Lunch must be nearly due.  Want to speak to me?"

All this in a nervous, hurried way.

"Never mind lunch," said Garstang quietly; "I want you to oblige me, my
dear James, by ordering that brown horse round."

Wilton uttered a sigh of relief, and his face, which had been turning
ghastly, slowly resumed its natural tint.

"But I understood from Claud here that you were both going out after
lunch."

"I've had a particular letter sent down in a packet, and I must ride
over and telegraph back at some length."

"We'll send Tom over for you," said Claud; and then he felt as if he
would have given anything to withdraw the words.

"It's very good of you," said Garstang, smiling pleasantly, "but the
business is important.  Oblige me by ordering the horse at once."

"Oh, I'll run round.  Have Brown Charley here in five minutes."

"Thank you, Claud; and perhaps you'll give me a glass of sherry and a
biscuit, James?"

"Yes, yes, of course; but you'll be back to dinner?"

"Of course.  We must finish what we are about."

"Yes, we must finish what we are about," said Wilton, with a dismal
look; and he rang the bell, just as Claud passed the window on the way
to the stables.

A quarter of an hour later Garstang was cantering down the avenue, just
as the lunch-bell was ringing; and Claud winked at his father as they
crossed to the drawing-room, where his mother and Kate were seated, and
chuckled to himself as he thought of the long afternoon he meant to
have.

"Oh, I say, guv'nor, it's my turn now," he cried, as Wilton crossed
smiling to his niece, and offered her his arm.

"All in good time, my boy; all in good time.  You bring in your mother.
I don't see why I'm always to be left in the background.  Come along,
Kate, my dear; you must have me to-day."

"Why, where is John Garstang?" cried Mrs Wilton.

"Off on the horse, mother," said Claud, with a grin.  "Gone over to the
station to wire."

"Gone without saying good-bye?"

"Oh, he's coming back again, mother; but we can do without him for once
in the way.  I say, Kate, I want you to give me this afternoon for that
lesson in riding."

"Riding, my dear?"

"Yes, mother, riding.  I'm going to give Kitty some lessons on the
little mare."

"No, no; not this afternoon," said the girl nervously, as they entered
the dining-room.

"Yes, this afternoon.  You've got to make the plunge, and the sooner you
do it the better."

"Thank you; you're very good, but I was going to read to aunt."

"Oh, never mind me, my dear; you go with Claud.  It's going to be a
lovely afternoon."

"I should prefer not to begin yet," said Kate, decisively.

"Get out," cried Claud.  "What a girl you are.  You'll come."

"I'm sure Claud will take the greatest care of you, my darling."

"Yes, aunt, I am sure he would; but the lessons must wait for a while."

"All right, Kitty.  Come for a drive, then.  I'll take you a good
round."

"I should prefer to stay at home this afternoon, Claud."

"Very well, then, we'll go on the big pond, and I'll teach you how to
troll."

She turned to speak to her uncle, to conceal her annoyance, but Claud
persevered.

"You will come, won't you?" he said.

"Don't worry your cousin, Claud, my dear, if she would rather not," said
Mrs Wilton.

"Who's worrying her?" said Claud, testily.  "I say, Kate, say you'll
come."

"I would rather not to-day," she said, quietly.

"There now, you're beginning to mope again, and I mean to stop it.  I
tell you what; we'll have out the guns, and I'll take you along by the
fir plantation."

"No, no, my boy," said Wilton, interposing.  "Kate isn't a boy."

"Who said she was?" said the young man, gruffly.  "Can't a woman pull a
trigger if she likes?"

"I daresay she could, my dear," said Mrs Wilton; "but I'm sure I
shouldn't like to.  I've often heard your papa say how badly guns
kicked."

"So do donkeys, mother," said Claud, sulkily; "but I shouldn't put her
on one that did.  You'll come, won't you, dear?"

"No, Claud," said Kate, very quietly and firmly.  "I could not find any
pleasure in trying to destroy the life of a beautiful bird."

"Ha, ha!  I say, we are nice.  Don't you eat any pheasant at dinner,
then.  There's a brace for to-night.  Old Garstang shot 'em--a cruel
wretch."

Kate looked at him indignantly, and then began conversing with her
uncle, while her cousin relapsed into sulky silence, and began to eat as
if he were preparing for a famine to come, his mother shaking her head
at him reproachfully every time she caught his eye.

The lunch at an end, Kate took her uncle's arm and went out into the
veranda with him for a few minutes as the sun was shining, and as soon
as they were out of hearing Claud turned fiercely upon his mother.

"What were you shaking your head at me like that for?" he cried.  "You
looked like some jolly old Chinese figure."

"For shame, my dear.  Don't talk to me like that, or I shall be very,
very cross with you.  And look here, Claud, you mustn't be rough with
your cousin.  Girls don't like it."

"Oh, don't they?  Deal you know about it."

"And there's another thing I want to say to you.  If you want to win her
you must not be so attentive to that Miss Leigh."

"Who's attentive to Miss Leigh?" said the young man, savagely.

"You are, my dear; you quite flirted with her when she was here with her
brother last night, and I heard from one of the servants that you were
seen talking to her in Lower Lane on Monday."

"Then it was a lie," he cried, sharply.  "Tell 'em to mind their own
business.  Now, look here, mother, you want me to marry Katey, don't
you?"

"Of course, my dear."

"Then you keep your tongue still and your eyes shut.  The guv'nor 'll be
off directly, and you'll be taking her into the drawing-room."

"Yes, my dear."

"Well, I'm not going out; I'm going to have it over with her this
afternoon, so you slip off and leave me to my chance while there is one.
I'm tired of waiting for old Garstang to be out of the way."

"But I don't think I ought to, my dear."

"Then I do.  Look here, she knows what's coming, and that's why she
wouldn't come out with me, you know.  It's all gammon, to lead me on.
She means it.  You know what girls are.  I mean to strike while the
iron's hot."

"But suppose--"

"I shan't suppose anything of the kind.  She only pretends.  We
understand one another with our eyes.  I know what girls are; and you
give me my chance this afternoon, and she's mine.  She's only holding
off a bit, I tell you."

"Perhaps you are right, my dear; but don't hurt her feelings by being
too premature."

"Too gammon!  You do what I say, and soon.  I don't want old Garstang
back before we've got it all over.  Keep dark; here they come."

Kate entered with her uncle as soon as he had spoken, and Claud attacked
her directly.

"Altered your mind?" he said.

"No, Claud; you must excuse me, please," was the reply.

"All right.  Off, father?"

"Yes, my boy.  In about half an hour or so; I have two or three letters
to write."

"Two or three letters to write!" muttered the young man, as he went out
into the veranda, to light his pipe, and keep on the watch for the
coveted opportunity; "haven't you any brains in your head?"

But James Wilton's half-hour proved to be an hour, and when, after
seeing him off, the son returned to the hall, he heard voices in the
drawing-room, and gave a vicious snarl.

"Why the devil don't she go?" he muttered.

There were steps the next moment, and he drew back into the dining-room
to listen, the conversation telling him that his mother and cousin were
going into the library to get some particular book.

There, to the young man's great disgust, they stayed, and he waited for
quite half an hour trying to control his temper, and devise some plan
for trying to get his mother away.

At last she appeared, saying loudly as she looked back, "I shall be back
directly, my dear," and closed the door.

Claud appeared at once, and with a meaning smile at his mother, she
crossed to the stairs, while as she ascended to her room the son went
straight to the library and entered.

As he threw open the door he found himself face to face with his cousin,
who, book in hand, was coming out of the room.

"Hallo!" he cried, with a peculiar laugh; "Where's the old lady?"

"She has just gone to her room, Claud," said Kate, quietly.

"Here, don't be in such a hurry, little one," he cried, pushing to the
door.  "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, quietly, though her heart was throbbing heavily; "I
was going to take my book into the drawing-room."

"Oh, bother the old books!" he cried, snatching hers away, and catching
her by the wrist; "come and sit down; I want to talk to you."

"You can talk to me in the drawing-room," she said, trying hard to be
firm.

"No, I can't; it's better here.  I say, Kitty, when shall it be?"

"When shall what be?"

"Our wedding.  You know."

"Never," she said, gravely, fixing her eyes upon his.

"What?" he cried.  "What nonsense!  You know how I love you.  I do, 'pon
my soul.  I never saw anyone who took my fancy so before."

"Do your mother and father know that you are talking to me in this mad
way?--you, my own cousin?" she said, firmly.

"What do I care whether they do or no?" he said, with a laugh; "I've
been weaned for a long time.  I say, don't hold me off; don't play with
a fellow like silly girls do.  I love you ever so, and I'm always
thinking about your beautiful eyes till I can't sleep of a night.  It's
quite right for you to hold me off for a bit, but there's been enough of
it, and I know you like me."

"I have tried to like you as my cousin," she said, gravely.

"That'll do for a beginning," he replied, laughingly; "but let's get a
little farther on now, I say.  Kitty, you are beautiful, you know, and
whenever I see you my heart goes pumping away tremendously.  I can't
talk like some fellows do, but I can love a girl with the best of them,
and I want you to pitch over all shilly-shally nonsense, and let's go on
now like engaged people."

"You are talking at random and of what is unnatural and impossible.
Please never to speak to me again like this, Claud; and now loose my
wrist, and let me go."

"Likely, when I've got you alone at last I say, don't hold me off like
this; it's so silly."

She made a brave effort to hide the alarm she felt; and with a sudden
snatch she freed her wrist and darted across the room.

The flight of the hunted always gives courage to the hunter, and in this
case he sprang after her, and the next minute had clasped her round the
waist.

"Got you!" he said, laughingly; "no use to struggle; I'm twice as strong
as you."

"Claud!  How dare you?" she cried, with her eyes flashing.

"'Cause I love you, darling."

"Let go.  It is an insult.  It is a shame to me.  Do you know what you
are doing?"

"Yes; getting tighter hold of you, so as to kiss those pretty lips and
cheeks and eyes--There, and there, and there!"

"If my uncle knew that you insulted me like this--"

"Call him; he isn't above two miles off."

"Aunt--aunt!" cried the girl, excitedly, and with the hot, indignant
tears rising to her eyes.

"Gone to lie down, while I have a good long loving talk with you,
darling.  Ah, it's of no use to struggle.  Don't be so foolish.  There,
you've fought long enough.  All girls do the same, because it is their
nature to fool it.  There! now I'm master; give me a nice, pretty, long
kiss, little wifie-to-be.  I say, Kitty, you are a beauty.  Let's be
married soon.  You don't know how happy I shall make you."

Half mad now with indignation and fear, she wrested herself once more
free, and, scorning to call for help, she ran toward the fire place.
But before she could reach the bell he struck her hand on one side,
caught her closely now in his arms, and covered her face once more with
kisses.

This time a loud cry escaped her as she struggled hard, to be conscious
the next moment of some one rushing into the room, feeling herself
dragged away, and as the word "Hound!" fell fiercely upon her ear there
was the sound of a heavy blow, a scuffling noise, and a loud crash of
breaking wood and glass.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"My poor darling child!--Lie still, you miserable hound, or I'll half
strangle you."

The words--tender and gentle as if it were a woman's voice, fierce and
loud as from an enraged man--seemed to come out of a thick mist in which
Kate felt as if she were sick unto death.  Then by degrees she grew
conscious that she was being held tightly to the breast of of some one
who was breathing hard from exertion, and tenderly stroking and
smoothing her dishevelled hair.

The next moment there was a wild cry, and she recognised her aunt's
voice, as, giddy and exhausted, she clung to him who held her.

"What is it?  What is it?  Oh, Claud, my darling!  Help, help, help!
He's killed him--killed."

"Here, what's the matter?  Who called?" came from a little distance.
Then from close at hand Kate heard her uncle's voice through the mist.
"What's all this, Maria--John Garstang--Claud?  Damn it all, can no one
speak?--Kate, what is it?"

"This," cried Garstang, sternly.  "I came back just now, and hearing
shrieks rushed in here, just in time to save this poor, weak, suffering
child from the brutal insulting attack of that young ruffian."

"He has killed him.  James--he has killed him," shrieked Mrs Wilton.
"On, my poor dear darling boy!"

"Back, all of you.  Be off," roared Wilton, as half a dozen servants
came crowding to the door, which he slammed in their faces, and turned
the key.  "Now, please let's have the truth," he cried, hotly.  "Here,
Kate, my dear; come to me."

She made no reply, but Garstang felt her cling more closely to him.

"Will some one speak?" cried Wilton, again.

"The Doctor--send for the Doctor; he's dead, he's dead," wailed Mrs
Wilton, who was down upon her knees now, holding her son's head in her
lap; while save for a slight quiver of the muscles, indicative of an
effort to keep his eyes closed, Claud made no sign.

"He is not dead," said Garstang, coldly; "a knockdown blow would not
kill a ruffian of his calibre."

"Oh," exclaimed Mrs Wilton, turning upon him now in her maternal fury;
"he owns to it, he struck him down--my poor, poor boy.  James, why don't
you send for the police at once?  The cruelty--the horror of it!  Kate,
Kate, my dear, come away from the wretch at once."

"Then you own that you struck him down?" cried Wilton, whose face was
now black with a passion which made him send prudence to the winds, as
he rose in revolt against one who had long been his master.

"Yes," said Garstang, quietly, and without a trace of anger, though his
tone was full of contempt; "I told you why."

"Yes, and by what right did you interfere?  Some foolish romping
connected with a boy and girl love, I suppose.  How dared you
interfere?"

"Boy and girl love!" cried Garstang, scornfully, as he laid one hand
upon Kate's head and pressed it to his shoulder, where she nestled and
hid her face.  "Shame upon you both; it was scandalous!"

"Shame upon us?  What do you mean, sir?  What do you mean?--Will you
come away from him, Kate?"

"I mean this," said Garstang, with his arm firmly round the poor girl's
waist, "that you and your wife have failed utterly in your duties
towards this poor suffering child."

"It isn't true," cried Mrs Wilton.  "We've treated her as if she were
our own daughter; and my poor boy told me how he loved her, and he had
only just come to talk to her for a bit.  Oh, Claud, my darling! my
precious boy!"

"Did I not tell you that your darling--your precious boy--was insulting
her grievously?  Shame upon you, woman," cried Garstang.  "It needed no
words of mine to explain what had taken place.  Your own woman's nature
ought to have revolted against such an outrage to the weak invalid
placed by her poor father's will in your care."

"Don't you speak to my wife like that!" cried Wilton, angrily.

"I will speak to your wife like that, and to you as well.  I forbore to
speak before: I had no right; but do you think I have been blind to the
scandal going on here?  The will gives you full charge of the poor child
and her fortune, and what do I find when I come down?  A dastardly cruel
plot to ensnare her--to force on a union with an unmannerly, brutally
coarse young ruffian, that he may--that you may, for your own needs and
ends, lawfully gain possession of the fortune, to scatter to the winds."

"It's a lie--it's a lie!" roared Wilton.

"It is the truth, sir.  Your wife's words just now confirmed what I had
noted over and over again, till my very gorge rose at being compelled to
accept the hospitality of such people, while I writhed at my own
impotence, my helplessness when I wished to interfere.  You know--she
knows--how I have kept silence.  Not one word of warning have I uttered
to her.  She must have seen and felt what was being hatched, but neither
she nor I could have realised that the cowardly young ruffian lying
there would have dared to insult a weak gentle girl whose very aspect
claimed a man's respect and protection.  A lie?  It is the truth, James
Wilton."

"Oh, my poor, poor boy!" wailed Mrs Wilton; "and I did beg and pray of
you not to be too rash."

"Will you hold your tongue, woman?" roared Wilton.

"Yes, for heaven's sake be silent, madam," cried Garstang; "there was no
need for you to indorse my words, and lower yourself more in your poor
niece's eyes."

"Look here," cried Wilton, who was going to and fro beyond the library
table, writhing under the lash of his solicitor's tongue; "it's all a
bit of nonsense; the foolish fellow snatched a kiss, I suppose."

"Snatched a kiss!" cried Garstang, scornfully.  "Look at her: quivering
with horror and indignation."

"I won't look at her.  I won't be talked to like this in my own house."

"Your own house!" said Garstang, contemptuously.

"Yes, sir; mine till the law forces me to give it up.  I won't have it.
It's my house, and I won't stand here and be bullied by any man."

"Oh, don't, don't, don't make things worse, James," wailed Mrs Wilton.
"Send for the Doctor; his heart is beating still."

"You hold your tongue, and don't you make things worse," roared her
husband.  "As for him--curse him!--it's all his doing."

"But he's lying here insensible, and you won't send for help."

"No, I won't.  Do you think I want Leigh and his sister, and then the
whole parish, to know what has been going on?  The servants will talk
enough."

"But he's dying, James."

"You said he was dead just now.  Chuck some cold water over the idiot,
and bring him to.  Damn him!  I should like to horsewhip him!"

"You should have done it often, years ago," said Garstang, bitterly.
"It is too late now."

"You mind your own business," shouted Wilton, turning upon him; "I can't
talk like you do, but I can say what I mean, and it's this: I'm master
here yet, and I'll stand no more of it.  I don't care for your deeds and
documents.  I won't have you here to insult me and my wife, and what's
more, if you've done that boy a mischief we'll see what the law can do.
You shall suffer as well as I.  Now then: off with you; pack and go, and
I'll show you that the law protects me as well as you.  Kate, my girl,
you've nothing to be frightened about.  Come to me here."

She clung the more tightly to her protector.

"Then come to your aunt," said Wilton, fiercely.  "Get up, Maria," he
shouted.  "Can't you see I want you here?"

"Get up?  Oh, James, James, I can't leave my boy."

"Get up, before you put me in a rage," he yelled.  "Now, then, Kate,
come here; and I tell you this, John Garstang.  I give you a quarter of
an hour, and if you're not gone then, the men shall throw you out."

"What!" cried Garstang, sternly, as he drew himself up.  "Go and leave
this poor girl here to your tender mercies?"

"Yes, sir; go and leave `this poor girl,' as you call her, to my tender
mercies."

"I can not; I will not," said Garstang, firmly.

"But I say you shall, Mr Lawyer.  You know enough of such things to
feel that you must.  Curse you and your interference.  Kate, my dear, I
am your poor dead father's executor, and your guardian."

"Yes, it is true," said Garstang, bitterly.  "Poor fellow, it was the
one mistake of a good, true life.  He had faith in his brother."

"More than he had in you," cried Wilton.  "Do you hear what I say, Kate?
Don't visit upon your aunt and me the stupid folly of that boy, whose
sin is that he is very fond of you, and frightened you by a bit of
loving play."

"Loving play!" cried Garstang, scornfully.

"Yes, my dear, loving play.  I vouch for it, and so will his mother."

"Yes, yes, yes, Kate, dear.  He does love you.  He told me so, and if he
did wrong, poor, poor boy, see how he has been punished."

"There, my dear, you hear," cried Wilton, trying hard to speak gently
and winningly to her, but failing dismally.  "Come to your aunt now."

"Yes, Kate, darling, do, do please, and help me to try and bring him
round.  You don't want to see him lie a corpse at his sorrowing mother's
feet?"

"Come here, Kate," cried Wilton, fiercely now.  "Don't you make me
angry.  I am your guardian, and you must obey me.  Come away from that
man."

She shuddered, and began to sob now violently.

"Ah, that's better.  You're coming to your senses now, and seeing things
in their proper light.  Now, John Garstang, you heard what I said--go."

"Yes, my child," said Garstang, taking one of Kate's hands, and raising
it tenderly to his lips, "your uncle is right.  I have no place here, no
right to protect you, and I must go, trusting that good may come out of
evil, and that what has passed, besides opening your eyes to what is a
thorough conspiracy, will give you firmness to protect yourself, and
teach them that such a project as theirs is an infamy."

"Don't stand preaching there, man.  Your time's nearly up.  Go, before
you are made.  Come here to your aunt, Kate."

"No, my dear, do nothing of the sort," said Garstang, gently, as she
slowly raised her head and gazed imploringly in his face.  "You are but
a girl, but you must play the woman now--the firm, strong woman who has
to protect herself.  Go up to your room and insist upon staying there
until you have a guarantee that this insolent cub, who is lying here
pretending to be insensible, shall cease his pretensions or be sent
away.  There, go, and heaven protect you; I can do no more."

Kate drew herself up erect and gazed at him mournfully for a few
moments, and then said firmly:

"Yes, Mr Garstang, I will do as you say.  Good-bye."

"Good-bye," he said, as he bent down and softly kissed her forehead.
Then she walked firmly from the room.

"Brave girl!" said Garstang; "she will be a match for you and your plans
now, James Wilton."

"Will you go, sir?" roared the other.

"Yes, I will go.  Then it is to be war between us, is it?"

"What you like; I'm reckless now; but you can't interfere with me
there."

"No, and I will not trample upon a worm when it is down.  I shall take
no petty revenge, and you dare not persecute that poor girl.  Good-bye
to you both, and may this be a lesson to you and your foolish wife.  As
for you, you cur, if I hear that you have insulted your cousin again--a
girl that any one with the slightest pretension to being a man would
have looked upon as a sister--law or no law, I'll come down and thrash
you within an inch of your life.  I'm a strong man yet, as you know."

He turned and walked proudly out of the room; and as soon as his step
had ceased to ring on the oaken floor of the hall Wilton turned savagely
upon his son, where he lay upon the thick Turkey carpet, and roared:

"Get up!"

Mrs Wilton shrieked and caught at her husband's leg, but in vain, for
he delivered a tremendous kick at the prostrate youth, which brought him
to his senses with a yell.

"What are you doing?" he roared.

"A hundred and fifty thousand pounds!" cried Wilton.  "Curse you, I
should like to give you a hundred and fifty thousand of those."

Within half an hour the dog-cart bearing John Garstang and his
portmanteau was grating over the gravel of the drive, and as he passed
the further wing he looked up at an open window where Kate was standing
pale and still.

He raised his hat to her as he passed, but she did not stir, only said
farewell to him with her eyes.

But as the vehicle disappeared among the trees of the avenue she shrank
away, to stand thinking of her position, of Garstang's words, and how it
seemed now that her girlish life had come to an end that day.  For she
felt that she was alone, and that henceforth she must knit herself
together to fight the battle of her life, strong in her womanly defence,
for her future depended entirely upon herself.

And through the rest of that unhappy afternoon and evening, as she sat
there, resisting all requests to come down, and taking nothing but some
slight refreshment brought up by her maid, she was trying to solve the
problem constantly before her:

What should she do now?



CHAPTER TWELVE.

Kate was not the only one at the Manor House who declined to come down
to dinner.

The bell had rung, and after Mrs Wilton had been up twice to her
niece's room, and reported the ill success of her visits to her lord,
Wilton growled out:

"Well, I want my dinner.  Let her stay and starve herself into her
senses.  But here," he cried, with a fresh burst of temper, "why the
devil isn't that boy here?  I'm not going to be kept waiting for him.
Do you hear?  Where is he?"

"He was so ill, dear, he said he was obliged to go upstairs and lie
down."

"Bah!  Rubbish!  He wasn't hurt."

"Oh, my dear, you don't know," sobbed Mrs Wilton.

"Yah!  You cry if you dare.  Wipe your eyes.  Think I haven't had worry
enough to-day without you trying to lay the dust?  Ring and tell Samuel
to fetch him down."

"Oh, pray don't do that, dear; the servants will talk enough as it is."

"They'd better.  I'll discharge the lot.  I've been too easy with
everybody up to now, and I'll begin to turn over a new leaf.  Stand
aside, woman, and let me get to that bell."

"No, no, don't, pray don't ring.  Let me go up and beg of him to come
down."

"What!  Beg?  Go up and tell him that if he don't come down to dinner in
a brace of shakes I'll come and fetch him with a horsewhip."

"James, my dear, pray, pray don't be so violent."

"But I will be violent.  I am in no humour to be dictated to now.  I'll
let some of you see that I'm master."

"But poor dear Claud is so big now."

"I don't care how big he is--a great stupid oaf!  Go and tell him what I
say.  And look here, woman."

"Yes, dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.

"I mean it.  If he don't come at once, big as he is, I'll take up the
horsewhip."

Mrs Wilton stifled a sob, and went up to her son's room and entered, to
find him lying on his bed with his boots resting on the bottom rail, a
strong odour of tobacco pervading the room, and a patch or two of cigar
ashes soiling the counterpane.

"Claud, my dearest, you shouldn't smoke up here," she said, tenderly, as
she laid her hand upon her son's forehead.  "How are you now, darling?"

"Damned bad."

"Oh, not quite so bad as that, dearest.  Dinner is quite ready."

"--The dinner!"

"Claud, darling, don't use such dreadful language.  But please get up
now, and let me brush your hair.  Your father is so angry and violent
because you are keeping him waiting.  Pray come down at once."

"Shan't!"

"Claud, dearest, you shouldn't say that.  Please come down."

"Shan't, I tell you.  Be off, and don't bother me."

"I am so sorry, my dear, but I must.  He sent me up, dear."

"I--shan't--come--down.  There!"

"But Claud, my dear, he is so angry.  I dare not go without you.  What
am I to say?"

"Tell him I say he's an old beast."

"Oh, Claud, I can't go and tell him that.  You shouldn't--you shouldn't,
indeed."

"I'm too bad to eat."

"Yes--yes; I know, darling, but do--do try and come down and have a
glass of wine.  It will do you good, and keep poor papa from being so
violent."

"I don't want any wine.  And I shan't come.  There!"

"Oh, dear me!  Oh, dear me!" sighed Mrs Wilton; "what am I to do?"

"Go and tell him I won't come.  Bad enough to be hit by that beastly old
prize fighter, without him kicking me as he did.  I'm not a door mat."

"No, no, my dear; of course not."

"An old brute!  I believe he has injured my liver."

"Claud, my darling, don't, pray don't say that."

"Why not?  The doctor ought to be fetched; I'm in horrid pain."

"Yes, yes, my dear; and it did seem very hard."

"Hard?  I should think it was.  I'm sure there's a rib broken, if not
two."

"Oh, my own darling boy!" cried Mrs Wilton, embracing him.

"Don't, mother; you hurt.  Be off, and leave me alone.  Tell him I
shan't come."

"No, no, my dear; pray make an effort and come down."

"Shan't, I tell you.  Now go!"

"But--but--Claud, dear, he threatened to come up with a horse whip and
fetch you."

"What!" cried Claud, springing up on the bed without wincing, and
staring at his mother; "did he say that?"

"Yes, my love," faltered the mother.

"Then you go down and tell him to come, and I'll knock his old head
off."

"Oh, Claud, my dear boy, you shouldn't.  I can not sit here and listen
to such parricidical talk."

"Stand up then, and now be off."

"But, my darling, you will come?"

"No, I won't."

"For my sake?"

"I won't, for my own.  I'm not going to stand it.  He shan't bully and
knock me about I'm not a boy now.  I'll show him."

"But, Claud, darling, for the sake of peace and quietness; I don't want
the servants to know."

But dear Claud--his mother's own darling--was as obstinate now as his
father, whom he condemned loudly, then condemned peace and quietness,
then the servants, and swore that he would serve Kate out for causing
the trouble.

"I'll bring her down on her knees--I'll tame her, and make her beg for a
kiss next time."

"Yes, yes, my dear, you shall, but not now.  You must be humble and
patient."

"Are you coming down, Maria?" ascended in a savage roar.

"Yes, yes, my dear, directly," cried the trembling woman.  "There, you
hear, darling.  He is in a terrible fury.  Come down with me."

"I won't, I tell you," cried the young man, making a snatch at the
pillow, to raise it threateningly in his hands; "go, and tell him what I
said."

"Maria!  Am I to come up?" ascended in a roar.

"Yes--no--no, my dear," cried Mrs Wilton.  "I'm--I'm coming down."

She hurried out of the room, dabbed her eyes hastily, and descended to
where the Squire was tramping up and down the hall, with Samuel, the
cook, housemaid, and kitchen maid in a knot behind the swing baize door,
which cut off the servants' offices, listening to every word of the
social comedy.

"Well," roared Wilton, "is he coming?"

"N-n-not just now, my d-dear.  He feels so ill and shaken that he begs
you will excuse him."

"Humbug, woman!  My boy couldn't have made up such a message.  He said
he wouldn't, eh?  Now then; no prevarication.  That's what he said."

"Y-yes, my dear," faltered the mother.  "Oh, James dearest, pray--pray
don't."

She clung to him, but he shook her off, strode to the umbrella stand,
and snatched a hunting whip from where it hung with twisted thong, and
stamped up the stairs, with his trembling wife following, sobbing and
imploring him not to be so violent; but all in vain, for he turned off
at the top of the old oaken staircase and stamped away to the door of
his son's bedroom--that at the end of the wing which matched to Kate's.

Here Mrs Wilton made a last appeal in a hurried whisper.

"He is so bad--says his ribs are broken from the kick."

"Bah!" roared the Squire; "he has no ribs in his hind legs--Here, you,
Claud; come down to dinner directly or--Here, unlock this door."

He rattled the handle, and then thumped and banged in vain, while Mrs
Wilton, who had been ready to shriek with horror, began to breathe more
freely.

"I thought you said he was lying down, too bad to get up?"

"Yes, yes, dear, he is," faltered the poor woman.

"Seems like it.  Able to lock himself in.  Here, you sir; come down."

But there was no reply; not a sound in answer to his rattling and
banging; and at last, in the culmination of his rage, the Squire drew
back to the opposite wall to gain force so as to dash his foot through
the panel if he could, but just then Eliza opened Kate's door at the far
end of the long corridor, and peered out.

That ended the disturbance.

"Come on down to dinner, Maria," said the Squire.

"Yes, my dear," she faltered, and they descended to dine alone, Mrs
Wilton on water, her husband principally on wine, and hardly a word was
spoken, the head of the house being very quiet and thoughtful in the
calm which followed the storm.

Just as the untasted pheasants were being taken away, after the second
course, Wilton suddenly said to the footman:

"Tell Miss Kate's maid to come here."

Mrs Wilton looked at her husband wonderingly, but he sat crumbling his
bread and sipping his claret till the quiet, grave, elderly servant
appeared.

"How is your mistress?" he said.

"Very unwell, sir."

"Think the doctor need be sent for?"

"Well, no, sir, I hardly think that.  She has been very much agitated."

"Yes, of course; poor girl," said Wilton, quietly.

"But I think she will be better after a good night's rest, sir."

"So do I, Eliza.  You will see, of course, that she has everything she
wants."

"Oh, yes, sir.  I did take her up some dinner, but I could not prevail
upon her to touch it."

"Humph!  I suppose not.  That will do, thank you.--No, no, Maria, there
is no occasion to say any more."

Mrs Wilton's mouth was open to speak, but she shut it again quickly,
fearing to raise another storm, and the maid left the room.  But the
mother would speak out as soon as they were alone.

"I should like to order a tray with one of the pheasants to be sent up
to Claud, dear."

"I daresay you would," he replied.  "Well, I shouldn't."

"May I send for Doctor Leigh?"

"What for?  You heard what the woman said?"

"I meant for Claud, dear."

"Oh, I'll see to him in the morning.  I shall have a pill ready for him
when I'm cooled down.  It won't be so strong then."

"But, James, dear--"

"All right, old lady, I'm getting calm now; but listen to me.  I mean
this: you are not to go to his room to-night."

"James!"

"Nor yet to Kate's, till I go with you."

"My dear James!"

"That's me," he said, with a faint smile, "and you're a very good,
affectionate, well meaning old woman; but if ever there was one who was
always getting her husband into scrapes, it is you."

"Really, dear!" she cried, appealingly.

"Yes, and truly.  There, that will do.  Done dinner?"

"Yes, dear."

"Don't you want any cheese or dessert?"

"No, dear."

"Then let's go.  You'll come and sit with me in the library to-night and
have your cup of tea there."

"Yes, dear, but mayn't I go and just see poor Kate?"

"No."

The word was said quietly, but with sufficient emphasis to silence the
weak woman, who sat gazing appealingly at her husband, whom she followed
meekly enough to the library, where she sat working, and later on sipped
her tea, while he was smoking and gazing thoughtfully at the fire,
reviewing the events of the day, and, to do him justice, repenting
bitterly a great deal that he had said.  But as the time went on,
feeling as he did the urgency of his position and the need to be able to
meet the demands which would be made upon him before long, he grew
minute by minute more stubbornly determined to carry out his plans with
respect to his ward.

"He's only a boy yet," he said to himself, "and he's good at heart.  I
don't suppose I was much better when I was his age, and excepting that
I'm a bit arbitrary I'm not such a bad husband after all."

At that moment he looked up at his wife, just in time to see her bow
gently towards him.  But knowing from old experience that it was not in
acquiescence, he glanced at his watch and waited a few minutes, during
which time Mrs Wilton nodded several times and finally dropped her work
into her lap.

This woke her up, and she sat up, looking very stern, and as if going to
sleep with so much trouble on the way was the last thing possible.  But
nature was very strong, and the desire for sleep more powerful than the
sorrow from which she suffered; and she was dozing off again when her
husband rose suddenly to ring the bell, the servants came in, prayers
were read, and at a few minutes after ten Wilton took a chamber
candlestick and led the way to bed.

He turned off, though, signing to Mrs Wilton to follow him, and on
reaching his niece's room, tapped at the door gently.

"Kate--Kate, my dear," he said, and Mrs Wilton looked at him
wonderingly.

"Yes, uncle."

"How are you now, my child?"

"Not very well, uncle."

"Very sorry, my dear.  Can your aunt get you anything?"

"No; I thank you."

"Wish you a good night, then.  I am very sorry about that upset this
afternoon.--Come, my dear."

"Good-night, Kate, my love," said Mrs Wilton, with her ear against the
panel; "I do hope you will be able to sleep."

"Good-night, aunt," said the girl quietly; and they went back to their
own door.

"Won't you come and say `good-night' to poor Claud, dear?" whispered
Mrs Wilton.

"No, `poor Claud' has to come to me first.--Go in."

He held open the door for his wife to enter, and then followed and
locked it, and for some hours the Manor House was very still.

The next morning James Wilton was out a couple of hours before
breakfast, busying himself around his home farm as if nothing whatever
had happened and there was no fear of a foreclosure, consequent upon any
action by John Garstang.  He was back ready for breakfast rather later
than his usual time, just as Mrs Wilton came bustling in to unlock the
tea-caddy, and he nodded, and spoke rather gruffly:

"Claud not down?" he said.

"No, my dear; I saw you coming across the garden just as I was going to
his room to see how he was."

"Oh, Samuel,"--to the man, who entered with a dish and hot plates,--"go
and tell Mr Claud that we're waiting breakfast."

The man went.

"Let me go up, my dear.  Poor boy! he must feel a bit reluctant to come
down and meet you this morning."

"Poor fellow! he always was afflicted with that kind of timid
shrinking," said Wilton, ironically.  "No, stop.  How is Kate?"

"I don't know, my dear; Eliza said that she had been twice to her room,
but she was evidently fast asleep, and she would not disturb her."

"Humph!  I shall be glad when she can come regularly to her meals."

"What shall you say to her this morning?"

"Wait and see--Well, is he coming down?"

"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman.  "I've been knocking ever so long
at Mr Claud's door, and I can't get any answer."

Mrs Wilton's hand dropped from the tap of the tea urn, and the boiling
water began to flow over the top of the pot.

"Humph!  Sulky," muttered Wilton--"Eh?  What are you staring at?"

"Beg pardon, sir, but he didn't put his boots outside last night, and he
never took his hot water in."

"Oh, James, James!" cried Mrs Wilton, wildly, "I knew it, I knew it.  I
dreamed about the black cow all last night, and there's something
wrong."

"Stop a minute: I'll come," said Wilton, quickly, and a startled look
came into his face.

"Take me--take me, too," sobbed his wife.  "Oh, my poor boy!  If
anything has happened to him in the night.  I shall never forgive
myself.  Samuel--Samuel!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Run round to the stables and send one of the men over for Doctor Leigh
at once."

Wilton felt too much startled to counter-order this, but before the man
had gone a dozen steps he shouted to him.

"Tell the gardener to bring a mallet and cold chisel from the tool
shed."

"Yes, sir," and full of excitement the man ran off, while his master and
mistress hurried upstairs to their son's door.  But before they reached
it Wilton had recovered his calmness.

"What nonsense," he muttered.  Then softly: "Here, you speak to him.
Gently.  Only overslept himself."

He tapped, and signed to his wife.

But her voice sounded full of agitation, as she said:

"Claud, dear; it's getting very late."  Then louder: "Claud!  Claud, my
dear, are you unwell?"  Then with aery of agony, "Claud!  Claud, my
darling!  Oh, pray, pray speak to me, or you'll break my poor heart!"

"Here, stand aside," cried Wilton, who was thoroughly startled now.  He
seized the handle of the door, turned it, and tried to force it open,
but in vain.  The next moment he was about to lay his shoulder close
down to the keyhole, when Kate's maid came running up to them.

"Mrs Wilton!  Mrs Wilton!" she cried; "pray, pray come!  My dear young
lady!  Oh, help, help!  I ought to have spoken sooner.  What shall I
do?"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Wilton pere and mere had not been gone five minutes when there was a
gentle tap at Kate's door, and she started and turned her fearful face
in that direction, but made no reply.  The tap was repeated,

"Miss Kate," came in a sharp whisper; "it is only me, my dear."

"Ah," sighed the girl, as if in relief; and she nearly ran to the door,
turned the key, and admitted the old servant, locked the door again, and
flung her arms about the woman's neck, to bury her face in her breast,
and sob as if her heart would break.

"There, there, there," cooed the woman, as if to the little child she
had nursed long years before; and she led her gently to a couch, and
drew the weeping girt down half reclining upon her breast.  "Cry then,
my precious; it will do you good; and then you must tell Liza all about
it--what has been the matter, dear?"

"Matter!" cried Kate, starting up, and gazing angrily in the woman's
face.  "Liza, it's horrible.  Why did I ever come to this dreadful
house?"

"Hush, hush, my own; you will make yourself had again.  We must not have
you ill."

"Bad--ill?" cried Kate.  "Better dead and at rest.  Oh, I hate him!  I
hate him!  How dare he touch me like that!  It was horrible--an
outrage!"

The woman's face flushed, and her eyes sparkled angrily, then her lips
moved as if to question, but she closed them tightly into a thin line
and waited, knowing from old experience that it would not be long before
her young mistress' grief and trouble would be poured into er ear.

She was quiet, and clasping the agitated girl once lore in her arms, she
began to rock herself slowly to and fro.

"No, no! don't," cried Kate, peevishly, and she raised her head once
more, looking handsomer than ever in her anger and indignation.  "I am
no longer a child.  Aunt and uncle have encouraged it.  This hateful
money is at the bottom of it all.  They wish me to marry him.  Pah! he
makes me shudder with disgust.  And how could I even think of such a
horror with all this terrible trouble so new."

Eliza half closed her eyes and nodded her head, while her mouth seemed
almost to disappear.

"It is cruel--it is horrible," Kate continued.  "They have encouraged it
all through.  Even aunt, with her sickly worship of her wretched spoiled
boy.  Oh, what a poor, pitiful, weak creature she must have thought me.
No one seemed to understand me but Mr Garstang."

Eliza knit her brows a little at his name, but she remained silent, and
by slow degrees she was put in possession of all that had taken place;
and then, faint and weary, Kate let her head sink down till her forehead
rested once more upon the breast where she had so often sunk to rest.

"Oh, the hateful money!" she sighed, as the tears came at last.  "Let
him have it.  What is it to me?  But I cannot stop here, nurse; it is
impossible.  We must go at once.  Uncle is my guardian, but surely he
cannot force me to stay against my inclination.  If I remained here it
would kill me.  Nurse," she cried, with a display of determination that
the woman had never seen in her before, "you must pack up what is
necessary, and to-morrow we will go.  It would be easy to stay at some
hotel till we found a place--a furnished cottage just big enough for us
two; anywhere so that we could be at peace.  We could be happier then--
Why don't you speak to me when I want comfort in my trouble?"

"Because no words of mine could give you the comfort you need, my dear.
Don't you know that my heart bleeds for you, and that always when my
poor darling child has suffered I have suffered, too?"

"Yes, yes, dear; I know," said Kate, raising her face to kiss the woman
passionately.  "I do know.  Don't take any notice of what I said.  All
this has made me feel so wickedly angry, and as if I hated the whole
world."

"Don't I know my darling too well to mind a few hasty words?" said the
woman, softly.  "Say what you please.  If it is angry I know it only
comes from the lips, and there is something for me always in my
darling's heart."

"That does me good, nurse," said the girl, clinging to her
affectionately for a few moments, and then once more sitting up, to
speak firmly.  "It makes me feel after all that I am not alone, and that
my dear, dead mother was right when she said, `Never part from Eliza.
She is not our servant; she has always been our faithful, humble, trusty
friend.'"

The woman's face softened now, and a couple of tears stole down her
cheeks.

"Now, nurse, we must talk and make our plans.  I wish I could see Mr
Garstang, and ask his advice."

"Do you like Mr Garstang, my dear?" said the woman, gently.

"Yes; he is a gentleman.  He seems to me the only one who can talk to me
as what I am, and without thinking I am what they call me--an heiress."

"But poor dear master never trusted Mr Garstang."

"Perhaps he had no need to.  He always treated him as a friend, and he
has proved himself one to-day by the brave way in which he defended me,
and spoke out to open my eyes to all this iniquity."

"But dear master did not make him his executor."

"How could he when he had his brother to think of?  How could my dear
father suspect that Uncle James would prove so base?  It was a mistake.
You ought to have heard Mr Garstang speak to-day."

Eliza sighed.

"I don't think I should put all my trust in Mr Garstang, my dear," she
said.

"Is not that prejudice, nurse?"

"I hope not my dear; but my heart never warmed to Mr Garstang, and it
has always felt very cold toward that young man, his stepson."

"Harry Dasent?  Well," said Kate, with a faint smile, "perhaps mine has
been as cold.  But why should we trouble about this?  It would be no
harm if I asked Mr Garstang's advice; but if we do not like it, nurse,
we can take our own.  One thing we decide upon at once: we will leave
here."

"Can we, my dear?  You have money, but--"

"Oh, don't talk about the hateful thing," cried the girl, passionately.

"I must, my dear.  We cannot take even a cottage without.  This money is
in your uncle's charge; you, as a girl under age, can not touch a penny
without your Uncle James' consent."

"But surely he can not keep me here against my will--a prisoner?"

"I don't know, my dear," said the woman, with a sigh.

"Then that is where we want help and advice--that is where Mr Garstang
could assist me and tell me what to do."

Eliza sighed.

"Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I can take a humble place where
you can keep house and do needlework to help, while I go out as daily
governess."

"You!  A daily governess?"

"Well," said the girl, proudly, "I can play--brilliantly, they say--I
know three languages, and--"

"You have a hundred and fifty thousand pounds in your own right."

"What are a hundred and fifty thousand pounds to a miserable prisoner
who is being persecuted?  Liberty is worth millions, and come what may,
I will be free."

"Yes, you shall be free, darling; but you must do nothing rash.  To-day
has taught me that my dear girl is a woman of firmness and spirit; and,
please God, all will come right in the end.  There, this is enough.  You
are fluttered and feverish now, and delicate as you are, you require
rest.  It is getting late.  Let me help you to undress for a good long
night's rest.  Sleep on it all, my child; out of the evil good will
come, and you have shown them that they have not a baby to deal with,
but a true woman, so matters are not so bad as they seem.  Come, my
little one."

"I must and will leave here, nurse," said Kate, firmly.

"Sleep on it, my child, and remember that after all you have won the
day.  Come, let me help you."

"No, Liza, go now.  I must sit for a while and think."

"Better sleep, and think after a long rest."

"No, dear; I wish to sit here in the quiet and silence first.  Look, the
moon is rising over the trees, and it seems to bring light into my weary
brain.  I'll go to bed soon.  Please do as I wish, and leave me now--
Nurse, dear, do you think those who have gone from us ever come back in
spirit to help us when we are in need?"

"Heaven only knows, my darling," said the woman, looking startled.  "But
please don't talk like this--You really wish me to go?"

"Yes, leave me now.  I am going to make my plans for to-morrow."

"To-morrow."

"No, before I lie down to rest.  Good-night."

"You are mistress, and I am servant, my child.  Good-night, then--
good-night."

"Good-night," said Kate, and a minute later she had closed and re-locked
the door, to turn and stand gazing at the window, whose blind was
suffused with the soft silvery light of the slowly rising moon.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"Who's the letter from, Pierce?"

"One of the medical brokers, as they call themselves--the man I wrote
to;" and the young doctor tossed the missive contemptuously across the
breakfast table to his sister, who caught it up eagerly and read it
through.

"Of course," she cried, with her downy little rounded cheeks flushing,
and a bright mocking look in her eyes; "and I quite agree with him.  He
says you are too modest and diffident about your practice; that the very
fact of its being established so many years makes it of value; that no
one would take it on the terms you propose, and that you must ask at
least five hundred pounds, which would be its value plus a valuation of
the furniture.  How much did you ask?"

"Nothing at all."

"What!" cried Jenny, dropping her bread and butter.

"I said I was willing to transfer the place to any enterprising young
practitioner who would take the house off my hands, and the furniture."

"Oh, you goose--I mean gander!"

"Thank you, Sissy."

"Well, so you are--a dear, darling, stupid old brother," cried the girl,
leaping up to go behind the young doctors chair, covered his eyes with
her hands, and place her little soft white double chin on the top of his
head.  "There you are!  Blind as a bat!  Five hundred pounds!  Pooh!
Rubbish!  Stuff!  Why, it's worth thousands and thousands, and, what is
more, happiness to my own old Pierce."

"I thought that subject was tabooed, Sissy."

"I don't care; I have broken the taboo.  I have risen in rebellion, and
I'll fight till I die for my principles."

"Brave little baby," he said mockingly, as he took the little hands from
his eyes and prisoned them.

"Yes," she said, meaningly, "braver than you know."

"Jenny!  You have not dared to speak about such a thing?" he cried,
turning upon her angrily.

"Not such a little silly," she replied.  "What! make her draw in her
horns and retire into her shell, and begin thinking my own dear boy is a
miserable money-hunter?  Not I, indeed.  For shame, sir, to think such a
thing of me!  I never even told her what a dear good fellow you are,
worrying yourself to death to keep me, and bringing me to live in the
country, because you thought I was pining and growing pale in nasty old
Westminster and its slums."

"That's right," said Pierce, with a faint sigh.

"Let her find out naturally what you are; and she is finding it out, for
don't you make any mistake about it, Miss Katherine Wilton is young, but
she has plenty of shrewd common sense, as I soon found out, and little
as I have seen of her I soon saw that she was quite awake to her
position.  Girls of sense who have fortunes soon smell out people's
motives; and if they think they are going to marry her right off to that
out-door sport, Claud, they have made a grand mistake."

"But you have not dared to talk about your foolish ideas to her, Jenny?"

"Not a word.  Oh, timid, modest frere!  I put on my best frock and my
best manners when we went there to dinner, and I was as nice and
ladylike as a girl could be.  Reward:--Kate took to me at once, and we
became friends."

Leigh uttered a sigh of relief.

"But if I had dared I could have told her what a coward you are, and how
ashamed I am of you."

"For not playing the part of a contemptible schemer, Sis?"

"Who wants you to, sir?  Why, money has nothing to do with it.  Now,
answer me this, Pierce.  If she were only Miss Wilton without a penny,
wouldn't you propose for her at once?"

"No, Sis; I would not."

"You wouldn't?"

"No, I wouldn't be so contemptible as to take such a step when I am
little better than a pauper."

"Boo!  What nonsense.  You a pauper!  An educated gentleman,
acknowledged to be talented in his profession.  But I know you'd marry
her to-morrow and turn your poor little sister out of doors if you had
an income.  Bother incomes and money!  It's all horrid, and causes all
the misery there is in the world.  Pierce, you shan't run away from here
and leave the poor girl to be married to that wretched boy."

"Jenny, dear, be serious.  I really must get away from here as soon as I
can."

"Oh, Pierce!  Don't talk about it, dear.  It is only to make yourself
miserable through these silly ideas of honour; and it is to make me
wretched, too, just when I am so well and so happy, and all that nasty
London cough gone.  I declare if you take me away I'll pine away and
die."

"No, you shan't, Sissy.  You can't, with your own clever special
physician at your side," he said merrily.

"Not if you could help it, I know.  But Pierce, darling, don't be such a
coward.  It's cruel to her to run away, and leave her unprotected."

"Hold your tongue!" said Leigh peremptorily.  "I tell you that is all
imagination on your part."

"And I tell you it is a fact I've seen and heard quite enough.  Old
Wilton is very poor, and he wants to get the money safe in his family.
Mrs Wilton is only the old puss whose paws he is using for tongs.  As
for Claud--Ugh!  I could really enjoy existence if I might box his big
ears.  Now look here, big boy," cried Jenny, impulsively snatching up
the agent's letter: "I am going to burn this, for you shan't go away and
make a medical martyr of yourself, just because the dearest girl in the
world--who likes you already for your straightforward manly conduct
towards her--happens to have a fortune, and your practice beginning to
improve, too."

"My practice beginning to improve!" he cried, contemptuously.

"Yes, sir, improve; didn't you have a broken boy to mend yesterday? and
haven't you a chance of the parish practice, which is twenty pounds a
year? and oh, hooray, hooray!  I am so glad, there's somebody ill at the
Manor again.  I hope it's Clodpole Claud this time," and she wildly
waltzed round the room, waving the letter over her head, before stopping
by the fire, throwing the paper in, and plumping down in a chair,
looking demure and solemn as a nun.

For Tom Jonson, the groom from the Manor, had driven over in the
dog-cart, pulled up short, and now rang sharply at the bell.

Leigh turned pale, for the man's manner betokened emergency, and he
could only associate this with the patient to whom he had been called
before.

"Will you come over at once, sir, please?"

"Miss Wilton worse?"

"Oh, no, sir.  Something wrong with young Master."  Leigh uttered a sigh
of relief, and stepped back for his hat.

"Mr Wilton, junior, taken ill, dear," he said.  "I heard, Pierce.  Do
kill him, or send him into a consumption."



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Leigh hardly heard his sister's words, for he hurried out and sprang
into the dog-cart, where the groom was full of the past day's trouble,
and ready to pour into unwilling ears what he had heard from Samuel, who
knew that Mr Garstang, the solicitor from London, knocked down young
Master about money, he thought, and that he had heard Mr Claud say
something about his father kicking him.

"Missus wanted to send for you last night, sir, but Master wouldn't have
it, and this morning they couldn't make him hear in his room.  Poor
chap, I expect he's very bad."

The man would have gone on talking, but finding his companion silent and
thoughtful, he relapsed into a one-sided conversation with the horse he
drove, bidding him "come on," and "look alive," and "be steady," till he
turned in at the avenue and cantered up to the hall door.

Mrs Wilton was there, tearful and trembling.

"Oh, do make haste, Mr Leigh," she cried.  "How long you have been!"

"I came at once, madam; is your son in his room?"

"Yes, yes--dead by this time.  Pray, come up."

He sprang up the stairs in a very unprofessional way, forgetting the
necessity for a medical man being perfectly calm and cool, and Wilton
met him on the landing.

"Oh, here you are.  Haven't got the door open yet.  Curse the old wood!
It's like iron.  Maria, go and get all the keys you can find."

"Yes, dear, but while the men are doing that hadn't we better try and
get poor Claud's door open?"

"No, hers first," cried Wilton, and Leigh started.

"I understood that it was your son who needed help," he said.

"Never mind him for a bit.  You must see to my niece first;" and in a
few seconds Leigh was in possession of the fact that the maid had been
unable to make her mistress hear; that since then they could get no
response to constant calling and knocking, and the door had resisted all
their efforts to get it open.

On reaching the end of the corridor Leigh found the maid, white and
trembling, holding her apron pressed hard to her lips, while the footman
and two gardeners, after littering the floor with unnecessary tools,
were now trying to make a hole with a chisel large enough to admit the
point of a saw, so as to cut round the lock.

"Wood's like iron, sir," said the gardener, who was operating.

"But would it not be easier to put a ladder to the window, and break a
pane of glass?" said Leigh, impatiently.

"Oh, Lord!" cried Wilton, "who would be surrounded with such a set of
fools!  Come along.  Of course.  Here, one of you, go and fetch a
ladder."

The second gardener hurried off down the back stairs, while his master
led the way to the front, leaving Mrs Wilton and the maid tapping at
the bedroom door.

"Oh, do, do speak, my darling," sobbed Mrs Wilton.  "If it's only one
word, to let us know you are alive."

"Oh, don't, don't pray say that ma'am," sobbed the maid.  "My poor dear
young mistress!  What shall I do--what shall I do?"

Mrs Wilton made no reply, but, free from her husband's coercion now,
she hurried along the corridor to the other wing, to begin knocking at
her son's door, and then went down upon her knees, with her lips to the
keyhole, begging him within to speak.

"Such a set of blockheads," growled Wilton; "and I was just as bad,
Doctor.  In the hurry and excitement that never occurred to me.  You see
you've come in cool, and ready to grasp everything.  Poor girl, she was
a bit upset yesterday, and I suppose it was too much for her.  Boys will
be boys, and I had a quarrel with my son."

This in a confidential whisper, as they crossed the hall, but Leigh
hardly heard him in his anxiety, and as they passed out and along the
front of the house he said, hurriedly:

"I'll go on, sir.  I see they have the ladder there."

"What!" cried Wilton, excitedly, "they can't have got it yet, and--God
bless me! what does this mean?"

He broke into a run, for there, in full view now, at the end of the
house, with its broad foot in a flower-bed, was one of the
fruit-gathering ladders, just long enough to reach the upper windows,
and resting against the sill beneath that of Kate's room.

He reached the place first, clapped his hands upon the sides, and
ascended a couple of rounds, but stepped back directly, with his florid
face mottled with white, and his lips quivering with excitement as he
spoke.

"Here, you're a lighter man than I, Doctor; go up.  The window's open,
too."

Leigh sprang up, mad now with anxiety and a horrible dread; but as he
reached the window he paused and hesitated, for more than one reason,
the principal being a fear of finding that which he suspected true.

"In with you, man--in with you," cried Wilton; "it is no time for false
delicacy now;" and as he spoke he began to ascend in turn.

Leigh sprang in, and at a glance saw that the bed had not been pressed,
and that there was no sign of struggle and disturbance in the daintily
furnished room.  No chair overset, no candlestick upon the floor, but
all looking as if ready for its occupant, save that an extinguisher was
upon one of the candles beside the dressing-table glass.

"Gone!" cried a hoarse voice behind him, as he stood there, shrinking in
the midst of the agony he felt, for it seemed to him like a sacrilege to
be present.

Leigh started round, to find Wilton's head at the open casement, and
directly after the heavy man stepped in.

"No, no," he shouted back, as the ladder began to bend again.  "Not you.
Stop below.  No; take this ladder to the hall door, and wait."

He banged to, and fastened the casement, after seizing the top of the
ladder, and giving it a thrust which sent it over with a crash on to the
gravel.

"Don't seem like a doctor's business, sir," continued Wilton, gravely;
"but you medical men have to be confidential, so keep your tongue quiet
about what you have seen."

Leigh bowed his head, for he could not speak.  A horrible sensation, as
if he were about to be attacked by a fit, assailed him, and he had to
battle with it to think and try to grasp what this meant.  One moment
there was the fear that violence had been used; the next that it meant a
willing flight; and he was fiercely struggling with the bitter thoughts
which came, suggesting that his love for this delicate, gentle girl was
a mockery, for she was either weak, or had long enough before bound
herself to another, when he was brought back to the present by the
action of the Squire, who, after a sharp glance round, stooped to pick
up the door-key from where it lay on the carpet after being turned and
pushed out by means of a piece of wire, in the hope, as suggested by
Samuel, that it could be picked out afterwards at the bottom of the
door, a plan which had completely failed.

Wilton thrust in the key, turned it, and opened the door, to admit his
wife and the maid.

"Miss Kate, Miss Kate," cried the latter.

"Call louder," said Wilton, mockingly.  "There's no one here."

"James, James, my dear, what does this mean?" cried Mrs Wilton
excitedly.

"Bed not been slept in; window open--ladder outside--can't you see?"

Eliza looked at him wildly, as if she could not grasp his words; then
with a cry she rushed to a wardrobe, dragged it open, and examined the
hooks and pegs.

"Hat--waterproof!" she cried; and then with a faint shriek--"Gone?"

"Yes, gone," said Wilton brutally.  "Here, Maria; this way."

"Yes, yes; Claud's room.  Come quickly, Doctor, pray."

Pierce Leigh followed the Wiltons along the corridor, hardly knowing
where he was going, in the wild turmoil which raged, in his brain.
There were moments when he felt as if he were going mad; others when he
was ready to think that he was suffering from some strange aberration
which distorted everything he saw and heard, till he was brought back to
himself by the Squire's voice which begat an intense desire to know the
worst.

"Here, Claud," he shouted, after thumping hard at his son's bedroom door
without result.  "Claud!  No nonsense, sir; I want you.  Something
serious has happened.  Answer at once if you are here."

There was not a sound to be heard, and Mrs Wilton sobbed aloud.

"Oh, my boy, my boy!  I'm sure he is dead."

"Bah!" cried Wilton, angrily.  "Here, who has been trying to get in this
room?"

No one answered, and Wilton bent down and looked through the keyhole.

"Has anyone pushed the key out to make it fall inside?"

A low murmur of inquiry followed the question, but there was no reply.

"Come round to the front, Doctor," said Wilton then, and Leigh followed
him in silence downstairs and out to where the men were waiting with the
ladder.

This was placed up against the window which matched with Kate's at the
other end of the house, and at a sign from Wilton, Leigh once more
mounted, acting in a mechanical way, as if he were no longer master of
his own acts, but completely influenced by his companion.

"Window fastened?" cried Wilton.

"Yes."

"Break it.  Mind; don't cut your hand."

But as Wilton spoke there was the crash of glass, Leigh thrust in his
hand, and unfastened the casement, which he flung open and stepped in,
the Squire following.

In this case the bed was tumbled from Claud having been lying down
outside, but it was evident to his father that he had descended in the
ordinary way, after locking his room and placing the key in his pocket,
so as to make it seem that he was still in the room.

"That will do," said Wilton, gruffly.  "We can go down, and it must be
by the way we came."

He looked at the young doctor as if expecting him to ask some questions,
but Leigh did not speak a word, merely drawing back for his companion to
descend.

"You'll hold your tongue about all this, Mr Leigh?" he said.

"Of course, sir," said the young man coldly.  "It is no affair of mine."

"No, nor anybody else's but mine," cried Wilton, fiercely.  Then as soon
as he reached the foot of the ladder he gazed fiercely at his two men.

"Take that ladder back," he said; "and mind this: if I find that any man
I employ has been chattering about this business, I discharge him on the
instant.--Thank you, Doctor, for coming.  Of course, you will make a
charge.  The young lady seems to prefer fresh air."

Leigh looked at him wildly, and strode rapidly away.

"Disappointed at losing his patient," muttered Wilton, as he went in, to
find his wife waiting for him with both her trembling hands extended.

"Quick!" she cried; "tell me the worst," as she caught his arm.

He passed his arm about her waist, and seemed to sweep her into the
library, where he closed the door, and pushed her down into an easy
chair.

"There is no worst," he said, in a low voice.  "Now, look here; you must
keep your mouth shut, and be as surprised as I am.  It's all right.  She
was only a bit scared yesterday.  The boy knew what he was about.  The
cunning jade has bolted with him."

"Gone--Kate?" cried Mrs Wilton.

"Yes; Claud was throwing dust in our stupid old eyes.  The money won't
go out of the family, old girl.  They're on the way to be married now,
and as for John Garstang--let him do his worst."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Pierce, darling, what has happened?" cried Jenny, as her brother
entered the room and sank into a chair.  "Oh," she cried wildly, as she
flew to him to throw her arms about his neck and gazed in his ghastly
face, "it was for Kate.  Oh, Pierce, don't say she's dead!"

"Yes," he said, in a voice full of agony; "dead to me."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"Dead?  Dead to you?  Pierce, speak to me," cried Jenny.  "What do you
mean?"

"What I say.  They are a curious mixture of weakness and duplicity."

"Who are, dear?" said Jenny, with a warm colour taking the place of the
pallor which her brother's words had produced.  "Why will you go on
talking in riddles?"

"Women.  Their soft, quiet ways force you to believe in them, and then
comes some sudden enlightening to prove what I say."

Jenny caught him by the shoulder as he sat in his chair, looking
ghastly.

"Tell me what you mean," she cried excitedly.

"Only the falling to pieces of your castle in the air," he said, with a
mocking laugh.  "The marriage you arranged between the pauper physician
and the rich heiress.  I can easily be strictly honorable now."

"Will you tell me what you mean, Pierce?" cried the girl, angrily.
"What has happened?  Is someone ill at the Manor House?"

"No," he said, bitterly.

"Then why were you sent for?"

"To see an imaginary patient."

"Pierce, if you do not wish me to go into a fit of hysterical passion,"
cried the girl, "tell me what you mean.  Why--were--you--sent--for?"

"Because," replied Leigh, imitating his sister's manner of speaking,
"Mise--Katherine--Wilton--and--Mr Claud--were--supposed--to--be--
lying--speechless in their rooms, and--ha-ha-ha! their doors could not
be forced."

"Pierce, what is the matter with you?" cried Jenny, excitedly; "do you
know what you are saying?"

"Perfectly," he cried, his manner changing from its mocking tone to one
of fierce passion.  "When I reached the place, a way was found in, and
the birds were flown."

"Birds--flown," cried Jenny, looking more and more as if she doubted her
brother's sanity; "what birds?"

"The fair Katherine, and that admirable Crichton, Claud."

"Flown?" stammered Jenny, who looked now half stunned.

"Well, eloped," he cried, savagely, "to Gretna Green, or a registry
office.  Who says that Northwood is a dull place, without events?"

"Kate Wilton eloped with her cousin Claud!"

"Yes, my dear," said Pierce, striving hard to speak in a careless,
indifferent tone, but failing dismally, for every word sounded as if
torn from his breast, his quivering lips bespeaking the agony he felt.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Jenny exclaimed:

"Pierce, is this some cruel jest?"

"Do I look as if I were jesting?" he cried wildly, and springing up he
cast aside the mask beneath which he had striven to hide the agony which
racked him.  "Jesting! when I am half mad with myself for my folly.
Driveling pitiful idiot that I was, ready to believe in the first pretty
face I see, and then, as I have said, I find how full of duplicity and
folly a woman is."

"Mind what you are saying, Pierce," cried his sister, who seemed to be
strangely moved; "don't say words which will make you bitterly repent.
Tell me again; I feel giddy and sick.  I must be going to be taken ill,
for I can't have heard you aright, or there must be some mistake."

"Mistake!" he cried, with a savage laugh.  "Don't I tell you--I have
just come from there?  Has not old Wilton hid me keep silence?  And I
came babbling it all to you."

"Stop!" said Jenny thoughtfully; "Kate could not do such a thing.  When
was it?"

"Who can tell?--late last night--early this morning.  What does it
matter?"

"It is not true," cried Jenny, with her eyes flashing.  "How dare you,
who were ready to go down on your knees and worship her, utter such a
cruel calumny."

"Very well," he cried bitterly; "then it is not true; I have not been
there this morning, and have not looked in their empty rooms.  Tell me I
am a fool and a madman, and you will be very near the truth."

"I don't care," cried Jenny angrily; "and it's cruel--almost blasphemous
of you to say such a thing about that poor sweet girl whom I had already
grown to love.  She elope with her cousin--run away like a silly girl in
a romance!  It is impossible."

"Yes, impassible," he said mockingly, as he writhed in his despair and
agony.

"Pierce, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.  There!  I can only talk
to you in a commonplace way, though all the time I am longing for words
full of scorn and contempt with which to crush you.  No, I'm not, my
poor boy, because I can see how _you_ are suffering.  Oh, Pierce!
Pierce!" she continued, sobbing as she threw her arms about his neck;
"how can you torture yourself so by thinking such a thing of her?"

"Good little girl," he said tenderly, moved as he was by her display of
affection.  "I shall begin to respect myself again now I find that my
bright, clever little sister could be as much deceived as I."

"I have not been deceived in her.  She is all that is beautiful, and
good, and true.  Of course, I believe in her, and so do you at heart,
only you are half mad now, and deceived."

"Yes, half mad, and deceived!"

"Yes.  There is something behind all this--I know," cried Jenny, wildly.
"They have persecuted her so, and encouraged that wretched boy to pay
her attentions, till in despair she has run away to take refuge with
some other friends."

"With Claud Wilton!" said Pierce, bitterly.

"Silence, sir!  No.  Women are not such weak double-faced creatures as
you think.  No, it is as I say; and oh!  Pierce, dear, he was out late
last night, and when he got back found her going away and followed her."

"Fiction--imagination," he said bitterly.  "You are inventing all this
to try and comfort me, little woman, but your woven basket will not hold
water.  It leaks at the very beginning.  How could you know that he was
out late last night?"

Jenny's cheeks were scarlet, and she turned away her face.

"There, you see, you are beaten at once, Jenny, and that I have some
reason for what I have said about women; but there are exceptions to
every rule, and my little sister is one of them.  I did not include her
among the weak ones."

To his astonishment she burst into a passionate storm of sobs and tears,
and in words confused and only half audible, she accused herself of
being as weak and foolish as the rest, and, as he made out, quite
unworthy of his trust.

"Oh!  Pierce, darling," she cried wildly, as she sank upon her knees in
front of his chair; "I'm a wicked, wicked girl, and not deserving of all
you think about me.  Believe in poor Kate, and not in me, for indeed,
indeed, she is all that is good and true."

"A man cannot govern his feelings, Sissy," he said, half alarmed now at
the violence of her grief.  "I must believe in you always, as my own
little girl.  How could I do otherwise, when you have been everything to
me for so long, ever since you were quite a little girl and I told you
not to cry for I would be father and mother to you, both."

"And so you have been, Pierce, dear," she sobbed, "but I don't deserve
it--I don't deserve it."

"I don't deserve to have such a loving little companion," he said,
kissing her tenderly.  "Haven't I let my fancy stray from you, and am I
not being sharply punished for my weal mess?"

She suddenly hung back from him and pressed her hair from her temples,
as he held her by the waist.

"Pierce!" she said sharply, and there was a look of anger in her eyes,
"he is a horrid wretch."

"People do not give him much of a character," said Leigh bitterly, "but
that would be no excuse for my following him to wring his neck."

"I believe he would be guilty of any wickedness.  Tell me, dear; do you
think it possible--such things have been done?"

"What things?" he said, wondering at her excited manner.

"It is to get her money, of course; for it would be his then.  Do you
think he has taken her away by force?"

Leigh started violently now in turn, and a light seemed to flash into
his understanding, but it died out directly, and he said half pityingly,
as he drew her to him once again:

"Poor little inventor of fiction," he said, with a harsh laugh.  "But
let it rest, Sissy; it will not do.  These things only occur in a
romance.  No, I do not think anything of the kind; and what do you say
to London now?"



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"What are you going to do, James, dear?" said Mrs Wilton.

"Eh?"

"What are you going to do, dear?  Oh, you don't know what a relief it is
to me.  I was going to beg you to have the pike pond dragged."

James Wilton's strong desire was to do nothing, and give his son plenty
of time; but there was a Mrs Grundy even at Northwood, and she had to
be studied.

"Do?  Errum!"  He cleared his throat with a long imposing, rolling
sound.  "Well, search must be made for them directly, and they must be
brought back.  It is disgraceful I did mean to sit down and do nothing,
but it will not do.  I am very angry and indignant with them both, for
Kate is as bad as Claud.  It must not be said that we connived at the--
the--the--what's the word?--escapade."

"Of course not, my dear; and it is such a pity.  Such a nice wedding as
she might have had, and made it a regular `at home,' to pay off all the
people round I'd quite made up my mind about my dress."

"Oh, I'm glad of that," said Wilton, with a grim smile.  "Nothing like
being well prepared for the future.  Have you quite made up your mind
about your dress when I pop off?  Crape, of course?"

"James, my darling, you shouldn't.  How can you say such dreadful
things?"

"You make me--being such a fool."

"James!"

"Hold your tongue, do.  Yes, I must have inquiries made."

"But do you feel quite sure that they have eloped like that?"

"Oh, yes," he said, thoughtfully; "there's no doubt about it."

"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.  "It seems so
strange, when she was so ill and in such trouble."

"Bah!  Sham!  Like all women, kicking up a row about the first kiss, and
wanting it all the time."

"James, my dear, you shouldn't say such things.  It was no sham.  She
was in dreadful trouble, I'm sure, and I cannot help thinking about the
pike pond.  It haunts me--it does indeed.  Don't you think that in her
agony she may have gone and drowned herself?"

"Yes, that's it," said Wilton, with a scowl at his wife.

"Oh!  Horrible!  I was having dreadful dreams all last night.  You do
think so, then?"

"Yes, you've hit it now, old lady.  She must have jumped down from her
window on to the soft flower-bed, and then gone and fetched the ladder,
and put it up there, and afterwards gone and called Claud to come down
and go hand in hand with her, so as to have company."

"Jumped down--the ladder--what did she want a ladder for, James, dear?"

"What do people want ladders for?  Why, to come down by."

"But she was down, dear.  I--I really don't know what you mean.  You
confuse me so.  But, oh, James, dear, you don't mean that about Claud?"

"Why not?  Depend upon it, they're at the bottom of that hole where the
pig was drowned, and the pike are eating bits out of them."

"James!--Oh, what a shame!  You're laughing at me."

"Laughing at you?  You'd make a horse laugh at you.  Such idiocy.  Be
quiet if you can.  Don't you see how worried and busy I am?  And look
here--if anyone calls out of curiosity, you don't know anything.  Refer
'em to me."

"Yes, my dear.  But really it is very shocking of the young people.
It's almost immoral.  But you think they will get married directly?"

"Trust Claud for that.  Fancy the jade going off in that way.  Ah,
they're all alike."

"No, James; I would sooner have died than consented to such a
proceeding."

"Not you.  Now be quiet."

"Going out, dear?"

"Only round the house for a few minutes.  By the way, have you examined
Eliza--asked her what Kate has taken with her?"

"Yes, dear.  Nothing at all but her hat, scarf, and cloak.  Such a
shabby way of getting married."

"Never mind that," said Wilton; and he went into the hall, through the
porch and on to the place where the ladder had been found.

There was little to find there but the deep impressions made by the
heels, except that a man's footprints were plainly to be seen; and
Wilton returned to his wife, rang the bell, and assuming his most
judicial air waited.

"Send Miss Kate's maid here," he said, sternly.

"Yes, sir."

"Stop.  Look here, Samuel, you are my servant, and I call upon you to
speak the whole truth to me about this matter, one which, on further
thought, I feel it to be my duty to investigate.  Now, tell me, did you
know anything about this proceeding on Mr Claud's part?"

"No, sir; 'strue as goodness, I didn't."

"Mr Claud did not speak to you about it?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't you see him last night?"

"No, sir; I went up to his room to fetch his boots to bring down and
dry, but the door was locked, but when I knocked and asked for them he
did say something then."

"Yes, what did he say?"

Samuel glanced at his mistress and hesitated.

"Don't look at me, Samuel," said Mrs Wilton; "speak the whole truth."

"Yes; what did he say?" cried Wilton, sternly.

"Well, sir, he told me to go to the devil."

Wilton coughed.

"That will do.  Go and fetch Miss Wilton's maid."

Eliza came, looking red-eyed and pale, but she could give no
information, only assure them that she did not understand it, but was
certain something must be wrong, for Miss Kate would never have taken
such a step without consulting her.

And so on, and so on.  A regular examination of the servants remaining
followed in quite a judicial manner, and once more Kate's aunt and uncle
were alone.

"There," he said; "I think I have done my duty, my dear.  Perhaps,
though, I ought to drive over to the station and make inquiries there;
but I don't see what good it would do.  I could only at the most find
out that they had gone to London."

"Don't you think, dear, that you ought to communicate with the police?"

"No; what for?"

"To trace them, dear.  The police are so clever; they would be sure to
find them out."

Wilton coughed.

"Perhaps we had better wait, my dear.  I fully anticipate that they will
come back to-night--or to-morrow morning, full of repentance to ask our
forgiveness; and er--I suppose we shall have to look over it."

"Well, yes, my dear," said Mrs Wilton.  "What's done can't be undone;
but I'm sure I don't know what people will say."

"I shall be very stern with Claud, though, for it is a most disgraceful
act.  I wonder at Kate."

"Well, I did, my dear, till I began to think, and then I did not; for
Claud has such a masterful way with him.  He was always too much for
me."

"Yes," said Wilton dryly; "always.  Well, we had better wait and see if
they come back."

"I am terribly disappointed, though, my dear, for we could have had such
a grand wedding.  To go off like that and get married, just like a
footman and housemaid.  Don't you remember James and Sarah?"

"Bah!  No, I don't remember James and Sarah," said Wilton irascibly.

"Yes, you do, my dear.  It's just ten years ago, and you must remember
about them both wanting a holiday on the same day, and coming back at
night, and Sarah saying so demurely: `Please, ma'am, we've been
married.'"

Wilton twisted his chair round and kicked a piece of coal on the top of
the fire which required breaking.

"James, my dear, you shouldn't do that," said his wife, reprovingly.
"You're as bad as Claud, only he always does it with his heel.  There is
a poker, my dear."

"I thought you always wanted it kept bright."

"Well, it does look better so, dear.  But I do hope going off in the
night like that won't give Kate a cold."

Wilton ground his teeth and was about to burst into a furious fit of
anger against his wife's tongue, but matters seemed to have taken so
satisfactory a turn since the previous day that the bite was wanting,
and he planted his heels on the great hob, warmed himself, and started
involuntarily as he saw in the future mortgages, first, second and
third, paid off, and himself free from the meshes which he gave Garstang
the credit of having spun round him.  As for Claud, he could, he felt,
mould him like wax.  So long as he had some ready money to spend he
would be quiet enough, and, of course, it was all for his benefit, for
he would succeed to the unencumbered estates.

Altogether the future looked so rosy that Wilton chuckled at the glowing
fire and rubbed his hands, without noticing that the fire dogs were
grinning at him like a pair of malignant brazen imps; and just then Mrs
Wilton let her work fall into her lap and gave vent to a merry laugh.

"What now?" said Wilton, facing round sharply.  "Don't do that.  Suppose
one of the servants came in and saw you grinning.  Just recollect that
we are in great trouble and anxiety about this--this--what you may call
it--escapade."

"Yes, dear; I forgot.  But it does seem so funny."

"Didn't seem very funny last night."

"No, dear, of course not; and I never could have thought our troubles
would come right so soon.  But only think of it; those two coming back
together, and Kate not having changed her name.  There won't be a thing
in her linen that will want marking again."

"Bah!" growled Wilton.  "Yes, what is it?" he cried, as the footman
appeared.

"Beg pardon, sir, but Tom Jonson had to go to the village shop for some
harness paste, and it's all over the place."

"Oh, is it?" growled Wilton.  "Of course, if Mr Tom Jonson goes out on
purpose to spread it."

"I don't think he said a word, sir, but they were talking about it at
the shop, and young Barker saw 'em last."

"Barker--Barker?  Not--"

"Yes, sir, him as you give a month to for stealing pheasants' eggs.
That loafing chap."

"He saw them last night?  Here, go and tell Smith to fetch him here
before me."

Samuel smiled.

"Do you hear, sir?  Don't stand grinning there."

"No, sir; certainly not, sir," said the man, "but Tom Jonson thought
you'd like to see him, sir, and he collared him at once and brought him
on."

"Quite right.  Bring him in at once.  Stop a moment.  Put two or three
`Statutes at Large' and `Burns' Justice of the Peace' on the table."

The man hurriedly gave the side-table a magisterial look with four or
fire pie-crust coloured quartos and a couple of bulky manuals, while
Wilton turned to his wife.

"Here, Maria," he growled, in a low tone; "you'd better be off."

"Oh, don't send me away, please, dear," she whispered; "it isn't one of
those horrid cases you have sometimes, and I do so want to hear."

"Very well; only don't speak."

"No, my dear, not a word," whispered Mrs Wilton, and she half closed
her eyes and pinched her lips together, but her ears twitched as she sat
waiting anxiously for the return of the footman, followed by the groom,
who seemed to have had no little trouble in pushing and dragging a
rough-looking lout of about eighteen into the room, where he stood with
his smock frock raised on each side so as to allow his hands to be
thrust deeply into his trousers pockets.

"Take your hat off," said Samuel, in a sharp whisper.

"Sheeawn't!" said the fellow, defiantly.  "I arn't done nothin'."

Samuel promptly knocked the hat off on to the floor, which necessitated
a hand being taken slowly from a pocket to pick it up.

"Here, don't you do that ag'in," cried the lad.

"Silence, sir.  Stand up," cried Wilton.

"Mayn't I pick up my hat?  I arn't done nothin'."

"Say `sir'," whispered the footman.

"Sheeawn't.  I arn't done nothin', I tell yer.  No business to bring me
here."

"Silence, sir," cried Wilton, taking up a pen and shaking it at the lad,
which acted upon him as if it were some terrible judicial wand which
might write a document consigning him to hard labour, skilly, and bread
and water in the county jail.  The consequence being that he stood with
his head bent forward, brow one mass of wrinkles, and mouth partly open,
staring at the fierce-looking justice of the peace.

"Listen to me: you are not brought here for punishment."

"Well, I arn't done nothin'," said the lad.

"I am glad to hear it, and I hope you will improve, Barker.  Now, what
you have to do is to answer a few questions, and if you do so truthfully
and well, you will be rewarded."

"Beer?" said the lout, with a grin.

"My servant will give you some beer as you go out, but first of all I
shall give you a shilling."

The fellow grinned.

"Shall I get the book and swear him, sir?" said Samuel, who was used to
the library being turned into a court for petty cases.

"There is no need," said Wilton austerely.  "Now, my lad, answer me."

"Yes, I sin 'em both last night."

"Saw whom?"

"Young Squire and his gal."

"Young Squire" made Mrs Wilton smile; "his gal" seemed to set her teeth
on edge.

"Humph!  Are you sure?" said Wilton.

"Sewer?  Ay, I know young Squire well enough.  Hit me many a time.
Haw-haw!  Know young Squire--I should think I do!"

"Say `sir,'" whispered Samuel again.

"Sheeawn't," cried the fellow.  "You mind your own business."

"Attend to me, sir," cried Wilton, in his sternest bench manner.

"Well, I am a-try'n' to, master, on'y he keeps on kedgin' me."

"Where did you see my son and--er--the lady?"

"Where did I sin 'em?  Up road."

"Where were you?"

"Ahint the hedge."

"And what were you doing behind the hedge--wiring?"

"Naw.  On'y got me bat-fowling nets."

"But you were hiding, sir?"

"Well, what o' that?  'Bliged to hide.  Can't go out anywhere o' nights
now wi'out summun watching yer.  Can't go for a few sparrers but some on
'em says its pardridges."

"What time was it?"

"Hey?"

"What time was it?"

"I d'know; nine or ten, or 'leven.  Twelve, may-be."

"Well?"

"Hey?"

"What then?"

"What then?  Nothin' as I knows on.  Yes, there weer; he puts his arm
round her waist, and she give him a dowse in the faace."

"Humph!  Which way did they go then?"

"Up road."

"Did you follow them?"

"What'd I got to follow 'em for?  Shouldn't want nobody to follow me
when I went out wi' a gal."

Wilton frowned.

"Did you see any carriage about, waiting?"

"Naw."

"What did you do then?"

"Waited till they was out o' sight."

"Yes, and what then?"

"Ketched sparrers, and they arn't game."

The lout looked round, grinning at all present, as if he had posed the
magistrate in whose presence he was standing, till his eyes lit on Mrs
Wilton, who was listening to him intently, and to her he raised his
hand, passing the open palm upward past his face till it was as high as
he could reach, and then descending the arc of a circle, a movement
supposed in rustic schools to represent a most respectful bow.

"Ah, Barker, Barker!" said the recipient, shaking her head at him; "you
never come to the Sunday school now."

"Grow'd too big, missus," said the lad, grinning, and then noisily using
his cuff for the pocket-handkerchief he lacked.

"We are never too big to learn to be good, Barker," continued Mrs
Wilton, "and I'm afraid you are growing a bad boy now."

"Oh, I don't know, missus; I shouldn't be a bad 'un if there was no
game."

"That will do, that will do," said the Squire, impatiently.  "That's all
you know, then, sir?"

"Oh, no; I knows a lot more than that," said the lad, grinning.

"Then why the deuce don't you speak?"

"What say?"

"Tell me what more you know about Mr Claud and the lady, and I'll give
you another shilling."

"Will yer?" cried the lad, eagerly.  "Well, I've seed'd 'em five or six
times afore going along by the copse and down the narrow lane, and I sin
him put his arm round her oncet, and I was close by, lying clost to a
rabbud hole; and she says, `How dare you, sir! how dare you!' just like
that I dunno any more, and that makes two shillin'."

"There; be off.  Take him away, Samuel, and give him a horn of beer."

"Yes sir--Now, then, come on."

But the lad stood and grinned, first at the Squire and then at Mrs
Wilton, rubbing his hands down his sides the while.

"D'yer hear?" whispered the footman, as the groom opened the door.
"Come on."

"Sheeawn't."

"Come on.  Beer."

"But he arn't give me the two shillings yet."

"Eh?  Oh, forgot," said the Squire.

"Gahn.  None o' your games.  Couldn't ha' forgetted it so soon."

"There--Take him away."

Wilton held out a couple of shillings, and the fellow snatched them, bit
both between his big white teeth, stuffed one in each pocket, made Mrs
Wilton another bow, and turned to go; but his wardrobe had been sadly
neglected, and at the first step one of the shillings trickled down the
leg of his trousers, escaped the opening into his ill-laced boot,
rattled on the polished oaken floor, and then ran along, after the
fashion of coins, to hide itself in the darkest corner of the room.  But
Barker was too sharp for it, and forgetting entirely the lessons he had
learned at school about ordering "himself lowly and reverently to all
his betters," he shouted: "Loo, loo, loo!" pounced upon it like a cat
does upon a mouse, picked it up, and thrust it where it could join its
fellow, and turned to Mrs Wilton.

"Hole in the pocket," he said, confidentially, and went off to get the
beer.

"Bah!  Savage!" growled Wilton, as the door closed.  "There, Maria, no
doubt about it now."

"No, my dear, and we can sleep in peace."

But Mrs Wilton was wrong save and except the little nap she had after
dinner while her husband was smoking his pipe; for that night, just
before the last light was out--that last light being in the Squire's
room where certain arrangements connected with hair and pieces of paper
had detained Mrs Wilton nearly half an hour after her husband had
announced in regular cadence that he was fast asleep--there came a long
ringing at the hall door bell.

It was so utterly unexpected in the silence and solitude of the country
place that Mrs Wilton sprang from her seat in front of the
dressing-glass, jarring the table so that a scent-bottle fell with a
crash, and injuring her knees.

"James--James!" she cried.

"Eh, what's the matter?" came from the bed, as the Squire sat up
suddenly.

"Fire!  Fire!  Another stack burning, I'm sure."

Wilton sprang out of bed, ran to the window, tore aside the blind, flung
open the casement, and looked down.

"Where is it?" he shouted, for he had more than once been summoned from
his bed to rick fires.

"Where's what?" came in a familiar voice.

Wilton darted back, letting fall the blind.

"Slip on your dressing gown," he said, hastily, "and pull out those
confounded things from your hair.  They've come back."

"Oh, my dear, and me this figure!" cried the lady, and for the next ten
minutes there was a hurried sound of dressing going on.

"Look sharp," said Wilton.  "I'll go down and let them in.  You'd better
rouse up Cook and Samuel; they'll want something to eat."

"I won't be two minutes, my dear.  Take them in the library; the wood
ashes will soon glow up again.  My own darlings!  I am glad."

Mrs Wilton was less, for by the time the heavy bolts, lock, and bar had
been undone, she was out of her room, and hurried to the balustrade to
look down into the hall, paying no heed to the cool puff of wind that
rushed upward and nearly extinguished the candle her husband had set
down upon the marble table.

"My own boy!" she sighed, as she saw Claud enter, and heard his words.

"Thankye," he said.  "Gone to bed soon."

"The usual time, my boy," said Wilton, in very different tones to those
he had used at their last meeting.  "But haven't you brought her?"

"Brought her?"

"Yes; where's Kate?"

"Fast asleep in bed by now, I suppose," said the young man sulkily.

"Oh, but you should have brought her.  Where have you come from?"

"Fast train down.  London.  Didn't suppose I was going to stop here, did
you, to be kicked?"

"Don't say any more about that, my boy.  It's all over now; but why
didn't you bring her down?"

"Oh, Claud, my boy, you shouldn't have left her like that."

"Brought her down--Kate--shouldn't have left," said the young man,
excitedly.  "Here, what do you both mean?"

"There, nonsense; what is the use of dissimulation now, my boy," said
Wilton.  "Of course we know, and--there--it's of no use to cry over
spilt milk.  We did not like it, and you shouldn't have both tried to
throw dust in our eyes."

"Look here, guv'nor, have you been to a dinner anywhere to-night?"

"Absurd, sir.  Stop this fooling.  Where did you leave Kate?"

"In bed and asleep, I suppose."

"But--but where have you been, then?"

"London, I tell you.  Shouldn't have been back now, only I couldn't find
Harry Dasent.  He's off somewhere, so I thought I'd better come back.  I
say, is she all right again?"

"I knew it!  I knew it!" shrieked Mrs Wilton.  "I said it from the
first.  Oh, James, James!--The pond--the pond!  She's gone--she's gone!"

"Who's gone?" stammered Claud, looking from father to mother, and back
again.

"Kate, dear; drowned--drowned," wailed Mrs Wilton.

"What!" shouted Claud.

"Look here, sir," said his father, catching him by the arm in a
tremendous grip, as he raised the candle to gaze searchingly in his
son's face; "let's have the truth at once.  You're playing some game of
your own to hide this--this escapade."

"Guv'nor!" cried the young man, catching his father by the arm in turn;
"put down that cursed

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