The Streets of Ascalon Part 55

"What?" he said slowly--then stepped back a pace as Strelsa pa.s.sed close in front of him, apparently perfectly unconscious of any discord:

"Will you get me a lump of sugar, Mr. Quarren? My mare must be pampered or she'll start that jiggling Kentucky amble and never walk one step."

Quarren swung on his heel and entered the house; Molly, ignoring Strelsa, turned sharply on Sprowl:

"If you are insolent to my guests you need not come here," she said briefly.

Langly's restless eyes protruded; he glanced from Molly to Strelsa, then his indifferent gaze wandered over the landscape. It was plain that the rebuke had not made the slightest impression. Molly looked angrily at Strelsa, but the latter, eyes averted, was gazing at her horse. And when Quarren came back with a handful of sugar she took it and, descending the steps, fed it, lump by lump to the two horses.

Langly put her up, shouldered aside the groom, and adjusted heel-loop and habit-loop. Then he mounted, saluted Molly and followed Strelsa at a canter without even noticing his bridle.

"What have you done to Langly?" asked Molly.

"Characterised his bad manners the other day. It wasn't worth while; there's no money in cursing.... And I think, Molly dear, that I'll take an afternoon train----"

"I won't let you," said his hostess. "I won't have you treated that way under my roof----"

"It was outdoors, dear lady," said Quarren, smiling. "It's only his rudeness before you that I mind. Where is Sir Charles?"

"Off with Chrysos somewhere on the river--there's their motor-launch, now.... Ricky!"

"Yes."

"I'm angry all through.... Strelsa might have said something--showed her lack of sympathy for Langly's remark by being a little more cordial to you.... I don't like it in her. I don't know whether I am going to like that girl or not----"

"Nonsense. There was nothing for her to say or do----"

"There was! She _is_ a fis.h.!.+--unless she gives Langly the d.i.c.kens this morning.... Will you motor with Jim and me, Ricky dear?"

"If you like."

She did like. So presently a racing car was brought around, Jim came reluctantly from the hangar, and away they tore into the dull weather now faintly illuminated by the prophecy of the sun.

Everywhere the mist was turning golden; faint smears of blue appeared and disappeared through the vapours pa.s.sing overhead. Then, all at once the sun's glaring lens played across the drenched meadows, and the shadows of tree and hedge and standing cattle streamed out across the herbage.

In spite of the chains the car skidded dangerously at times; mud flew and so did water, and very soon Molly had enough. So they tore back again to the house, Molly to change her muddy clothes and write letters, her husband to return to his beloved Stinger, Quarren to put on a pair of stout shoes and heather spats and go wandering off cross-lots--past woodlands still dripping with golden rain from every leaf, past tiny streams swollen amber where mint and scented gra.s.ses swayed half immersed; past hedge and orchard and wild tangles ringing with bird music--past fields of young crops of every kind washed green and fresh above the soaking brown earth.

Swallows settled on the wet road around every puddle; bluebirds fluttered among the fruit trees; the strident battle note of the kingbird was heard, the unlovely call of pa.s.sing grackle, the loud enthusiasm of nesting robins. Everywhere a rain-cleansed world resounded with the noises of lesser life, flashed with its colour in a million blossoms and in the delicately brilliant wings hovering over them.

Far away he could see the river and the launch, too, where Sir Charles and Chrysos Lacy were circling hither and thither at full speed. Once, across a distant hill, two horses and their riders pa.s.sed outlined against the sky; but even the eyes of a lover and a hater could not identify anybody at such a distance.

So he strolled on, taking roads when convenient, fields when it suited him, neither knowing nor caring where he was going.

Avoiding a big house amid brand-new and very showy landscape effects he turned aside into a pretty strip of woods; and presently came to a little foot-bridge over a stream.

A man sat there, reading, and as Quarren pa.s.sed, he looked up.

"Is that you, Quarren?" he said.

The young fellow stopped and looked down curiously at the sunken, unhealthy face, then, shocked, came forward hastily and shook hands.

"Why, Ledwith," he said, "what are you doing here?--Oh, I forgot; you live here, don't you?"

"That's my house yonder--or was," said the man with a slight motion of his head. And, after a moment: "You didn't recognise me. Have I changed much?"

Quarren said: "You seem to have been--ill."

"Yes; I have been. I'm ill, all right.... Will you have a seat for a few minutes--unless you are going somewhere in particular--or don't care to talk to me----"

"Thank you." Quarren seated himself. It was his instinct to be gentle--even with such a man.

"I haven't seen much of you, for a couple of years--I haven't seen much of anybody," said Ledwith, turning the pages of his book without looking at them. Then, furtively, his sunken eyes rested a moment on Quarren:

"You are stopping with----"

"The Wycherlys."

"Oh, yes.... I haven't seen them lately.... They are neighbours"--he waved his sickly coloured hand--"but I'm rather quiet--I read a good deal--as you see."--He moistened his bluish lips every few moments, and his nose seemed to annoy him, too, for he rubbed it continually.

"It's a pretty country," said Quarren.

"Yes--I thought so once. I built that house.... There's no use in my keeping up social duties," he said with another slinking glance at Quarren. "So I'm giving up the house."

"Really."

"Hasn't--you have heard so, haven't you?"

He kept twitching his shoulders and s.h.i.+fting his place continually, and his fingers were never still, always at the leaves of his book or rubbing his face which seemed to itch; or he snapped them nervously and continuously as he jerked about in his seat.

"I suppose," he said slyly, "people talk about me, Quarren."

"Do you know anybody immune to gossip?" inquired Quarren, smiling.

"No; that's true. But I don't care anything for people.... I read, I have my horses and dogs--but I'm going to move away. I told you that, didn't I?"

"I believe you did."

Ledwith stared at his book with lack-l.u.s.tre eyes, then, almost imperceptibly s.h.i.+fted his gaze craftily askance:

"There's no use pretending to _you_, Quarren; is there?"

Quarren said nothing.

"You know all the gossip--all the dirty little faits divers of your world. And you're a sort of doctor and confidential----"

"You're mistaken, Ledwith," he said pleasantly. "I'm done with it."

"How do you mean?"