It May Be True Volume I Part 14

"Yes, if you wish it," replied Mrs. Linchmore, with a faint attempt at a smile, while the thought flashed across her mind that she wished she had thrown his flower away.

Then she rose and led the way in to dinner, anything but pleased with the result of her conversation either with Robert Vavasour or her husband, and it required a great effort on her part to fulfil her character of hostess for that evening; and many noticed how far more haughty she was than usual, and how absent and at random the answers she gave.

"So I have the Camellia at last," thought Mr. Vavasour, "and Miss Neville pinned in the flower I gathered, which she refused to accept; well, strange things happen sometimes; I am certain she never foresaw this."

And he too moved away and followed his hostess.

CHAPTER X.

A Pa.s.sING GLANCE.

"And what is life?--An hour gla.s.s on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream, Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought; And happiness?--A bubble on the stream, That, in the act of seizing, shrinks to naught.

What is vain hope?--the puffing gale of morn, That robs each flow'ret of its gem,--and dies; A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn, Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise."

JOHN CLARE.

The eight o'clock train came whizzing and puffing into the Standale station; Standale was a large town about ten miles distant from Brampton, and the nearest railway station to the Park. Charles Linchmore had barely time to step on to the platform, ere it was off again and out of sight, puffing as hard and fast as ever.

"Tom has sent me a horse?" questioned he of the porter.

"Yes, Sir. Waiting for you the last ten minutes, Sir."

Charles Linchmore pa.s.sed out, and was soon wending his way along the road to Brampton Park. The moon had not yet risen, and owing to the slippery state of the roads, on account of the heavy fall of snow and recent frost, he rode on leisurely enough.

"Come along, Bob," said he to a s.h.a.ggy Scotch terrier, who kept close to the hind legs of the horse; "come along, old fellow, I'd give you a run after your pent-up journey, only the roads are so confoundedly slippery, and her majesty is determined to hide herself behind the clouds to-night."

The dog wagged his tail as though he understood his master, and kept on as before. He was not much of a companion, but what with an occasional puff at his cigar, and talk to his dog, Charles Linchmore went on comfortably enough. As the smoke curled about his handsome mouth, his thoughts wandered. What were they doing at the Hall? Was Miss Neville still there, or absent as when he last paid his visit? and if there, had any of the numerous visitors found out what a nice girl she was?

"Of course they think her pretty, of that there can be no doubt,"

thought he, "and I dare say she has found it out too by this time, and gives herself airs; unless such an example as my brother's wife before her eyes gives her timely warning, and she steers on another tack.

There's no being up to the girls now-a-days; as to prying into their hearts it's impossible, and not to be imagined for a moment; they are growing too deep for us men, and beat us out-and-out in deceit and man[oe]uvring."

"She has magnificent hair," thought he after a pause, "I suppose it's all her own--just the colour I like, though she has a ridiculous fas.h.i.+on of binding it up about her head. Perhaps she thinks it makes her look like a Madonna;" here he took a long puff at his cigar. "Well, I could not fall in love with a Madonna, it's not my style, and I do not think she is like one either; an angel's eyes don't flash like hers do sometimes. Perhaps Robert thinks his wife an angel, there is no accounting for tastes, but if Miss Neville has grown one iota like her, I'll--" here he paused again, "I'll have a flirtation with her, and--and then go back to my regiment."

The idea made him savage, and throwing away his cigar, he halted until the groom who rode behind came up.

"You can ride on, home, Tom, I don't want you," said he, and then he listened to the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the hard frosty ground, until they faded away in the distance out of hearing.

"We are all selfish," mused he, "that man would have ridden more slowly and carefully had it been his own horse. I dare say though, I am just as selfish if I only knew it."

He lit another cigar, and rode on some miles without interruption, until stopped by the Brampton Turnpike Gate.

"Hulloa!" called he.

But no notice was taken of his repeated shouts, although a faint gleam of light shone partly across the road from a slight crack in one of the shutters, showing that some of the inmates were at least awake.

"Confound the fellow!" muttered Charles as he called again.

When the door suddenly opened, and the figure of a man stood in the doorway.

"I tell yer I can undo it very well myself, and will too, so just stand fast," said he in a thick voice, to somebody inside the cottage, while and with anything but a steady gait he managed somehow between a shuffle and scramble to get over the one step of the cottage,--lifting his legs at the same time, as if the steps was so many feet, instead of inches high,--and reach the gate. Here, steadying himself by leaning both arms across the top, he looked up to where Charles Linchmore stood.

"I say young, man!" exclaimed he. "What do yer mean by hollering and bawling in that way? Havn't yer any patience. If ye're in sich a mortal hurry, why don't yer take and jump the gate? Eh!"

"Open the gate, you blockhead, or I will make you," exclaimed Charles, angrily.

"Speak civil, can't yer? I ain't going to open the gate with them words for my pains."

Just then the moon emerged from behind a cloud, and shone full on Charles Linchmore's face. The man recognised him in a moment, notwithstanding his tipsy state.

"In course, Sir, I'll open, who says I shan't? Bless yer sir, I'll open it as wide as ever he'll go. Dang me! if I can though," muttered he, as he fumbled at the fastening.

"Bring a lanthorn, Jem, can't yer," called he, turning his face towards the cottage, the door of which still remained open. "Bring a light; yer was mighty anxious just now to come out when yer wasn't wanted, and now yer are, yer don't care to show yer face."

He had scarcely finished speaking when another man emerged from the cottage, a hand was placed on the lock, and with a clatter the gate swung back to the other side of the road.

"I've half a mind to give you a sound horsewhipping," said Charles, pa.s.sing through, followed by Bob, the latter venting his displeasure in a low suppressed growl, "but I hope your wife will save me the trouble, so I shall reserve it for some future opportunity."

"Thank yer Sir. She takes to it kindly she do, and don't want no 'swading."

"I hope she will give you an extra dose of it at all events," said Charles. "Is that you, Grant?" he added, addressing the other man. "It's scarcely safe for you to be out so late, is it?"

"You've heard all about the trial then, Sir?" questioned Grant.

"I read an account of it in the papers, and was sorry enough for poor Tom."

"Most everybody was Sir, and the parson gave us a fine discourse the Sunday after his funeral; but somehow preaching don't heal a broken heart, and Susan do take on awful at times; she haven't forgotten him, and it's my belief never will."

"Poor thing! Her husband's was a sudden and sad death, shot down like a dog by the poachers. The gang are still prowling about, so they say."

"Yes, Sir, and will do more mischief yet, they're a bad, desperate set, the lot that's here this year."

"I suppose you are keeping this man company, or looking after him in his drunken state. You would scarcely be going home alone at this late hour of the evening?"

"No, Sir. I am going home. I've been up to the Hall, and stayed there longer than I ought."

"It is too late a great deal for you to be out, and the whole country round about swarming with poachers."

"True, Sir. But I shan't go before my time--"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Charles. "Come, I tell you what; I'll see you home, I have nothing better to do; but first get that man safely housed somewhere, do not leave him out here to be run over."

"Oh! I'll soon settle him, sir."