Eli's Children Part 59

"There," he said, impatiently, "morning's a bad time. He's sure to be busy. I'll go after lunch."

Lunch-time came, and the Rector smilingly asked him how he got on with Mr Portlock.

"Haven't been yet. Going directly after lunch," he said shortly; and, to prepare himself for his task, he paid a good deal of attention to the sherry decanter, and, after lunch, smoked a couple more cigars, as he hesitated and hung about.

"Well, I will go now," he exclaimed, and, rousing up his courage, he went across the fields towards Kilby Farm, but turned off before he got there, and went strolling along the lane.

"Hang the job," he muttered. "I hate it, but I must go, though, I suppose."

He turned back, and somehow began thinking of Luke Ross, who was speeding light-hearted enough upon his journey.

"Poor cad!" he said, half aloud. "How wild he will be!"

Once more he neared the farm, and once more he hesitated and turned off.

"I can't face the old boy alone," he cried, impatiently. "What does it matter? He knows nothing of etiquette. I shall go and meet Sage, and then we can go in together. It's all nonsense to be so formal."

He seemed to be quite relieved upon coming to this determination, and, seating himself upon a gate, he sat swinging his legs to and fro, whistling, and consulting the watch he carried from time to time, till, coming to the conclusion that it was just about the right moment for meeting Sage as she left the school, he leaped down and made off in the direction of the town.

"What a good, obedient son I am," he said, with a mocking laugh. "Here I promised that I would not go to the school, and I have waited like a lamb until she comes out.

"Well, the trouble's over, and I've won," he said, as he walked on.

"Has the game been worth the candle? She's very nice, and the old folks will come down handsomely, of course, and I shall have to go up to town to this precious office. Hang the office! Well, it won't be so dull as it is down here."

"Little wench is late," he muttered, gazing at his watch, and yawning.

"Hang it, I've smoked too much to-day. Wonder whether she'll smell my breath. She's a nice little la.s.sie after all. Ha, ha, ha! Poor old Luke Ross--what a phiz he will pull when he finds that he has been cut out! There she comes!" He hastened his steps as he caught sight of Sage, and the next minute he was at her side. "Why, Sage," he said, "did I startle you?"

"Yes," she said, trembling. "No, I am not startled;" and her blushing confusion made her look so charming that a good deal of Cyril Mallow's indifference was swept away.

"If I had only known that you were coming to our place last night!" he said, tenderly.

"Didn't you go away on purpose to avoid me?" she said, with a touch of coquetry. "Go away? For shame!" he said. "When I have thought of nothing, dreamed of nothing but you, Sage, all these long weary days.

Oh, my darling, now the difficulties are all over what am I to say?"

In her happiness and excitement there was a strange mixture of yielding and confusion in Sage's manner; she glanced at him proudly, her heart bounding with joy at his every word, and then she felt that she was being unmaidenly, and tried to be more reserved.

But she could not help his drawing her hand through his arm, and though she tried to pull it away from his grasp, he would hold it; and at last, ready to cry hysterically--ready to laugh with joy, she walked on by his side, feeling happier than she had ever felt before.

For Cyril Mallow knew how to woo, and as he lowered his voice to a low, impa.s.sioned tone, he told her of his love, and how he was coming straight on with her to the farm. That he was the happiest of men, and that if she was cold and distant to him now it would break his heart.

With all this breathed tenderly in her ears by one she really loved, it was no wonder that she grew less distant, and ceased to try and draw her hand away. Indeed, somehow poor Sage did not in her agitation seem to know it when a strong, firm arm was pa.s.sed round her waist in the narrow part of the lane, down between the banks, where no one was likely to see.

All was a delicious dream, full of oblivion of the past, till in one short moment, as with head drooping towards Cyril Mallow, she hung upon his words, her heart throbbing, her humid eyes soft and liquid with the light of her young love, she felt turned, as it were, to stone, and stood with parted lips, staring at Luke Ross at the turning as he reeled against the hedge.

PART ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

LUKE ROSS'S RECEPTION.

It was as if nature sorrowed o'er the scene, for as the encounter took place the rich, warm glow of the winter sunset pa.s.sed away, and with the black clouds rising in the west came a chilling wind, and a few scattered drops of rain pattered amidst the fallen leaves where a short half-hour before there were the warmth and suggestions of spring. Now it was winter--bitter, depressing winter--all around, and in the hearts of those who stood there pale and grey as the gathering night.

Luke Ross was the first to recover himself as the giddy sensation pa.s.sed away. The blood seemed to surge to his brain, and, with a cry of rage, he dashed at Cyril, and seized him by the throat.

"How dare you!" he cried. "You have insulted her."

Almost as he spoke his hands dropped to his side, and he stood motionless, gazing, from one to the other, at Sage shrinking back, with her hands covering her face; and Cyril, who had now got the better of his surprise, standing in a menacing att.i.tude, ready for his a.s.sailant.

For the moment, now, Luke seemed stunned; he could not realise the truth of what he saw. Either, he told himself, it was some mistake, or his eyes deceived him, and he had not seen Sage Portlock--the woman who had promised to be his wife--half embraced by Cyril Mallow, to whom she seemed to cling.

At last he found his power of speech return, but so unreal did everything seem that he hardly knew his own voice as he exclaimed--

"Sage, speak to me. What does this mean?"

Her hands fell from her face, and she started violently at the bitter tone of reproach in his words, gazing wildly in his face, her lips parting, but no sound coming from them.

"Tell me that this is not true--that I was half blind--that you do not care for him--Sage, Sage--my darling!"

There was a piteous appeal in his words that made her shiver; and her eyes seemed rivetted to his, but she did not speak.

"Tell me, Sage! For heaven's sake speak!" he cried, in a low, hoa.r.s.e moan. "Sage--I cannot bear it. Sage--come to me--my own."

He held out his hands to her as he spoke, and took a step towards her, his anguished face working with the agony of his soul.

But as he gazed yearningly in her eyes with his, so full of love, forgiveness, and tender appeal, she covered her face once more with her hands, and seemed to cower in her abas.e.m.e.nt as she shrank away.

Cyril had been too much startled to speak at first; and the rude attack had sent a thrill through his nerves that was not the feeling experienced by the brave when suddenly moved to action; but now he began to recover his equanimity, and, taking a step in front of Sage, he made as if to take her hand.

"Really," he said, "my good fellow, you have no right to--"

"Stop!" cried Luke, in so fierce a voice that Cyril remained for the time as if turned to stone, staring at the speaker, whose whole manner changed. He looked taller; the appealing gaze was gone, and his eyes seemed to flash, while his chest heaved, and his hands clenched, as he stood before them--no mean adversary for one who encountered him hand to hand.

"Sage," he cried, and his voice was stern, fierce, and commanding. "A minute ago I could not believe this. Tell me I was deceived. No: not now. Come with me to the farm."

He tried to take one of her hands, but she shrank, shudderingly, away.

"You shall speak," he cried.

"Oh, come," said Cyril, in a bl.u.s.tering tone, "I'm not going to stand by and listen to this. Sage, dear, this man has no hold whatever upon you.

Come home with me."

"No hold?" cried Luke, quickly. "Why--but no; I will not speak to him.

Sage, take my arm. I will not reproach you now. Come with me."

He caught her wrist, trembling the while with suppressed pa.s.sion. But, with a quick flash of anger, she tore it away.

"Cyril," she cried, "protect me from this man."

Her words seemed to strike Luke Ross like blows, for he staggered back, his lips parted, his face ashy grey, and a look of despairing horror starting, as it were, from every feature; but as he saw Cyril Mallow take her hand when Sage turned from him, Luke's whole aspect changed, and, with a cry like that of some infuriated animal, he literally leaped at Cyril's throat.