Our Admirable Betty Part 11

"Gentlemen," said he, "our sport is done, the play grows wearisome--let us be gone."

At this, Sir Oliver Rington approached the Major and in his eagerness tapped him on the arm with his whip.

"With your permission, Major, I'll see this rogue set in the stocks and after safely under lock and key. You'll prosecute, of course."

Very gently the Major set aside Sir Oliver's whip and limped over to the prisoner:

"He looks sufficiently young!" said he.

"A criminal type!" nodded Sir Oliver, "I've convicted many such--a very brutal, desperate rogue!"

"To be sure he's very b.l.o.o.d.y!" said the Major.

"Aye," growled Sir Oliver, "and serve him right--he gave enough trouble for six."

"And something faint!"

"Aye, feint it is sir--the rascal's shamming."

"And dusty!"

"O, a foul beast!" agreed Sir Oliver.

"And hath a hungry look. So shall he go wash and eat----"

"Wash--eat--how--what in the devil's name, sir----"

"Sergeant!"

"Sir!" answered the Sergeant, very upright and stiff in the back.

"Take the fellow to the stables and when he's washed--feed him!"

"Very good, sir!" Saying which, the Sergeant advanced upon the drooping prisoner, set hand to ragged coat-collar, and wheeling him half-left, marched him away.

"Strike me everlasting perishing purple!" exclaimed the Marquis.

"d.a.m.nation!" cried Sir Oliver, his whip quivering in his fist, "d'ye mean to say, sir--d'ye mean----" he choked.

"I mean to say, that since the prisoner stole my property I will dispose of him as I think fit----"

"Fit sir--fit--as you think fit!" spluttered Sir Oliver.

"Or as it pleases me, sir."

"You sir--you!" panted Sir Oliver in sudden frenzy, "and who the devil are you that dare run counter to the law--a beggarly half-pay soldier----"

"O demmit, sir!" exclaimed the Marquis, restraining plump ferocity, "try to be a little decent, I beg, just a little--remember you are not in the House now, sir!"

Sir Oliver sulkily permitted himself to be drawn a little aside, then, halting suddenly, wheeled about and pointed at the Major with his whip.

"Gentlemen all," he cried, "behold a man who hath no respect for the Const.i.tution, for Church, State or King G.o.d save him! Behold a--a being who is traitor to his cla.s.s! A man who--who'd--O damme--who'd--shoot a fox!"

The Major laughed suddenly and shook his head.

"No," said he, "no, I'll shoot neither foxes--nor even fools, sir--if--I say if--it may be avoided. And so, gentlemen, thanking you for your extreme zeal on my behalf in the matter of my poacher, I have the honour to bid you, each and every, good day."

So saying, the Major bowed and turning, limped into the house.

CHAPTER VII

WHICH RELATES HOW THE POACHER ESCAPED

The rising sun made a glory in the east, purple, amber and flaming gold; before his advent sombre night fled away and sullen mists rolled up and vanished; up he came in triumphant majesty, his far-flung, level beams waking a myriad sparkles on gra.s.s and leaf where the dew yet clung; they woke also the blackbird inhabiting the great tree whose spreading boughs shaded a certain gable of the Manor. This blackbird, then, being awake, forthwith prepares to summon others to bid welcome to the day, tunes sleepy pipe, finds himself astonishingly hoa.r.s.e, pauses awhile to ruminate on the wherefore of this, tries again with better effect, stretches himself, re-settles a ruffled feather and finally, being broad awake, bursts into a pa.s.sionate ecstasy of throaty warblings.

It was at this precise moment that the Major thrust cropped head from his open lattice and leaned there awhile to breathe in the dawn's sweet freshness and to feast his eyes upon dew-spangled earth. And beholding n.o.ble house and stately trees with smiling green fields beyond where goodly farmsteads nestled, all his own far as the eye could see and farther, he drew a deep and joyous breath, contrasting all this with his late penury. Now, as he leaned thus in the warm sun, his wandering eye fell upon a small isolated outbuilding, its narrow windows strongly barred, its oaken door padlocked. Instantly the Major drew in his head and began to dress; which done, he clapped on his peruke and opening the door with some degree of care, stepped forth of his chamber, and, carrying his shoes in his hand, tiptoed along the wide gallery, and, descending the great stairs with the same caution, proceeded to a certain small room against whose walls were birding-pieces, fishing-rods, hunting-crops, spurs and the like. From amid these heterogeneous articles he reached down a great key and slipping it into his pocket, proceeded to furtively unbar, unlock and let himself out into the young morning. Outside he put on his shoes and descending marble steps and crossing trim lawns presently arrived at a forbidding oaken door, which he opened forthwith.

The poacher lay half-buried among a pile of hay in one corner but at the Major's entrance started up, disclosing a pale, youthful face, whose dark, aquiline features were vaguely reminiscent.

"Hum!" said the Major, rubbing his chin and staring, whereat the prisoner, scowling sullenly, turned away.

"Ha!" said the Major. "Sirrah, 'tis a fair day for walking I think, therefore, an you be so minded--walk!"

"D'ye mean you'll let me--go?" demanded the prisoner.

"Aye!"

"Free?"

"There's the door!"

The prisoner sprang to his feet, brushed the hay from his rough and stained garments, glanced from his deliverer to the glory of the morning and stepped out into the sunlight.

"You were wiser to avoid Sir Oliver Rington's neighbourhood, and here's somewhat to aid you on your way."

So saying, the Major strode off and left the poacher staring down at the gold coins in his palm.

The Major wandered thoughtfully along box-bordered paths, past marble fauns and nymphs; between hedges of clipped yew and so to the rose-garden, ablaze with colour and fragrant with bloom. In the midst was a time-worn sundial set about with marble seats and here the Major leaned to muse awhile and so came upon a quaint-lettered posy graven upon the dial which ran as follows:

"Youth is joyous; Age is melancholy: Age and Youth together is but folly."

"Hum!" said the Major and sighed, and sighing, turned away, limping more than usual, for his meditations were profound. Thus, deep in thought he came back to the isolated building, locked it up again, and wended his way back to the house.

Having replaced the key he sat himself down in his study and tucking up his ruffles, fell to work on his History of Fortification, though, to be sure, his pen was frequently idle and once he opened a drawer to stare down at a rapidly fading rose.