The Star-Gazers Part 34

"No hurry."

"No hurry?--If you knew what I'm suffering."

"There, there; don't worry, little one. It's all right, I tell you. Do you think I'm such a brute as to throw you over? See how I chucked Madge for your sake."

"Yes, dear, yes; I do believe in you," came with a sob, "in spite of all; and I have tried, and will try so hard, Rob, to make myself a lady worthy of you. I'd do anything sooner than you should be ashamed of me.

But, Rob, dear--father--"

"Hang father!"

"Don't trifle, dear. You can't imagine what I have suffered, and what he suffers. All those two long weary months since we left the lodge it has been dreadful. He keeps on advertising and trying, but no one will engage him. It is as if some one always whispered to gentlemen that he was once a poacher, and it makes him mad."

"Well, I couldn't help my mother turning him off."

"Couldn't help it, dear! Oh, Rob!"

"There you go again. Now, come, be sensible. I must get back soon."

"To her!" cried Judith, wildly.

"Nonsense. Don't be silly. She's like a cold fish to me. It will all come right."

"Yes, if you will come and speak to my father."

"Can't."

"Rob, dear," cried Judith in a sharp whisper; "you must, or it will be father's ruin. He has begun to utter threats."

"Threats? He'd better not."

"It's in his despair, dear. He says it's your fault if he, in spite of his trying to be honest, is driven back to poaching."

"He'd better take to it! Bah! Let him threaten. He knows better.

Nice prospect for me to marry a poacher's daughter."

"Oh, Rob, how can you be so cruel. You don't know."

"Know what? Does he threaten anything else?"

"Yes," came with a suppressed sob.

"What?"

"I dare not tell you. Yes, I must. I came on purpose to-night. Just when I felt that I would stay by him and not break his heart by doing what he does not want."

"Talk sense, silly. People's hearts don't break. Only horses', if you ride them too hard."

Judith uttered a low sob.

"Well, what does he say?"

"That you are the cause of all his trouble, and that you shall make amends, or--"

"Or what?"

"I dare not tell you," sobbed the girl, pa.s.sionately. "But, Rob, you will have pity on him--on me, dear, and make him happy again."

"Look here," said Rolph, roughly. "Ben Hayle had better mind what he is about. Men have been sent out of the country for less than that, or-- well, something of the kind. I'm not the man to be bullied by my mother's keeper, so let's have no more of that. Now, that's enough for one meeting. You wrote to Aldershot for me to meet you, and the letter was sent to me at Brackley, of course. So I came expecting to find you pretty and loving, instead of which your head's full of c.o.c.k-and-bull nonsense, and you're either finding fault or telling me about your father's bullying. Let him bully. I shall keep my promise to you when I find it convenient. Nice tramp for me to come at this time of night."

"It's a long walk from Lindham here in the dark, Rob, dear," said the girl.

"Oh, yes, but you've nothing to do. There, I'll think about Ben Hayle and his getting a place, but I don't want you to be far away, Judy.-- Now, don't be absurd.--What are you struggling about?--Hang the girl, it's like trying to hold a deer. Judy! You're not gone. Come here. I can see you by that tree."

There was a distant rustling, and Captain Rolph uttered an oath.

"Why, she has gone!"

It was quite true. Judith was running fast in the direction of the cottages miles away in the wild common land of Lindham, and Rolph turned upon his heel and strode back toward Brackley.

"Time I had one of the old man's brandy-and-sodas," he growled. "Better have stopped and talked to my saint. Ben Hayle going back to poaching!

Threaten me with mischief if I don't marry her! I wish he would take to it again."

Rolph walked on faster, getting excited by his thoughts, and, after hurrying along for a few hundred yards, he said aloud,--

"And get caught."

"Now for a run," he added, a minute later. "This has been a pleasant evening and no mistake. Ah, well, all comes right in the end."

Volume 2, Chapter III.

A SEARCH.

About a couple of hours earlier there was a ring at the gaunt-looking gate at the Firs, and that ring caused Mrs Alleyne's Eliza to start as if galvanised, and to draw her feet sharply over the sanded floor, and beneath her chair.

Otherwise Eliza did not move. She had been darning black stockings, and as her feet went under her chair, she sat there with the light--a yellow and dim tallow dip, set up in a great tin candlestick--staring before her, lips and eyes wide open, one hand and arm covered with a black worsted stocking, the fingers belonging to the other arm holding up a stocking needle, motionless, as if she were so much stone.

Anon, the bell, which hid in a little pent-house of its own high up on the ivied wall, jangled again, and a shock of terror ran through Eliza's body once more, but only for her to relapse into the former cataleptic state.

Then came a third brazen clanging; and this time the kitchen door opened, and Eliza uttered a squeal.

"Why, Eliza," cried Lucy, "were you asleep? The gate bell has rung three times. Go and see who it is."

"Oh, please, miss, I dursn't," said Eliza with a shiver.

"Oh, how can you be so foolish!" cried Lucy. "There, bring the light, and I'll come with you."

"There--there was a poor girl murdered once, miss," stammered Eliza, "at a gate. Please, miss, I dursn't go."