"I am so glad, Mr Jeffreys, you managed Percy so well about that
smoking yesterday; and how well he took it!"
"Of course; he's a gentleman and a fine fellow."
"He forgets how much older Mr Scarfe is than he, and he imagines it is
a fine thing to do whatever others do. But I think it is such a pity he
should waste so much time as he does now in the billiard-room and over
the fire. Don't you think it is bad for him?"
"I do. The day on the ice yesterday made a new man of him."
"Do try to coax him out, Mr Jeffreys, you always do him good; and you
may be able to pull him up now before he becomes an idler."
"I promise you I will do what I can."
"He ought to be my brother, and not my cousin," said Raby, "I feel so
jealous on his account."
"He is fortunate--may I say so?--in his cousin. Here is Mr Rimbolt."
Mr Rimbolt had papers in his hand, and looked rather anxious.
Raby, with a daughter's instinct, rushed to him.
"Uncle, have you news from the war? Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing wrong," said her uncle reassuringly; "I brought you this paper
to see. It reports that there has been an encounter with the Afghans
near Kandahar, with complete success on the British side and
comparatively trifling loss. Particulars are expected almost
immediately. I telegraphed to town to get the earliest possible
details. Meanwhile, Raby, don't alarm yourself unduly."
"I won't, uncle; but where exactly was the battle?"
"You will see the names mentioned in the telegram. Jeffreys can show
you the exact spot in the atlas; we were looking at it the other
evening."
Jeffreys thankfully accepted the task. He and Raby spent an hour over
the map, talking of the absent soldier, and trying, the one to conceal,
the other to allay, the anxiety which the incomplete telegram had
aroused.
At the end of the hour Scarfe walked into the library. His face
darkened as he saw the two who sat there.
"Miss Atherton," said he, looking not at her, but at Jeffreys, "have you
forgotten we were to have a ride this morning?"
"I am so sorry, Mr Scarfe, but I have a headache, and don't feel as if
I could ride to-day. You will excuse me, won't you?"
"Oh, certainly," replied Scarfe; "don't you think a turn in the park
will do you good? May I have the pleasure of escorting you?"
Raby said, "Thank you." She was very sorry to disappoint any one, and
had no valid excuse against a walk.
"Miss Atherton," said Scarfe, when they had gone some distance, chatting
on indifferent topics, "I am anxious just to say a word to you, not in
my own interest at all, but your own. Will you forgive me if I do?"
"What is it?" said Raby, mystified.
"I wish to put you on your guard against Jeffreys, who, I see, presumes
on his position here to annoy you. You may not perhaps know, Miss
Atherton, that not two years ago--"
"Excuse me, Mr Scarfe," said Raby quietly, stopping in her walk, "I
hate talking of people behind their backs. Mr Jeffreys has never
annoyed me; he has been kind to me. Shall we talk of something else?"
"Certainly," said Scarfe, startled at her decided tone. He had laid his
plan for a little revelation, and it disconcerted him to see it knocked
on the head like this.
However, just then he was not in the humour for making himself obnoxious
to Miss Atherton, of whom, being a susceptible youth, he was decidedly
enamoured. It was a deprivation, certainly, to find his tongue thus
unexpectedly tied with regard to Jeffreys, of whose stay at Wildtree he
had calculated on making very short work.
The one comfort was, that there was little enough danger of her seeing
in the ill-favoured Bolsover cad anything which need make him--Scarfe--
jealous. Doubtless she took a romantic interest in this librarian; many
girls have whims of that sort. But the idea of her preferring him to
the smart Oxford hero was preposterous.
Jeffreys would still believe in the sword of Damocles which hung above
him, and the time might come when Raby would cease to stand between him
and his Nemesis.