Vane made his way straight to the rectory, with a fixed intention in his
mind. The idea had been growing for days: now it was quite ripe,
consequent, perhaps, on the state of mind produced by the scene at the
manor.
"It will be more frank and manly," he said to himself. "He's different
to us and can't help his temper, so I'll look over everything, and say
`what's the good of our being bad friends. Shake hands and forgive me.
I'm a rougher, coarser fellow than you are, and I dare say I've often
said things that hurt you when I didn't mean it.'"
"Come, he can't get over that," said Vane, half-aloud, and full of
eagerness to get Distin alone, he turned up the rectory lane, and came
at once upon Gilmore and Macey.
"Hullo, Weathercock," cried the latter, "which way does the wind blow?"
"Due east."
"That's rectory way."
"Yes; is Distie in?"
"No; what do you want with him. He doesn't want you. Come along with
us," said Gilmore.
"No, I want to see Distie--which way did he go?"
"Toward the moor," said Macey, with an air of mock mystery. "There's
something going on, old chap."
"What do you mean?"
"A little girl came and waited about the gate till we were in the
grounds, and then she began to signal and I went to her. But she didn't
want me. She said she wanted to give this to that tall gentleman."
"This?" said Vane. "What was this?"
"A piece of stick, with notches cut in it," said Macey.
"You're not chaffing, are you?"
"Not a bit of it. I went and told Distie, and he turned red as a
bubby-jock and went down to the gate, took the stick, stuck it in his
pocket, and then marched off."
"Why, what does that mean?" cried Vane.
"I don't know," said Macey. "Distie must belong to some mysterious bund
or verein, as the Germans call it. Perhaps he's a Rosicrucian, or a
member of a mysterious sect, and this was a summons to a meeting."
"Get out," cried Vane.
"Well, are you coming with us? Aleck has had a big tip from home, and
wants to spend it."
"Yes; do come, Vane."
"No, not to-day," cried the lad, and he turned off and walked away
sharply to avoid being tempted into staying before he had seen Distin,
and "had it out," as he termed it.
"Hi! Weathercock!" shouted Macey, "better stop. I've invented
something--want your advice."
"Not to be gammoned," shouted back Vane; and he went off at a sharp
trot, leaped a stile and went on across the fields, his only aim being
to get away from his companions, but as soon as he was out of sight, he
hesitated, stopped, and then went sharply off to his left.
"I'll follow Distie," he muttered. "The moor's a good place for a row.
He can shout at me there, and get in a passion. Then he'll cool down,
and we shall be all right again--and a good job too," he added. "It is
so stupid for two fellows studying together to be bad friends."
By making a few short cuts, and getting over and through hedges, Vane
managed to take a bee-line for the moor, and upon reaching it, he had a
good look round, but there was no sign of Distin.
"He may be lying down somewhere," thought Vane, as he strode on, making
his way across the moor in the direction of the wood, but still there
was no sign of Distin, even after roaming about for an hour, at times
scanning the surface of the long wild steep, at others following the
line of drooping trees at the chalk-bank edge, but for the most part
forgetting all about the object of his search, as his attention was
taken up by the flowers and plants around. There was, too, so much to
think about in the scene at home, that afternoon, and as he recalled it
all, Vane set his teeth, and asked himself whether the time was not
coming when he must set aside boyish things, and begin to think
seriously of his future as a man.
He went on and on, so used to the moor that it seemed as if his legs
required no guidance, but left his brain at liberty to think of other
things than the course he was taking, while he wondered how long it
would be before he left Greythorpe, and whether he should have to go to
London or some one of the big manufacturing towns.
There was Mr Deering, too, ready to take up a good deal of his thought.
And now it seemed cruel that this man should have come amongst them to
disturb the current of a serene and peaceful life.
"I think he ought to be told so, too," said Vane to himself; "but I
suppose that it ought not to come from me."
He had to pause for a few moments to extricate himself from a tangle of
brambles consequent upon his having trusted his legs too much, and,
looking up then, he found that he was a very short distance from the
edge of the beech-wood, and a second glance showed him that he was very
near the spot where he had dug for the truffles, and then encountered
the two gipsy lads.
A feeling of desire sprang up at once in him to see the spot again, and,
meaning to go in among the trees till he had passed over the ground on
his way along the edge of the wood to where he could strike across to
the deep lane, he waded over the pebbles of the little stream, dried his
boots in the soft, white sand on the other side, and ran lightly up the
bank, to step at once in among the leaves and beech-mast.
It was delightfully cool and shady after the hot sunshine of the moor,
and he was winding in and out among the great, smooth tree-trunks,
looking for the spot where he had had his struggle, when he fancied that
he heard the murmur of voices not far away.
"Fancy--or wood pigeons," he said to himself; and, involuntarily
imitating the soft, sweet _too roochetty coo roo_ of the birds, he went
on, but only to be convinced directly after that those were voices which
he had heard; and, as he still went on in his course, he knew that,
after all, he was going to encounter Distin, for it was undoubtedly his
voice, followed by a heavy, dull utterance, like a thick, hoarse
whisper.
Vane bore off a little to the left. His curiosity was deeply stirred,
for he knew that Distin had received some kind of message, and he had
followed him, but it was with the idea of meeting him on his return.
For he could not play the eavesdropper; and, feeling that he had
inadvertently come upon business that was not his, he increased his
pace, only to be arrested by an angry cry, followed by these words,
distinctly heard from among the trees:
"No, not another sixpence; so do your worst!"
The voice was Distin's, undoubtedly; and, as no more was said, Vane
began to hurry away. He had nothing to do with Distin's money matters,
and he was walking fast when there was the rapid beat of feet away to
his right, but parallel with the way he was going. Then there was a
rush, a shout, a heavy fall, and a half-smothered voice cried "Help!"
That did seem to be Vane's business, and he struck off to the right
directly, to bear through a denser part of the wood, and come to an
opening, which struck him at once as being the one where he had had his
encounter with the gipsy lads. The very next moment, with every nerve
tingling, he was running toward where he could see his two enemies
kneeling upon someone they had got down; and, though he could not see
the face, he knew it was Distin whom they were both thumping with all
their might.
"Now will you?" he heard, as he rushed forward toward the group, all of
whose constituents were so much excited by their struggle that they did
not hear his approach.
"No," shouted Vane, throwing himself upon them, but not so cleverly as
he had meant, for his toe caught in a protruding root, and he pitched
forward more like a skittle-ball than a boy, knocking over the two gipsy
lads, and himself rolling over amongst the beech-mast and dead leaves.
Distin's two assailants were so startled and astonished that they, too,
rolled over and over hurriedly several times before they scrambled to
their feet, and dived in among the trees.
But Vane was up, too, on the instant.
"Here, Dis!" he shouted; "help me take them."
Distin had risen, too, very pale everywhere in the face but about the
nose, which was very ruddy, for reasons connected with a blow, but, as
Vane ran on, he did not follow.
"Do you hear? Come on!" cried Vane, looking back. "Help me, and we can
take them both."
But Distin only glanced round for a way of retreat, and, seeing that
Vane was alone, the two gipsy lads dodged behind a tree, and cleverly
kept it between them as he rushed on, and then sprang out at him, taking
him in the rear, and getting a couple of blows home as he turned to
defend himself.
"History repeats itself," he muttered, through his set teeth; "but they
haven't got any sticks;" and, determined now to make a prisoner of one
of them, he attacked fiercely, bringing to bear all the strength and
skill he possessed, for there was no sign of shrinking on the part of
the two lads, who came at him savagely, as if enraged at his robbing
them of their prey.
There were no sticks now, as Vane had said; it was an attack with
nature's weapons, but the two gipsy lads had had their tempers whetted
in their encounter with Distin, and, after the first fright caused by
Vane's sudden attack, they met him furiously.
They were no mean adversaries, so long as spirit nerved them, for they
were active and hard as cats, and had had a long experience in giving
and taking blows. So that, full of courage and indignation as he was,
Vane soon began to find that he was greatly overmatched, and, in the
midst of his giving and taking, he looked about anxiously for Distin,
but for some time looked in vain.
All at once, though, as he stepped back to avoid a blow he saw Distin
peering round the trunk of one of the trees.
"Oh, there you are," he panted, "come on and help me."
Distin did not stir, and one of the gipsy lads burst into a hoarse
laugh.
"Not he," cried the lad. "Why, he give us money to leather you before."
Distin made an angry gesture, but checked himself.
"Take that for your miserable lie," cried Vane, and his gift was a
stinging blow in the lad's mouth, which made him shrink away, and make
room for his brother, who seized the opportunity of Vane's arm and body
being extended, to strike him full in the ear, and make him lose his
balance.
"'Tarn't a lie," cried this latter. "He did give us three shillin'
apiece to leather you."
The lad speaking followed up his words with blows, and Vane was pretty
hard set, while a conscious feeling of despair came over him on hearing
of Distin's treachery.
But he forced himself not to credit it, and struck out with all his
might.
"I don't believe it," he roared, "a gentleman wouldn't do such a thing."
"But he aren't a gent," said the first lad, coming on again, with his
lips bleeding. "Promised to pay us well, and he weant."
"Come and show them it's all a lie, Dis," cried Vane, breathlessly.
"Come and help me."
But Distin never stirred. He only stood glaring at the scene before
him, his lips drawn from his white teeth, and his whole aspect
betokening that he was fascinated by the fight.
"Do you hear?" roared Vane at last, hoarsely. "You're never going to be
such a coward as to let them serve me as they did before."
Still Distin did not stir, and a burst of rage made the blood flush to
Vane's temples, as he ground his teeth and raged out with:
"You miserable, contemptible cur!"
He forgot everything now. All sense of fear--all dread of being beaten
by two against one--was gone, and as if he had suddenly become possessed
with double his former strength, he watchfully put aside several of the
fierce blows struck at him, and dodged others, letting his opponents
weary themselves, while he husbanded his strength.
It was hard work, though, to keep from exposing himself in some fit of
blind fury, for the lads, by helping each other, kept on administering
stinging blows, every one of which made Vane grind his teeth, and long
to rush in and close with one or the other of his adversaries.
But he mastered the desire, knowing that it would be fatal to success,
for the gipsies were clever wrestlers, and would have the advantage,
besides which, one of them could easily close and hold while the other
punished him.
"I wouldn't have believed it. I wouldn't have believed it," he kept on
muttering as he caught sight of Distin's pallid face again and again,
while avoiding the dodges and attempts to close on the part of the
gipsies.
At last, feeling that this could not go on, and weakened by his efforts,
Vane determined to try, and, by a sudden rush, contrive to render one of
his adversaries _hors de combat_, when, to his great delight, they both
drew off, either for a few minutes' rest, or to concoct some fresh mode
of attack.
Whatever it might be, the respite was welcome to Vane, who took
advantage of it to throw off his Norfolk jacket; but watching his
adversaries the while, lest they should make a rush while he was
comparatively helpless.
But they did not, and tossing the jacket aside he rapidly rolled up his
sleeves, and tightened the band of his trousers, feeling refreshed and
strengthened by every breath he drew.
"Now," he said to himself as the gipsies whispered together, "let them
come on."
But they did not attack, one of them standing ready to make a rush,
while the other went to the edge of the wood to reconnoitre.
"It means fighting to the last then," thought Vane, and a shiver ran
through him as he recalled his last encounter.
Perhaps it was this, and the inequality of the match which made him turn
to where Distin still stood motionless.
"I say, Dis," he cried, appealingly, "I won't believe all they said.
We'll be friends, when it's all over, but don't leave me in the lurch
like this."
Distin looked at him wildly, but still neither spoke nor stirred, and
Vane did not realise that he was asking his fellow-pupil that which he
was not likely to give. For the latter was thinking,--
"Even if he will not believe it, others will," and he stared wildly at
Vane's bruised and bleeding face with a curious feeling of envy at his
prowess.
"Right," shouted the gipsy lad who had been on the look-out, and running
smartly forward, he dashed at Vane, followed by his brother, and the
fight recommenced.
"If they would only come on fairly, I wouldn't care," thought Vane, as
he did his best to combat the guerilla-like warfare his enemies kept up,
for he did not realise that wearisome as all their feinting, dodging and
dropping to avoid blows, and their clever relief of each other might be,
a bold and vigorous closing with them would have been fatal. And, oddly
enough, though they had sought to do this at first, during the latter
part of the encounter they had kept aloof, though perhaps it was no
wonder, for Vane had given some telling blows, such as they did not wish
to suffer again.
"I shall have to finish it, somehow," thought Vane, as he felt that he
was growing weaker; and throwing all the vigour and skill into his next
efforts, he paid no heed whatever to the blows given him by one of the
lads, but pressed the other heavily, following him up, and at last, when
he felt nearly done, aiming a tremendous left-handed blow at his cheek.
As if to avoid the blow, the lad dropped on his hands and knees, but
this time he was a little too late; the blow took effect, and his
falling was accelerated so that he rolled over and over, while unable to
stop himself, Vane's body followed his fist and he, too, fell with a
heavy thud, full on his adversary's chest.
Vane was conscious of both his knees coming heavily upon the lad, and he
only saved his face from coming in contact with the ground by throwing
up his head.
Then, he sprang up, as, for the first time during the encounter, Distin
uttered a warning cry.
It warned Vane, who avoided the second lad's onslaught, and gave him a
smart crack on the chest and another on the nose.
This gave him time to glance at his fallen enemy, who did not try to get
up.
It was only a momentary glance, and then he was fighting desperately,
for the second boy seemed to be maddened by the fate of the first.
Casting off all feinting now, he dashed furiously at Vane, giving and
receiving blows till the lads closed in a fierce wrestling match, in
which Vane's superior strength told, and in another moment or two, he
would have thrown his adversary, had not the lad lying unconscious on
the dead leaves, lent his brother unexpected aid. For he was right in
Vane's way, so that he tripped over him, fell heavily with the second
gipsy lad upon his chest, holding him down with his knees and one hand
in his collar, while he raised the other, and was about to strike him
heavily in the face, when there was a dull sound and he fell over upon
his brother, leaving Vane free.
"Thankye, Dis," he panted, as he struggled to his knees; "that crack of
yours was just in time," and the rector's two pupils looked each other
in the face.
It was only for a moment, though, and then Vane seated himself to
recover breath on the uppermost of his fallen foes.