"I beg to hint to all Equestrian Misses
That horses' backs are not their proper place;
A woman's forte is music--love--or kisses,
Not leaping gates, or galloping a race;
I sometimes used to ride with them of yore,
And always found them an infernal bore."
Ascribed to LORD BYRON.
It was the morning of the first meet of the South Sussex Hunt, and in
spite of the humble status of that same hunt among sporting folk, the
whole neighbourhood was in an agreeable state of excitement.
Even in a country district where hunting plays a subordinate part in the
local life, the first meet of the season is always made the occasion for
a great gathering. There had been a time when it had taken place on the
lawn of Chancton Priory, and the open-handed hospitality of that Squire
Rebell who had been Madame Sampiero's father was still regretfully
remembered by the older members of the S.S.H.
Nowadays the first meet was held at a place known locally as Whiteways,
which, though close to no hospitable house, had the advantage of
proximity to the town of Halnakeham, being situated just outside the
furthest gate of the park stretching behind Halnakeham Castle.
Whiteways was a singularly beautiful and desolate spot, forming the apex
of a three-sided hill commanding an amazing view of uplands and
lowlands, and reached by various steep ways, cut through the chalk,
which gave the place its name, and which circled ribbon-wise round the
crest of the down, the highest of the long range which there guards the
coasts of Sussex.
General Kemp had taken to hunting in his old age, and though in theory
he disapproved of hunting women, in practice he often allowed his
daughter many a happy hour with the hounds, although she had to be
contented with the sturdy pony, "warranted safe to ride and drive," a
gift from Captain Laxton to Mrs. Kemp.
* * * * *
At the Grange breakfast was just over. The General looking his best--so
Mrs. Kemp assured herself with wifely pride--in his white riding
breeches and grey coat, stood by the window of the pretty room opening
out on to the lawn.
"I think it's time you went up and dressed, Lucy. You know it's a good
way to Whiteways, and we don't want the horses blown."
Lucy looked up obediently from a letter she was reading, "Yes, father,
I'll go up at once. It won't take me long to dress."
The girl would have given much to have been allowed to stay at home. But
she knew that her doing so would probably mean the giving up on the part
of her mother of one of the few local festivities which Mrs. Kemp
heartily enjoyed. Even more, Lucy feared her father's certain surprise
and disappointment, followed, after the first expression of these
feelings, by one of those ominous silences, those tender questioning
glances she had come to look for and to dread.
General Kemp was treating his daughter with a consideration and
gentleness which were growing daily more bitter to Lucy. The poor child
wondered uneasily what she could have done to make her father see so
clearly into her heart. She would have given much to hear him utter one
of his old sharp jokes at her expense.
Nothing was outwardly changed in the daily life of the village, Chancton
had been rather duller than usual. Mrs. Rebell's back had been seen at
church in the Priory pew, but she had gone out, as she had come in, by
the private door leading into the park. Mrs. Boringdon had been away for
nearly a fortnight, staying with an invalid sister, and so there had
been very little coming and going between the Cottage and the Grange,
although the Kemps and Oliver had met more than once on neutral ground.
To-day, as Lucy well knew, was bound to be almost an exact replica of
that first day out last autumn. Then, as now, it had been arranged that
Mrs. Boringdon should drive Mrs. Kemp to Whiteways; then, as now, Lucy
and her father were to ride there together, perhaps picking up Captain
Laxton on the way. But, a year ago, Oliver Boringdon had ridden to the
meet in their company, while this time nothing had been said as to
whether he was even going to be there. A year ago, the day had been one
full of happy enchantment to Lucy: for her father had allowed her to
follow the hounds for over an hour, with Boringdon as pilot, and he,--or
so it seemed to the happy girl,--had had no eyes, no thought for anyone
else! The knowledge that to-day would be so like, and yet, as a subtle
instinct warned her, so unlike, was curiously painful.
Still, no thought of trying to escape from the ordeal entered Lucy's
mind. But mothers--such mothers as Mrs. Kemp--often have a sixth sense
placed at their disposal by Providence, and the girl's mother divined
something of what Lucy was thinking and feeling.
"I wonder," she said, "if you would rather stop at home? You look tired,
child, and you know it is a long way to Whiteways, and a rather tiring
experience altogether! Of course I should go just the same."
General Kemp turned to his wife inquiringly, as if asking for a lead,
and Lucy intercepted the look which passed between them. "Why, mother,"
she cried, "I shouldn't think of doing such a thing! I've been looking
forward to to-day for ever so long! I know what you are thinking"--she
flushed vividly, "but I'm sure Captain Laxton is much too old a friend
to bear me a grudge, or to feel any annoyance as to meeting me. After
all, he need not have come back----" and without giving either of her
parents time to answer, she ran out of the room.
General Kemp was much taken aback. This was the first time he had heard
Lucy allude to Captain Laxton's affection for herself, or to the offer
which she had rejected. To his mind such an allusion savoured almost of
indelicacy. He did not like to think his daughter guilty of
over-frankness, even to her father and mother.
"Can it be, Mary," he said, puzzled, "that she's thinking of Laxton
after all?"
Mrs. Kemp shook her head. She knew very well why Lucy had mentioned her
lover--that his image had been evoked in order to form as it were a
screen between herself and what she had divined to be her mother's
motive in suggesting that she should stay at home, but it would be
hopeless to try and indicate such feminine subtleties to Lucy's father.
* * * * *
In the country, as in life, there are always many ways of reaching the
same place. The pleasantest carriage road to Whiteways lay partly
through the Priory park, and it was that which was chosen by Mrs.
Boringdon and Mrs. Kemp. Lucy and her father preferred a less frequented
and lonelier path, one which skirted for part of the way the high wall
of James Berwick's property, Chillingworth.
They had now left this place far behind, and were riding slowly by the
side of a curving down: Captain Laxton had evidently gone on before, or
deliberately chosen to linger behind, and the father and daughter were
alone. Soon they left the road for the short turf, broken here and there
with hawthorn bushes; and Lucy, cheered by the keen upland air, was
making a gallant effort to bear herself as she had always done on what
had been such happy hunting days last winter. Already she could see, far
away to her left, a broad shining white road, dotted with carriages,
horsemen and horsewomen, and groups of walkers all making their way up
towards the castellated gate-way which frowned on the summit of the hill
above them.
When the father and daughter reached the large circular space, sheltered
on one side by two wind-blown fir-trees, they found that they were
rather late, and so had missed the pretty sight of the coming of the
huntsman and his hounds over the brow of the down. Lucy made her way at
once through the crowd close to where Mrs. Boringdon's low pony-carriage
was drawn up just beneath the high stone gate-way, next to that of Mrs.
Sampson, the Chancton rector's wife, who had weakly consented to bring
Miss Vipen. Even Doctor McKirdy had vouchsafed to grace the pretty
scene, and he was sitting straightly and lankily on the rough old pony
he always rode, which now turned surprised and patient eyes this way and
that, for the doctor had never before attended a meet of the S.S.H.
As yet Lucy could see nothing of Captain Laxton or of Boringdon, and she
felt at once relieved and disappointed. Perhaps Oliver was too busy to
give up a whole day to this kind of thing, and yet she knew he always
enjoyed a day with the hounds, and that he had theories concerning the
value of sport in such a neighbourhood as this. She reminded herself
that if he had not been really very busy, more so than usual, he would
certainly have found time to come to the Grange during his mother's
absence from Chancton.
As these thoughts were coming and going through her mind in between the
many greetings, the exchange of heavy banter such an occasion always
seems to provoke, she suddenly heard Boringdon's voice, and realised
that he was trying to attract her attention. Lucy's pony, feeling the
agitation his young mistress was quite successfully concealing from the
people around her, began to quiver and gave a sudden half-leap in the
air.
"What has come over sober Robin?"--Boringdon was smiling; he looked in a
good-tempered, happy mood--"I did so hope you would be here! I looked
out for you on the road for I wanted to introduce----"
There was a sudden babel of voices; an old gentleman and his two
talkative daughters, all three on foot, were actually pulling Lucy's
habit to make her attend to what they were saying. Oliver shook his
head, shrugged his shoulders, and to Lucy's bitter, at the moment almost
intolerable disappointment, turned his horse through the crowd towards
the fir-trees close to which were drawn up several carriages, including
the Fletchings phaeton, driven, so the girl observed, by Miss Berwick,
by whose side an elderly man was looking about him with amused indulgent
eyes.
Still, the day was turning out pretty well. Oliver would surely come
back soon,--doubtless with whoever it was he wished to introduce to her.
It was always a great pleasure to Lucy to meet any of Boringdon's old
political acquaintances. Such men were often at Fletchings. Of course
Lucy Kemp knew Miss Berwick, but by no means well,--besides, an instinct
had told her long ago that Oliver had no liking for his friend's sister.
There was a pause. Then Lucy saw that Oliver was riding towards her, and
that he was accompanied by a lady, doubtless one of the Fletchings
party, for she was mounted on a fine hunter, a certain Saucebox, locally
famous, which belonged to James Berwick, and which was often ridden by
his sister.
The unknown horsewoman was habited, booted, and hatted, in a far more
_cap-à-pie_ manner than was usual with the fair followers of the South
Sussex Hunt, and she and her mount together, made, from the sportsman's
point of view, a very perfect and pretty picture, though she was too
pale, too slight, perhaps a thought too serious, to be considered pretty
in the ordinary sense.
Still, both horse and rider were being looked at by many with eyes that
were at first critical but soon became undisguisedly admiring, and the
Master, old Squire Laxton, was noticed to cut short a confidential
conversation with the huntsman in order to give the stranger an
elaborate salutation.
Even Mrs. Kemp felt a slight touch of curiosity. "Who is that with whom
your son is riding?" she inquired of Mrs. Boringdon.
"I don't know--perhaps one of the Halnakeham party. The Duke always
makes a point of being here to-day."
Mrs. Boringdon's eyes rested appreciatively on the group formed by her
son and the unknown horsewoman; they took in every detail of the
severely plain black habit, the stiff collar, neat tie, and top hat.
Oliver seemed to be on very good terms with his companion--doubtless she
was one of his old London acquaintances. What a pity, thought Mrs.
Boringdon with genuine regret, that he saw so few of that sort of people
now--prosperous, well-dressed, well-bred women of the world, who can be
so useful to the young men they like!
Lucy, also becoming conscious of the nearness of Oliver and his
companion, looked at the well-appointed horsewoman with less kindly eyes
than the two older ladies sitting in the pony carriage had done. The
girl told herself that such perfection of attire, worn at such a meet as
this of Whiteways, was almost an affectation on the part of the lady
towards whom Oliver was bending with so pleased and absorbed a glance. A
moment later the two had ridden up close to her, and Boringdon was
saying, "Miss Kemp----Mrs. Rebell, may I introduce to you Miss Lucy
Kemp?"
Barbara's eyes rested very kindly on the girl. She remembered what
Doctor McKirdy had told her, during that walk that he and she had taken
together on the downs on the morning of her first day at Chancton. It
was nice of Oliver Boringdon to have brought her up at once, like this,
to the young lady whom he admired, but who was not,--so Barbara thought
she remembered McKirdy saying,--as yet his _fiancée_.
Mrs. Rebell had lately seen a great deal of Grace Johnstone's brother,
in fact he was constantly at the Priory and always very much at her
service; they had become quite good friends, and since she had "made it
up" with the old doctor, she had taken pains to show both him and Madame
Sampiero that Oliver Boringdon had a right to more consideration than
they seemed willing to give him.
Then Lucy's steady gaze rather disconcerted her; she became aware of the
girl's scanty riding habit--General Kemp's favourite form of safety
skirt--of the loose well-worn covert coat, and the small bowler hat
resting on her bright brown hair.
"I feel rather absurdly dressed"--Lucy was struck by Barbara's soft full
voice--"but my god-mother, Madame Sampiero, ordained that I should look
like this. My last riding habit was made of khaki!"
The note of appeal in Mrs. Rebell's accent touched Lucy at once. "Why,
of course you look absolutely right! My father often says what a pity it
is that so many women have given up wearing plain habits and top hats,"
Lucy spoke with pretty sincere eagerness----
"She is a really nice girl," decided Barbara to herself; and Oliver also
looked at his old friend Lucy very cordially. To his mind both young
women looked exactly right, that is, exactly as he liked each of them to
look--Lucy Kemp perhaps standing for the good serviceable homespuns of
life, Barbara Rebell for those more exquisite, more thrilling moments
with which he had, as yet unconsciously, come to associate her.
"Of course," he said, a little quickly, "this is Mrs. Rebell's first
experience of hunting, though she has ridden a great deal,--in fact, all
her life. Otherwise Madame Sampiero would hardly have suggested sending
over to Chillingworth for Saucebox. Hullo, Laxton!"--his voice became
perceptibly colder, but Lucy noticed with some surprise that Mrs. Rebell
bowed and smiled at the newcomer, but Boringdon gave her no time to
speak to him--"You had better come over here," he said urgently, "we
shall be getting to work soon," and in a moment, or so it seemed to
Lucy, he and the lady whom she knew now to be Mrs. Rebell had become
merged in the crowd, leaving Captain Laxton by her side looking down on
her with the half bold, half fearful look she knew so well.
* * * * *
Boringdon had taken Barbara to the further side of the great stone
gateway, and she was enjoying every moment of the time which seemed to
many of those about her so tedious. She was even amused at listening to
the quaint talk going on round her. "Scent going to be good to-day?"
"Well, they _say_ there's always a scent some time of the day, and if
you can find the fox _then_, why you're all right!"--and the boastful
tone of a keen weather-beaten elderly man, "I never want a
warranty,--why should a man expect to find a perfect horse?--he don't
look for perfection when he's seeking a wife, eh?" "Oh! but there's two
wanted to complete that deal. The old lady 'as not come up to the
scratch yet, 'as she, John?" "Well, when she does, I shan't ask for any
warranty, and I bet you I'll not come out any worse than other folk
do!"--and then the old joke, one of Solomon's wise sayings, uttered by
an old gentleman to a nervous girl, "Their strength shall be in sitting
still!"
Mrs. Rebell looked straight before her. Of all the cheerful folk
gathered together near her, none seemed to have eyes for the beauty, the
amazing beauty of the surrounding country. To the right of the kind of
platform upon which the field was now gathered together, the hill
dropped abruptly into a dark wood, a corner of the ancient forest of
Anderida, that crossed by Cæsar when he came from Gaul--a forest
stretching from end to end of the South Downs, broken by swift rivers
running down to the sea. It was here--but Barbara, gazing with delighted
eyes down over the treetops, did not know this--it was here, in this
patch of primeval woodland, that the first fox of the season was always
sought for and often found.
Yet another "white way" wound down towards the red-roofed farmhouses
which lined the banks of the tidal stream glistening in the vale below;
and opposite, in front, a gleaming cart-track led up to a strip of fine
short grass, differing in quality and even in colour from the turf about
it, and marking the place where, according to tradition, Boadicea made
her last stand. From thence, by climbing up the low bank on which a
hedge was now set, the lover of the downs looked upon one of the
grandest views in the South of England--that bounded on one side by the
sea, on the other, beyond the unrolled map-like plain, by the long blue
barrier of the Surrey hills.
Barbara's eyes dilated with pleasure. The fresh autumn wind brought a
faint colour to her cheeks. She felt a kind of rapture at the beauty of
the sight before her. It was amazing to her that these people could be
talking so eagerly to one another, gazing so critically at the huntsman
and at the hounds gathered on their haunches, while this marvellous
sight lay spread out around and before them.
Mrs. Kemp, sitting by the side of Mrs. Boringdon in the pony-carriage,
had something of the same feeling. She turned--foolishly, as she
somewhat ruefully admitted to herself a moment later--to her companion
and contemporary for sympathy--"I never saw Whiteways looking so
beautiful as it does to-day!"
Mrs. Boringdon looked deliberately away from the sight which lay before
her, and gazed thoughtfully at the sham Norman gateway. "Yes," she said,
"very pretty indeed! Such a charming background to the men's red coats
and to the dogs! Still, I wonder the Duke allows so many poor and dirty
people to come streaming through the park. It rather spoils the look of
the meet, doesn't it? If I were he, I should close the gates on this one
day of the year at any rate."
Mrs. Kemp made no answer, but she bethought herself it was surely
impossible that Lucy should be happy, in any permanent sense, if made to
live in close proximity to Oliver Boringdon's mother.
* * * * *
Time was going on. The walkers and those who had driven to Whiteways
were asking one another uneasily what the Master was waiting for. Miss
Vipen, sitting bolt upright by Mrs. Sampson's side, addressing now and
again a sharp word of reproof to the two young Sampsons sitting opposite
to her, alone divined the cause of the delay. The Master of the South
Sussex Hunt, that is, Tom Laxton--she had known him all her life, and
even as a boy he had been afraid of her--was, of course, waiting for the
Duke, for the Duke and the Halnakeham party! It was too bad to keep the
whole field waiting like this, and probably the fault of the Duchess,
who was always late at all local functions. Miss Vipen told Mrs. Sampson
her opinion of the Duke, of the Duchess, and last but not least of the
Master, whose subserviences to the great she thoroughly despised.
All at once there was a stir round the gate-way: "The Duke at last!"
looking for all the world, so Miss Vipen observed to Mrs. Sampson, like
an old fat farmer, and apparently quite pleased at having kept everybody
waiting. As for Lord Pendragon, he was evidently very much the fine
gentleman--or, stay, the weedy scholar from Oxford who despised the
humble sports of a dull neighbourhood. But the time would come--Miss
Vipen nodded her head triumphantly--when he, Lord Pendragon, would
become very fat, like his mother, who, it was well known, was now too
stout to ride. "They say," whispered Miss Vipen in Mrs. Sampson's
unwilling ear, "that he is in love with a clergyman's daughter, and that
the Duke won't hear of it! If they made her father a Bishop, I suppose
it would be less objectionable-- Ah! there's the Duchess. They say her
carriages are always built just about a foot broader than anybody else's
in order that her size may not show so much."
A move was now made for Whitecombe wood, and the Master trotted down
towards a point from which on many a former occasion he had viewed a fox
break away in the direction of the open down, and had been able to get a
good start before he could be overtaken by what he used to call "all
these confounded holiday jostlers."
While all this was going on, Captain Laxton had not stirred from Lucy's
side, and together they rode over up towards Boadicea's camp. "If they
find soon, which I think very doubtful," he said quietly, "and if, what
is even less likely, the fox breaks, he is sure to head this way"--he
pointed to the left--"because of the wind."
Lucy looked at him with a certain respect: she herself would never have
thought of that! Captain Laxton, in the past, had often surprised her by
his odd little bits of knowledge. She suddenly felt glad that he was
there, and that apparently he bore her no grudge. More, she reminded
herself that during the whole of the past summer she had missed his
good-natured presence--that they had all missed him, her mother even
more than herself. If he had not come to Whiteways to-day, she would now
be by herself, down among those foolish people who were riding quickly
and aimlessly up and down the steep roads near the wood, her father
throwing her a word now and then no doubt, but Oliver giving her neither
look, word, nor thought.
Lucy had become aware that Boringdon and Mrs. Rebell had chosen, as she
and Laxton had done, a point of vantage away from the rest of the field,
and that Oliver, with eager glowing face, was explaining the whole
theory of hunting to his companion--further, that she was hanging on his
words with great interest.
Meanwhile, Captain Laxton was looking at Lucy Kemp no less ardently than
Boringdon was gazing at Barbara Rebell. The young man had come out
to-day with the definite intention of saying something to the girl, and
now he wished to get this something said and over as quickly as
possible.
"I hope that what happened last time I saw you won't make any
difference, Lucy--I mean as to our being friends, and my coming to the
Grange?"
He had always called her Lucy--always, that is, since her parents had
come home from India when she was twelve years old. Now it is difficult,
or so at least thought Lucy Kemp, to cherish any thought of romance in
connection with a man who has called you by your Christian name ever
since you were a little girl!
She hesitated. To her mind what had happened when they had last met
ought to make a difference. She remembered how wretched his evident
disappointment and unhappiness had made her at the time, and how kindly,
since that time, had been her thoughts of him, how pained her father and
mother had been. And now? Even after so short a time as three months,
here he was, looking as cheerful and as good-tempered as ever! It was
clear he had not cared as much as she had thought, and yet, according to
her mother, he had wanted to speak to her nearly two years ago, and had
been asked to bide his time. It was the knowledge of this constancy on
his part which had made Lucy very tender to him in her thoughts.
Laxton misunderstood her silence: "You need not be afraid, Lucy,
that--that I will bother you again in the same way. But honestly, you
don't know how I have missed you all, how awfully lonely I've felt
sometimes."
Lucy became aware that he was looking at her with a troubled, insistent
face, and she suddenly remembered how much he used to be with them,
making the Grange his home when she was still a very young girl, though
he was more than welcome at another house in the neighbourhood. As for
old Squire Laxton, Lucy knew only too well why he now always looked at
her so disagreeably; the coming and going of this young soldier cousin
to Laxgrove had been the old sporting bachelor's great pleasure, apart
of course from hunting, and he had missed him sorely that summer.
Why should not everything go on as it had done before, if Captain Laxton
really wished it to do so? And so she said in a low tone, "Of course we
have missed you too, all of us, very much."
"Oh! well then, that's all right! I will come over to the Grange
to-morrow--I suppose you would all be tired out this evening? I've been
at Laxgrove nearly a week already, and I must be back at Canterbury on
Monday, worse luck! I say, Lucy----"
"Yes?" Lucy smiled up at him quite brightly, but her mind was absorbed
in the scene below her: the Duke, the great potentate of the
neighbourhood, had come up to Mrs. Rebell--she was now following him
towards the victoria in which sat the ample Duchess, and Boringdon had
ridden off, galloping his mare down the steep rough road where the
Master, with anxious eyes, was watching the hounds slipping in and out
of the wood. Lucy was rather puzzled. How was it that this strange lady,
who had only arrived at the Priory some three weeks ago, and who never
came into the village--she had been out driving when Mrs. Boringdon had
called on her--knew everybody? She said suddenly, "I did not know that
you knew Mrs. Rebell: we have none of us seen her excepting in church."
"I can't say I know her, but old Cousin Tom has made great friends with
her. You know she's been riding Saucebox every morning, and they, she
and Boringdon, always go past Laxgrove about twelve o'clock. The first
morning there was quite a scene. The mare didn't quite understand Mrs.
Rebell, I suppose, for a steam roller came up, and in a minute she was
all over the place. Mrs. Rebell sat tight, but it gave her rather a
turn, and Tom made her come into the house. Then yesterday--you know
what a down-pour there was--well, she and Boringdon came in again. I was
rather glad to see them, for he and Tom have had rather an
unpleasantness over the Laxgrove shooting. However, now, thanks to this
Mrs. Rebell, they've quite made it up. She's a nice-looking woman, isn't
she?--quite the kind of figure for a showy beast like Saucebox!"
But Lucy made no answer: could it be, so thought Laxton uneasily, that
she did not like to hear another woman praised? To some girls, the young
man would never have said anything complimentary concerning another
lady, but Lucy Kemp was different; that was the delightful thing about
Lucy,--both about the girl and her mother.
Old Tom, sitting over the smoking-room fire the evening before, had told
his young kinsman to give up all thought of Lucy Kemp. "Whoever you
marry now, it will be all the same about ten years hence!" so the
cynical bachelor had observed, but then, what did Tom Laxton know about
it? The younger man was well aware, in a general sense, that this was
true of many men and their wives. It would probably be true of him were
he to choose, and to be chosen, from among the group of pleasant girls
with whom he had flirted, danced, and played games during the last few
months. But with Lucy, ah! no,--Lucy Kemp had become a part of his life,
and he could not imagine existence without her somewhere in the
background. Of course, to his old cousin, to Tom Laxton, Miss Kemp was
simply a quiet rather dull girl who could not even ride really
well--ride as women ought to ride if they hunted at all. The old
sportsman had only two feminine ideals,--that of the loud, jolly,
hail-fellow-well-met sort of girl, or else the stand-offish, delicate,
high-bred sort of woman, like this Mrs. Rebell.
Lucy was looking straight before her, seeing nothing, thinking much.
Oliver's absence from the Grange was now explained: he had been riding
every morning with Mrs. Rebell, putting off the dull hours which he had
to spend in the estate office till the afternoons. The girl thought it
quite reasonable that Boringdon should ride with Madame Sampiero's
guest, in fact, that sort of thing was one of those nondescript duties
of which he had sometimes complained to her as having been more than he
had bargained for. But how strange that he had not asked her, Lucy Kemp,
to come too! When a certain girl cousin of Oliver's was at the Cottage,
the three young people often enjoyed delightful riding expeditions,--in
fact, that was how Lucy had first come to know Oliver so well.
"They've found at last! This way, Lucy!--"
Lucy woke up as if from a dream. The sharp unmistakable cry of Bluebell,
one of the oldest hounds in the pack, broke on her ears. She and Laxton
galloped down to the left--then waited--Laxton smiling broadly as the
whole field swept past them just below, the men jostling one another in
their eagerness to get first to a gate giving access to a large meadow
which enclosed a stretch of down.
Rather on one side Lucy saw Mrs. Rebell and Boringdon, and
Oliver--quiet, prudent Oliver--was actually giving Saucebox a lead over
a low hedge! A group of town-folk from Halnakeham clapped their hands on
seeing the lady clear the obstacle. Laxton laughed. "Miss Vipen would
talk about circus performances, eh! Lucy?" He had never liked Boringdon,
the two men had nothing in common. "But, of course, Mrs. Rebell may have
told him she wanted to jump. They were doing that sort of thing
yesterday down at Laxgrove, and I must say I thought it very sensible of
Boringdon."
* * * * *
But in point of fact the hounds had not found. They had struck a strong
drag in the lower end of the cover, but, after running for only thirty
or forty yards, scent had quickly failed, and a few minutes afterwards
the majority of the field had reappeared near the old gate on the crest
of the hill.
"Well, it's not been much use so far, has it? I see that Mrs. Boringdon
and your mother have gone home"--General Kemp seemed in high good
humour. "And now that the Duchess is off, too, we shall be able to try
the Bramber wood." The speaker's eyes twinkled; the Duchess of Appleby
and Kendal had been a keen sportswoman in her day, and it had been hoped
that the hounds would find in the ducal covers. "Would you like to go
on, child?" He thought Lucy had been quite long enough with Laxton--that
is, if, as his wife assured him, she had not changed her mind about the
young man whom he himself liked so cordially.
"I think, father, if you don't mind, I'd rather go home." The General's
face fell--it seemed such a pity to turn back now, just when the real
work of the day was to begin. He had heard the Master's dry words:--"The
Duchess is gone, isn't she? Then let's make for Highcombe without losing
a minute." But Laxton was interposing eagerly--"May I take Lucy home,
sir? I will look after her all right, and perhaps Mrs. Kemp will give me
a little lunch."
The General looked doubtfully at the two young people. They had remained
close to one another during the last hour--what did it all mean? He
wished his wife were there to give him a word, a glance, of advice.
"All right!" he said, "but in that case, I should advise you to go back
over the downs. It's a pleasanter way, and you'll be at Chancton twice
as quickly."
Lucy looked gratefully at the young man: it was really nice of him to do
this--to give up his afternoon to her, and to brave, as he was certainly
about to do, old Squire Laxton's anger: the Master of the S.S.H. had
never understood his favourite kinsman's attitude to the noblest sport
ever devised by man. And so she assented eagerly to the proposal that
they should ride back over the downs.
"But wouldn't you rather stay?"
"I'm really glad of the excuse to get away!"--he smiled down on
her--"I've been simply longing to see your mother!"
Slowly they made their way over the brow of the hill, and then down the
wide grassy slopes skirting the high wall which shut off Chillingworth
from the rest of the world.
Lucy was very subdued, and very gentle. It was a relief to be with
someone who did not suspect, as her parents seemed to do, the truth as
to her feeling for Oliver Boringdon. Soon she and her companion were
talking quite happily together, he asking her about all sorts of
familiar matters. Again she bethought herself that she really had missed
him, and that it was nice to have him back again.
Then there was a pause--Laxton had felt the kindness, the confidence of
her manner. Suddenly bending down, he saw that the tears were in her
eyes--that her lips were trembling. Could it be--? Oh! God, was it
possible that she relented--that his intense feeling had at last roused
an answering chord? A flood of deep colour swept over his fair sunburnt
face. "Lucy!" he said hoarsely, "Lucy!" She looked up at him with sudden
mute appeal, but alas! he misunderstood the meaning of the look. "If it
is ever any good--any good now, my asking you again, you will let me
know--you will be kind?" Poor, inadequate words, so he felt them to be,
but enough, more than enough, if he had interpreted aright the look he
had surprised.
But Lucy shook her head, "It is no good, I only wish it were--though I
don't know why you should care so much."
They rode on into the village, and Laxton showed the good stuff he was
made of by coming, as he had said he would, to the Grange, where Mrs.
Kemp, after glancing at Lucy, entertained him with a pitying and heavy
heart.