Mrs Rolph did not see much of her son, who divided his time between
Brackley and Aldershot, when he was not away to attend some athletic
meeting. But she was quite content, and paid her calls upon Glynne in
company with Marjorie, who sat and beamed upon Sir John's daughter, and
lost not an opportunity for getting her arm about the waist of her
cousin's betrothed, being so intensely affectionate that Glynne stared
at her wonderingly at times, and then tried to reciprocate the love
bestowed upon her, failed dismally, and often asked Lucy whether she
liked Miss Emlin? to receive a short, sharp shake of the head in return.
"Sha'n't say," Lucy replied one day. "If I do, you'll think I'm
jealous."
Rolph was not aware of the fact, for Marjorie generally avoided him, and
behaved as if she were putting the past farther back; but all the same,
she watched her cousin furtively on every possible occasion whenever he
was at home or staying at Brackley; and to cover her proceedings, she
developed an intense love for botany, and more than once encountered
Major Day with Lucy and Glynne, and compared notes. But the major never
displayed any great desire to impart information, or to induce the young
lady to take up his particular branch.
"Pity Rolph didn't marry her," muttered the old man. "Foxy doesn't like
Glynne at all."
Madge's botanical studies had a good deal to do with the _gynias_, and
with watching Rolph, who was not aware that his pleasant vices were
making of themselves the proverbial rods to scourge him, and
unfortunately injure others as well. For Marjorie's brain was busy; and
as she watched him, she made herself acquainted with every movement,
noting when he rode over to Brackley or took a walk out into the woods--
walks which made her writhe, for she gave her cousin the credit of
making his way toward Lindham, out by the solitary collection of houses
on the road to nowhere, the spot where Ben Hayle had made his new home.
At these times Marjorie hung upon the tenterhooks of agony and suspense
till he returned, when there was a warm glow of satisfaction in her
breast if his looks showed that his visit had been unsuccessful.
Sometimes though, she was stung by her jealousy into believing that he
obtained interviews with Judith, for he would come back looking more
satisfied and content.
She watched him one day, and saw him take the path down through the
wood, and she also watched his return.
In a few days he went again in the same direction, and on the next
morning she started off before he had left the house, and turned down
through the woods to an opening miles away, where, in happier days, she
had been wont to gather blackberries; and here she knew she could easily
hide in the sandy hollows, and see anyone going toward Lindham--herself
unseen.
It was a lonely nook, where, in bygone days, a number of the firs had
been cut down, and a sandpit, or rather sand-pits had been formed.
These had become disused, the rabbits had taken possession, and, as sun
and air penetrated freely, a new growth of furze, heather and broom grew
up among the hollows and knolls.
What her plans were she kept hidden, but a looker-on would have said
that she had carefully prepared a mine, and that some day, she would
spring that mine upon her cousin with a result that would completely
overturn his projects, but whether to her own advantage remained to be
seen.
As Marjorie approached, the rabbits took flight, and their white tails
could be seen disappearing into their burrows, a certain sign that no
one had been by before her; and in a few minutes she was safely
ensconced in a deep hollow surrounded by brambles, after she had taken
the precaution to lay a few fern leaves in the bottom of a little
basket, and rapidly pick a few weeds to give colour to her presence
there.
The time glided on, and all was so still that a stone-chat came and sat
upon a twig close at hand, watching her curiously. Then the rabbits
stole out one by one from their burrows, and began to race here and
there, indulging in playful bounds as if under the impression that it
was evening; but though Marjorie strained her ears to listen, there was
no sound of approaching steps, and at last she sat there with her brow
full of lines, and her eyes staring angrily from beneath her contracted
brows.
"He will not come to-day," she muttered. "What shall I do?"
"Oh!" she cried, in a harsh whisper, after a long pause, as she crushed
together the nearest tuft of leaves, "I could kill her."
She winced slightly, and then glanced contemptuously at her glove, which
was torn, and in three places her white palm was pierced, scratched and
bleeding, for she had grasped a twig or two of bramble.
The blood on her hand seemed to have a peculiar fascination for her, and
she sat there with her eyes half-shut, watching the long red lines made
by snatching her hand away, and at the two tiny beads, which gradually
increased till she touched them in turn with the tip of her glove, and
then carelessly wiped them away.
"`He cometh not,'" she said to herself, with a curious laugh.
_Rap_! And then, from different parts of the hollow, came the same
sharp, clear sound, as rabbit after rabbit struck the ground with its
foot, giving the alarm and sending all within hearing scuttling into
their holes.
Marjorie had been long enough in the country to know the meaning of that
noise, and, with her eyes now wide and wild-looking, she listened for
the step which had startled the little animals--one plain to them before
it grew clear to her.
No step. Not a sound, and her face was a study, could it have been
seen, in its intense eagerness for what seemed, in the silence, minutes,
while she retained her breath.
"Hah!"
One long, weary exclamation, and a bitter look of disappointment crossed
her eager face.
The next moment it was strained again, and her eyes flashed like those
of some wild animal whose life depends upon the acuteness of its
perceptions.
There was a faint rustle.
Then silence.
Then a faintly-heard scratching noise, as of a thorn passing over a
garment.
"He's coming," thought Marjorie, "coming, and this way;" and she leaned
forward in time to see a figure, bent down so low that it seemed to be
going on all fours, dart silently from behind one clump of brambles away
to her left, and glide into the shelter of another.
So silently was this act performed that for the moment the watcher asked
herself if she had not been deceived.
The answer came directly in the re-appearance of the figure, gliding
into sight and creeping on till it was in shelter, hiding not a dozen
yards from where she crouched; and she shrank back with her heart
beginning to beat heavily, while she knew that the blood was coming and
going in her cheeks.
"No; I'm not afraid of Caleb Kent," she thought to herself; and her eyes
flashed again, and in imagination she seemed to see once more the
opening where the lodge stood. Her face grew pale, and a curious
shrinking sensation attacked her as she recalled Rolph's face, his eyes
searching hers with such a bitter look of contempt and scorn.
Then instantly she seemed to be gazing at herself in the library,
clinging to her cousin, till he violently wrenched himself from her,
leaving her hopeless and crushed; and she longed bitterly for the
opportunity to make some one suffer for this.
"No," she said to herself, "I am not afraid of Caleb Kent;" and she
crouched there, seeing every movement, and in a few moments realised
that some one must be coming, for, with the activity of a cat, the young
half-gipsy, half-poacher, began to move softly back, as if to keep the
clump of brambles between him and whoever it was that was passing.
Marjorie knew directly after that this must be the case, for she could
hear the dull sound of a step, and she strained forward a little to try
and see, but shrank back again with her heart beginning to beat rapidly,
as she realised that, all intent upon the person passing in front, Caleb
Kent had no thought for what might be behind, and he had begun to back
rapidly away from the clump which had hidden him, to hide in the safer
refuge already occupied.
She knew that the step must be her cousin's, and that he was going over
to Lindham to seek Judith.
"Suppose," she asked herself, "he should come nearer and see her
hiding--apparently in company with Caleb Kent--what would he say?"
She quivered with rage and mortification, and for the moment felt
disposed to spring up and walk away, but refrained, for she knew that it
would then seem as if she had been keeping an appointment with this man,
and had been frightened into showing herself by her cousin's coming.
The situation was horrible, and she knew that all she could do was to
wait in the hope that, as soon as Rolph had gone by, Caleb would glide
after him.
"What for?" she asked herself; and she turned cold at the answering
thought.
He seemed to have no stout bludgeon, though. Perhaps he was only acting
the spy; and as soon as Rolph had been to the cottage and returned,
Caleb himself might have some intention of going there.
Marjorie's eyes glittered again as thought after thought came, boding
ill to those she hated now with the bitterness of a jealous woman; and
all at once, like a flash, a thought flooded her brain which sent the
blood thrilling through every artery and vein.
"No," she thought, and she crouched there, compressing her nether lip
between her white teeth. Then,--"Why not? What is she that she should
rob me of my happiness, and of all I hold dear? But if--"
She drew in her breath with a faint hiss that was almost inaudible, but
it was sufficient to make the poacher pause and look sharply to right
and left, as he still crept backwards till he was beneath the shelter of
the clump in the hollow which hid Marjorie, and within a few yards of
where she was seated.
The sounds of passing steps were very near now. Then there was a faint
cough, and Marjorie knew that her cousin was so close that, if he looked
about him, he must see her in hiding with this vagabond of the village;
and again the girl's veins tingled with the nervous sensation of anger
and mortification.
She would have given ten years of her life to have been back at home;
but she had brought all this upon herself, and she could only hope that
Rolph would pass them without turning his head.
"Yes, go on," said a low, harsh voice, hardly above a whisper, and
Marjorie started as she found herself an involuntary listener to the
man's outspoken thoughts. "Only wait," he continued, and he, too, drew
in his breath with a low, hissing sound.
The footsteps died completely away, and Marjorie sat there trembling.
The thoughts which had seemed to electrify her, she felt now that she
dare not foster; and she was longing for the man to go, when, as if he
were influenced by her presence, he turned round suddenly to the right
as in search of some one, then to the left, and, not satisfied, faced
right about, his countenance full of wonderment and dread, which passed
away directly, and he uttered a low, mocking laugh.
Marjorie shrank away for the moment, but, feeling that she must show no
dread of this man who had surprised her in a situation which it would be
vain to explain, she rose to go, but Caleb seized her tightly by the
arm.
"He did not come to meet you," the man said, with a look of malicious
enjoyment, as if it was a pleasure to inflict some of the pain from
which he suffered.
"What do you mean?" she cried imperiously, as she sought to release her
wrist.
"Call to him to come back and help you," whispered Caleb.--"Why don't
you?"
He laughed again as he drew himself up into a kneeling position, still
holding her tightly,
"How dare you!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Loose my arm, fellow!"
"Why? Not I. You will not call out for fear the captain there should
think you were watching to see him go to Hayle's cottage and pretty
Judith."
He began his speech in a light, bantering way, but as he finished his
face was flushed and angry, and his breath came thick and fast, while,
still clutching the arm he held, he wrenched his head round and knelt
there, gazing in the direction taken by Rolph.
The thought which had held possession of Marjorie's breast twice, now
came back with renewed power, and, casting all feeling of dread to the
winds as she read her companion's face, she snatched at the opportunity.
That Caleb hated Rolph was plain enough; there was a scar upon his lip
now that had been made by the hand of one whom he feared as well as
hated; and above all, after his fashion, Marjorie knew that he loved
Judith.
Here was the instrument to her hand. Why had she not thought of making
use of it before?
It was as if she were for the moment possessed, as, without trying now
to release herself, she leaned forward and whispered in the young man's
ear,--
"You coward!"
He turned upon her in astonishment.
"I say you are a coward," she repeated. "Why do you let him go and take
her from you?"