Had Oldroyd been a little sooner, he would have formed a different
opinion about Caleb Kent and his appealing to Marjorie for alms.
For that day, Marjorie had come down dressed for a walk--a saunter, to
find a few botanical specimens, she told Mrs Rolph, who smiled and was
quite content, so long as her niece settled down and made no trouble of
the loss of her lover.
Marjorie did saunter as long as she was in sight, and then went off
through the fir woods rapidly, her eyes losing their soft, spaniel-like,
far-away look which she so often turned upon Rolph, and growing fierce
and determined as she stepped out, full of the object she had in view.
For she had good reason to believe that Rolph had gone in the direction
she was taking, and the desire was strong within her to come upon him
suddenly, and at a time when she felt she would succeed in getting the
whip-hand of him, and holding him at her mercy.
She had been walking nearly an hour fairly fast; but now, as if guided
by instinct, she turned into a green, mossy path, one of the many cut
among the stubbs for the sportsmen's benefit, whether hunting or
shooting their purpose was the same, and advancing now more cautiously
she was looking sharply from side to side when the hazels were suddenly
parted, and, with his white teeth glistening in the sunshine, and his
dark eyes flashing, there stood Caleb Kent not two yards away; then not
one, as he caught her wrist in his hot, brown hands, and, with a laugh,
placed his face close to hers.
"You've been a long time coming," he said, "but you promised, and I've
come."
For a few moments Marjorie stood gazing wildly at the man before her,
with her brain reeling, and a strange sickening sensation attacking her,
which rendered her speechless. Her lips moved, but no sound came, while
the words which had passed between them thundered in her ears like the
echoes of all that had been said.
Then a re-action took place, and, drawing herself up, she said
quietly,--
"Well, what do you want--money?"
"No; I can get money for myself," he said, with a laugh. "I've come
back to you."
She shrank from him now with a look of disgust, and shivered as she
thought of the past, but recovering herself she turned upon him.
"How dare you!" she cried, with a look intended to keep him at bay.
Caleb laughed.
"Well, you are a strange girl," he said; "hot one day, cold the next.
But I don't care; say what you like, dear."
Marjorie started as if she had been stung at this last word, for, more
than anything which had passed, it made her feel how she had fallen.
"You want to play with me and hold me off; and you are going to say you
didn't mean it."
With an action quick as that of some wild creature, he caught her wrist
again, and looked at her mockingly, but with a flashing in his eyes
which made her shiver and glance quickly round.
"No," he said, with a laugh; "no one can see. But, look here," he
whispered earnestly, "I've been thinking about you ever since. You
don't care for them here, and their money and fine clothes. Come away
along with me--it'll be free like--right away from everyone who knows
you, and I'll be real good to you, dear, 'pon my soul I will."
"Loose my wrist! How dare you!" cried Marjorie; and in her alarm she
wondered now that she could have been so mad with one whom she thought
she could sway with a look, but who was beginning to sway her.
"How dare I? because you like me to hold you," he whispered. "Do you
think I'm a fool? Look here; you used to love him, but you hate him
now, and you love me. Well, I used to love Hayle's girl; I was mad
after her, but since I've seen you I don't care a straw for her, not
even if I never see her again."
"Will you loose my wrist?" cried Marjorie, in a low, angry voice.
"No--not till I like."
"Am I to call for assistance and have you punished, sir?"
"If you like," he said mockingly. "There, that will do. What's the
good of all this nonsense? Don't play with me. I say you're a lady--a
beautiful lady--and I never saw a woman I liked half so well. Look
here; come along with me. I'll be like your dog, and do everything you
ask me. I'll kill him if you tell me, and Judith Hayle, too. There,
you wouldn't find one of your sort ready like that."
Frantic with dread, Marjorie looked wildly round as she strove to free
her wrist.
"Why, what a struggling little thing you are," he whispered. "Can't you
see that I like you, and wouldn't hurt you for the world? What's the
good of holding off like this? No one can see you; there isn't anybody
within a couple of miles of where we are, and you promised me another
kiss."
"Let me go," cried Marjorie hoarsely. "I did not mean it. I was half
wild when I said that to you. Look here; take my watch and my rings,
and I have some money here. I did not mean all that. Let go or I will
call for help."
"Well," he said coolly, "call for help. I'm not afraid; you are, and
you won't call--I know better than that. Look here, you know what you
said."
She looked sharply round and shuddered.
"Yes," she said huskily, "but I was mad and foolish then. It was in an
angry fit. I didn't mean it."
"Didn't you?" he said, looking at her with a cunning smile. "How easily
you people can lie. You did mean it, and you made me a promise, and
you're going to keep it."
"No, no," she cried wildly.
"You are," he said, "and I'm going to be paid. I'm only waiting for my
chance."
"I tell you no," cried Marjorie. "I did not mean it."
"You meant it then, and you mean it now, and I'm going to keep my word
when I can. I'm not a fool. Do you think I don't know why it all is?
Not so blind as all that, my dear. It's plucky of you, and I like you
the better for it, and some day you'll tell me how glad you are that--
pst! someone coming," he whispered, completely altering his manner and
tone bowing obsequiously, and whining out an appeal to the dear kind
lady to bestow a trifle on a poor young man out of work.
That night Marjorie lay awake thinking, half-repentant, half-glad; the
latter feeling increasing till there was a glow of triumph in her eyes
as she seemed to be gazing down upon Glynne, cast off by her cousin, her
enemy and rival no longer, but an unhappy despairing object humbled at
her feet.
Volume 3, Chapter VI.