DAN'S SECRET.
All that night it rained heavily, but Dan woke next morning to find
that the clouds had dispersed. He was later than usual, and the sun
was already over the rim of the sea. The dell was chilly and dripping
with damp, while the ground was moist, and the pine trees were of a
fresh green hue. In the silent hours the world had been thoroughly
cleansed, and there was a new vigour in the air which caused the blood
to speed more rapidly through his veins. The rain had drawn perfumes
from the bosom of the earth, and the dell smelt like a garden of
spices, and smoked with vapour like a sacrificial altar.
Having taken the precaution to keep some wood in his caravan, he soon
had a brisk fire burning, and forthwith proceeded to prepare
breakfast. Owing to the lateness of the hour, and a timely remembrance
that the heavy rains probably rendered the paths too slippery for
Simon, he did not go down for his usual swim, but pottered about till
noon, at which time he expected the vicar. To do honour to his guest,
Dan made due preparation, and when the sun was up over the backbone of
the ridge, found that there was nothing wanting save the presence of
his visitor. His occupation being thus gone, he sat on a log beside
his fire, and meditated over a pipe concerning the conversation of the
previous night. There were many things to consider touching his
position.
So far he had not advanced one step in proving that his doubts had any
foundation in fact. If there was any understanding between the gipsies
and Dr. Merle--if Miss Linisfarne was connected at all with the
affair--he could not decide without proof, and proof there was none.
He felt sure that Mother Jericho held the key to the riddle which so
perplexed him, but she was too cunning to reveal aught likely to be of
use in elucidating the mystery. At times Dan felt disposed to think
that his fears were groundless, that he was making a mountain out of a
molehill; but when he again ran over the occurrences of the last week
in his mind, he became sure that his instinct was right. There was
something going on of which he knew nothing, It concerned himself and
Meg Merle, but in what way he could by no means decide. Such hidden
doings made him uneasy, after the fashion of men who ever fear the
unseen.
Under these circumstances he judged it advisable to consult Jarner,
and ask his advice. The old vicar was a man of great common sense, and
from his long residence in Farbis was well acquainted with those whom
Dan suspected. He knew Miss Linisfarne; he had some knowledge of Dr.
Merle; and, in their occasional visits to Farbis, he doubtless was
aware of the gipsies' characters. With such knowledge, helped out by
information on certain points from Dan, the truth might be pieced
together. Failing Jarner, Dan did not know to whom to apply for
assistance.
"Yes," he decided, springing to his feet and pacing the dell, "I shall
confide in Jarner, and tell him who I am. The knowledge of my name may
assist him to an explanation; though what I can possibly have to do
with these mysteries it is impossible to say. But there is no doubt
that Tim, Mother Jericho, Merle, and Miss Linisfarne have an
understanding together. As to Meg, she is as innocent and as ignorant
as I. Jarner alone can help me; and when I confess my identity, I have
no doubt he will tell me his story, or, rather, the stories of Merle
and Miss Linisfarne."
His thoughts halted at the last name, and turned off in the direction
of Farbis Court and its strange tenant. She puzzled him more than did
the others.
"I must see her," he muttered thoughtfully. "Jarner may be able to
take me there; or, failing him, I shall ask Meg to help me. Once I am
face to face with her and I may learn something. Pshaw! I am deluding
myself with shadows. Perhaps no mystery exists save in my imagination.
Well, at all events, I shall confide in Mr. Jarner. His common sense
will either dispel the shadows or turn them to reality."
While thus soliloquizing after the manner of solitary men, he became
aware that a dog-fight was in progress. Jarner's terriers were
assaulting Peter in his own dell, and the three combatants were
rolling over on the miry ground in a confused mass. Dan, seeing that
Peter was outmatched, shut him up in the caravan for safety, and then
turned to greet his visitor. The vicar did not immediately respond to
his welcome, being busily engaged in correcting the terriers. His
hunting-crop was in full play, and Peter answered the howls of his
late antagonists from the caravan. At length quiet was restored, and
Jarner, wiping the perspiration off his face, shook Dan by the hand.
As for the terriers, they retreated to a safe distance and sat down
with the air of martyrs.
"By St. Beorl!" said Jarner, making use of his favourite expression,
"fox-terriers are the most quarrelsome of dogs. Never a day passes
without my rascals getting into a scrape."
"They resent Peter as a trespasser, no doubt," replied Dan, equably.
"I am glad to see you, sir. Sit down on this log, and make yourself at
home."
"Whew! It's no easy task for a man of my years to climb these hills. I
am too flabby for such exertion. So this is your abode for the
present?"
"Yes. Sufficiently comfortable, don't you think?"
"Hum! Sheltered enough; but for my part, sir, I should not care about
camping out in such weather as we had last night."
"Oh, I was safe in my caravan. But you must be hungry, and the midday
meal is ready. I've scratched together some edibles, but I am afraid
the fare is rough."
"Bottled beer, sausages, cold beef! I must say, young man, that you
know how to make yourself comfortable."
"We learn other things at Magdalen besides the lore of the schools,"
said Dan, smiling. "I am not a believer in hermit's fare."
Mr. Jarner nodded, to intimate that he was of the same mind, and set
to work on what was before him. Dan assisted with no mean appetite,
and for the next half-hour they ate, drank, and were merry. Vicar and
vagrant fraternized famously, and by the time their pipes were lighted
were on the most friendly terms. Pleasure over, they proceeded to
business.
"Well, sir," said Jarner, looking curiously at his host, "I am here in
response to your invitation. What have you to say?"
"Many things, Mr. Jarner. I am afraid I roused your curiosity the
other night."
"I don't deny it, Dan. Why did you couple the name of Merle with that
of Tinker Tim?"
"Because I believe they have an understanding together."
"Humph! An understanding about what?--about whom?"
"That is the very thing I wish to find out, Mr. Jarner. It concerns
Meg."
The vicar suddenly raised his eyes and examined Dan's face with the
closest attention. He looked puzzled and thoughtful.
"It concerns Meg," he repeated slowly. "Ay, ay; and in what way?"
"That I can't say. Now, you----"
"I am afraid I can give you no assistance," said Jarner, a trifle
stiffly. "So far as I know, there can be no connection between the
gipsies and the doctor. What are your grounds for such a belief?"
"I was talking to Dr. Merle about his daughter, and suggested in a
jocular way that if he found the young lady difficult to manage, he
should ask Miss Linisfarne to adopt her."
"And what did he say to that?"
"He turned as white as paper, and asked me if Tim had told me
anything."
"Strange--very strange!" said the vicar, reflectively. "What did he
mean by such a remark?"
"I wish to find that out," repeated Dan for the second time.
"For what reason, may I ask?"
"Well," said the other, reflectively, "it sounds somewhat egotistical,
but I have an idea that there is something going on between the
gipsies, Dr. Merle, and Miss Linisfarne which concerns me."
"Concerns you!" repeated Jarner, in surprise. "Why, what can a
stranger like yourself have in common with such people?"
"Nothing that I know of. But perhaps I had better tell you how I came
here, and leave you to judge for yourself."
"I am all attention," said the vicar, seriously, laying down his pipe,
"and I must confess that I am curious to know who you are."
"That is easily answered," returned Dan, smiling. "I am Lord
Ardleigh."
Jarner rose to his feet, with an expression of blank astonishment in
his rubicund face. The information took him completely by surprise. He
had guessed long ago that Dan was a gentleman, but never for a moment
dreamt that he was a man of title.
"Lord Ardleigh," he repeated slowly--"the owner of Farbis Court?"
"That identical person, Mr. Jarner."
The vicar pinched his nether lip between finger and thumb. A frown
passed over his face, and he looked curiously at the nobleman.
"Why are you masquerading as a cheap-jack, my lord?"
"For no unworthy purpose, I assure you, sir. Sit down, and I will tell
you my story, though it must be confessed it is the most prosaic of
tales."
Having picked up and relighted his pipe, Jarner resumed his seat on
the log. Though controlling all outward expression of his feelings, he
was uneasy at the revelation lately made. A lord masquerading as a
vagrant was too much out of the ordinary course of things for him to
accept it without disturbance. Ardleigh was the owner of Farbis Court,
of Farbis village, and the patron of the living, yet Jarner gave him
neither his hand nor a welcome. He was no truckler to rank, and first
wished to hear the reason of the young man's visit before accepting
him as a friend. Dan guessed his thoughts, and admired him all the
more for such independence.
"Lord Ardleigh----" began the vicar, when the other cut him short.
"One moment, Mr. Jarner," he said coolly. "I have told you who I am
because I wish for your assistance. But I do not want any one else to
know; so please call me Dan, as you have hitherto done. Now, do not
frown, my dear sir! I see you think my visit here is influenced by
unworthy motives. I assure you that is a mistake. Hear my story before
you condemn me, and meanwhile let us suppose that Ardleigh is in
London, and call me Dan."
There was a humorous smile on his lips as he made this speech, and the
vicar was not proof against the charm of his manner. Instinct told him
that the young man was to be trusted.
"Well, then, Dan," said Jarner, his face clearing, "let me hear what
you have to say."