THE DAYS PASS BY.
Summer was giving place to autumn, and still Lord Ardleigh lingered at
Farbis. A constant succession of fine days enabled him to continue his
outdoor life; and so many weeks had he dwelt in the dell, that he
quite looked on it in the light of a home. Instructed and guided by
Meg, who was proficient in woodcraft, he soon became conversant with
moors and valleys, and pine woods and adjacent hamlets. For miles
round he explored the country, and learned the fascination exercised
on the thoughtful mind by the barren hills. Those summer days were
henceforth to rank among the pleasant memories of his life; and with
reason, for were they not the days of his wooing? Who forgets the time
when Cupid was king?
It may be questioned whether he would have professed such ardent
admiration of Bohemianism, had not Meg been with him daily from morn
till sunset. She was his companion in all excursions, and treated him
in a sisterly fashion. Such chilly affection he was far from
relishing, being deeply in love, but the time was not yet ripe for him
to speak. Meg had still to learn the pains and sweetness of love, but
such knowledge had not yet come to her. In vain did Dan, by looks and
words, endeavour to touch her heart. She could not understand, and
though she professed to like him greatly, gave no sign of experiencing
any deeper feeling. Her namesake Diana were scarce colder than this
rustic maiden.
"She is like Undine," complained Dan to his friend the vicar; "she has
no soul."
"No heart, you mean," replied Jarner, dryly; "there you are wrong. She
has a warm and loving heart. Never a tale of poverty but----"
"I know all that, sir; but I want her heart to melt to my tale, not to
the whining of a sturdy mendicant."
"I am afraid I cannot instruct you how to gain her affection, my lord;
I have never felt the tender passion myself. Ho! ho! You come to a bad
adviser when you seek my opinion on such points."
This was but cold comfort, and Dan went away in despair. He likened
his case to that of Pygmalion, and then took courage from such
comparison, remembering that even the marble statue turned to warm
flesh and blood in the end. Meanwhile, he followed his divinity about
the hills, and hoped that he would gain her heart in the days to come.
His wish was gratified, but in a most unexpected fashion. It was the
jealous tongue of Miss Linisfarne, that first opened the eyes of Meg,
and changed her from girl to woman.
Dan was not offensively conceited. He entertained a reasonably good
opinion of his looks and capabilities, but did not deem himself an
Apollo with whom every woman was bound to fall in love. Yet,
resolutely as he strove to thrust the notion from him, he became aware
in more ways than one that Miss Linisfarne looked on him with great
favour. Whether it was his appearance or his conversation he was
unable to determine, but the pale lady of Farbis Court showed him
plainly that he had taken her heart by storm. In place of lying
for hours on her couch or limiting her walk to terrace and
picture-gallery, she became almost as great a pedestrian as Meg. She
invited Dan to the Court on every possible occasion, she followed him
to the dell on the pretext of wishing to see his caravan, and
frequently formed an undesirable third in those excursions on the
moorlands. And, to put the matter beyond all doubt, she showed by her
altered demeanour that she was wildly jealous of Meg.
Dan began to find his life anything but pleasant. He did not love Miss
Linisfarne, whom he looked on as quite an old woman, and objected
strongly to her incessant attentions. She never left him alone for a
single moment, and was always finding pretexts to be in his company.
At first he laughed at such madness, but soon began to weary of his
elderly admirer, the more so as she took to treating Meg in a very
unpleasant fashion. With the instinct of a jealous woman she saw that
Dan was in love with Meg, and since she could not revenge herself on
the man, took every opportunity of doing so on the girl. She subjected
her to all kinds of petty spite, sneered at her masculine habits, and
always sent her out of the room when Dan happened to be at the Court.
Meg resented this behaviour, though she was far from guessing the
cause, and so went but seldom to see her benefactress. On his part
Dan, learning from experience that Meg was not to be found as formerly
at the Court, kept away also, and thus inflamed Miss Linisfarne's
heart with rage and envy. So far had her unrequited passion carried
her that she was rapidly approaching a stage when she might be
expected to be dangerous. Dan noted this fact, and kept as much as
possible from intruding on her privacy. The remedy was worse than the
disease.
Like the ostrich which thinks itself unseen because its head is thrust
into the sand, Miss Linisfarne never deemed that her passion was
patent to all Farbis. The villagers saw it, and made remarks on her
age and folly; Mr. Jarner noticed it and frowned, and a rumour even
reached Dr. Merle in the seclusion of his house. Only Meg was
ignorant, for no one dared to say a word about Miss Linisfarne in her
hearing. She was too mindful of former benefits to hear her
benefactress blamed in the smallest degree.
The last to hear of it was Mother Jericho, and she mentioned it to
Tinker Tim as a good joke. Instead of looking on it as such, the gipsy
scowled and swore, and finally went to the dell in search of Dan. Why
he should trouble himself about Miss Linisfarne and her follies it is
impossible to say; but he certainly spoke freely to Dan on the
subject.
"Morning, rye," said he, striding into the dell like Hercules. "What's
all this about the old woman?"
Ardleigh looked up in surprise. He was astonished to hear the tone in
which Tim spoke, and resented the scowl with which the gipsy greeted
him.
"What do you mean, Tim?" he asked coldly.
"She told me," said the Tinker, jerking his thumb over his shoulder,
"that the old lady at the Court wants t' marry ye."
"That is news to me! And how did she, by whom you no doubt mean Mother
Jericho, learn this?"
"It's all over the place. Miss Linisfarne wants to become your wife."
Dan did not know whether to laugh or to frown. Although he was aware
that there was some truth in the rumour, he was by no means inclined
to admit as much to Tim; the more so as the attitude of the gipsy was
distinctly hostile, and he eyed Dan in a gloomy and threatening
manner.
"Is it true, rye?" he demanded savagely.
"What business is it of yours, even if it is true?" said Dan,
wrathfully, springing to his feet.
"It's every business," retorted the tinker, scowling; "it is--it
is---- By Heaven!" he cried, his passion breaking loose, "I'll twist
her neck!"
"Twist Miss Linisfarne's neck?"
"Ay! That I shall!"
Dan advanced, and, laying his hand on the giant's shoulder, looked at
him curiously. The man was strongly moved, though by what Dan could
not conjecture. Such an unexpected display of anger was all of a piece
with the other mysteries connected with Miss Linisfarne.
"See here, my man," said Dan, deliberately; "we had better understand
one another. I allow no man to speak to me as you have done. You are
keeping something from me."
"It's a lie!" said Tim, hoarsely.
Dan, in nowise moved by the insult, persisted in his questioning.
"It's the truth. How did you know my name?"
"That's my business."
"And mine also. I was directed to Farbis by your kinsfolk. I was met
here by Mother Jericho, and a few weeks ago you called me by my name.
Now you are angry because my name is connected with Miss Linisfarne's
by lying gossip."
"Is it lying gossip?" asked Tim, eagerly ignoring the rest of the
speech.
"Of course it is. I am in love with Meg. Do you think I want to marry
Miss Linisfarne, who is old enough to be my mother?"
Tim drew his hand across his brow, and heaved a sigh of relief. The
declaration was evidently a great relief to him. He tried to evade an
answer to the other questions by talking about Meg.
"It was for the girl's sake, rye," said he, hurriedly. "I know you
love her, and that she loves you, so I didn't want ye to love the old
woman."
"That is untrue, Tim. I love Meg, but she does not love me."
"She will some day, rye."
"Mind your own business, my man," said Dan, sharply. "Meg has nothing
to do with you, or you with her. What I wish to know is, why you
threaten ill to Miss Linisfarne?"
"I can't tell ye--I can't tell ye."
"You must; and also how you came to know my name."
"Ho! ho! rye! That's easy. A pal o' mine had a cart made at the place
where your caravan was built. He saw it there, and asked whose it was,
so, when they said Lord Ardleigh, he passed the word round our people
that a rye was on the wing."
"So you knew who I was from the first?" said Dan, in a vexed tone.
"Ay, that I did, my lord, and Mother Jericho also."
"Had such knowledge anything to do with her prophecy?"
"No."
In spite of this denial, Tim looked so uneasy that Dan felt sure he
was not speaking the truth. Determined to know it at any cost, he was
about to ask a leading question, when Tim caught his hand and clapped
him on the shoulder.
"Don't ask me any questions, rye. When the time comes, I'll tell ye
all."
"All what?"
"All these things ye wish to know--about the old lady and Dr. Merle
and the prophecy."
"When will the time come?"
"On the day ye take Meg to church," said Tim, and with a significant
nod marched away.
Dan did not attempt to stay him, but stood reflectively looking at the
ground.
"I'll speak to Jarner again," he said, thoughtfully; "in spite of what
he says, there is some mystery about Meg. If Jarner doesn't know it,
Dr. Merle does. I'll see him."
He lifted up his eyes, and saw the very man of whom he spoke coming
down the path.