After the glare and the noise, the shrill blasts of penny trumpets, and
the sustained beating of penny drums, the silence of the Slumberleigh
woods was delightful to Ruth; the comparative silence, that is to say,
for where Molly was, absolute silence need never be feared.
Long before the first gate had been reached Balaam had, of course,
returned to the mode of procedure which suited him and his race best,
and it was only when the road inclined to be downhill that he could be
urged into anything like a trot.
"Never mind," said Molly, consolingly to Ruth, as he finally settled
into a slow lounge, gracefully waving his ears and tail at the army of
flies which accompanied him, "when we get to the place where the firs
are, and the road goes between the rocks, it's downhill all the way, and
we'll gallop down."
But it was a long way to the firs, and Ruth was in no hurry. It was an
ideal afternoon, verging towards evening; an afternoon of golden lights
and broken shadows, of vivid greens in shady places. It must have been
on such a day as this, Ruth thought, that the Almighty walked in the
garden of Eden when the sun was low, while as yet the tree of knowledge
was but in blossom, while as yet autumn and its apples were far off,
long before fig-leaves and millinery were thought of.
On either side the bracken and the lady-fern grew thick and high, almost
overlapping the broad moss-grown path, across which the young rabbits
popped away in their new brown coats, showing their little white linings
in their lazy haste. A dog-rose had hung out a whole constellation of
pale stars for Molly to catch at as they passed. A family of
honeysuckles clung, faint and sweet, just beyond the reach of the little
hand that stretched after them in turn.
They had reached the top of an ascent that would have been level to
anything but the mean spirit of a donkey, when Molly gave a start.
"Cousin Ruth, there's something creeping among the trees--don't you hear
it? Oh-h-h!"
There really was a movement in the bracken, which grew too thick and
high to allow of anything being easily seen at a little distance.
"If it's a lion," said Molly, in a faint whisper, "and I feel in my
heart it is, he must have Balaam."
Balaam at this moment pricked his large ears, and Molly and Ruth both
heard the snapping of a twig, and saw a figure slip behind a tree.
Molly's spirits rose, and Ruth's went down in proportion. The woods were
lonely, and they were nearing the most lonely part.
"It's only a man," said Ruth, rather sharply. "I expect it is one of the
keepers." (Oh, Ruth!) "Come, Molly, we shall never get home at this
rate. Whip up Balaam, and let us trot down the hill."
Much relieved about Balaam's immediate future, Molly incited him to a
really noble trot, and did not allow him to relapse even on the flat
which followed. Through the rattling and the jolting, however, Ruth
could still hear a stealthy rustle in the fern and under-wood. The man
was following them.
"He's coming after us," whispered Molly, with round frightened eyes,
"and Balaam will stop in a minute, I know. Oh, Cousin Ruth, what shall
we do?"
Ruth hesitated. They were nearing the steep pitch, where the firs
overhung the road, which was cut out between huge bowlders of rock and
sandstone. The ground rose rough and precipitous on their right, and
fell away to their left. Just over the brow of the hill, out of sight,
was, as she well knew, the second gate. The noise in the brushwood had
ceased. Turning suddenly, her quick eye just caught sight of a figure
disappearing behind the slope of the falling ground to the left. He was
a lame man, and he was running. In a moment she saw that he was making a
short cut, with the intention of waylaying them at the gate. He would
get there long before they would; and even then Balaam was beginning the
ascent, which really was an ascent this time, at his slowest walk.
Molly's teeth were chattering in her little head.
"Now, Molly," said Ruth, sharply, "listen to me, and don't be a baby.
He'll wait for us at the gate, so he can't see us here. Get out this
moment, and we will both run up the hill to the keeper's cottage at the
top of the bank. We shall get there first, because he is lame."
They had passed the bracken now, and were among the moss and sandstone
beneath the firs. Ruth hastily dragged Molly out of the cart without
stopping Balaam, who proceeded, twirling his ears, leisurely without
them.
"Oh, my poor Balaam!" sobbed Molly, with a backward glance at that
unconscious favorite marching towards its doom.
"There is no time to think of poor Balaam now," replied Ruth. "Run on in
front of me, and don't step on anything crackly."
"Never in this world," thought Ruth, "will I come alone here with Molly
again. Never again will I--"
But it was stiff climbing, and the remainder of the resolution was lost.
They are high to the right above the white gate now. The keeper's
cottage is in sight, built against a ledge of rock, up to which wide
rough steps have been cut in the sandstone. Ruth looks down at the gate
below. He is waiting--the dreadful man is waiting there, as she
expected; and Balaam, toying with a fern, is at that moment coming round
the corner. She sees that he takes in the situation instantly. There is
but one way in which they can have fled, and he knows it. In a moment he
comes halting and pounding up the slope. He sees their white dresses
among the firs. Run, Molly! run, Ruth! Spare no expense. If your new
black sash catches in the briers, let it catch; heed it not, for he is
making wonderful play with that lame leg up the hill. It is an even
race. Now for the stone steps! How many more there are than there ever
were before! Quick through the wicket, and up through the little
kitchen-garden. Molly is at the door first, beating upon it, and calling
wildly on the name of Brown.
And then Ruth's heart turns sick within her. The door is locked. Through
the window, which usually blossoms with geraniums, she can see the black
fireplace and the bare walls. No Brown within answers to Molly's cries.
Brown has been turned away for drinking. Mrs. Brown, who hung a slender
"wash" on the hedge only last week, has departed with her lord. Brown's
cottage is tenantless. The pursuer must have known it when he breasted
the hill. A mixed sound, as of swearing and stumbling, comes from the
direction of the stone steps. The pursuer is evidently intoxicated,
probably lunatic!
"Quick, Molly!" gasps Ruth, "round by the back, and then cut down
towards the young plantation, and make for the road again. Don't stop
for me."
The little yard, the pigsty, the water-butt, fly past. Past fly the
empty kennels. Past does _not_ fly the other gate. Locked; padlocked!
It is like a bad dream. Molly, with a windmill-like exhibition of black
legs, gives Ruth a lead over. Now for it, Ruth! The bars are close
together and the gate is high. It is not a time to stick at trifles.
What does it matter if you can get over best by assuming a masculine
equestrian attitude for a moment on the top bar? There! And now, down
the hill again, away to your left. Take to your heels, and be thankful
they are not high ones. Never mind if your hair is coming down. You have
a thousand good qualities, Ruth, high principles and a tender
conscience, but you are not a swift runner, and you have not played
"Sally Water" all day for nothing. Molly is far in front now. A heavy
trampling is not far behind; nay, it is closer than you thought. And
your eyes are becoming misty, Ruth, and armies of drums are beating
every other sound out of your ears--that shouting behind you, for
instance. The intoxicated, murderous lunatic is close behind. One
minute! Two minutes! How many more seconds can you keep it up? Through
the young plantation, down the hill, into the sandy road again, the
sandy, uphill road. How much longer can you keep it up?
* * * * *
Charles strolled quietly homeward, enjoying the beauties of nature, and
reflecting on the quantity of rabbit-shooting that Mr. Thursby must
enjoy. He may also have mused on Lady Grace, for anything that can be
known to the contrary, and have possibly made a mental note that if it
had been she whom he had asked to walk home with him, instead of Ruth,
he would not have been alone at that moment. Be that how it may, he
leisurely pursued his path until a fallen tree beside the bank looked so
inviting that (Evelyn and Ralph having gone out to friends at a
distance) Charles, who was in no hurry to return to Lady Mary, seated
himself thereon, with a cigarette to bear him company.
To him, with rent garments and dust upon her head, and indeed all over
her, suddenly appeared Molly; Molly, white with panic, breathless,
unable to articulate, pointing in the direction from which she had come.
In a moment Charles was tearing down the road at full speed. A tall,
swaying figure almost ran against him at the first turn, and Ruth only
avoided him to collapse suddenly in the dry ditch, her face in the bank,
and a yard of sash biting the dust along the road behind her.
Her pursuer stopped short. Charles made a step towards him and stopped
short also. The two men stood and looked at each other without
speaking.
When Ruth found herself in a position to make observations she
discovered that she was sitting by the road-side, with her head resting
against--was it a tweed arm or the bank? She moved a little, and found
that first impressions are apt to prove misleading. It was the bank. She
opened her eyes to see a brown, red-lined hat on the ground beside her,
half full of water, through which she could dimly discern the golden
submerged name of the maker. She seemed to have been contemplating it
with vague interest for about an hour, when she became aware that some
one was dabbing her forehead with a wet silk handkerchief.
"Better?" asked Charles's voice.
"Oh!" gasped Ruth, suddenly trying to sit up, but finding the attempt
resulted only in the partial movement of a finger somewhere in the
distance. "Have I really--surely, surely, I was not so abject as to
_faint_?"
"Truth," said Charles, with a reassured look in his quick, anxious eyes,
"obliges me to say you did."
"I thought better of myself than that."
"Pride goes before a fall or a faint."
"Oh, dear!" turning paler than ever. "Where is Molly?"
"She is all right," said Charles, hastily, applying the
pocket-handkerchief again. "Don't alarm yourself, and pray don't try to
get up. You can see just as much of the view sitting down. Molly has
gone for the donkey-cart."
"And that dreadful man?"
"That dreadful man has also departed. By-the-way, did you see his face?
Would you know him again if the policeman succeeds in finding him?"
"No; I never looked round. I only saw, when he began to run to cut us
off at the gate, that he was lame."
"H'm!" said Charles, reflectively. Then more briskly, with a new access
of dabbing, "How is the faintness going on?"
"Capitally," replied Ruth, with a faint, amused smile; "but if it does
not seem ungrateful, I should be very thankful if I might be spared the
rest of the water in the hat, or if it might be poured over me at once,
if you don't wish it to be wasted."
"Have I done too much? I imagined my services were invaluable. Let me
help you to find your own handkerchief, if you would like a dry one for
a change. Ah, what a good shot into that labyrinth of drapery! You have
found it for yourself. You are certainly better."
"But my self-respect," replied Ruth, drying her face, "is gone forever!"
"I lost mine years ago," said Charles, carefully dusting Ruth's hat,
"but I got over it. I had no idea those bows were supported by a wire
inside. One lives and learns."
"I never did such a thing before," continued Ruth, ruefully. "I have
always felt a sort of contempt for girls who scream or faint just when
they ought not."
"For my part, I am glad to perceive you have some little feminine
weakness. Your growing solicitude also as to the state of your back hair
is pleasing in the extreme."
"I am too confused and shaken to retaliate just now. You are quite right
to make hay while the sun shines; but, when I am myself again, beware!"
"And your gown," continued Charles. "What yawning gulfs, what chasms
appear! and what a quantity of extraneous matter you have brought away
with you--reminiscences of travel--burrs, very perfect specimens of
burrs, thistledown, chips of fir, several complete spiders' webs; and
your sash, which seems to have a particularly adhesive fringe, is a
museum in itself. Ah, here comes that coward of little cowards, Molly,
with Balaam and the donkey-cart!"
Molly, who had left Ruth for dead, greeted her cousin with a transport
of affection, and then proceeded to recount the fearful risks that
Balaam had encountered by being deserted, and the stoic calm with which
he had waited for them at the gate.
"He's not a common donkey," she said, with pride. "Get in, Ruth. Are you
coming in, Uncle Charles? There's just room for you to squeeze in
between Ruth and me--isn't there, Ruth? Oh, you're not going to walk
beside, are you?"
But Charles was determined not to let them out of his sight again, and
he walked beside them the remainder of the way to Atherstone. He
remained silent and preoccupied during the evening which followed, pored
over a newspaper, and went off to his room early, leaving Ralph dozing
in the smoking-room.
It was a fine moonlight night, still and clear. He stood at the open
window looking out for a few minutes, and then began fumbling in a
dilapidated old travelling-bag such as only rich men use.
"Not much," he said to himself, spreading out a few sovereigns and some
silver on the table, "but it will do."
He put the money in his pocket, took off his gold hunting watch, and
then went back to the smoking-room.
"I am going out again, Ralph, as I did last night. If I come in late,
you need not take me for a burglar."
Ralph murmured something unintelligible, and Charles ran down-stairs,
and let himself out of the drawing-room French window, that long French
window to the ground, which Evelyn had taken a fancy to in a neighbor's
drawing-room, and which she could never be made to see was not in
keeping with the character of her old black-and-white house. He put the
shutter back after he had passed through, and carefully drawing the
window to behind him, without actually closing it, he took a turn or two
upon the bowling-green, and then walked off in the direction of the
Slumberleigh woods.
After the lapse of an hour or more he returned as quietly as he had
gone, let himself in, made all secure, and stole up to his room.