ON YAMPTON HILL
It was not the horse, but the horse’s rider that was of consequence.
Where was she? What had happened? Spurred by an agony of apprehension,
Wynyard ran in the direction from which the runaway had appeared. In
five minutes’ time a speck, and then a figure came into sight, and this
presently resolved itself into Miss Morven--apparently unhurt. She,
too, had been running; her habit was splashed, she carried her hat in
her hand, her beautiful hair was becomingly loosened, and she had a
brilliant colour.
As Wynyard slowed down to a walk, she called to him--
“Have you seen my horse?”
“Yes; he must be in Ottinge by this time,” was the comforting rejoinder.
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“It would have wasted a lot of time, and I wanted to see what had
happened to you.--I was afraid you’d had a spill.”
This was not the ever silent and respectful chauffeur to whom Miss
Morven had been hitherto accustomed; but no less a person than
Lieutenant Wynyard, late of the Red Hussars, who, in a cheery voice,
addressed her as an equal--as no doubt he was. So be it. She instantly
decided to abandon herself to the situation. Possibly he would now
confide something about himself, and how and why he came to be in her
aunts’ service. So, after a momentary hesitation, she replied--
“Oh no, I only got off to open a gate, and Rufus broke away. I suppose
I shall have to walk home!”
To this Wynyard secretly and joyfully agreed, but merely said--
“I see you are alone.”
“Yes; father and I rode over to Shrapton-le-Steeple; he wanted to see
Mr. Harnett, a literary friend, and Mr. Harnett had so much to show and
to say that he persuaded father to stay and dine, as there is a moon,
and I came home by the short-cut. I must be three miles from Ottinge?”
and she halted and deliberately looked about her.
“Yes,” he replied; “a good three miles.”
(Oh, a very good three miles, during which he would have Aurea’s
undivided company--what a piece of luck!)
For some little time the couple proceeded in silence--a sensitive
silence. During the interval since their last meeting, they had
accomplished a vast amount of very special thinking--many disturbing,
dominating, and dangerous thoughts had entered the young lady’s brain,
and she said to herself--
“I must keep perfectly composed, and if ever he intends to speak
freely, now--now is the time! To think of us two alone on Yampton
Hills, three miles away from home!”
Somehow those three miles held a thrilling prospect. Wynyard, for his
part, was longing to utter what was in his mind; here was his one grand
opportunity; and yet for several hundred yards a strange silence hung
between them, though the man was burning to speak and the girl was
longing to listen; meanwhile moments, precious as life itself, were
ebbing fast! At last the conversation began to trickle; the topics
were the choir, the boy scouts, old Thunder’s pig, and Mrs. Hogben’s
face-ache--a spent cartridge in the path introduced sport and shooting.
“I wonder why men are so keen on killing things?” said Aurea.
“I believe we inherit it from our ancestors, who had to kill wild
creatures or starve. I must say I like shooting.”
“Oh, do you!”--a blank pause--“the only sport I can imagine any
pleasure in, is hunting.”
“Do you hunt?”
“No; I only wish I did; but Aunt Bella thinks it so improper for a
woman to follow the hounds, and father could not escort me.”
“But parsons do hunt.”
“They did; a vicar of Ottinge actually kept hounds. Father says he only
left a dozen dusty books in the library, but a hundred dozen of sound
wine in the cellar.”
“Yes, those were the good old days!”
“I’m not so sure that they were superior to our own times. What do you
say?”
“That I hope you will always have a good time, Miss Morven.”
Miss Morven coloured and bit her lip, but resumed--
“If I only might hunt, I would be bound to have a good time.”
“Is your horse a clever jumper?”
“No; he either blunders on his head, or sits down.”
“Doesn’t sound very promising!” and they both laughed. “Anyway,
it’s a rotten, bad country,” said Wynyard, with a contemptuous wave
of his hand; “the uplands are full of rabbit holes, and as for the
lowlands--you’d want a boat! You should see Leicestershire--big fields
and sound turf.”
“Yes; but I’m afraid I can’t hunt in Leicestershire from Ottinge,” she
answered, with a smile; “and I have some hopes of sport this winter.
Mrs. Waring, who is tremendously keen, wants me to go out with her.”
“On a pillion?”
“No; her brother has a capital horse, not up to his weight, that
would just carry me. He is so anxious that I should try it; it jumps
beautifully.”
“And what does Miss Parrett say?”
“I think Mrs. Waring may talk her over, and Mr. Woolcock promises to
look after me.”
This information roused Wynyard’s ire, his face hardened, and his tone
was dry as he said--
“Woolcock is too heavy to hunt, except pounding along the road. He must
weigh seventeen stone!”
“Very likely; but he is going to do a cure before the season opens.”
“Why not a couple of hours with the garden roller, and save the donkey?”
Miss Morven took no notice of this impudent suggestion--merely flicked
her habit with her hunting crop, and he continued--
“Westmere is a fine old place.”
“Yes, isn’t it? The hall and galleries are real Tudor, and the park is
lovely.”
“How would you like to live there?”
“I?” and as she turned to him her air was lofty. “What a--a--an
extraordinary question!”
“Yes,” he replied, with hasty penitence; “please forgive me, it was
more than extraordinary, it was impertinent.”
“By the way (it was, after all, the girl who broke the ice), I must
ask you to excuse me for my inquisitive question the other day in the
garden.”
“You wanted to know why I hung on at Ottinge, with little or nothing
to do?” and he paused. “I think you do know, Miss Morven, in fact, I’m
sure you know. I’d be only too glad to speak out, but my hands and
tongue are tied. I’ve given a promise I’m bound to keep, and between
you and my absolute confidence, there stands at present an enormous
obstacle.”
“Oh!”
“I ought to tell you that I’m not what I seem.”
“Of course,” with a touch of impatience, “you are a gentleman by birth;
I’ve always known that.”
“Nor am I here in my own name--only my christian name; but I’ve never
done anything to disgrace it, I give you my word of honour.” As he came
to a halt and faced her, and the setting sun shone into his truthful
eyes and touched his crisp brown locks, the glow of the evening air
seemed to give added force to his personality. “I’ve played the
fool--the silly ass--and I’ve got to pay. How I wish I might talk to
you openly, and tell you all about myself!”
“I wish you might,” repeated the girl, and her voice shook; an
emotional tension had crept into the situation--her pulses beat wildly,
and her mind was in a tumult.
“You cannot imagine what it is to be in my fix,” he continued, speaking
with low, passionate intensity; “for months and months to love some one
with all my soul, and never be able to open my lips.”
“It must be trying,” she answered, now moving on, with her eyes on the
ground.
“And when I’m free, I may be too late!” he said gloomily.
“You may,” she assented; “for how could some one guess?”
“That’s it! That is what is the awful part of the whole thing; but,
look here, Miss Morven, let me state a case. Supposing you knew a
fellow in such a hole, and felt that you cared for him, and could trust
him and stick to him, as it were, blindly for a time; supposing he
were your social equal, and had a clean record, and that you knew he
worshipped your very shadow--would”--and here he looked straight into
her face--“_you_ wait?” To this question, impetuously delivered, there
followed a silence.
“This is a sort of problem, isn’t it?” she faltered at last, “like the
Hard Cases in Vanity Fair?”
“No, by Jove, part of it is God’s truth! but I’m only talking like an
idiot. Of course no girl that ever was born could do it.”
“I’m not so sure,” she murmured, with her eyes on the ground, her heart
beating in hurried thumps.
“Miss Morven--Aurea,” he went on, now moved out of all discretion, and
casting self-control to the winds, “you are the only girl I’ve ever
cared for in all my life. I fell in love with you the first moment I
ever saw you, when you danced with Mackenzie in the Manor drawing-room.
This meeting to-day has been the one good turn luck has done me in
three years--and I seize upon it perhaps unlawfully; perhaps it’s not
just cricket, my talking to you in this way, but it’s my only chance,
so I snatch it, for I may never see you alone again--and all is fair in
love and war.”
At this moment he caught sight of a stout figure, far below, labouring
up the winding lane; it was Miss Morven’s maid, Norris. He recognised
her bright blue gown. Oh, the precious moments were numbered, and it
was now--or never!
“What do you say?” he demanded, coming to a standstill.
“But what can I say?” she rejoined, lifting her startled eyes to his.
“I don’t know anything about you. You cannot even tell me your name.”
(Naturally she did not mention that it was already known to her.) “It’s
all rather bewildering, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s simply crazy,” he admitted; “here am I, your aunts’
chauffeur, receiving weekly wages, living like a working man, telling
you, with the most audacious and astounding impertinence, that I’ve
been in love with you for months. You know that I’m of your own class,
but who I am, or where I come from, I refuse to disclose. No wonder you
feel dazed.” They were now within sight of the village and of Norris.
“Look here, Miss Morven,” he continued, and his voice was a little
hoarse, “I see your maid coming, and my priceless, precious time is
running out. Let me ask you one question; supposing I were not Owen,
the chauffeur, but had fair prospects, good friends, and say a thousand
a year to start with--would you--marry me?”
Aurea knew perfectly well that she would marry him if he had only a few
hundreds a year, no prospects, and no friends; but she took refuge in
that nice, useful, and evasive word “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps”--he stooped and kissed her gloved hand--“perhaps--will keep
me going! Even if I don’t see you, I shall _live_ on that one little
word for the next eighteen months. I don’t suppose I shall have another
opportunity of speaking to you.”
Here he was interrupted by Norris, who suddenly appeared round a bend
in the lane, puffing like a grampus, her hat on the back of her head,
and her face crimson from exertion.
“Oh, Miss Aurea!” she screamed, as she halted and held her fat sides,
“such a cruel fright as you give me--and the three men gone by the
road looking to find your corpse! and I ran this way, after your horse
come home all loose and wild. Are you hurt?”
“No; he only broke away when I was opening a gate, and I had to walk,”
replied the young lady with wonderful composure.
Norris threw a sharp glance at the chauffeur.
“And couldn’t _he_ have helped you? What was he about?”
“I’m afraid, like yourself, I was looking for Miss Morven,” he replied.
Norris turned from him with a sniff of disparagement, and, addressing
herself to her mistress, said--
“And where’s the Rector?”
“He is dining with Mr. Harnett.”
“Tut, tut, tut! And he will stay half the night talking books, and
there are a brace of grouse for dinner--kept to the hour--and all he
will get at Harnett’s will be green vegetables, like a goat--he’s a
sexagenarian!”
At this Aurea laughed and the chauffeur smiled; he was now walking
alongside of Miss Aurea, as much at his ease as if he were a gentleman!
Norris turned on him abruptly, and said--
“Look here, young man, you’d better be getting on--it’s your
supper-time, and Mother Hogben won’t keep it hot for you.”
“It’s very good of you to think of my supper,” he replied, with a touch
of hauteur; “but I’m not in any hurry.”
He spoke to her as her superior; his was the voice and air of the
ruling and upper class, and Norris’ dislike to the insolent young
ne’er-do-well suddenly flared into active hatred. Meanwhile, he walked
with them to the very end of the lane, and opened the side gate for
Miss Morven and herself; and as he held it, he took off his cap to Miss
Aurea and said--
“Good-night--miss.”
As mistress and maid crossed the lawn, the latter burst out--
“I can’t abide that young fellow, with his fine manners and his taking
off his cap like a lord! Miss Aurea dear, I’m thinking the Rector would
not be too well pleased to see you in the lanes a-walking out like any
village girl along of your aunts’ chauffeur.”
“Norris, how dare you speak to me in such a way!” cried Aurea
passionately. And yet, why be furious? She _had_ been “a-walking out”
precisely like any other country girl.
“Well, well, well, dearie, don’t be angry. I’m only giving you a hint
for your good, and I know you are a real lady, as proud as proud, and
as high-minded as a queen or an angel. Still and all, I’m mighty glad
that none of our _talkers_ happened to come across you!”