THE RUNAWAYS.
There was a stud of thoroughbreds at Hazelwell, not large, but select,
some of the mares boasting of blue blood such as can seldom be obtained
after much search. Eli Todd was the manager of the stud, and lived in a
small but picturesque and comfortable cottage on the estate. He served
in the --th Hussars with Colonel Carstone, and during the time they were
in India he acquired a considerable knowledge of horses of every
description. He handled the Colonel's "Walers," and broke them in
cleverly; he also trained the Colonel's horses for the races, and on one
occasion had the audacity to declare he meant to win the Viceroy's Cup
for his master, a feat he all but accomplished, as the Scout ran a good
second for that coveted trophy.
When Colonel Carstone died, and Irene was committed to the care of
Redmond Maynard, Eli Todd entered his service at the same time. It was
owing to Irene that he did so. She persuaded her guardian that Eli was a
veritable wonder in the management of horses, and that she was perfectly
certain that if his services were secured Hazelwell Stud would benefit
thereby.
Ulick Maynard backed up her recommendation, declaring he had cast
curious eyes upon Eli ever since he returned from India with the
Colonel.
"Lose no time in securing him," said Ulick; "such a man will be snapped
up at once. Don't lose him whatever you do."
Redmond Maynard engaged Eli to manage his stud, and also to superintend
the hunters and all the horses on the estate--a step he had never
regretted. Eli was a widower with one child, a daughter, Janet Todd. She
was about the same age as Irene, and a bright, merry, mischievous,
exceedingly pretty girl. Vanity was her besetting sin, but apart from
this she was of an amiable disposition, and innocent of any desire
beyond harmless flirtations. Naturally her father idolised her, and it
was mainly on her account he accepted the position Mr. Maynard offered
him.
The night that Redmond Maynard sat up, hoping against hope that his son
would return, Eli Todd was in a troubled state of mind.
Like his master, he dated the great misfortune of his life two years
back from that night. He recalled vividly how his daughter Janet had
kissed him good-night and then gone to bed. Her manner gave no
indication of what was to befall during the next few hours.
He remembered how he sat waiting for her to come down to breakfast,
wondering what kept her so long. Her room was above that in which he
sat, and he heard no movement on the floor above. The strain became too
great, and at last he could bear it no longer. He did not ring for the
housekeeper, but crept upstairs and tapped gently at her door. There was
no answer, and as he sat now, two years after, he felt again the
throbbing of his heart in anticipation of some unknown evil he
experienced on that occasion. He knocked again, and then slowly,
noiselessly opened the door.
The room was empty, the bed had not been slept upon. Dazed and
bewildered, he failed at first to understand what it meant. The
stillness stunned him, and he groped his way forward like a blind man.
Mechanically he ran his hands over the spotless counterpane, seeking,
feeling for that he knew he should not find. He looked under the bed, in
a closet, and even in her wardrobe; she was hiding, playing him a trick,
but where had she hidden herself?
He sat down in the chair at her bedside and looked helplessly about the
room. He fingered the candlestick which stood on a small table near the
bed, examining it with unusual interest. There was an old pair of
snuffers there, and he took them up and pressed the wick, which stuck
fast, and the candle with the snuffers attached fell on the table. He
put the empty candlestick on the bed and got up.
Walking to the window, he drew up the blinds and looked round the room
again. He was near the dressing-table, and picked up one article after
another. He did not look for a letter, a brief note; he would not have
found one had he done so. She had gone, left him desolate without one
parting word.
Still in a dazed condition, and not fully realising his loss, he went
out of the room, closing the door after him, and stumbled downstairs.
Mrs. Marley, his housekeeper, heard him, and came into the room,
"Is Janet ill?" she asked, in a tone of concern.
"Yes," he replied, in a hollow voice. "I will take her breakfast
upstairs."
"I can take it myself," she replied.
"No; please let me do it."
"Very well, but you spoil her, Mr. Todd; it is not good for her," said
Mrs. Marley.
He laughed strangely, and she looked at him in surprise. He took the
tray upstairs, placed it on the table at the bedside, and locked the
door as he came out, putting the key in his pocket. Why he did this he
failed to understand, except that he wanted time to think.
He was going over again everything that happened that terrible night. He
had considered it many times, and he would not lay the guilt at Ulick's
door; no, not even after two years of grave suspicion, which had not yet
been removed. He once more saw the door open and Ulick Maynard come in
out of the snowy night. He heard the startled cry Janet gave as she
sprang from her chair, and her exclamation, "Mr. Ulick, what are you
doing here?" rang in his ears.
"Eli, I want to sit down and think," Ulick had said, and, wonderingly,
he bade him make the house his home, as he had always done.
Janet, pale and bewildered, left the room.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. Ulick?" asked Eli.
"You'll learn soon enough," was the vague reply; and then he saw Ulick
take out his pocket-book and count some notes.
"Have some supper?" said Eli.
"No, I dined at home an hour ago." Then he looked hard at Eli. Surely he
knew what people were saying, knew of the gossip about Janet. It amazed
him when he had to acknowledge that Eli Todd was the only person in the
village who was in ignorance of what concerned him most.
"Where's Janet? I must speak to her," said Ulick.
Eli called her, and she came slowly into the room, her face as pale as
death.
"Mr. Ulick wishes to speak to you. I'll leave you together, I want to
look at Blossom again."
What passed between them he never knew; what he did know was that next
morning Janet was gone.
As he sat crushed and stunned under the blow, there came a furious
knocking at the door, and Mrs. Marley called out in an agitated voice--
"It's the Squire, and isn't he in a rage!"
As Eli sat in his chair by the fire he again conjured up the picture of
Redmond Maynard striding furiously into the room, knocking the snow from
his boots with his hunting crop.
"Is my son here, or has he been here?" he asked, angrily.
"He was here last night," said Eli, in a hollow voice.
"And is he here still?"
"No."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know; he went away after--after----"
"After what?" thundered the Squire.
"After he had seen Janet about something he wished to say to her," said
Eli, slowly.
"And where is the hussey; d----n it, man, where is she?"
Eli strode up to him, and looking him full in the face, said--
"Not that word from you, Squire, take it back, take it back; she is my
child."
Redmond Maynard controlled his feelings.
"It is a hard word, Eli, I ought not to have used it. You have
sufficient to bear without that," he said.
"He knows," thought Eli. "How does he know?" and he looked at the
Squire, who could not fail to notice his surprise.
"May I speak with your daughter?" said the Squire; and from this Eli
knew there was some mystery he did not yet grasp.
"She is gone," he replied, in a low voice, for the first time
acknowledging the dreadful truth.
"Left your house!" exclaimed Redmond Maynard.
"Yes. I found her room empty this morning, but I have, so far, concealed
her flight from my housekeeper."
Redmond Maynard strode up and down the room, muttering threats and
imprecations.
"He has stolen her from you, Eli; but he shall pay for it dearly. He is
even a greater scoundrel than I accused him of being," said the Squire.
"Do you know who has tempted my daughter to leave me?" asked Eli,
placing his hand on the Squire's arm in his earnestness.
"Man, you must know," replied the Squire, amazed at his stupidity. "Have
you noticed nothing wrong with her during the past few weeks?"
"No, my Janet has always been the same to me until last night."
The Squire's rage against Ulick passed all bounds. He had accused him of
trifling with Janet's affections, and now, to crown his offence, the
graceless fellow had induced her to run away with him.
"My son came here last night," he said. "You left him alone with your
daughter, and it was no doubt during that time they planned to go away
together. He has taken her from you, Eli, and I hope he will make her an
honest woman. To think a son of mine should be such a scoundrel. Ulick,
whom I have loved beyond all others, it is too terrible."
At last Eli Todd understood. His daughter, the pride of his life, the
prettiest of all the village lasses, was a light o' love, and Ulick, his
favourite, to whom he would have entrusted her life, was accused of
betraying her. The shock of this discovery overwhelmed him, but he had
more faith in Ulick than his father had.
"If a man has tempted my daughter to leave my home and follow him, it is
not Mr. Ulick, Squire," said Eli, solemnly. "He'd never do it; he'd cut
off his right hand first. You wrong him, and you'll regret the day you
taxed him with such a charge."
Redmond Maynard wondered at the man's faith in his son. To his mind the
proof was clear as day, especially now Janet Todd had disappeared at the
same time as Ulick.
"Your feelings do you credit," he replied; "but the evidence is too
clear. You know as well as I that when people hear Ulick and Janet have
disappeared, they will say they went together. Can it be otherwise? They
have been great friends, constantly meeting, and have often been seen
alone together. My son has done you a great and grievous wrong, and I
must do all in my power to lessen the blow."
"I'll hear no words against Mr. Ulick, Squire. True, he came here last
night, but he left long before Janet could have gone. I will never
believe it of him. It was not his nature to do evil. He'll prove it some
day. As for my poor lass, God help her. She'll come back to me some day,
when her heart is sore and aching for her father's love. Whatever she
is, whatever she may have done, I will never refuse her the shelter of
my home and name. We don't know all, Squire; there may be something we
cannot understand, but which will be explained in the future. But Mr.
Ulick! Why, Squire, I'd as soon accuse myself of crime as him."
Two years ago this scene took place between master and man, and Eli
still held firm in his belief in the stainless honour of Ulick Maynard.
No word had come from Janet during all that time. Where she was he knew
not, but he thought of her day and night, and as he went about his work
he offered up many a plea for her return.
"The Squire 'll be thinking of Ulick to-night," he muttered, as he rose
from his chair, went to the door, and looked out into the night.
Snow was still falling softly, and the moon bathed the landscape in
silvery splendour. As he looked, he heard the faint, dull sound of a
horse's hoofs on the snow, and the rumble of clogged wheels.
"Where can they be going from the house to-night?" he thought, and then
recognised Bob Heather, seated in "the tub," and almost smothered in
wraps.
"Hallo, Eli, that you? A nice job I've got, fetching Mrs. Courtly's
maid, and a heap of luggage, from Anselm a night like this."
"Going to Anselm!" exclaimed Eli. "What's up there?"
"Seems to me everything's up. Mr. Courtly's gone up to London on most
important business, and left Mrs. Courtly alone. He's always got
business in London. I'd know what it was if I was her. She came over to
see the Squire, and he's made her stop with him. I say, Eli, don't you
think she'd have been a lot better off if she'd married Mr. Ulick?"
"Mind your own business," growled Eli. "It don't concern you; and as to
what I think, I'll keep it to myself."
"It's two years since he left us, and the Squire's been thinking about
it all night. He's got a notion Mr. Ulick will come back at this time of
year."
"So he will, and I hope my lass will come too," said Eli.
"You still think they did not go away together?" asked Bob.
"I don't say that, but I'll swear Mr. Ulick never harmed a hair of her
head," said Eli.
"He's a rum 'un," thought Bob. "Why, everybody knows they ran off
together; that's what made the Squire so bitter."
"Have a glass of ale?" said Eli.
"Thanks, you keep a better tap than they have at Hazelwell."
"I drink it myself," said Eli, smiling, "and order it myself. I expect
it's not the Squire's fault if you don't get the best."
"No, it's not. Old Josh knows how many beans make five, and I'll bet he
charges top price for the stuff he gets in for us," said Bob.
Eli went indoors and came out with a foaming tankard of ale, which Bob
Heather made short work of.
"That will keep me warm," he said, with a sigh of satisfaction.
"You have plenty of rugs, are you afraid the luggage will catch cold?"
said Eli, slyly.
"Luggage be blowed," said Bob. "These things are for Mary; she'd never
forgive me if she caught a cold," and he shook the reins and proceeded
on his journey.