CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER I.
When the train drew up at the small station of Leyton Ferrers, which
it did in the slowest and most lazy of fashions, two persons got out.
One was a young girl, who alighted from a third-class carriage, and
who dragged out from under the seat a leather bag and a square parcel
instead of waiting for the porter, who was too much engaged in light
and pleasant conversation with the guard, to pay any attention to such
small cattle as passengers.
The other person was a young man, who sauntered out of a first-class
carriage, with a cigar in his lips, and his soft traveling cap a little
on one side, and with that air which individuals who have been lucky
enough to be born with silver spoons in their mouths naturally acquire,
or are endowed with. Standing on the platform, as if it and the whole
Great South-Northern Railway system belonged to him, this young
gentleman at last caught sight of the porter.
"Hi, porter!" he called, and when the man came up, quickening his pace
as he took in the tall, well-dressed figure of his summoner, the young
man continued with a smile, "Sorry to tear you away from your bosom
friend, my man, but there's a portmanteau of mine in the van, or should
be."
The porter touched his hat, and was going toward the van, when the
young man called after him:
"See to that young lady first," he said, indicating with a slight nod
the young girl, who was struggling with the bag and the parcel.
Somewhat surprised at this display of unselfishness, the porter turned
like a machine, and addressed the girl; the young man sauntered down
the platform and, leaning over the fence, surveyed the June roses
in the station-master's garden with an indolent and good-tempered
patience.
"Any luggage, miss?" asked the porter.
"No; nothing but these," said the girl. "Here is the ticket;" then
she looked round. "Can you tell me how far Leyton Court is from the
station?"
"Little better than two miles and a half," replied the porter.
"Two miles and a half--that means three miles," said the girl, and she
looked inquiringly at the road and across the fields, over which the
dying sun was sending a warm, rich crimson.
"Yes, miss. Will you have a fly? There is one outside," he added,
with a touch of impatience, for it seemed highly improbable that more
than twopence--at the most--could proceed from his present job, while
sixpence or a shilling, no doubt, awaited him from the aristocratic
young gentleman still lounging over the garden fence. The girl thought
a moment; then, with the faintest flush, said:
"No, thank you. I will leave my luggage; there will be something, some
cart----"
"Carrier's cart goes to the Court every evening!" broke in the porter,
and, seizing the bag and the parcel, and dropping them in a corner with
that sublime indifference to the safety of other people's goods which
only a railway porter can adequately display, hurried off to the other
passenger.
The young girl went with a light step down the station stairs, and
having reached the road, stopped.
"How stupid of me!" she said. "I ought to have asked the way."
She was turning back to worry the porter once more when she saw a
finger-post, upon which was written, "To Leyton Court," and, with a
little sigh of relief, she went down the road indicated.
Meanwhile the porter had got the portmanteau, and stood awaiting the
passenger's pleasure.
After a minute or two, and in the most leisurely fashion possible, the
young man turned to him.
"Got the bag? All right. I'm going to Leyton Court." The porter touched
his cap. "Is there anything here that can take me?"
"There's a fly, sir," said the porter, nodding toward the road, where
a shambling kind of vehicle on its last wheels, attached to a horse on
its last legs, stood expectantly.
The young man surveyed the turn-out, and laughed.
"All right; take the bag down to it. Wait! here's a drink for you. By
the way, where can I get one for myself? No inn or anything here?"
"No, sir, nothing," said the porter, with almost pathetic sadness.
"Nearest is at Parrock's Cross, a mile and a half on the road."
"Then I shall have to remain thirsty till I get to Parrock's Cross,"
said the young man, with an easy smile. "Do you think your horse can
get as far as that, my friend?" he added to the driver.
The man grunted, mounted the box, and the Noah's ark rattled slowly
away.
The young man lit another cigar, put up his feet on the opposite
cushions, and surveyed the scenery, through eyes half closed, in
perfect contentment, good humor, and indolent laziness. Presently
they came abreast of the young girl, who was stepping along with the
graceful gait which belongs to youth, and health, and good breeding.
"Now, I wonder where she is going?" he said to himself as he looked at
her. "If she were a man now, I would give her a lift; as it is----By
George! she's pretty though. Pretty? She's lovely! I wonder whether
she'd take the fly from me, and let me tramp it instead of her? Don't
dare ask her! I know what she'd do--give me a look that would make
me wish I were fifty miles under the sea, and not say a word. What a
devil of a stupid world it is!" And with this reflection as a kind of
consolation, he made himself a little more comfortable, and closed his
eyes completely.
It was a lovely evening. Some days in June, as we miserable Englishmen
know only too well, are delusions and snares, cold as December or wet
as October, but it was late in the month and really summer weather;
and as the girl walked along the smooth path, which a shower had made
pleasant, the trees shone in all their midsummer beauty; the birds sang
their evening hymns; the flowers loaded the air with perfume.
It is good to be a girl, it is good to be young, it is good to be
beautiful, but it is best of all to be innocent and happy, and she was
all these. To save her life she could not help singing softly as she
walked through all the splendor of this summer evening, and so she
joined the birds in their evening hymn to the tune of "Oh, Mistress
Mine!" stopping now and again to gather a spray of honeysuckle or a
particularly fine dog-rose, of which the hedges were full.
The fly rattled on its way and came in due course to Parrock's Cross;
and the horse, no doubt with a sigh of relief, pulled up of its own
accord at the door of the village inn.
The young man woke up--if he had really been asleep--jumped out without
opening the door and sauntered into the inn.
"Give the man what he likes, and me a bottle of Bass," he said to the
landlord, and he threw himself down on the rustic seat outside the door.
The landlord brought the ale, touching his forehead obsequiously, for
like most country people he knew a gentleman when he saw him, and the
young man took a huge draught.
"That's very good beer," he said, nodding. "Get another bottle for
yourself. How many miles is it to Leyton Court?"
"Not more than a mile, sir," said the landlord, touching his forehead
again, for a man who was not only a gentleman but who was going to
Leyton Court was worthy of all the respect that could be paid him.
"Is that all? Look here, then; I shall walk it. That contrivance
reminds me too forcibly of a hearse; besides, I want to stretch my
legs." He stretched them as he spoke; they were long legs and admirably
shaped. "Tell the man to take the bag on. Here's five shillings for
him."
"The fare's half-a-crown from the station, sir," said the landlord.
The gentleman laughed lazily.
"All right. Tell him to put the other two-and-six in the poor-box."
The landlord laughed respectfully, and the young man, left alone,
leaned back on the seat and drank his beer in indolent content.
Presently the girl passed on the other side of the road.
"Hullo!--there she is again!" he said. "I wonder where she is going? I
dare say she's thirsty. It's a pity she isn't a man, for I could ask
her to have a drink. Do you know that young lady, landlord?" he asked.
The man shaded his eyes and looked after the girl.
"No, sir," he said. "No. The lady's a stranger to me, sir; a perfect
stranger."
The young man smoked his cigar and watched the graceful figure going
down the road in the twilight with a touch of interest on his handsome
face. He seemed in no hurry to pursue his journey by any means; and
when he rose, at length, he yawned and stretched himself.
"Could you give me a bed here to-night, landlord?" he asked.
The man eyed the ground doubtfully.
"We're plain people, sir----" he commenced.
"I like plain people," broke in the young man with a laugh, the music
of which never failed to call up an answering smile on the faces of
those who heard it. "I don't mind roughing it; I'm used to it. I'm not
sure that I shall want one; but if I should----"
"We'll do our best to make you comfortable, sir," said the landlord,
touching his forehead again.
"Right!" exclaimed the young man, carelessly. "Well, don't be surprised
if you see me back in--say a couple of hours. Straight on to the Court,
I suppose?"
"Straight on, sir," said the landlord, and swinging his stick with a
careless, happy-go-lucky air, the young man started off.
Slowly as he walked, his long legs soon overtook the young girl, and he
passed her again, as she was standing on tiptoe to get a flower from
the hedge. He half stopped with the evident intention of reaching the
blossom, which reared itself tantalizingly just beyond her reach, but
he thought--"she won't like it perhaps; think I want to intrude myself
upon her," and walked on. She had not turned her head.
Probably the loveliness of the evening had the same effect upon him as
it had upon her, for when he had got out of her hearing he began to
sing, for, you see, he was young and handsome, in good health, and--I
was going to say innocent, but pulled up in time.
In a quarter of an hour the road grew wider, and opened out on to a
village green. Two or three houses were dotted about it, and an inn
with the sign of the Ferrers Arms swinging on a post. A little further
stood a pair of huge iron gates, with a lodge at the side of them.
"That's the Court, I suppose?" he said to himself. "Now for the tug of
war! Lord, how I wish myself back in London!" and he flicked his cap
onto the back of his head, and laughed ruefully.
Some children were playing on the green, and two or three men lounged
on the settle outside the inn. Suddenly one of them rose, just as the
young man came abreast of the door, and as he made way for the man to
pass, a dog ran out from the inn and caused the man to stumble. The
fellow uttered an oath and raised his heavily-booted foot. The kick
struck the dog in the side, and with a howl of pain he fled behind the
young man.
Now a moment before his handsome face had been a picture of indolent
good temper, but at the kick and the howl his face changed. The
lips grew set, the eyes stern and fierce. He was not a good young
man--alas, alas! it will be seen that he was a thousand miles removed
from that--but his heart was as tender as a woman's, and he loved dumb
animals--dogs and horses in especial--with that love of which only a
strong, healthy, young Englishman is capable.
"You brute!" he said, not loudly, but with an intense emphasis, which
caused the man to pull up and stare at him with an astonished scowl.
"Did you speak to me, guv'nor?" he growled.
He was a tall, wiry-looking ruffian, and his voice seemed to proceed
from the bottom of his chest, and the glance he shot at the speaker
came from a pair of evil-looking eyes, deeply sunk beneath thick and
black brows.
"I did!" said the young man curtly; "I called you a brute!" and he
stooped and comforted the dog.
The man eyed him up and down with a vindictive glare.
"Can't I kick my own dawg?" he demanded, with a most atrocious attempt
at a sneer.
"Not when I am near," said the young man, quite calmly, but meeting the
glare of the evil eyes with a steady firmness.
"Oh, I can't, can't I?" retorted the man. "You get out of the way and
I'll show you, curse you!"
The young man stepped aside, apparently to leave the dog exposed to the
threatened assault, but as the man lifted his foot the young fellow
thrust his own forward, and launching out with his left hand, dealt the
man a blow which sent him a mass of arms and legs against the doorway.
The dog fled, the group of idlers who had remained seated, listening to
the colloquy, sprung up and drew near, exchanging glances and staring
at the pair.
The young fellow stood in the easiest of attitudes, with something like
a smile on his lips, for the man's attitude of complete astonishment as
he leant against the doorway was rather comical.
"That was a good 'un," cautiously whispered one of the men, looking at
the young fellow admiringly. "'Tain't often Jem Pyke gets it like that,
are it?"
The man called Pyke pulled himself together, and stretching himself
glared round him; then his eyes rested on the young fellow, and he
seemed to remember.
With an oath he made ready for a spring, but the young fellow raised
his hand.
"Wait a minute, my friend," he said, almost pleasantly. "If you are
anxious for a fight, say so, and let us have it comfortably. I haven't
the slightest objection myself."
"Curse you, I'll--I'll kill you!" gasped the man.
The young fellow laughed.
"I don't think you will, my friend. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed,
I really am; but if you'd like to try----"
He threw his cigar away, and, taking off his light shooting jacket,
tossed it on to the settle.
As he did so his back was turned to the road along which he had come,
and he didn't see the young girl, who had been near enough to witness
the scene from its commencement, and was now kneeling down by the dog
and murmuring womanly words of pity and sympathy.
"Let the gentleman alone, Jem," said one of the men. "'Twas all
your fault. What did you want to go and kick the dawg for? Beg the
gentleman's pardon, and go and get your beer."
For all response Jem commenced to turn up his sleeves. Two or three of
the men got between them, but the young fellow waved them aside.
"Don't interfere, my men," he said pleasantly. "Your friend is dying
for a fight, I can see, and a little exercise will give me an appetite.
Just stand back, will you?"
The next instant Pyke rushed at him, and the first blows were delivered.
The girl heard the sound of them, and, with a cry of fear and horror,
started as if to run across to them, but her heart failed her, and she
shrank back against the hedge, looking on with hands clasped, and her
face white and terrified.
The man Pyke was a giant in length and strength, but he was in a rage,
and no man who is in a rage can fight well. The young fellow on the
other hand was, now, in the best of humor, and thoroughly enjoying
himself, and he parried the furious onslaught of his opponent as easily
as if he were having a set-to at a gymnasium. The blows grew quicker
and smarter, one from the young man had reached Mr. Pyke's face, and
had cooled him a little. He saw that if he meant to win he must play
more cautiously, and drawing back a little, he began again, with
something like calculation. Like the blows of a sledge hammer his fists
fell upon the chest of the young fellow, one struck him upon the lip
and the blood started.
With a smile the young man seemed to think that it was time to end the
little drama, and planting his left foot firmly forward, he delivered
one blow straight from the shoulder. It fell upon the bully's forehead
with a fearful crash, and the same instant, as it seemed, he staggered
and fell full length to the ground. A murmur of consternation and
admiration--for the blow had really been a skillful one--arose from the
group of onlookers, and they crowded round the prostrate man.
"Dang me if I don't think he's killed 'im!" exclaimed the ostler,
lifting Jem Pyke's head on his knee.
"What do you say?" said the young fellow, and, pushing them aside, he
bent down and examined his late foe. "No, he's not dead. See, he's
coming to already. Get some water, some of you--better still, some
brandy. That's it. There you are!" he added, cheerfully, as Pyke
opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. "How are you? You ought to
have countered that last shot of mine, don't you know. You don't box
badly, a little wild, perhaps, but then you were wild, weren't you? and
that's always a mistake. Well one of us was bound to win, and there's
no harm done, though you've got a bump or two, and"--putting his hand
to his own face--"my figurehead isn't improved. There," and under the
pretense of shaking the man's hand, he slipped half a sovereign into
the wiry palm. "Get yourself a drink--and good-morning," and with a
laugh and a nod he was striding across the road, when, seeing the pump
at the head of the horse trough, he called to a boy to work the handle,
and with his pocket-handkerchief washed his face and head, coming out
of the impromptu bath with his short chestnut hair all shining like a
Greek god's.
Then he strolled across the road, and--for the first time became aware
that the young girl from the station had been a spectator of the scene.
He pulled up short within a few paces of her, and the two stood and
looked at each other. She had the dog in her arms, and on her face and
in her eyes was an expression which baffles my powers of description.
It was not fright nor disgust, nor admiration, nor scorn, but a little
of each skillfully and most perplexedly mingled. Women hate fighting,
when it is inconveniently near to them; on the other hand they love
courage, because they have so little of it themselves, and they adore a
man who will stand up in defense of one of themselves or a dumb animal.
The girl had longed to turn and fly at the first sight and sound of the
awful blows, but she could not: a horrible fascination kept her chained
to the spot, and even when the fray was over she still stood, trembling
and palpitating, her color coming and going in turn, her arms quite
squeezing the dog in her excitement and emotion.
The young man looked at her, took in the oval face, with its dark,
eloquent eyes and sweet, tremulous lips, the tall, graceful figure,
even the plain blue serge, which seemed so part and parcel of that
figure; then his glance dropped awkwardly, and he said, shamefacedly:
"I beg your pardon; I didn't know you were looking on."
The girl drew a long breath.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said, sternly, with a little
catch in her voice.
He raised his eyes a moment--they were handsome, and, if the truth must
be told, dare-devil eyes--then dropped them again.
"It--it is shameful," she went on, her lovely face growing carmine, her
eyes flashing rebukingly, "for two men to fight like--like dogs; and
one a gentleman!"
He looked rather bewildered, as if this view of the proceedings was
something entirely novel.
"Oh, come, you know," he said, deprecatingly, "there isn't much harm
done."
"Not much! I saw you knock him down as if--as if he were dead!" she
said, indignantly. "And you--oh, look at your face!" and she turned her
eyes away.
As this was an impossibility, he did the next best thing to it, and put
his hand to his cheek and lips.
"I don't think he's hurt much," he said, excusingly, "and I'm not
a bit. I think we rather enjoyed it; I know I did," he added, half
inaudibly, and with the beginning of a laugh which was smitten dead as
she said, with the air of a judge:
"You must be a savage!"
"I--I think I am," he assented, with a rueful air of conviction. "But,
all the same, I'm sorry you were here! If I'd known there was a lady
looking on I'd have put it off! I'm afraid you've been upset; but don't
worry yourself about either of us! Our long-legged friend will be all
the better for a little shaking up, and as for me----The dog isn't
hurt, is he?"
"I--I don't know," she said.
He came a little nearer, and took the dog from her, noticing that in
extending it to him she shrank back, as if his touch would pollute her.
"No; he's all right!" he said, after turning the animal over, and
setting him on his legs. "He ought to have some of his ribs broken, but
he hasn't! I'm glad of that, poor little beggar," and for the first
time his voice softened.
The girl looked at him with grave displeasure.
"I am afraid he is the best Christian of the three," she said, severely.
"By George, I shouldn't wonder!" he muttered, with the ghost of a smile.
She gave him another glance, then, without a word, raised her head
loftily and passed on.
He lifted his hat and looked after her, then tugged at his mustache
thoughtfully.
"So I'm a savage, am I?" he said. "Well, I expect she's about right!
What a beautiful girl! I'm a savage! By George, the old man will say
the same if I present myself with this highly-colored physiognomy. I'd
better go back to the inn, and turn up later on."
As he stood hesitating, the fly crawled up with the bag; the man had
pulled up within view of the fight, and had enjoyed it thoroughly.
"Here, wait! I'll go back with you! I've decided to stay at your place
for the night," said the young fellow; and he jumped in.
"Not hurt, I hope, sir?" said the man, as he turned the horse. "It was
a right down good fight, sir; it was, indeed!"
"Not a bit! There, hurry up that four-legged skeleton of yours! I'm as
hungry as a--a--savage," he concluded, as if by a happy inspiration,
and throwing himself along the cushions, he laughed, but rather
uneasily.