"How did you do it?" he asked, panting violently after his recent
exertion and shock. "How?"
"I saw the cartridges fall out of your pocket while you fought the
brute," she answered. "That suggested it. I put one in the rifle and
aimed just behind the shoulder, as I had read of people doing when
shooting things of that sort. Thank Heaven it was the right aim. Do
you know, I felt it would be--knew it somehow."
She spoke quickly, excitedly, her breast heaving, and the colour
mantling in her cheeks, as she turned her large eyes upon his face.
"It was splendid--splendid," he repeated, rising, though somewhat
stiffly, for he was very bruised and shaken.
"I don't know about that," she answered with a laugh. "I expect the old
Squire will be of a different opinion. Why I--I mean you and I between
us--have killed one of his African animals. And they say he's no end
proud of them."
"Yes, and you have saved my life."
"Have I? I rather think the boot's on the wrong foot," she answered.
"Where would I have been with that beast chevying me if you hadn't come
on the scene. But--oh, Mr Wagram, are you much hurt? I was
forgetting."
"No, I am not hurt, beyond a bit of a shaking-up. And you?"
"Same here. I suppose the excitement and unexpectedness of the toss
saved me. I was in an awful funk, though--er--I mean I was awfully
scared. You see it was all so unexpected. I didn't know these things
ever attacked people."
"They are apt to be dangerous in a half-tame condition, but ours are
shut up in a separate part of the park. I have yet to find out how this
one got loose."
"What would I have done if you hadn't come up?" she repeated. "I should
certainly have been killed."
Wagram thought that such would very likely have been the case, but he
answered:
"I think you might have been considerably injured. You see, when you
got to the gate over there, you would have had to slow down and jump
off."
"Rather. And--oh, my poor bike! It's past praying for, utterly."
"Well, it's past mending, that's certain. But--er--of course, you must
allow us to make good the loss. As a matter of hard law you need have
no scruple about this. It was destroyed on our property by an animal
belonging to us, and on a public road."
"A public road!" she echoed. "Then I was not trespassing?"
"No. This is a right-of-way, though I don't mind admitting that we have
often wished it wasn't," he added with a smile.
Inwardly he was puzzling as to who this girl could be. She was aware of
his own identity, for she had addressed him by name; but he was
absolutely convinced he had never seen her before. She was a handsome
girl, too, very handsome. She had a clear, brunette skin, through which
the colour would mantle as she grew animated, fine eyes of a light
hazel, and an exceedingly attractive smile. In build she was square
shouldered and of full outline, and though not exactly tall was of a
good height for a woman. She was plainly dressed, but well, in a light
blouse and grey bicycle skirt, and her manner was natural and
unaffected. Yet with all these attractions Wagram decided that she was
just not quite in the same social scale. Who could she be?
"Oh, but, Mr Wagram, I'm sure you must be hurt," she broke in, as he
rose from dusting down her bicycle skirt--she had sustained wonderfully
little damage, even outwardly, from her fall. "Why, what is this?"
catching sight of his ripped waistcoat. "Blood, too! Good heavens!
Did it strike you with its horns? Oh, you must get it seen to at once.
I have read somewhere that the wound from an animal's horn is
frightfully dangerous."
"Well, it wasn't the horn this time, it was the hoof. But I assure you
the thing is a mere scratch; I daresay it might have been worse but for
the waistcoat. As it is, it's nothing."
"Really? Seriously, mind?"
"Seriously. But if you always turn your reading to such practical
account as you did just now, it'll be good for other people all along
the line. It was even better than plucky, for it showed a quickness and
readiness of resource rare among women, and by no means so widely
distributed among men as we like to imagine."
"How good of you to say so," she answered, colouring up with pleasure.
"But--oh, what a pity to have had to kill such a curious animal. Will
the old Squire be very angry, do you think, Mr Wagram?"
"He will be sorry; but you must credit him with a higher estimate of the
sanctity of human life for anger to enter his mind in this connection.
I am sure he will feel only too thankful that a most disastrous accident
has been averted."
"Oh, I am relieved. Poor thing," she broke off, standing over the dead
gnu with a little shudder at the pool of blood which had trickled from
the small hole made by the bullet. "It is very ugly, though."
"Yes; it's a sort of combination of goat and buffalo, and horse and
donkey, to all outward appearance. Ah, here's someone at last," as two
men approached. "Here, Perrin," to the foremost, "how on earth did this
fellow break out of the west park? Are the palings broken down
anywhere?"
"Not as I knows on, sir," replied the man, who was an under keeper. "I
was round there myself this morning, and 'twas all right then. Reckon
he must ha' jumped. Them things do jump terrible high at times. Be you
hurt, sir?" with a look at the other's torn clothing.
"No; only a scratch. But this young lady might have been killed. You'd
better go to the village at once and let Bowles know there's a
butchering job here for him, and the sooner he sets about it the better,
or the light won't last. Oh, and on the way tell Hood to go over now
and make sure there are no gaps or weak places in the palings, or we
shall have more of the things getting out I should never have believed
one would have taken that leap."
"Very good, sir," replied the keeper, turning away to carry out his
orders.
The girl, meanwhile, was watching Wagram with a whole-souled but
half-furtive admiration, not undashed with a little awe. The fact of
her rescue by this man in a moment of ghastly peril, and at considerable
risk to himself, appealed to her less than did the cool, matter-of-fact
way in which he stood there issuing his orders, as though no
life-and-death struggle between himself and a powerful and infuriated
animal had just taken place. Moreover, there was something in the way
in which he gave his orders--as it were, the way of one to whom such
direction was bound as by right to belong--that impressed her, and that
vividly. Perhaps, too, the unconscious refinement of the man--a natural
refinement characterising not only his appearance, but his manner, the
tone of his voice, his every word--came especially home to her, possibly
by virtue of contrast. Anyhow, it was there, and she hardly had time to
disguise the growing admiration in her eyes as he turned to her again.
"Will you walk on with me to the Court and have a rest and some tea? We
can send you home in the brougham."
For a moment she hesitated. The invitation was wholly alluring, but to
herself a perfectly unaccountable resolve came over her to decline it.
It is just possible that the one word "send" had turned the scale. Had
he offered to accompany her home she would probably have accepted with
an alacrity needing some disguise.
"Oh no, thanks; I could not think of intruding upon you like that," she
answered. "I live just outside Bassingham, and a mere three-mile walk
is nothing on a lovely evening like this."
"Are you sure you are doing what you would prefer?" he urged.
"Quite. Oh, Mr Wagram, how can I thank you enough? Why, but for you I
should be in as many pieces as my poor bicycle."
"And but for you, possibly, so should I," he laughed.
"Yes; only you would not have been there at all but for me, so that I am
still all on the debtor's side," she rejoined, flashing up at him a very
winning smile.
"Will you favour me with your address--here," holding out a pocket-book
open at a blank leaf. "And--er--you seem to have the advantage of me as
to name."
"Have I? Why, so I have," (writing). Then handing it back he read:
"Delia Calmour, Siege House, Bassingham."
"Oh, you live in Bassingham, then?" he said, in a tone which seemed to
her to express surprise at never having seen her before.
"Yes; but I have been away for two years," she answered in implied
explanation which was certainly not accidental. "I have only just come
home."
She hoped he would question her further; but he did not.
"Good-bye, Mr Wagram," putting forth her hand with a bright smile. "I
shall return by the main road. It's much shorter--besides, I've had
enough adventure for one afternoon."
"Well, if you won't reconsider my suggestion."
"Thanks, no; I had really better get back."
"And," he supplemented, "again let me remind you that the utter wreck of
your bicycle is our affair. Oh, and by the way--er--in case you are put
out by the want of it even for a day or two in this splendid weather,
Warren, in Bassingham, keeps very good machines on hire--you understand,
our affair of course. I will send him in word the first thing in the
morning."
"Now, Mr Wagram, you are really too good," she protested with real
warmth. "I don't know whether I ought even to think of taking you at
your word."
"Ought? But of course you must. It's a matter, as I said before, of
hard, dry law, and damage. Good-bye."
They had reached the gate by this time, and closing it behind her,
Wagram raised his hat and turned back to where lay the dead gnu. Then,
as the men he had sent for had arrived, and he had given directions as
to the careful preserving of the head, he moved homeward.
The air seemed positively to thrill with the gush of bird-song as the
last rays of dazzling gold swept over the vivid greenery, ere the final
set of sun. Passing the chapel, a Gothic gem, set in an embowering of
foliage, Wagram espied the family chaplain seated in front of his
rose-grown cottage, reading.
"Evening, Father," he called out.
The priest jumped up and came to the gate. He was a man about Wagram's
own age, or a shade older, a cultured man, and possessed of a fund of
strong practical common sense, together with a keen sense of humour.
The two were great friends.
"Come in, come in, and help a lonely man through a lonely half hour, or
as many half-hours as you can spare; though I suppose it's getting too
near your dinner time for that."
"Why don't you stroll up with me and join us?" said Wagram, subsiding
into a cane chair.
"Thanks, but I can't to-night, and that for more reasons than one. Now,
what'll you be taking?"
"Nothing, thanks, just now," answered Wagram, filling his pipe. "I've
got a mighty unpleasant job sticking out if ever there was one. Went
out to knock over a rabbit or two, and knocked over one of the blue
wildebeeste instead. How's that?"
The priest gave a whistle.
"I wouldn't like to be the man to break the news to the old Squire," he
said, "unless the man happened to be yourself. Did you kill it?"
"Dead as a herring, or rather, the girl did."
"The girl did! What girl?"
"Why, the one the brute was chevying. Of course I had to get between,
don't you see?"
"I don't. You omitted the trifling detail that the said brute was
chevying anybody. Now, begin at the beginning."
Wagram laughed. This sort of banter was frequent between the two. The
priest reached down for the half-smoked pipe he had let fall, relit it,
and listened as Wagram gave him the narrative, concise to baldness.
"Who was the girl?" he said, when Wagram had done.
"That's just the point. First of all, do you know any people in
Bassingham named Calmour?"
"M'yes. That is to say, I know _of_ them."
"What do they consist of?"
"One parent--male. I believe three daughters. Sons unlimited."
"What sort of people are they?"
"Ask the old Squire."
"That's good enough answer," laughed Wagram. "You're not going to give
them a bad character, so you won't give them any. All right. I'll go
and ask him now, and, by Jove," looking at his watch, "it's time I did.
Good-night."
Father Gayle returned from the wicket, thinking.
"So that was the girl!" he said to himself. "The eldest, from the
description. I hope she won't make trouble."
For, as it happened, he had heard rather more about Delia Calmour and
her powers of attractiveness than Wagram had; moreover, he knew that
men, even those above the average, were very human. Wagram, in his
opinion, was very much above the average, yet he did not want to foresee
any entanglement or complication that could not but be disastrous--
absolutely and irrevocably disastrous.