The shabby stranger seated himself familiarly in a nook beside the
wide-open chimney of the tap-room, and stretched out his long thin legs
with a sigh.
"I want something to eat; a bit of cold meat, or bread and cheese--
anything you have handy--and a glass of beer. I'm very tired."
The village publican, scanning the stranger's features keenly, moved
slowly to execute the command and lingered over the cutting of the meat.
The other seemed to read the signs like a flash, for he roughly drew
out a handful of money, saying in his bluff outspoken way--
"Be quick, mister! Here's money to pay for it." The meal was very
nimbly and swiftly placed before him; and then the landlord, with a
glance back at me seated in his own little den beyond, turned off the
suspicion with a remark about the warmth of the weather.
"Yes, it is a bit hot," said the stranger, a tall, thin, weary-looking
man of about forty, from whose frayed clothes and peaked hat I put down
to be a seafarer. "Phew! I've felt it to-day--and I'm not so strong,
either."
"Have you come far, sir?" deferentially inquired the innkeeper who,
having taken down his long clay, had also taken measure of his customer
and decided that he was no ordinary tramp.
The other stopped his eating, looked Warr, the publican, full in the
face in a curious, dreamy fashion, and then sighed--
"Yes, a fair distance--a matter of ten or eleven thousand miles."
The landlord caught his breath, and I noticed that he looked still more
earnestly into the stranger's weather-beaten face.
"Ah! maybe you've been abroad--to America?" he remarked, striking a
match and holding it in his fingers before lighting his pipe.
"I have, and a good many other places as well," answered the tramp
thoughtfully, resting and trying the point of the knife on the hard deal
table before him. "I'm a wanderer--I am, but, by Jove!" he added, "it
is real good to see these green English fields once again. When I was
out yonder I never thought I'd see them any more--these old thatched
houses, the old church, and the windmill that generally wants a sail."
"You speak as though you know Sibberton--" the landlord said, and then
he stopped uneasily.
The customer, who saw in an instant that his slip of the tongue had
nearly betrayed him, answered--
"No, unfortunately I don't. I--well, I've never been in these parts
before." And from where I stood I detected by the man's keen, dark eyes
that he was not speaking the truth. The innkeeper, too, was puzzled.
"This place seems a pretty spot," the shabby wayfarer went on. "How far
is it to Northampton?"
"Twelve miles."
The stranger sighed, glanced across at the old grandfather clock, and
went on eating. There was silence after this, broken only by the
buzzing of the flies against the window close to him, and the placing or
adjusting of the tumblers which Warr had gravely begun to polish.
"Let's see," remarked the stranger reflectively at last, "if this is
Sibberton, the old Earl of Stanchester lives here, I suppose?"
"He did live here, but he died a year ago."
"And young Lord Sibberton has come into the property--eh? Why, he must
be one of the richest men in England," the fellow remarked with
something of a sneer.
"They say he is," was Warr's reply.
Mention of the name of Stanchester caused me to prick my ears, for I had
been private secretary to the old Earl and was now acting in that same
capacity to the young man who had recently succeeded to the estates.
"And his sister, the fair one--Lady Lolita they call her--is she married
yet?" inquired the half-famished man.
"No. She still lives with her brother and his wife up at the Hall."
The stranger grunted, and I noticed that he smiled faintly for the first
time, but just at that moment he turned and catching sight of my back
through the half-opened door, started slightly and appeared to be
somewhat embarrassed.
Why did he make that inquiry regarding Lolita, I wondered? My father,
Sir George Woodhouse, having been an intimate friend of the old Earl's,
and his aide-de-camp when he was Viceroy of India, I had been taken into
the latter's confidential service as soon as I came down from Cambridge,
and for the past ten years had lived as a careless bachelor in a
pleasant old ivy-covered house at the end of the village, being treated
more as one of the Stanchester family than as the millionaire
landowner's confidential secretary. The present Earl had been at
Cambridge with me, and there was a strong bond of friendship between us.
"Yours has been a strange life," said the publican at last, in order to
obtain more details of the stranger and his motive for inquiring after
the people at the Hall.
"It has; I've drifted half over the world, but the passion for wandering
is now pretty well worn out of me," wearily responded the other, taking
a sip at his beer. "They say there's no place like home. I used to
think so when the ship was steaming over the blue sea at nights with all
asleep below and the clear stars shining over me. I don't think I shall
live long; that's why I'm back again once more in England. But," he
added, "we were talking of Lol--er, I mean Lady Lolita. Isn't she even
engaged?"
"Not that I know of," answered the innkeeper. "If she were, some of the
servants would be sure to chatter. There ain't much as goes on up at
the Hall without me knowing it."
The estimable Warr was right. The tap-room of the _Stanchester Arms_
was the village forum where the footmen, stablemen, kennel-hands and
others employed in the Earl's great establishment assembled nightly to
drink beer and discuss the gossip of the day.
"Ah! I suppose she's just as beautiful as ever?" remarked the stranger
reflectively. His voice quivered oddly, and he rose wearily, brushing
the knees of his frayed and shiny trousers. "She's one of the prettiest
women in all England," added the ragged wayfarer, whose inquiries seemed
to me to be made with some distinct purpose.
"She's lovely," declared Warr. "The papers often have portraits of her.
Perhaps you've seen them?"
"Yes, I have," he answered, and the words came out with something like a
groan.
At that instant there reached our ears the familiar jingle of harness
bells, and Warr, turning quickly, cried--
"Why, she's just coming along! You'll see her in a moment!" And they
both dashed to the small diamond-paned window which looked out upon the
village street.
The stranger stood with his dark eyes peering out, his body drawn back
as though fearing recognition, until a few moments later, when a smart
victoria and pair of chestnuts dashed passed, and lolling within,
beneath a pale blue sunshade, was the sweet-faced woman in white
returning to the Hall after making afternoon calls.
"Ah!" he gasped as the marvellous beauty of that countenance burst upon
him, and was next instant lost to view as the jingling bells receded.
"You're right!" he said, turning from the window sadly, his face
blanched. "She's more beautiful than ever--she's absolutely lovely!"
The man was a mystery. He attracted me.
The publican remained gravely silent, utterly at a loss to understand
the stranger's meaning, while at that moment the latter apparently
recollected my proximity, for he looked across towards where I, having
had business with the innkeeper, still stood awaiting his return.