"_Chare! chare! chare_!"
A harsh, ear-piercing note, sounding as if a scythe-blade were being
held against a rapidly-revolving grindstone, and then the sound died
away.
Then, again, from a distance, then from farther off, and once more from
close at hand.
The next minute there was a fluttering amongst the dense clumps of
hazel, a glint of velvety black, and another of pure white, and directly
after a goodsized bird hopped into sight, showing a big,
closely-feathered warm grey, speckly head, a pair of keen, inquiring
blue eyes, below which were two boldly-marked jetty moustaches.
There was a repetition of the harsh cries, as if the bird-scout were
shouting to companions what he had found. These cries were answered
from different directions, and another bird flew out of the wood and
clung to a stout, upright hazel: one leg full-stretch, the other doubled
close, and the claws hidden in the warm grey fluffy breast feathers; and
as it closed its pinions and hung peering about there, it revealed, in
addition to its beautiful patches of white and black, the turquoise
barred blue markings upon its wings.
Then another came, and another; all noisy, and eager to investigate the
novel phenomenon newly discovered by the sand-pit in the wood.
The sun shone brightly upon millions of glittering gems, most of which
adorned the leaves of the hazels, the ferns, and the spines and blossoms
of the gold and tawny furze; but others had formed upon certain peculiar
patches of cloth, a singularly-shaped piece of checked flannel, and a
square of something white. But these passed as nothing to the lively
party of jays, seeing that there were two wonderful objects standing
alone, side by side, full of sand, while an oval whitish something lay
half-buried close by.
Then one of the jays uttered a shriek of terror, for the oval whitish
something was suddenly lit up by the opening of a couple of lids which
lay bare a pair of dazzled eyes, and these winked, and the lids quivered
before they were closed again.
"_Chare! chare! chare_!" in a wild chorus of scare dying rapidly away
made Richard Frayne spring up, realise his position, and, after shaking
off the sand, rapidly scramble on his things, which--save a little dewy
moisture still left unimbibed by the sun--were dry and warm.
As he dressed he felt his pockets, where everything was right, even to
his pocket comb, and in a few minutes he was dressed all but his boots,
which, after they had been emptied of the sand, were as dry as the rest;
and there he stood, all but his hat, ready for a fresh start.
Not quite; for he thought of the absent bath, and then shuddered and
listened for the roar of the river, now softened down into a murmur.
The idea of going to some muddy pool to wash was too repellent, and,
making his way, rested and refreshed, out of the sand-pit, he stood
thinking, not hesitating, for his mind had been made up before he left
Mr Draycott's.
And as he stood there in the glorious morning sunshine, anyone who knew
him would have noted that a change had come during these last days. His
face looked old and thin, and there was an air of determination about
his compressed lips which had not been there before.
The next minute, after marking the direction of the sun, he was tramping
through the wood in search of the first lane. This would, sooner or
later, lead him into others, and they, perhaps, into the main road, the
one which he could follow east to the goal he sought.
How far he was from Primchilsea he could not tell, and he did not feel
as if he wished to know. All that belonged to the past: his life now
was in the future--a future which he meant to carve out for himself,
forgetful of Burns's aphorism about the best-laid plans of mice and men.
He forced himself now, with more or less success, as he tramped on, to
forget the past and think only of the present; but another shudder ran
through him as there rose before him the face of the drowning lad, with
its wild, appealing stare, and his brow wrinkled as he asked himself
whether he had really done everything possible to save another's life.
There could be only one answer to this, and he walked on, feeling
saddened, as he knew only too well that the poor fellow, in his helpless
state, must have sunk to rise no more.
Then, in spite of his efforts, the thoughts of the past would obtrude
themselves--of his cousin, of the scene at Mr Draycott's when it was
found that he was missing. Lastly he thought of Jerry, and a faint,
saddened kind of smile crossed his face as he knew how troubled the man
would be; for he felt that Jerry liked him, and he was sad as he told
himself that he would never see him more.
By this time he had tramped a couple of miles, having reached a shady
lane, and now a gleam of sunshine on ahead showed him that for which he
was looking--a little stream.
This crossed the road, but the water was muddy and foul, for it
communicated with the river, and the flood had ascended it like a tide;
but a quarter of a mile farther on he came across the stream again,
trickling now among watercress by the side of the road, and here it was
bright, pure, and sparkling, offering him, in one spot, a splendid basin
in which to bathe face and hands, from which task he rose up refreshed,
and trudged on, thinking of trying at the first village he reached for a
hat or cap.
An hour had passed before the opportunity offered, and then, next door
to a little inn, he found a regular village shop, where pretty well
everything could be purchased.
A woman served him, and looked at him curiously; for it did not happen
every morning for a good-looking, quiet youth in tweeds to enter, as
soon as she was down, to buy himself a flannel cricketing cap, because
he had lost his own, and then, upon paying for it and reaching the
doorway, turn round and buy a small yesterday's cottage loaf and a piece
of cheese, which he tied up in his handkerchief, said "Good-morning,"
and walked off, well watched by the inquisitive shopkeeper till he was
out of sight.
"Now I never made a bet in my life," she said, as she turned away to
prepare her breakfast, "and I don't know how it's done; but I'd lay a
penny that that young man met robbers on the road who stole his hat, and
that he is going to seek his fortune just as we read about in books."
She never knew how nearly she was right, and Richard did not give her a
second thought as he walked steadily on till well out of sight of the
village, when he began to relieve the painful gnawing sensation of
hunger, from which he suffered, by breaking off pieces of his loaf.
Then came a little bit of satisfaction; for, passing a farmhouse in a
lonely spot, he saw a big heavy-looking woman carrying a couple of pails
full of frothy new milk to the door, and, following her, he soon had his
desire for a pint of the warm sweet fluid satisfied.
Nerved now for his task, he started off afresh, walking vigorously and
well, keeping as near as he could due east, and passing village after
village, and then a town, and at last seating himself among the ferns
upon a shady bank to dine on bread and cheese and a draught of water
from a trickling spring.
There was no pleasure in the eating; it was from stern necessity, and he
ate with a determination to carry out the plan he had in view--to give
himself support for the task which lay ahead and kept him with rugged
brow, dreamy and thoughtful, as he tramped along till night, when he
entered a large village, and, after a search, found a tiny inn, where he
was accommodated with supper and a bed.
The next day passed in much the same way, with the past seeming to
belong to a far-off time, and the future looming up cold and cheerless,
but more and more real as the hours went by. He had calculated that he
would reach his destination that evening; but, journeying as he did,
asking guidance of none, he missed his way, and walked back many miles
along a lower lane which ran parallel to the one by which he had come.
Consequently, he had to sleep another night upon the road.
"It does not matter," he said to himself in a stern, hopeless way; and,
with the past farther back than ever, he started early the next morning,
tramping through the chalky dust slowly now, for he did not want to get
to his destination yet; and, as he walked, he noted the farms and cherry
orchards he passed upon the road, but in a dull, uninterested manner,
and, bending his head low, he tramped on again.
The fear of being followed and taken back had quite gone. No one knew
him, and his aspect was not one which would take the notice of the
police whom he met from time to time.
"They don't know that I killed my cousin," he said bitterly; but he
pulled himself up short--That belonged to the past!
It was early in the afternoon that he crossed the stone bridge and went
steadily on through the streets of the dingy town, with signs here and
there of the maritime character of the place, and others which
interested him more, though in a saddened way. From time to time he
caught sight of specks of the Queen's scarlet, which resolved themselves
into military jackets, cut across by pipe-clayed belts. Then there was
the blue of an artilleryman, with its yellow braid; more scarlet, that
of an engineer; and soon after the blackish-green of a rifleman.
For Richard Frayne, son of a distinguished officer, was tramping through
a garrison town towards the great dingy barracks, and his future was
rapidly taking form and shape.