Sir Murray Gernon had, during the past few weeks, made a good deal of
use of his horses--another sign, the stablemen observed, of a returning
good state of things, for they were growing quite tired of doing nothing
but taking the horses out for exercise. But Sir Murray's rides were
only round and about his own estate: he never went far, though he was
out for hours at a time; and the day before there was again a fierce
look upon his face, as he caught sight of Jane Barker hurriedly leaving
Merland Hall.
"Of course!" he said; he might have known that before. Time proved all
things, and here, at length, was before his eyes the arrangement by
which letters and messages had been conveyed.
But he was, if anything, more than usually courteous to my lady that
evening at dinner. Sir Murray hadn't been in such a good temper for
long enough past, said one of the footmen; only my lady looked so ill
and sad, and shivered so. It was almost a pity she should have come
down to dinner.
Sir Murray had been out again, riding up and down forest paths, and by
copse edges, along by field and meadow; and always with his head bent,
and a watchful look in his eye.
About an hour after Ada Norton's visit to the Castle, Sir Murray slowly
walked his horse up to the door, and the footman ran down the steps, and
laid his hand on the animals neck.
"Stand aside a few minutes, William," said Sir Murray; and the groom,
who had also run up to take the saddle-horse, touched his hat and fell
back. "Well, what now?" he exclaimed hastily, for something in the
footman's face told of tidings.
"I thought I'd better tell you, Sir Murray," said the man, "her
ladyship--"
"Not--?" ejaculated Sir Murray, starting, and turning livid, as he
checked himself. "Has the doctor been sent for?"
"No, Sir Murray," said the man; "her ladyship ain't worse, only she went
out this afternoon."
"Well?" said the baronet. "That's all, Sir Murray," said the man,
timidly. "I was called away, and didn't see her go. I didn't know it
till just now, when one of the gardeners said he saw her go out, and he
thought the pony-carriage ought to be sent for her, as a storm was
coming on."
"She has not come back, then?" exclaimed Sir Murray; and then, clapping
spurs to his horse, he made it dash forward; but only to check it the
next instant, rein back, and descend, beckoning up the groom, and then
slowly mounting the steps.
"You have not said a word of all this?" said the baronet, in a low tone.
"Not a word, Sir Murray!" exclaimed the man, with an injured air. "You
can trust me, sir."
Sir Murray Gernon smiled bitterly, as he threw his hat and gloves to the
man, and entered his library, leaving the door open, and watching for
Lady Gernon's return.
An hour elapsed, and then he rang.
"No, Sir Murray; her ladyship has not returned."
Another hour passed, and the storm prophesied of by Alexander McCray was
at hand. First came a deep gloom; then the sighing of the wind in faint
puffs, as it swept round the house; then there was a flash or two of
lightning, and the muttering of thunder; then flash after flash lighting
up the heavens, succeeded by a darkness as of the blackest night. A few
minutes seemed to elapse, as if Nature was preparing herself for a grand
effort; and then, with a mighty, rushing crash, down came the main body
of the storm, of which the previous mutterings had been but the
_avant-garde_. The rain seemed to fall in one vast sheet, through which
the blue lightning cut and flickered; while, with a deafening roar, peal
after peal of thunder seemed to burst over the mansion, threatening it
with destruction.
"Should the pony-carriage be brought round, sir?" asked the footman,
shouting to make himself heard.
"Yes," said Sir Murray, "and my horse. Send McCray, the gardener, here,
too."
McCray, who had been trying to console Jane, who was greatly agitated,
soon made his appearance before Sir Murray.
"McCray, take one of the horses, and go round from cottage to cottage
till you find where her ladyship has taken refuge. Williams, you go
south with the pony-carriage, and I shall ride east."
The gardener saluted, and ten minutes after, heedless of the storm--
though he had hard work with his frightened beast--he was mounted,
amidst the sneers of the grooms, who looked upon such missions as within
their province, and resented the coming of the interloper accordingly.
"The puir weak body! But I'll soon find her," muttered McCray, as he
cantered on out at the park gates; and then going from cottage to
cottage, and at last entering the forest, and riding between the
dripping trees, and along the slippery clay paths to the different
keepers' houses, but without avail; so that, at last, thoroughly soaked
and disheartened, he turned back, feeling sure that, before that time,
her ladyship must have returned.
"Not come back," whispered one of the grooms to him, as he entered the
yard. "Williams got back an hour agone, and Sir Murray has been in and
gone out again."
Just at that moment, with his horse in a foam, Sir Murray galloped up.
"Well?" he said, eagerly.
"No one has even seen her leddyship, Sir Mooray," said the gardener,
curtly.
"The same answer everywhere!" exclaimed the baronet. "Let every man
mount and set off. Tell the keepers to search the wood. You, McCray,
come with me, unless Williams has returned."
"Williams is so wet, sir, he's gone to bed," said a man.
"Quick, then, McCray!" exclaimed Sir Murray; "and keep that tongue of
yours silent afterwards!"
"Ye may trust me, Sir Mooray," said McCray, gruffly; and setting off at
a smart canter, they were soon nearing the village street.
The storm had by this time passed over, and the stars were blinking out
here and there; but from every tree and leaf the great drops fell
pattering down, while ditch and channel ran furiously with their
unwonted muddy currents.
"Go into that public-house, and ask what conveyances have gone out from
there to-day--this afternoon?" said Sir Murray.
McCray returned in five minutes, followed by the inquisitive Chunt.
"Good evening, Sir Murray," he said, hat in hand, and not seeing the
frown upon the baronet's countenance. "I've been telling your man, Sir
Murray, nothing's gone but the dog-cart as Cap'en Norton came and had
out. Carried his bag over, sir, and wouldn't wait for a man to bring
the car back; said he'd drive himself, and leave it at `The Chequers,'
at Marshton, Sir Murray."
The mud from the horse's hoofs was splashed in Chunt's face as he
finished, for Sir Murray stuck in the spurs so, that the poor brute
plunged furiously; and it was all that McCray--not the best of
horsemen--could do to overtake him, as he galloped along the main road
to Marshton, where they arrived about ten, with their horses blown, and
covered with foam, Sir Murray, who had not spoken, leading the way into
the inn-yard.
"Chunt's dog-car, sir? Brought in here about five, sir, by a boy as a
gent gave sixpence to bring it in, sir. Tall gent, with a mark across
his face, sir," the boy said.
So spake "The Chequers" hostler, in reply to questions put by Sir Murray
Gernon, who had drawn his hat down over his eyes, and turned up the
collar of his coat, as though to prevent his being recognised.
"What boy, sir? Can't say, sir. Looked like lad returning from harvest
work. Quite a stranger to these parts, sir."
Without another word, Sir Murray Gernon turned his horse's head, and
rode out of the yard, followed by McCray, who clung to him as if he had
been his shadow; but the horses were now tired, unused as they were to
much exertion, and it was getting close upon midnight when the baronet
and his servant rode into the stable-yard at Merland Castle.
Sir Murray asked no questions. It was plain enough, from the silence,
that there was no news; so throwing his bridle to a groom, his act was
closely imitated by McCray, who followed him into the library.
"I'm sorry for the puir body, wherever she is," muttered McCray; "but,
perhaps, after all, there's naething the matter. Onyhow, such a ride,
and such a wetting, desarves a drappie of toddy, and perhaps Sir Mooray
may ask me to take it. I'll follow him, anyhow, for how do I know
whether he's done wi' me?"
Book 1, Chapter XXXVI.