THE LOST LETTER.
Judith Hart took her way straight for the wilderness. She passed along
the margin of the black lake, made at once for the summer-house, and
looked in, then turned away with an exclamation of disappointment.
"I thought he would 'a' been here, so sharp as he was for news," she
muttered, tearing off a handful of rushes, and biting them with her
teeth, until they rasped her lips. "There's no depending on him; but
wait till we're wed. Then he'll have to walk a different road. Ha!"
The report of a gun on a rise of ground beyond the lake brought this
exclamation from her, and she hastened on, muttering to herself, "It's
his gun. I know the sound of it, and I thought he had forgotten."
Directly she came in sight of a figure walking through the thick
undergrowth.
"Richard! Richard Storms!"
The man came toward her, moving cautiously, and holding up one hand.
"Hush! Can't you speak without screaming?" he said, hissing the words
through his teeth. "It's broad daylight, remember, and by that,
there's no passing you off for the other one, if a gamekeeper should
cross us."
"Why not? I've just seen Ruth Jessup and myself in the glass at the
same time, and we're like as two peas. Only for her finikin airs, I
defy any one to say which was which."
"But she would never have called out so lustily."
"Oh, that was because I was o'erjoyed to see you, after finding the
little lake-house empty!" answered the girl, laying her hand on his
shoulder.
Storms shook the hand off.
"Don't do that, if you want to pass for a lady," he said, rudely.
"A lady, now! As if I was not as good as Ruth Jessup, any day, and
more of a lady, too," retorted the girl, with passionate tears in her
eyes.
"Ruth Jessup isn't the girl to lay her hands on a man's shoulder
without his asking," said Storms, setting down his gun, and dusting
his coat, as if her touch had soiled it. "Who knows that some one may
not be looking on?"
"And if it chanced, what harm, so long as we are to be man and wife so
soon?" pleaded the girl, now fairly crying.
"What harm! Do you think I want every gamekeeper on the place to be
jibing about the lass I mean to make a lady of, if she's only careful
of herself?"
"If!" repeated the girl, dashing away her tears. "What 'ifs' are there
between you and me? Before we go another step, I want to hear about
that."
Storms laughed, and said, carelessly,
"Never mind. What news do you bring me?"
"None--not a word, while there are 'ifs' in the way, let me tell you
that; though I have found something that you would give a hundred
guineas down to get hold of, and the young master a thousand to keep
back."
"You have! What is it?"
"Nothing that has an 'if' in it."
"There, there! Don't be silly. I mean no 'ifs.' Have I not said, as
plain as a man can speak, what shall be between us?"
"Well, when we are settled in the farm up yonder, I will give you
something that Sir Noel would sell his whole estate to get from me."
"As if I believed that."
"But you may believe it. The more time I have for thinking, the more
worth it seems."
"But what is it?"
"Only a penny's worth of paper."
"Bah!"
"With writing on it that proves who shot old Jessup!"
Storms turned fiercely upon her.
"Proves what?"
"That Walton Hurst shot old Jessup."
"A paper! Who wrote it?"
"Jessup himself."
"You have such a letter signed by Jessup?"
"I just have that!"
"Give it to me, lass! Give it to me!"
"Not yet. I'm thinking it just as well to keep the bit of paper in my
own hands," was the sharp answer. "'Ifs' might come up again, you
know!'"
A look of shrewd cunning stole over the features Judith's suspicious
eyes were searching. Storms turned from her with a contemptuous
gesture.
"There, there! I'm not to be taken in with such chaff. Try something
better. If you had such a paper it wouldn't be kept back from a true
sweetheart one minute. You've got a man of sense to deal with."
"I haven't got it, have I? Look here!" cried Judith, drawing back, and
unfolding a paper she took from her bosom. "The letters are large
enough. You can read from here. Is that Jessup's name or not?"
Storms did read enough to see how important the paper might become. He
glanced from it to the firmly set and triumphant features of the girl.
"You brought it for me. You will give it to me!"
"No!" answered Judith, folding the paper. "Not till we come from the
church."
With the leap of a tiger Storms sprang upon the girl, and snatched at
the paper; but she, wary and agile as himself, leaped aside, and fled
like a deer down the declivity, sending a ringing laugh, full of
mockery, back to the baffled man.
In an instant, he was flying after her, his teeth set hard, his eyes
gleaming, and every leap bringing him nearer to her, and her nearer to
the lake.