“One-Two!”
It is said that money has little to do with love. Be that as it may, the more often Lord Maudlaine’s thoughts reverted to his friend Mr Braham, the more he increased his attentions to Isa Gernon. At first he attributed her indifference and coolness to the innate shyness of a young girl who had passed the greater part of her life in absolute retirement; thinking, too, that as Sir Murray had all along shown himself in favour of the connection, all he had to do was to go on quietly for a few months, when the day would be fixed, the wedding take place, and he, possessed of the handsome dowry brought by his wife in exchange for an empty title, would be free from the unpleasant visits and reminders of his money-lending acquaintances.
But of late matters had assumed an aspect that troubled him. This appearance of, to him, an entirely new character upon the stage, was a something for which he had not bargained. At first it was too ridiculous; the idea was preposterous that a young naval lieutenant should compete with him—should come between his nobility and the object upon which he had set his choice: he—Lord Maudlaine—son of an Earl, with the said Earl’s coronet looming for him in no very distant part of the future’s horizon.
But there was the mishap in the marsh. Deuced unfortunate thing, you know. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been himself, and he had dived in after her; but for this impertinent fellow to be on the marsh, and run and jump in after Miss Gernon, it was too bad, you know—a deal too bad—and he couldn’t stand much more of it.
“Horsewhip him!” said Sir Murray, with a fierce snarl, when, after a good deal of circumlocution, his lordship complained of the coolness of his intended, and her frequent encounters with Brace Norton.
“But—a—a don’t you think—wouldn’t it be better if you spoke to her upon the subject—forbade her, you know, to see him any more?” said his lordship.
“Horsewhip him, I tell you!” snarled Sir Murray. “Or, would your lordship like to wake up some morning to the fact that she had disgraced us by a foolish escapade—gone off, for instance, with this vagabond?” said Sir Murray, fiercely.
“No! By Jove, no!” exclaimed the Viscount, turning pale at the very thought, and suffering from incipient symptoms of Braham on the brain.
“Because,” said Sir Murray, giving an involuntary shudder, as he thought of the past—“because any anger on my part, any undue influence, would militate against your prospects—drive her, as it were, into the scoundrel’s arms!”
“Don’t put it in that light, please,” said his lordship, faintly.
“You are young, strong, and active,” continued Sir Murray. “Pay more attention to her; and, as for this man, if he will not take notice of the letter I have sent him, horsewhip him—shoot him, if needs be; for he is a cowardly hound, the son of a coward father!”
Sir Murray Gernon’s eyes flashed, and his dark face grew darker, as he angrily hissed the latter words, before turning with clenched teeth, and walking up and down hastily.
“Think he is?” said the Viscount, in a low voice.
“Think!” echoed the baronet, with a world of scorn in his utterance of that one word.
“I won’t stand any more of his nonsense, then!” exclaimed his lordship, nodding very fiercely. “It’s quite time it was stopped, and I’ll stop it!”
Sir Murray gave him a short, sharp look—half assent, half contempt—and then turned upon his heel, leaving his proposed son-in-law alone.
“What a savage bear he grows!” muttered his lordship, as soon as he was alone; but the next instant his harsh opinion was softened down by the recollection of Sir Murray’s wealth; and he stood gazing for an instant from the open window over the lake at the line stretch of park land, with its noble timber, and recalled the last quiet conversation he had had with the baronet, when he was requested—in words which told most plainly of the owners intentions—not to cut down any of the timber, nor yet to drain the lake.
Five minutes after, his lordship walked into the drawing-rooms, and went through the whole suite, expecting every moment to see Isa reading on some lounge; but she was not there. He then walked into the breakfast and dining-rooms, the conservatory, and Lady Gernon’s boudoir, ending by taking a turn in the garden; but Isa was still invisible.
“Seen Miss Gernon?” he said at last to the major-domo, whom he encountered in the hall.
“Me young lady went oot for her morning ride a gude half-hoor ago, my lord,” said McCray; when, taking a hunting-crop from a stand close by, his lordship walked hurriedly away.
“Jenny, my gude lassie,” said the old Scot, as he entered the housekeeper’s room some five minutes after, when returning from watching his lordship across the lawn—“Jenny, my gude lassie, here’s the auld coorse of true love rinning rougher than iver, and our wee pet bairn, I fear, going to be made unhappy. The ways of the world are very crooked, and I canna help thinking it wondrous strange that young Norton should be thrown in our darling’s way as he is. I’m pitying him, too, lassie, for he’s a bra’e lad, and my heart wairmed to him for the way he saved the child; and he puts me in mind, too, of ane Alexander McCray twenty year agane, whose heart was sair as this laddie’s is, I ken. But it all came reet for mine, Jenny. Will it come reet for the Nortons’ boy?”
The housekeeper shook her head.
“What’s to be done, lassie?”
“Nothing,” said Jane his wife, quietly, but with a sad look; “these things are beyond us, McCray, and must take their course.”
“I’ll put a stop to it, that I will!” muttered Lord Maudlaine, as he strode off across the lawn, and disappeared from McCray’s sight. “Only let me see him hanging after her again!”
If his lordship’s wish to see Brace Norton with Isa Gernon again were genuine, his gratification was quick in coming; for, at the end of half an hour’s sharp walk, he caught sight of Isa and Brace almost at the same moment—just; in fact, as the latter hurried up, so as to reach the young girl before his favoured rival.
“Shall I horsewhip him before her, or shall I wait till he comes away?” muttered his lordship. “He didn’t take any notice of what I said last time, though I half thought that I should have heard from him.”
His lordship stood irresolute for a few moments, but the way in which Brace was received forced him into action, and he strode past the groom, who stood at a respectful distance, and up to the pair.
“Look here, you!” he exclaimed to Brace, coarsely. “This sort of thing won’t do! You’ve been told that you’re not to follow Miss Gernon about. Do you hear?”
“Isa,” said Brace, in a whisper to the trembling girl, “will you ride on?”
“No,” she answered, in the same tone, as she bent down towards him. “Please—my first request—for my sake, Mr Norton, do not let there be any quarrel.”
“I will do my best to avoid it,” said Brace, with a quiet, re-assuring smile; when, apparently enraged by the understanding which appeared to exist, but really nerved thereto by the words let fall that morning by Sir Murray, Lord Maudlaine strode fiercely in front of Brace, who, however, stood coolly and unflinchingly before him.
“Look here!” exclaimed his lordship. “Once more I say this sort of thing won’t do! Are you listening to what I say?”
“Yes,” said Brace, quietly. “I am listening.”
“Then, look here: you’ve been warned times enough, and I shall put up with no more of it! Now go; and I warn you that if ever again you dare to speak to Miss Gernon, or to intrude upon her with your insolent attentions, I’ll—I’ll—I’ll horsewhip you!”
These last words seemed to be forced from him by an effort; when, pale with anger at being so addressed in the presence of Isa, Brace took a step towards the Viscount, with his fists clenched, and his teeth set upon his upper lip. But at that instant, when a collision seemed imminent, an ejaculation of fear took Brace again to Isa’s side.
“Do not be afraid,” he whispered, with the anger fading out of his countenance. “Forgive me for my thoughtless passion.” He laid his hand upon hers, pressing it upon the pommel of the saddle, as he gazed up in her face. “This is rather hard to bear; but I will try.”
“Confound you! are words of no use whatever?” exclaimed his lordship angrily. And at the same moment the hunting-crop was raised, whistled through the air, and descended heavily upon Brace Norton’s shoulders, causing him to start as if stung by some venomous reptile.
That which followed seemed to take place in an instant, for as Lord Maudlaine’s hand was raised to repeat the blow, something darted through the air, striking him full upon the cheek, and he rolled over in the dusty road, felled by a blow that would have shaken the equanimity of a bullock.
“You dog—you cowardly miscreant!” hissed Brace between his teeth, as, beside himself with passion, he stood with clenched fists over his fallen adversary, till, recalling his promise, he once more hurried to the side of the trembling girl.
“I forgot myself,” he exclaimed, hastily; “I thought that I had more self-control.” Then seeing the working features and agitation the fracas had caused, he added, hastily: “Dear Isa, I know I deserve your anger—your contempt; but I have only one excuse to offer: it was something new to me, and evoked passion of whose existence I was in ignorance.”
Isa could not speak; but as she listened to his pleading words, poor girl!—perhaps she was very weak and foolish—she thought that she had never seen Brace Norton look so brave and handsome before, and her eyes betokened more love than anger as they returned the young man’s gaze.
Meanwhile, foaming with rage, and covered with the chalky dust in which he had involuntarily rolled, Lord Maudlaine stood, looking anything but a hero, as the dismounted groom grinned to himself and dusted his master’s guest, rubbing him down with a gorgeous orange-and-white silk handkerchief, all hot from out of his livery; but polishing away, and accompanying the task with the hissing noise generally accorded to horses.
His lordship did not speak, but turned his back upon the group; and but for sundry recollections of his embarrassments which at the present moment intruded themselves painfully upon him, it is most probable that my lord the Viscount and prospective Earl and peer of the realm, would have hurriedly taken his departure from the neighbourhood of Merland. As it was, he submitted to the cleansing process so liberally bestowed upon him by the groom. Then, holding his handkerchief to his cheek, he turned to face Norton, to find that he was already a hundred yards off, walking by the side of Isa’s mare; and soon after they disappeared at a turn of the road.
“Curse him!” exclaimed his lordship, with a fierce and bitter imprecation.
“Ketched yer unaweers, my lord, didn’t he?” said the groom, who, with his bridle over his arm, still kept up his hissing and rubbing process. “If you’d ha’ throwed up your left arm sharp, my lord, and then let go with your right, I don’t know but what you might ha stopped him, and planted one for yourself. But per’aps, arter all, it was very doubtful, for that was as sharp a cutter as ever I did see.”
His lordship did not seem to heed the friendly counsel, for, turning upon his heel, he strode hastily away in the opposite direction to that taken by Isa Gernon, muttering angrily, and evidently smarting with pain.
“I’m blest if I don’t think,” muttered Peter, the groom, as he slowly inducted a foot to its stirrup, and then lazily threw a leg over the horse’s back, and began to put on his gloves—“I’m blest if I don’t think as the higher yer gets up in serciety, the shabbier yer grows. Now, if that ’ere had been, say, a working man, or a lab’rer, and I’d set him upon his pins, and rubbed him down, he’d per’aps not ha’ said, ‘Here’s the price of a pint, mate,’ but he’d ha’ stood a pint, safe; and if it had been a plain gent, such as that young Squire Norton, he’d ha’ give a shilling, per’aps ’arf a crown, or one o’ them duffing two-bob bits; but as for my fine lord here, he don’t so much as say thanky, let alone show you the colour of his money; while, getting up higher still, if it had been a Juke, blow me if I don’t think he’d ha’ kicked me for what I did. Well, just as they like, and it’s all one a hundred years to come. All I can say, though, is, as it served his grand lordship jolly well right, and it was as neat and prettily-planted a blow as ever I did see put in. One—two! one—two! one—two! that was about it,” he continued; as, tucking his whip under his saddle-flap, and laying the reins upon the pommel, he began to square with his fists in imitation of the blow he had seen delivered. “He’s learned the noble art of self-defence, safe. One—two! one—two! one—two! Hold up, will yer!” he shouted, for in his excitement he had rammed one spur against his horse’s side, and the poor animal had plunged sharply so as to nearly unseat his rider, who now gathered up his reins, and cantered after his mistress.
He had not ridden far before he came upon Brace Norton, apparently watching for him, in the middle of the road, and ready to slip a crown-piece into his hand.
“I think, my man,” said Brace, quietly, “that it would be as well if the little unpleasantly you saw between Lord Maudlaine and me were not talked about up there at the Castle.”
“Dumb as a jockey, sir,” said the groom, striking himself over the mouth as he spoke; “but—you won’t be affronted, sir?”
“Affronted!—no. What is it?” said Brace, smiling.
“If you’d—if you’d take that crown back, sir—” hesitated the man.
“Take it back? Nonsense! Keep it, my lad.”
“And just show me how to give that blow, sir. ’Pon my word, sir, I’d rather know that than have half-a-dozen crowns. I never did see such a settler!”
Brace laughed, and strode on hurriedly, shaking his head.
“Ride on, my man,” he said. “Your mistress is a long way ahead.”
“That’s true enough,” said the groom to himself, as he looked after the retiring figure; “but he put him down just like a sack o’ chaff, that he did; and my lord didn’t like it, neither. I’m blest!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh, and checking his horse suddenly. “Don’t say nothing up at the Castle, which I won’t; but if there don’t come coffee and pistols out of this job, I’m a Dutchman!”