Volume Two—Chapter Two.
Attraction.
A few moments later there was a faint rustling noise as of some one hurrying over the fir needles, and a lightly-cloaked figure came for an instant into the moonlight, but shrank back in among the tree-trunks.
“Rob!” was whispered—“Rob, are you there?” Alleyne started up on one elbow, and listened as the voice continued,—
“Don’t play with me, dear. I couldn’t help being late. Father seemed as if he would never go out.”
There was a faint murmur among the heads of the pines, and the voice resumed.
“Rob, dear, don’t—pray don’t. I’m so nervous and frightened. Father might be watching me. I know you’re there, for I heard you whistle.”
Alleyne remained motionless. He wanted to speak but no words came; and he waited as the new-comer seemed to be listening till a faintly-heard whistling of an air came on the still night air from somewhere below in the sandy lane.
“Ah!” came from out of the darkness, sounding like an eager cry of joy; and she who uttered the cry darted off with all the quickness of one accustomed to the woods, taking almost instinctively the road pursued by Rolph, and overtaking him at the end of a few minutes.
“Rob—Rob!” she panted.
“Hush, stupid!” he growled. “You’ve come then at last. See any one among the trees?”
“No, dear, not a soul. Oh, Rob, I thought I should never be able to come to-night.”
“Humph! Didn’t want to, I suppose.”
“Rob!”
Only one word, but the tone of reproach sounded piteous.
“Why weren’t you waiting, then?—You were not up yonder, were you?” he added sharply.
“No, dear. I’ve only just got here. Father seemed as if he would never go out to-night, and it is a very, very long way to come.”
“Hullo! How your heart beats. Why, Judy, you must go into training. You are out of condition. I can feel it thump.”
“Don’t, Rob, pray. I want to talk to you. It’s dreadfully serious.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it.”
“But you must, dear. Remember all you’ve said. Listen to me, pray.”
“Well, go on. What is it?”
“Rob, dear, I’m in misery—in agony always. You’re staying again at Brackley, and after all you said.”
“Man can’t do as he likes, stupid little goose; not in society. I must break it off gently.”
There was a low moan out of the darkness where the two figures stood, and, added to the mysterious aspect of the lane where all was black below, but silvered above by the moonbeams.
“What a sigh,” whispered Rolph.
“Rob, dear, pray. Be serious now. I want you to listen. You must break all that off.”
“Of course. It’s breaking itself off. Society flirtation, little goose; and if you’ll only be good, all will come right.”
“Oh, Rob, if you only knew!”
“Well, it was your fault. If you hadn’t been so cold and stand-offish, I shouldn’t have gone and proposed to her. Now, it must have time.”
“You’re deceiving me, dear; and it is cruel to one who makes every sacrifice for your sake.”
“Are you going to preach like this for long? Because if so, I’m off.”
“Rob!” in a piteous tone. “I’ve no one to turn to but you, and I’m in such trouble. What can I do if you forsake me. I came to-night because I want your help and counsel.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Father would kill me if he knew I’d come.”
“Ben Hayle’s a fool. I thought he was fond of you.”
“He is, dear. He worships me; but you’ve made me love you, Rob, and though I want to obey him I can’t forget you. I can’t keep away.”
“Of course you can’t. It’s nature, little one.”
“Rob, will you listen to me?”
“Yes. Be sharp then.”
“Pray break that off then at once at Brackley, and come to father and ask him to let us be married directly.”
“No hurry.”
“No hurry?—If you knew what I’m suffering.”
“There, there; don’t worry, little one. It’s all right, I tell you. Do you think I’m such a brute as to throw you over? See how I chucked Madge for your sake.”
“Yes, dear, yes; I do believe in you,” came with a sob, “in spite of all; and I have tried, and will try so hard, Rob, to make myself a lady worthy of you. I’d do anything sooner than you should be ashamed of me. But, Rob, dear—father—”
“Hang father!”
“Don’t trifle, dear. You can’t imagine what I have suffered, and what he suffers. All those two long weary months since we left the lodge it has been dreadful. He keeps on advertising and trying, but no one will engage him. It is as if some one always whispered to gentlemen that he was once a poacher, and it makes him mad.”
“Well, I couldn’t help my mother turning him off.”
“Couldn’t help it, dear! Oh, Rob!”
“There you go again. Now, come, be sensible. I must get back soon.”
“To her!” cried Judith, wildly.
“Nonsense. Don’t be silly. She’s like a cold fish to me. It will all come right.”
“Yes, if you will come and speak to my father.”
“Can’t.”
“Rob, dear,” cried Judith in a sharp whisper; “you must, or it will be father’s ruin. He has begun to utter threats.”
“Threats? He’d better not.”
“It’s in his despair, dear. He says it’s your fault if he, in spite of his trying to be honest, is driven back to poaching.”
“He’d better take to it! Bah! Let him threaten. He knows better. Nice prospect for me to marry a poacher’s daughter.”
“Oh, Rob, how can you be so cruel. You don’t know.”
“Know what? Does he threaten anything else?”
“Yes,” came with a suppressed sob.
“What?”
“I dare not tell you. Yes, I must. I came on purpose to-night. Just when I felt that I would stay by him and not break his heart by doing what he does not want.”
“Talk sense, silly. People’s hearts don’t break. Only horses’, if you ride them too hard.”
Judith uttered a low sob.
“Well, what does he say?”
“That you are the cause of all his trouble, and that you shall make amends, or—”
“Or what?”
“I dare not tell you,” sobbed the girl, passionately. “But, Rob, you will have pity on him—on me, dear, and make him happy again.”
“Look here,” said Rolph, roughly. “Ben Hayle had better mind what he is about. Men have been sent out of the country for less than that, or—well, something of the kind. I’m not the man to be bullied by my mother’s keeper, so let’s have no more of that. Now, that’s enough for one meeting. You wrote to Aldershot for me to meet you, and the letter was sent to me at Brackley, of course. So I came expecting to find you pretty and loving, instead of which your head’s full of cock-and-bull nonsense, and you’re either finding fault or telling me about your father’s bullying. Let him bully. I shall keep my promise to you when I find it convenient. Nice tramp for me to come at this time of night.”
“It’s a long walk from Lindham here in the dark, Rob, dear,” said the girl.
“Oh, yes, but you’ve nothing to do. There, I’ll think about Ben Hayle and his getting a place, but I don’t want you to be far away, Judy.—Now, don’t be absurd.—What are you struggling about?—Hang the girl, it’s like trying to hold a deer. Judy! You’re not gone. Come here. I can see you by that tree.”
There was a distant rustling, and Captain Rolph uttered an oath.
“Why, she has gone!”
It was quite true. Judith was running fast in the direction of the cottages miles away in the wild common land of Lindham, and Rolph turned upon his heel and strode back toward Brackley.
“Time I had one of the old man’s brandy-and-sodas,” he growled. “Better have stopped and talked to my saint. Ben Hayle going back to poaching! Threaten me with mischief if I don’t marry her! I wish he would take to it again.”
Rolph walked on faster, getting excited by his thoughts, and, after hurrying along for a few hundred yards, he said aloud,—
“And get caught.”
“Now for a run,” he added, a minute later. “This has been a pleasant evening and no mistake. Ah, well, all comes right in the end.”