CHAPTER X.—MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOUR OF THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN.
About this time Matt noticed a curious change come over her artist friend. He was more thoughtful, and consequently less entertaining. Often when she appeared and began chatting to him about affairs in which she thought he might take some interest, she had the mortification not merely of eliciting no reply, but of finding that he had not heard a word of her conversation.
Now this style of proceeding would certainly have caused her some annoyance, but for one compensating fact, which put the balance entirely on the other side. It was evident that, despite the change, Brinkley’s interest in Matt was not lessening, nay, it rather seemed to be on the increase, and this fact Matt, very woman as she was, was quick to perceive.
Very often, on looking suddenly at him, she found his eyes fixed wonderingly and sympathetically upon her. She asked him on one occasion what he was thinking about.
“You, Matt,” he answered promptly. “I was trying to imagine,” he continued, seeing her blush and hang her head, “how you would look in silks and velvets; got up, in fact, like a grand demoiselle. What would you say, now, if a good fairy were to find you out some day, and were to offer to change you from what you are to a fine young lady—would you say Yes?”
Matt reflected for a moment, then she followed her feminine instinct, and nodded her head vigorously.
“Ah!—by the way, Matt, can you read?”
“Print, not writing.”
“And write?”
“Just a bit.”
“Who taught you? William Jones?”
“No, that he didn’t. I learned off Tim Pensera down village. William Jones, he can’t read and he can’t write; no more can William Jones’s father.”
“This last piece of information set the young man thinking so deeply that the rest of the interview became rather dull for Matt. When she rose to go, however, he came out of his abstraction, and asked her if she would return on the following day.
“I don’t know—p’raps!” she said.
“Ah,” returned the young man, assuming his flippant manner, “you find me tedious company, I fear. The fact is, I am generally affected in this manner in the present state of the moon. But come to-morrow, Matt. Your presence does me good.” However, the next day passed, and the next again, and there was no sign of Matt. He began to think that the child had taken offence, and that he would have to seek her in her own home, when her opportune appearance prevented the journey. He was taking his breakfast one morning inside the caravan, when he suddenly became conscious that Matt was standing outside watching him.
“Oh, you are there, are you?” he said coolly. “Come in and have some breakfast, Matt.”
He rose negligently, went to the door, and held forth his hand; Matt took it, gave one spring, and landed inside the vehicle.
“Tim, another knife and fork for the young lady—some more eggs and milk; in fact, anything you’ve got!” said Brinkley, as he placed a seat for Matt at the little table.
Tim gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. This “bold colleen,” as he called her, was becoming too much for him; but he perforce obeyed his master’s commands. Matt sat down and ate with an appetite; Brinkley played negligently with his knife, and watched her.
“It is two days since you were here, Matt,” said he. “I was seriously thinking of coming to look for you. Why wouldn’t you come before?”
“’Twasn’t that!” said Matt. “I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t? Why?”
“Why, he wouldn’t let me, William Jones. He says he’ll smash me if I come here and talk to you.”
As Matt spoke, her bosom heaved and her eyes flashed fire.
“He ain’t at home to-day,” she said, in answer to the young man’s query concerning the ex-wrecker; “he’s gone up to market town, and won’t be back before night.”
As Brinkley looked at her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him.
“Matt,” he said, “you and I will go wreck-hunting this afternoon; that is, if you’ve no objection.”
She certainly had none: wherever he went she seemed willing to follow. In a very little while the two had started off. It was Brinkley who led this time, Matt walking along beside him like a confiding child.
“By the way, Matt,” he said presently, “you told me once of treasures being hidden amongst the sand-hills. Did anybody ever find any?”
“Not that I know on.”
“William Jones, for instance?”
“No. Leastways, I don’t know.”
“Well, what would you say, Matt, if I told you that I had found one?”
“If you?”
“Yes. I wonder if you can keep a secret? Yes, on reflection I think you can. Now, before we go any further, Matt, first you place your hand in mine, and promise never to mention until I give you permission what I am about to confide in you.”
Matt’s curiosity was aroused.
“All right,” she replied eagerly, “I shan’t tell.”
“Very good,” replied Brinkley. “We will now proceed.”
They passed on amongst the sand-hills, and came to the entrance of the cave. Brinkley removed the stones and sand from the hole, and entered. Breathless with curiosity, Matt followed. They reached the bottom. Brinkley struck a light, and pointed out to her all the wonderful treasures which the cave contained. It was such a surprise to the girl that for a time she could do nothing but stare and stare in speechless wonder. Whistling gaily, Brinkley turned about the casks of rum and brandy, and thrust his hands into the bags, and let the gleaming gold slip through his fingers.
Matt’s amazement turned into awe.
“Don’t,” she said, in a fearful whisper; “it belongs to the fairies.”
Brinkley laughed.
“It belongs to a very substantial fairy, Matt; but I don’t think that to-day I will mention that fairy’s name. Did you ever see so much, money in all your life before, Matt?”
She shook her head, but her eyes were still fixed upon the gold.
“I see,” observed Brinkley flippantly, “the sight of that gold fascinates you. Well, so it did me at first; but you see what use does. I can regard it now with comparative calmness. However, I have a particular wish to accustom you to the sight of wealth; therefore I shall bring you here and show you this now and again. Come, Matt, tell me what you would do if you were very rich—if all this flotsam and jetsam, in fact, belonged to you.”
Without the slightest hesitation Matt replied—
“I should give it to you—leastways, half of it.”
“Ah! the reply is characteristic, and clearly shows you are not at present fitted to become the possessor of riches. But I shall bring you to the proper state of mind in time, no doubt. The next time I ask you a similar question you will propose to give me a third, the next an eighth, and so on, until you will finally come to a proper state of mind, and decline to give me any at all. And now that I have made you the sharer of my secret, we will go.”
They left the cave once more, and made their way back across the sand-hills, Brinkley pausing to obliterate their footprints as they went. When they had proceeded some distance he paused, and took the girl’s hand.
“Good-bye, Matt,” said he. “If it wasn’t for that promised thrashing, I should certainly see you home.”
“Then do,” returned Matt. “I don’t care if he does smash me!”
“Probably not; but I do. It would be an episode in your career which it would not be pleasant to reflect upon—therefore, goodbye, Matt, and—and God bless you, my girl!”
He gave her a fatherly salute upon the forehead; a bright flush overspread her cheek as she bounded away. Brinkley watched her until she was out of sight, then he turned, and strolled quietly on in the direction of the caravan.
“It’s a strange game,” he said, “and requires careful playing. I wonder what my next move ought to be?”
He thought very deeply, but when he reached the caravan he found he had come to no definite conclusion as to his plans. He therefore partook cheerfully of the repast which Tim had prepared for him; and after he had smoked a couple of pipes in the open air, he retired to rest.
The next morning he began pondering again.
“I have got my trump card,” he said to himself, “but how to play up to it? I have a splendid hand, but it will want skilful playing if I am to win the game. One false move would do for me, for my opponents are crafty as foxes, and they are two against one. What is my right move, I wonder? I wish some good fairy would guide me!”
He took out his pipe, which was his usual consoler, and smoked while he took a few turns on the green sward outside the caravan.
Suddenly an idea struck him.
“I think I’ll pay a domiciliary visit to Mr. Monk,” he said. “I can meet him now on pretty equal terms. If I hint a few things to him, the amiable gentleman may think of becoming just.”
He called up Tim, and sent him on some trivial errand down to the village. As soon as he was well out of the way, Brinkley entered the caravan, produced some papers from the inner pocket of his coat, and locked them up securely in his trunk.
“So far so good,” he said. “My amiable friend may not be in an amiable mood, and I don’t wish him to get any advantage of me!”
He did not even take with him the key of the box, but having attached to it a small piece of paper, on which were some written instructions, he hid it in the caravan, and started off upon his journey.
It was a dark, gloomy morning, giving every promise of coming storms. As he passed through the wood which surrounded Monkshurst House, the wind whistled softly among the trees, making a moan like the sound of human voices.
“A gloomy place,” said Brinkley; “a fit residence for such as he. Any dark deed might be committed here, and who would know?”
The path which he followed was a neglected carriage-drive, strewn with stones, overgrown with weeds, and bordered on either side by the thick trees of the forest. Presently the trees parted, and he came in view of the house.
A large gloomy-looking building, as neglected as the woodland in the centre of which it stood. It seemed as if only part of it was inhabited, and the large garden at its back was unprotected by any wall, and full of overgrown fruit trees.
The door was opened by a grim elderly woman. He inquired for Mr. Monk, and was informed that he was at home. The next minute he was standing in a lonely library, where the owner of the house was busy writing. Monk rose, and the two stood face to face.