CHAPTER XI.
MOSTYN MAKES REPARATION.
"Take the horse away!" commanded Rada, petulantly, as soon as Pierce had disappeared. The stable-lad mounted upon Castor had been staring at the little group, undecided if he was still wanted, or if the inspection of the horse was concluded.
"Take him away!" she repeated, flashing angry eyes upon the boy. "I can't bear to look at him now," she added under her breath.
The lad touched the reins and Castor trotted quickly away. Mostyn and Rada were left in the comparative solitude of the great open space, though every now and again the sound of shouting came to them from the distance, and through the mist of the morning they could discern the shadowy forms of men and horses.
Rada sank down upon a bench, clasping her little hands about her knees; Mostyn stood by her side, waiting till she should have composed herself. He anticipated a painful scene: his worst fears had been realised, and even from the few words she had spoken, he understood what Rada must think of him. Of course, he was really guiltless of offence; he had been deceived, swindled, but even though Rada recognised this, she would still think that, actuated by his desire to checkmate her, he had taken the opportunity of gaining an unfair advantage.
He was sorry for Rada, and he was sorry for himself as well, for he saw at once where lay his duty. He knew even now what he would have to do. There must be no imputation of unfairness against him: he was bound, by the force of circumstances, to a contest with the girl, but he would fight in the open. She had issued the challenge with all the advantage on her side, but he felt no animosity against her for this: she had spoken just as she, a wayward, impulsive girl, might have been expected to speak. His only trouble was that she should have grounds for thinking ill of him.
He no longer felt bashful and shy in her presence. So much, at least, was in his favour. He seemed to know and understand her better for having seen the squalor and wretchedness of her home, for having realised the surroundings in which she lived. Then the Willis's had spoken so freely of her, almost every day, encouraged, of course, by Mostyn; he had felt at last that he had known the girl for years, and that her vagaries were no new thing to him.
Perhaps he knew her better than she knew herself; so Mostyn, who had had no experience of women, told himself in his conceit. It was all very well for her to pretend to be hard and wayward and selfish: he knew better. He knew what reason the villagers had for loving her; why, only yesterday old Mrs. Oldham at the post office had told him how Rada had given up days and days to nurse a little child who was ill with bronchitis, and who might have died of it had it not been for Rada's care of her. "If I could make her see herself and show herself to me in her true character," Mostyn muttered, "then we might be—well, friends, as well as rivals. If I could!"
Unfortunately, as well as having no knowledge of women, Mostyn was not possessed of much tact. And so, as usual, he blundered egregiously when he attempted to put his ideas into practice.
"I think, Mr. Clithero," Rada began, "that you have taken a very mean way of revenging yourself upon me. I thought you would have had more manly feelings——"