“For Heaven’s sake, take her away!” shouted Mr. Brande, excitedly.
Thereupon Sweet was promptly carried off, kicking desperately, and still shrieking out, “She did say it. She did—she did—she did!”
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE RESULT OF PLAYING “HOME, SWEET HOME.”
It may appear in a ludicrous light to most people, but it was, nevertheless, a solemn fact that Mrs. Brande fretted so dreadfully after her dog, that her medical adviser (Dr. Loyd) suggested to her husband: “A few days’ change, just to get her mind off it! You frequently go for a week’s trip among the hills—go now.”
Such an excursion did not mean the wild, trackless jungle, but a country intersected by good roads and bridle-paths, dotted at reasonable intervals by comfortable rest-houses. Neither the sympathy of her friends, nor a neat little grave and head-stone inscribed “Ben,” had had the smallest effect in taking the keen edge off the bereaved lady’s grief; and she would have nothing whatever to say to a sweet little pup which Mark had procured for her, but indignantly hustled it out to the Ayah’s go-down. No, there was nothing for it but the prescribed expedition. Mrs. Sladen was to have been one of the party, but failed (as usual) to obtain leave from home. Mr. Jervis would gladly have joined them, but he dared not absent himself from Shirani, in case the expected summons might arrive whilst he was absent. The long marches would have afforded capital opportunities for tête-à-têtes with Miss Gordon—he would have told her all as he rode by her side; the only difficulty was, that he was now rather doubtful as to whether Miss Gordon would be interested in his confidences? Her indignation when Sweet had blurted out the most sacred secret of his soul had opened his eyes, and when he had ventured to add that the child had spoken the truth, Miss Gordon had simply withered him. Yes, Waring was right when he had spoken of her haughty eyes. Her anger had eventually passed over like a short thunderstorm, and she had meekly apologized for her outbreak, but without the smallest or faintest reference to his remark—as possibly being beneath notice.
“You have seen me in a rage before,” she had declared—“not that that is any excuse for me, but rather the reverse. Of course I had no business to touch your drawing, and I am exceedingly sorry that I gave way to such a mad impulse. I wanted to give that wretched child a lesson, and I caught at the first weapon that I thought would punish her. I don’t often behave in such a shameful and unladylike way, I do assure you.”
And he assured himself that he might keep his real identity and his fine prospects locked for ever in his breast as far as she was concerned. The two days occupied in preparing for the march he spent in finishing Ben’s portrait. He held himself a good deal aloof; he seemed silent and out of spirits; and Mrs. Brande confided to her husband that she was sure his wrist was hurting him—he had been making too free with it, and she gave him many instructions on the subject ere they parted, he to return to Haddon Hall, and she to lead the way out of the station. He was to go up every day and have a look at Rookwood, cast his eye over the poultry and ponies, and see that the ferns were properly watered; in other words, Mr. Jervis was left as caretaker in charge—a token of unexampled confidence.
What a long time it seemed since he had come to Shirani! he thought, as he trotted up the cart-road, after having put his friends well on their journey. The chances were that his father would never send for him—still, he would remain at his post until October, and then go home. He would not be sorry to see Uncle Dan once more, to tell him yarns, and to unpack his collection of presents, to look round the clubs, and hear all that had been going on during the season, and to try his young hunters out cubbing.
Yes; it was all very well to have modest ideas, but the pinch of poverty was another affair, and he and poverty were gradually establishing quite a bowing acquaintance. He was dunned for joint bills—unpleasant joint bills—small accounts, that made him feel small to think that they had been unpaid; shoeing bills, gram bills, gymkana subscriptions, wood and charcoal, and even milk bills. He would find it a tight fit to pay off old scores and leave sufficient money for their passage. He saw his own private funds shrinking daily; nevertheless, he was resolved not to apply to his uncle for money, nor to exceed his draft of six hundred pounds. Why should his uncle pay for his short-sighted folly? he had told him to keep the money in his own name, and, nevertheless, he had given Clarence a free hand. But then, in his wildest moments, he had never supposed that the purse that supplied Captain Waring’s wants, wishes, weaknesses, must be practically bottomless. “What a fool I have been!” he said to himself. “I have lived like an anchorite, and Waring like a prince; he has squandered every penny of my money, and turns about and blames me—for—leading him into temptation!”
Mrs. Brande, in her comfortable Mussouri dandy, Mr. Brande and Honor riding in advance, wound along the steep sides of forests—over passes and down ravines—travelling all the time through exquisite scenery in the clear hill air, where everything looks fresh, and the outlines of the trees and mountains are sharply defined against a cloudless sky. They halted each night at a different bungalow, marching about fifteen miles a day, and arriving at their resting-place early in the afternoon. On the third day, they came to a small out-of-the-way forest hut, which contained but a verandah, and three rooms, and two of these were already occupied.