Lionel heaved a sigh of deep relief, and thanked her, feeling for the moment quite grateful. She gave him a well-meant lecture, pointing out to him in what a dishonourable way he had behaved; but though he thought it wise to listen to all she had to say, he was not in the least impressed. Susan watched him replace the bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, then she followed him from the room.
He took his hat and went out of the front door, raging against Susan Morecombe in his heart for having balked his plans; his sense of gratitude to her was lost in the thought that, but for her, he would have had the ammunition he wanted.
Through the gardens he went into the grounds beyond; but instead of following the carriage drive to across the park to the sloping woods which spread to the hill above the village of Holton. It was cool and pleasant beneath the shade of the trees and Lionel was hot with anger against Susan. He sat down on a large moss-covered stone under the spreading branches of a big oak, and thought how foolish he had been not to lock the study door against intruders. A bright-eyed squirrel on a bough overhead peeped down at him inquisitively; and a rabbit, at a little distance, seated on its haunches, solemnly washed its face with its forepaws regardless of his presence.
He had been there some time when he heard footsteps approaching; some one was pushing his way through the bracken and undergrowth—a lanky youth of about eighteen, clad in fustian, with a greasy cap upon his unkempt head. He was closely followed by a dog—a lean, hungry-looking animal of the lurcher breed. Lionel recognised the slouching, ungainly figure as that of Bill Coysh, who was regarded in Holton as a ne'er-do-weel, because he apparently never did anything for a living. It was popularly supposed that he was a poacher, and all the gamekeepers in the neighbourhood looked upon him with great suspicion, though no direct charge had ever been brought against him. Now, when he came upon Lionel perched upon the stone, he paused irresolutely, glancing back to see that the dog was at his heels.
"Hulloa!" cried Lionel. "What are you doing here?"
"No harm, sir!" was the quick reply, whilst the lanky individual touched his cap, and looked sideways at his interrogator.
"If a gamekeeper saw you, he might think you were doing a bit of poaching, especially as you've got that dog with you!" Lionel told him.
"What, sir? Poaching? And because I've got Spring with me? Bless you, sir, Spring wouldn't look at a rabbit if one passed in front of his nose!"
This was such an evident piece of bounce, that Lionel burst into a loud laugh. Bill Coysh's wide mouth was distorted into a grin; and he met the other's glance with a broad wink.
"I say," said Lionel, his face brightening as a sudden thought crossed his mind, "have you got a gun?"