It was half-past six, and the light without, although fast dying, was not yet gone. Eustace felt it impossible after what had passed to join either the Duke in his study or Bride in the drawing-room; and taking his hat and putting on a thin overcoat, he sallied out from the castle, and after descending the road by the wide zigzag drive, he paused a moment at the lodge gate, and then turned off in the direction of the parsonage, where Mr. Tremodart lived alone in the solitude of childless widowhood.
Eustace had been to that house before. He knew its disorderly and comfortless aspect, the long low rooms littered about with pipes and books and papers, fishing-tackle and riding-whips. He knew well the aspect of the tall gaunt parson, seated at some table with a pipe between his lips, and his long fingers busy over the manufacture of artificial flies. For Mr. Tremodart was a mighty fisherman, and there was excellent trout-fishing in the many streams that watered the plains above, and pike-fishing in the land-locked lakes high up in the moors. The season dear to the heart of anglers was coming on apace, and Eustace found the master of the ramshackle abode deep in the mysteries of his craft.
Eustace had not pulled the cracked and broken bell. He knew that the deaf old crone who lived at the parsonage, and did as much or as little of the needful work there as her goodwill or rheumatism permitted, deeply resented a needless journey to the door, which always stood wide open from morning to night, save in the very bitterest weather. He walked straight in, and after glancing in at one or two open doors, was at length guided by a small stream of light beneath the one farthest down the passage, to that place where the parson was found at work. Mr. Tremodart had long since ceased to have a regular room in which either to sit or to eat. He would use one of the many apartments upon the ground-floor of his rambling parsonage for both purposes, until it grew too terribly dirty and untidy to be borne, and then he would move into another, gradually making the whole round. At the end of some three or four months he would turn in a couple of stout young women, with pails and brooms and dusters, and have the whole house swept and garnished, whilst he spent the day on the moors with rod and gun; and then the rotatory fashion of living would begin over again, the old woman confining her labours to her kitchen, preparing the needful meals in such fashion as she chose, and making her master’s bed and setting his sleeping chamber to rights in the morning. Mr. Tremodart appeared quite content with his ménage as it existed; and if he were satisfied, there was no need for any one to waste pity on him.
He welcomed Eustace with a smile, his plain broad face lighting up genially, in a fashion that redeemed it from ugliness, despite the blunt features and tanned skin. He did not rise, or even hold out his hand, having both well occupied in some delicate operation of tying; but he indicated with a nod a chair for his guest, and asked if he would smoke.
Eustace had acquired in Germany a habit which was still in his own country designated as “filthy” by a large section of the upper classes; and though he never smoked at the castle, was not averse to indulging himself in the recesses of the parsonage. He took a pipe from his pocket and filled it leisurely, coming out at last with the matter next his heart.
“What is this I hear about young Tresithny? He seems to have been setting the place by the ears in my absence.”
The parson gave him one keen quick glance out of his deep-set eyes, and remarked in the soft drawling tone that had a strong touch of the prevailing vernacular about it—
“I think yu should know more about it than I du, sir. I take it he is your disciple. It is yu who are going about teaching our country-folk that they are being ground down and oppressed, is it not? Well, may be it will please yu tu know that young Tresithny is following in your steps and making all St. Bride writhe under a sense of a deep and terrible oppression she never found out for herself before.”
Eustace flushed very slightly. He was keen to note a touch of irony when directed against the cause he had at heart. He looked to meet it in many quarters, but he had hardly expected to find it here, nor was he absolutely certain of the drift of Mr. Tremodart’s remark.
“What has he been doing?” he asked briefly.