The visit to Arthur was a great success. The lad took to Randolph at once, delighted to find him so young, so pleasant, and so companionable. Of course he identified him at once as the hero of Monica’s adventure yesterday, and was amused to hear his account of the meeting. Monica did not stay long in the room; but her absence enabled Arthur to sing her praises as he loved to do, and Randolph listened with a satisfaction that surprised himself. He was very kind to the boy, sincerely sorry for his helpless state, and more than ready to stand his friend if ever there should be occasion. Before he left the invalid that night, he felt that in him, at least, he had secured a staunch and trusty friend.
But during the days that followed he could not hide from himself the fact that Monica avoided him. Indeed, he sometimes hardly saw her from morning till night, and when they did meet at the luncheon or dinner-table, she sat still and silent, scarcely vouchsafing him a word or a look.
The first time Randolph found himself alone with Monica was in this wise: he had been riding about the immediate precincts of the Castle with the earl one morning, and his host was just expressing a wish to extend their ride farther, in order to see some of the best views of the neighbourhood—hesitating somewhat on his own account, as he had been forbidden to exert himself by much exercise—when Monica suddenly appeared, mounted on Guy, and attended by her convoy of dogs, ready for her daily gallop.
Lord Trevlyn’s face softened at her approach; he loved his fair daughter with a deep and tender love.
“Monica, my dear, you have come in good time. I want Mr. Trevlyn to see the view of the Castle from the Black Cliff, and the wonderful archway in the rocks farther along the coast. These fine days must not be wasted; and I feel too tired to undertake the ride myself. Will you act as my substitute, and do the honours of Trevlyn?”
Monica glanced with a sort of mute wistfulness into her father’s pale face, and assented quietly. The next moment she and Randolph were riding side by side over the close soft turf of the sweeping downs.
The girl’s face was set and grave, she seemed lost in thought, and was only roused by the eccentricities of Guy’s behaviour. The spirited little barb resented company even more than his mistress did, and showed his distaste by every means in his power. He was so troublesome that Randolph was half afraid for Monica’s safety, but she smiled at the idea of danger.
“I know Guy too well,” she answered; “it is nothing. He only hates company. He is not used to it.”