"Why, no," said Tait, after a moment's deliberation. "Rather let us go home again that Hilliston may not see us. I wish to wait and see what excuse he will make for not calling on you. You'll get a letter full of lies to-morrow, Claude."
CHAPTER XXVII.
A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST.
Hilliston remained a considerable time with his friend, and it was not until sunset that he left the house. He had a satisfied look on his face, as though the interview had answered his expectations; and so lifted up in spirit did he appear that he stepped out into the lane as jauntily as though he were quite a young man. It was over three miles to the railway station, and he would be obliged to walk back; but the prospect did not annoy him in the least; on the contrary so great a load had been removed from his mind by the late conversation that he felt fit to walk twice the distance. Yet such unusual light-heartedness might have recalled to his mind the Scotch superstition regarding its probable reason.
As he walked smartly to the end of the lane, the sun had just dropped behind the hills, leaving a trail of red glory behind him. Against the crimson background rose the gables and chimney of the Manor House, and the sight recalled to Hilliston the fact that young Larcher was staying in the mansion. He paused doubtfully, not certain whether to go in or pass on; for in his many schemes the least slip might prove prejudicial to their accomplishment.
"If I call in I can say my visit here was to do so," he thought; "but it is too late; and though Claude might believe me, the little man would certainly be suspicious. Besides they are sure to find out from Jenny Paynton that I have seen her father. No! I shan't go in, but to-night I will write a letter stating that Paynton is a client whom I called to see about business. I have made it all right there, and it will take a cleverer man than Tait to upset my plans this time."
His meditations were interrupted by the rattle of wheels, and he turned to see Kerry driving a dappled pony in a small chaise. The old man distorted his withered face into a grotesque grin of welcome, and jumped out with extraordinary alacrity, when he came alongside Hilliston.
"Augh! augh, sir!" said Kerry, touching his hat in military fashion. "It's a sight for sore eyes to see ye. Miss Jenny told me you had walked over from the station, so I just borrowed the trap of his riverence, the vicar, to take you back."