"And in the courtyard, looking towards the Rectory, as may be said, there's several pitch-pots alight night and day," added Hedges. "We have had a host of people up, wanting to know if the place is on fire."
"What a joke!" cried Val—who was not yet beyond the age to enjoy such jokes. "Hedges," he resumed, in a more confidential tone, "no strangers have been here inquiring for me, I suppose?"
He alluded to creditors, or people acting for them. To a careless man, as Val had been, it was a difficult matter to know whether all his debts were paid or not. He had settled what he remembered; but there might be others. Hedges understood; and his voice fell to the same low tone: he had been pretty cognizant of the embarrassments of Mr. Percival Elster.
"Nobody at all, my lord. They wouldn't have got much information out of me, if they had come."
Lord Hartledon laughed. "Things are changed now, Hedges, and they may have as much information as they choose. Bring me coffee here; make haste."
Coffee was brought, and he went out as soon as he had taken it, following the road to the Rectory. It was a calm, still night, the moon tolerably bright; not a breath of wind stirred the air, warm and oppressive for October; not by any means the sort of night doctors covet when fever is in the atmosphere.
He turned in at the Rectory-gates, and was crossing to the house, when a rustling of leaves in a shrubbery path caused him to look over the dwarf laurels, and there stood Anne. He was at her side in an instant. She had nothing on her head, as though she had just come forth from the rooms for a breath of air. As indeed was the case.
"My darling!"
"I heard you had come," she whispered, as he held both her hands in his, and her heart bounded with an exquisite flutter of delight.
"How did you hear that?" he said, placing her hand within his arm, that he might pace the walk with her.