To complete the circuit of the place, in quest of any discovery to aid his purpose, he walked on till he came to a deep, thick-wooded glen that cut into the park from the grounds about the ruined Eastern end of the house. Through this ran the stream which, subsequently traversing the great field between the house and the village, crossed under the bridge. Everell turned along the crest of the glen-side, and thus in a few steps emerged, through a gate in the stone wall, upon the wild garden or orchard, of which he had seen signs from the road. It was a neglected place, evidently not now resorted to. Steps descended to it from the terrace, yet it was not so much lower but that Everell could glance along the terrace and the North front of the house. He leaned against a vacant stone pedestal to rest and consider.
The sun had set, and, far beyond the length of the terrace, the undulating fields and moorland, and the distant darkening mountains, was a sky of red and gold. But Everell had eyes for nothing but the old mansion, which was to him a case holding the loveliest jewel he had ever beheld. As the dusk came on, light appeared at some of the lower windows; a few notes of laughter and other vocal sounds gave evidence of life. But nobody came forth. Everell dared not hope to catch a glimpse of the admired one that evening. He was at last sensible that night had fallen. All the colour had gone out of the West, and stars had appeared.
He would have moved, to warm himself by walking, but that two of the upper windows began to glow. Were they her windows? He watched with a beating heart, stilling even the sound of his breath. But several minutes passed without any manifestation even of a shadow momentarily darkening the panes. The light vanished. No doubt she had gone to bed, fatigued with the journey of the day. Certainly they must be her windows, for the others of the party were less likely to retire so early. Everell heaved a sigh, and threw a kiss at the windows. Of a sudden he was uncomfortably chilly: he bestirred himself, wished he had thought of bringing his cloak, and started off, as much upon a feeling that he could better meditate a course of procedure while walking as upon the impulse to set his blood in motion. But so far was he from any desire of going back to his inn that, without much conscious choice in the matter, he took a quite different direction, and followed the top of the glen-side into the park.
He had been moving at a rapid pace for several minutes before he gave any heed to his whereabouts. He had been guided safely among bush, bracken, and the great trunks of the trees by that unconscious observation for which in those days there was no better name than instinct. He now saw—for in many places the trees were not too close together for the admission of some light from stars and sky—that he had penetrated a good distance into the park, and had left the course of the glen. As he stood gazing into the gloom, wondering how accurately he could retrace his steps, he heard the loud crack of a gun, fired seemingly about two furlongs away.
“Poachers,” said he, after a moment’s thought.
He stepped forward to the edge of an open place, which sloped down gradually to a stream—doubtless the same that threaded the glen, or a tributary. Beyond this water the corresponding ascent was clear of trees for perhaps a hundred yards. Down that side of the glade a dark figure was approaching so swiftly, and in such manner else, that Everell knew it as that of a man running for his life. There is a difference so pronounced as to be plain even in twilight and afar between the attitude of a man who runs in pursuit, and that of a man who runs from pursuit; and again, in either case, between that of one who runs in accordance with, and that of one who runs in opposition to, the law.
Having no desire to interfere with a rogue who had just fired at, or been fired at by, somebody’s gamekeeper, or at best had taken a forbidden shot at somebody’s game, Everell concealed himself among some bracken of a man’s height. He waited a few minutes, hoping to be informed by his ears when the man should have passed. But he heard neither footfall nor panting, nor any noise of pursuit.
Supposing that the fellow had changed his course at the stream, Everell stepped out from the bracken. He was just in time to confront a broad figure striding toward him. Ere Everell thought of self-defence, the newcomer uttered an ejaculation, and sprang aside with something upraised in the air. The next thing that Everell knew—for one rarely feels a knock-down blow on the head from such an instrument as the butt-end of a gun—he was lying among the bracken from which he had recently come forth.