Then Ralph told his father of his talk with Miss Mountford about his pet, and her promise that if the pony were sold, she would buy him.
It was a long time since John Torrance had been moved as he was at this story. He had parted with all his horses, except his favourite hunter and the Kelpie, and had reduced his establishment at Monk's How as far as possible. Absence gave him a good excuse for this. But it would have cost the man a great pang to deprive Ralph of his pony, and Kathleen's promise to the boy touched his heart. Spendthrift, bankrupt, schemer as he was, ashamed of his past, and hopeless as to his future unless he could win this girl and her fortune, he was almost ready to give up his pursuit of them.
"She is far too good to be linked for life with such a man as I am," he thought. "I am half inclined to go to her, to tell her all, and to ask her to take my boy and make of him a better man than his father. Matheson would help her, and I would pledge myself to go away and never again to reclaim Ralph, or intrude on her presence. Ralph would feel the loss of me for a time, but he would get over it under her roof and guardianship."
It was too late to carry out such a resolution that night. Captain Torrance slept upon it, and with the coming of morning saw matters in a different light.
"When I do honestly love Kathleen, and would marry her without a penny, if I had money of my own, I cannot be counted a mere mercenary suitor."
"As to going away, where can I go with the hope of helping myself without money? I dare say Matheson would lend me some, as he has done before, or give it, for that matter. Well he might, for it would leave the coast clear for him; but would Miss Mountford herself thank me for doing this?"
Captain Jack decided that she would not, felt sure that Kathleen cared more for himself than for Matheson, and that Ralph would break his heart if deprived of the sight of his father.
So, a couple of days later, Monk's How was again left to Ralph and the servants, but the boy went to Miss Mountford to be comforted.
"It's horridly lonely, worse than ever, when I've had father for a little while," he said, as he walked in the grounds hanging on Kathleen's arm. "But I don't mind so much as I did; father is doing it for the best. He told me so. And I know now why he didn't stay at home at Christmas. Father used to ask a lot of men to come that he had known for a long while. Some of them were not very nice. They drank a great deal of wine and stuff, and were noisy, and said—"
"Hush, Ralph! you must not tell me these things," said Kathleen; "your father would not like it."