Dare rode with Miss Baynard as far as the park gates of Stanbrook, with Evan in front of him. Next day he was going to London, there to complete a few preparations and arrange certain business matters for Mr. Ellerslie, before setting sail for that New World where his home would henceforth be. But this was not to be their final farewell; they would see each other once more in about a fortnight, when Dare would come north in order to bid his uncle good-bye, on which occasion he would not fail to call at Stanbrook. He would not, of course, dream of leaving England without seeing his godson again.
And so they parted, both secretly consumed with love. Dare would not open his lips. In the first place, he was far too poor to marry; and then, to dream that, in any case, the proud and beautiful Miss Baynard would stoop so low as to wed the notorious "Captain Nightshade" was the veriest moonstruck folly. Had he but known how often Nell, with despair gnawing at her heartstrings, murmured sadly to herself, "If only he would say one word!" what a change, little less than miraculous, would have come over him!
But the word was not said, and they separated with nothing warmer than a hand-grasp--torn asunder, not by Fate, but by their own pride, and to the full as wretched as parted lovers are always said, or supposed, to be.
Lady Carradine, having much leisure time on her hands, and being fond of letter-writing, not infrequently obliged her goddaughter with one of her lengthy and somewhat diffusely-worded epistles. To Miss Baynard, in the retirement of Stanbrook, these occasional glimpses of a life so different from her own were always welcome; and as her ladyship had now taken up her permanent residence in London and saw a good deal of company, she had much to tell that was both fresh and interesting.
Nearly a fortnight had gone by since Nell's return from Rockmount, and she was looking daily for the coming of Dare, when one of Lady Carradine's crossed and recrossed letters--postage in those days was a consideration--came to hand. With only one part of her ladyship's epistle are we in any way concerned. The part in question ran as under:--
"I forget, my dear, whether I ever mentioned to you that among my many acquaintances is numbered Sir Peter Warrendale, a baronet of old family, whose home, when he is at home, is somewhere in your benighted part of the country. Of late years, however, he has been seen a good deal in town. I have a notion that his health is not quite what he would like it to be, and that he has little or no faith in your rural practitioners, which I can't wonder at. But that is his own secret.
"He is now well on for seventy, a tetchy, cross-grained old man, with a good word for nobody behind their back; and I have not the least doubt he pulls me to pieces before others, just as he pulls others to pieces before me. I candidly confess that I don't like him, but he helps to amuse me, and to any one who does that I can forgive much.
"I had not seen him for some little time till one evening about a week ago, when he called upon me, evidently brimful of news, of which it was needful that he should relieve himself to somebody if he wished to escape a fit of apoplexy. I quite expected that I was about to be treated to the latest scandalous on dit, or the most recent morsel of society gossip, which would lose nothing in Sir Peter's telling, but for once I was mistaken. What he had to tell me was the particulars of a somewhat singular incident in which he had figured as one of the chief actors.
"It would appear that several months ago Sir Peter, while travelling in his own chariot, was stopped by a mounted highwayman and relieved, among other things, of a choice snuff-box--an heirloom, and set with brilliants--by which he set great store. Although the affair happened in his own part of the country, when he came to town, a few weeks later, he reported his loss at Bow Street, and handed in a full description of the box. This he did in the faint hope that the box might some day find its way to one of the London pawnbrokers--to each of whom a description of it would have been furnished--and, through him, back to its rightful owner.
"Time went on, and Sir Peter had given up all hope of ever seeing his box again, when he was one day requested to betake himself to Bow Street, and there, sure enough, he set eyes once more on his precious heirloom. It had been found on the person of a low London thief who had been arrested for something altogether different.