‘Why did I not snatch it from the foolish woman, and so compel her to hear me? What mischief have I done! I must get those letters back at any cost. I must see both the Elliotts and explain. They must understand—they must excuse me, for they know my eagerness to serve them. I must get hold of Joe before she sees him.’ And he hurried away in search of his host.
The letter which caused so much commotion contained nothing more terrible than this:
My dear Friend—Let me implore you to act with more consideration towards Mrs E. The incident which vexes you is capable of the simplest explanation; and if you persist in your present unreasonable suspicions, there is no saying what havoc you may make of your own and other people’s happiness. I understand the whole position, and will be glad to set things right—as I believe it is now in my power to do as soon as we meet, if you will only confide in me.—Yours faithfully,
A. Dawkins.
This letter had been intended for Mr John Elliott, a morbidly nervous and suspicious man, and it had been placed in an envelope addressed to Mrs J. Elliott, Todhurst. Such a blunder was most irritating; but after all, it could be explained, and the good-nature which had prompted his action could not be understood.
He had himself received a letter intended for another fellow, although bearing his (the Major’s) address in full on the envelope. He had even received an epistle from a man of education and intelligence, in which the writer, instead of putting down his own signature, had written the name of the addressee. It was not such a very uncommon blunder for a person who was sending off a number of missives in a hurry. The salve of these reflections afforded only momentary relief to the poor Major’s disturbed conscience. The instances of blunders such as he had perpetrated had occurred on trivial occasions, and afforded merriment to all parties when discovered. But in his own case, the happiness of half-a-dozen people was involved, and he was stung by remorse for his carelessness, whilst feeling that he was walking in a dense fog of confusion.
As the Major was rushing in the direction of the stables, in the neighbourhood of which he was most likely to find his horse-loving host at that time of day, he was pounced upon by a troop of young Elliotts. He was a special favourite with the young folk—for who so young as he when amongst them? He was saluted with a chorus of invitations to different games; and it was a little time before he could impress upon them the fact that he could not join them, as he had very serious business with their father. Where was he?
He was half-deafened by the variety of responses, all spoken simultaneously: ‘I saw him near the duck-pond; come along, Major.’—‘He’s in the orchard’—‘He’s looking at the new mare in the meadow’—‘He’s giving physic to Tally-ho in the stable.’
In desperation, the Major pranced off at random. There was a brief pause among the young folk; then, struck by the idea that their friend was only making fun after all, they gave the view-halloo and followed in full chase, girls and boys competing to be first to run down the quarry. The Major in his gay tennis suit, now somewhat disarranged, panting and flushed, followed by the merry troop, was like a big schoolboy playing at Hare and Hounds—the hare getting very much the worst of it.
‘Major Dawkins—Major Dawkins!’ called a lady who was standing in his path as he approached her. ‘Do, please, stop playing with the children; I want to speak to you.’