CHAPTER IX
AWAY FROM THE TOWN
When John Steele, contrary to custom, set aside, in deciding to leaveLondon that day, all logical methods of reasoning and acted on what wasnothing more than an irresistible impulse, he did not attempt tobelittle to himself the possible consequences that might accrue from hisaction. He was not following the course intelligence had directed; hewas not embarking on a journey his best interests would have prompted;on the contrary, he knew himself mad, foolish. But not for one momentdid he regret his decision; stubbornly, obstinately he set his backtoward the town; with an enigmatical gleam in his dark eyes he lookedaway from the blur Sir Charles and he had left behind them.
Green pastures, bright prospects! Whence were they leading him? His gazewas now somber, then bright; though more often shadows passed over hisface, like clouds in the sky.
Outwardly his manner had become unconcerned, collected; he listened toSir Charles' jokes, offered casual comments of his own. He evenperformed his wonted part in relieving the tedium of a long journey withvoluntary contributions to conversations on divers topics in which hedisplayed wide and far-reaching knowledge. He answered the manyquestions of his companion on the different habits of criminals; howthey lived; the possibilities for reforming the worst of the lot; thevarious methods toward this end advocated by the idealist. These andother subjects he touched on with poignant, illuminating comment.
Sir Charles regarded him once or twice in surprise. "You have seen adeal in your day," he observed, "of the under world, I mean!" JohnSteele returned an evasive answer. The nobleman showed a tendency todoze in his seat, despite the jolts and jars of the way, and,thereafter, until they arrived at Strathorn the two fellow travelersrode on in silence.
This little hamlet lay in a sleepy-looking dell; as the driver swungdown a hill he whipped up his horses and literally charged upon thetown; swept through the main thoroughfare and drew up with a flourishbefore the principal tavern. Sir Charles started, stretched his legs;John Steele got down.
"Conveyance of any kind here, waiting to take us to Strathorn House?"called out the former as he stiffly descended the ladder at the side ofthe coach.
The landlord of the Golden Lion, who had emerged from his door, returnedan affirmative reply and at the same time ushered the travelers into atiny private sitting-room. As they crossed the hall, turning to theright to enter this apartment, some one in the room opposite, a morepublic place, who had been furtively peering through the half-openeddoor to observe the new-comers, at sight of John Steele drew quicklyback. Not, however, before that gentleman had caught a glimpse of him. Astrange face, indeed,--but the fellow's manner--his expression--the actitself somehow struck the observer,--unduly, no doubt, and yet--A momentlater this door closed, and from beyond came only a murmur of men'svoices over pots.
"Trap will be in front directly, Sir Charles," said the landlordlingering. "Meanwhile if there is anything--"
"Nothing, thank you! Only a short distance to Strathorn House," heexplained to John Steele, "and I fancy we'll do better by waiting forwhat we may require there. But what is the latest news at Strathorn?Anything happened? Business quiet?"
"It 'asn't been so brisk, and it 'asn't been so dull, your Lordship,what with now and then a gentleman from London!"
"From London? Isn't that rather unusual?"
"Somewhat. But as for your lordship's first question, I don't know ofany news, except Squire Thompson told me to inform your lordship hewould have the three hunters he was telling your lordship about, down athis stud farm this afternoon, and if your lordship cared to have a lookat them--"
"If?" cried Sir Charles. "There isn't any 'if.' Three finer animals mannever threw leg over, judging from report," he explained to John Steele."Stud farm's about a mile in the opposite direction from StrathornHouse. Mind a little jog to the farm first?"
"Not at all!" John Steele had been looking thoughtfully toward the doorthat had closed upon the man whose quick regard he had detected. "Only,if you will allow me to make a counter proposal,--Strathorn House, yousay, is near; I am in the mood for exercise, after sitting so long, andshould like to walk there."
"By all means," returned the other, "since it's your preference. Prettyapt to overtake you," he went on, after giving his guest a fewdirections. "Especially if you linger over any points of interest!"
The trap drew up; the two men separated. Sir Charles rattled brisklydown one way, Steele turned to go the other. But before setting out, heasked a casual question or two of the landlord, relating to theoccasional "gentleman from London"; the host, however, appeared to knowlittle of any cosmopolitan visitors who had happened to drift that way,and John Steele, eliciting no information in this regard, finallystarted on his walk. Whatever his thoughts, many quaint andcharacteristic bits of the town failed to divert them; he looked neitherto the right, at a James I. sun-dial; nor to the left, where a smallsign proclaimed that an event of historical importance had madenoteworthy that particular spot. Over the cobblestones, smoothed by thefeet of many generations, he walked with eyes bent straight before himuntil he reached an open space on the other side of the village, wherehe paused. On either side hedges partly screened undulating meadows, thebroad sweeps of emerald green interspersed here and there with smallgroups of trees in whose shadows cattle grazed. A stream with livelymurmur meandered downward; in a bush, at his approach, a bird began tosing, and involuntarily the man stopped; but only for a moment. Soonrose before him the top of a modest steeple; then a church, within thesanctuary of whose yard old stones mingled with new. He stepped in;"straight on across the churchyard!" had been Sir Charles' direction.John Steele moved quickly down the narrow path; his eye had but time tolinger a moment on the monuments, ancient and crumbling, and onheadstones more recently fashioned, when above, another picture caughtand held his attention.
Strathorn House! A noble dwelling, massive, gray! And yet one thatlifted itself with charming lightness from its solid, baronial-likefoundation! It adorned the spot, merged into the landscape. Behind, theforest, a dark line, penciled itself against the blue horizon; beforethe ancient stone pile lay a park. Noble trees guarded the walks, threwover them great gnarled limbs or delicately-trailing branches. Between,the interspaces glowed bright with flowers; amid all, a little lakeshone like a silver shield bearing at its center a marble pavilion.
Long the man looked; through a faint veil of mist, turret and towerquivered; strong lines of masonry vibrated. Wavering as in the spell ofan optical illusion, the structure might have seemed but a figment ofimagination, or one of those fanciful castles sung by the Elizabethanbrotherhood of poets. Did the image occur to John Steele, did he feelfor the time, despite other disquieting, extraneous thoughts, the subtleenchantment of the scene? The minutes passed; he did not move.
"You find it to your liking?"
A voice, fresh, gay, interrupted; with a great start, he turned.
Jocelyn Wray, for it was she, laughed; so absorbed had he been, he hadnot heard her light footstep on the grass behind.
"You find it to your liking?" she repeated, tilting quizzically her fairhead.
His face changing, "Entirely!" he managed to say. And then, "I--did notknow you were near."
"No? But I could see that. Confess," with accent a little derisory, "Istartled you." As she spoke she leaned slightly back against the lowstone wall of the churchyard; the shifting light through the leavesplayed over her; her eyes seemed to dance in consonance with thatmovement.
"Perhaps," he confessed.
The girl laughed again; one would have sworn there was; oy in her voice."You must have been much absorbed," she continued, "in the view!"
"It is very fine." He saw now more clearly the picture she made: thedetails of her dress, the slender figure, closely sheathed in a garb ofblue lighter in shade than her eyes.
She put out her hand. "I am forgetting--you came down with my uncle, Isuppose?" in a matter-of-fact tone. "A pleasure we hardly expected! Letme see. I haven't seen you s
ince--ah, when was it?"
He told her. "Yes; I remember now. Wasn't that the day the Scotchbagpipes went by? You had business that called you away. Something veryimportant, was it not? You were successful?"
"Quite."
"How oddly you say that!" She looked at him curiously. "But shall wewalk on toward the house? I went down into the town thinking to meet myuncle," she explained, "but as I had a few errands, on account of achildren's fete we are planning, reached the tavern after he had gone."
"He went to a farm not far distant."
As he spoke, she stepped into the path leading from the churchyard; itwas narrow and she walked before him.
"Yes; so the landlord said," she remarked without looking around. Andthen, irrelevantly, "The others went hunting. Are you a Nimrod, Mr.Steele?"
"Not a mighty one."
"Oh, you wouldn't have to be that--for rabbits!"
She shot a glance over her shoulder; her eyes were glad; but to the manthey were bright merely with the joy of youth that drops glances likesunshine for all alike. Perhaps he would have found pleasure in thinkingshe appeared gayer for sight of him; but if the thought came, bitterly,peremptorily it was dismissed. Sir Charles' words rang through his mind;Lord Ronsdale!--John Steele's hat shaded his eyes; he stopped to pick asmall flower from the hedge. When he looked up he saw her face nolonger; only the golden hair seemed to flash in his eyes, the beautiful,bright meshes, and the light, slender figure, so graceful, so buoyant,so near he could almost touch it, but moving away, moving from him--
It may be, amid other thoughts, at that moment, he asked himself why hehad come. What had driven him to this folly? Why was he stepping onblindly, oblivious of definite plan or policy, like a man walking in thedark? No, not in the dark; all was too bright. He could see but tooplainly--her!--felt impelled to draw nearer--
But at that instant, she stepped quickly from the byway into the mainroad. "There it is," she said, pointing with a small white finger.
He held himself abruptly back. "What?" fell from his lips.
"The way in, of course," said the girl.
He moved now at her side; at the entrance, broad, imposing, she paused;a thousand perfumes seemed wafted from the garden; the rustling ofmyriad wings fell on the senses, like faint cadences of music. The girlmade a courtesy; her red lips curved. "Welcome to Strathorn House, Mr.John Steele!" she said gaily.
Within the stately house, near a recessed window at the front, a manstood at that moment, reading a letter handed to him but a short timebefore. This document, though brief, was absorbing:
"Shall be down to see you soon. Am sending this by private messenger whomay be trusted. Case coming on; links nearly all complete. Involve a newand bewildering possibility that I must impart to you personally. Havediscovered the purpose of S.'s visit to the continent. It was--"
Lord Ronsdale perused the words more rapidly; paused, on his face anexpression of eagerness, expectancy.
"So that was it," he said to himself slowly. "I might have known--"
Voices without caught his attention; he glanced quickly through thewindow. Jocelyn Wray and some one else had drawn near, were walking upthe marble steps.
"John Steele!" He, Lord Ronsdale, crumpled the paper in his hand."Here!"
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