OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY

A ROMANCE

BY

JEFFERY FARNOL

AUTHOR OF
"THE BROAD HIGHWAY" "THE MONEY MOON"
"THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN" "THE HON. MR. TAWNISH"
"THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP" "BELTANE THE SMITH"
"THE DEFINITE OBJECT"

LONDON & EDINBURGH
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO. LTD.

By the Same author.

Crown 8vo.

THE BROAD HIGHWAY
THE MONEY MOON
THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN
THE HONOURABLE MR. TAWNISH
Fcap, 4to. Illustrated in Colour by C. E. BROCK.
THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP
BELTANE THE SMITH
THE DEFINITE OBJECT
LONDON & EDINBURGH
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY LIMITED

TO
MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY

CHAPTER I

CONCERNING THE MAJOR'S CHERRIES

"The Major, mam, the Major has a truly wonderful 'ead!" said Sergeant Zebedee Tring as he stood, hammer in hand, very neat and precise from broad shoe-buckles to smart curled wig that offset his square, bronzed face.

"Head, Sergeant, head!" retorted pretty, dimpled Mrs. Agatha, nodding at the Sergeant's broad back.

"'Ead mam, yes!" said the Sergeant, busily nailing up a branch of the Major's favourite cherry tree. "The Major has a truly wonderful 'ead, regarding which I take liberty to ob-serve as two sword-cuts and a spent bullet have in nowise affected it, Mrs. Agatha, mam, which is a fact as I will maintain whenever and wherever occasion demands, as in dooty bound mam, dooty bound."

"Duty, Sergeant, duty!"

"Dooty, mam—pre-cisely." Here the Sergeant turning round for another nail, Mrs. Agatha bent over the rose-bush, her busy fingers cutting a bloom here and another there and her pretty face quite hidden in the shade of her mob-cap.

"Indeed," she continued, after a while, "'tis no wonder you be so very—fond of him, Sergeant!"

"Fond of him, mam, fond of him," said the Sergeant turning to look at her with glowing eyes, "well—yes, I suppose so—it do be a—a matter o' dooty with me—dooty, Mrs. Agatha, mam."

"You mean duty, Sergeant."

"Dooty, mam, pre-cisely!" nodded the Sergeant, busy at the cherry tree again.

"See how very brave he is!" sighed Mrs. Agatha.

"Brave, mam?" The Sergeant paused with his hammer poised—"Sixteen wounds, mam, seven of 'em bullet and the rest steel! Twenty and three pitched battles besides outpost skirmishes and the like and 'twere his honour the Major as saved our left wing at Ramillies. Brave, mam? Well—yes, he's brave."

"And how kind and gentle he is!"

"Because, mam, because the best soldiers always are."

"And you, Sergeant, see what care you take of him."

"Why, I try, mam, I try. Y'see, we've soldiered together so many years and I've been his man so long that 'tis become a matter o'——"

"Of duty, Sergeant—yes, of course!"

"Dooty, mam—pre-cisely!" nodded the Sergeant.

"Pre-cisely, Sergeant and, lack-a-day, how miserable and wretched you both are!"

The Sergeant looked startled.

"And the strange thing is you don't know it," said Mrs. Agatha, snipping off a final rose.

The Sergeant rubbed his square, clean-shaven chin and stared at her harder than ever.

"See how monstrous lonely you are!" sighed Mrs. Agatha, hiding her face among her newly-gathered blooms, a face as sweet and fresh as any of them, despite the silver that gleamed, here and there, beneath her snowy mob-cap.

"Lonely?" said the Sergeant, staring from her to the hammer in his hand, "lonely, why no mam, no. The Major's got his flowers and his cherries and his great History of Fortification as he's a-writing of in ten vollums and I've got the Major and we've both got—got——

"Well, what, Sergeant?"

The Sergeant turned and began to nail up another branch of the great cherry tree, ere he answered:

"You, mam—we've both got—you, mam—"

"Lud, Sergeant Tring, and how may that be?"

"To teach," continued the Sergeant slowly, "to teach two battered old soldiers, as never knew it afore, what a home might be. There never was such a housekeeper as you, mam, there never will be!"

"A home!" repeated Mrs. Agatha softly. "'Tis a sweet word!"

"True, mam, true!" nodded the Sergeant emphatically. "'Specially to we, mam, us never having had no homes, d'ye see. His honour and me have been campaigning most of our days—soldiers o' fortune, mam, though there weren't much fortune in it for us except hard knocks—a saddle for a piller, earth for bed and sometimes a damned—no, a—damp bed, mam, the sky for roof——"

"But you be come home at last, Sergeant," said Mrs. Agatha softer than ever.

"Home? Aye, thanks to his honour's legacy as came so sudden and unexpected. Here's us two battered old soldiers comes marching along and finds this here noble mansion a-waiting for us full o' furniture and picters and works o' hart——"

"Art, Sergeant!"

"Aye, hart, mam—pre-cisely—and other knick-knacks and treasures and among 'em—best and brightest——"

"Well, Sergeant?"

"Among 'em—you, mam!" said he; and here, aiming a somewhat random blow with the hammer he hit himself on the thumb and swore. Whereon Mrs. Agatha, having duly reproved him, was for examining the injured member but, shaking his head, he sucked it fiercely instead and thereafter proceeded to hammer away harder than ever.

"But then—you are—neither of you so very—old, Sergeant."

"The Major was thirty-one the day Ramillies was fought and I was thirty-three—and that was ten years agone mam."

"And you are both monstrous young for your age—so straight and upright—and handsome. Y-e-e-s, the Major is very handsome—despite the scar on his cheek—the wonder to me is that he don't get married."

Hereupon the Sergeant dropped the hammer.

"As to yourself, Sergeant," pursued Mrs. Agatha, her bright eyes brim-full of mischief, "you'll never be really happy and content until you do."

Hereupon the Sergeant stooped for the hammer and seemed uncommonly red in the face about it.

"As to that mam," said he, a thought more ponderously than usual, "as to that, I shall never look for a wife until the Major does, it has become a matter o'——"

"Duty, of course, Sergeant!"

"Of dooty, mam—pre-cisely!" Saying which, the Sergeant turned to his work again; but, chancing to lift his gaze to a certain lofty branch that crawled along the wall just beneath the coping, he fell back a pace and uttered a sudden exclamation:

"Sacré bleu!"

"Lud, Sergeant!" cried Mrs. Agatha, clasping her posy to her bosom and giving voice to a small, a very small scream, "how you do fright one with your outlandish words! What ails the man—there be no Frenchmen here to fight—speak English, Sergeant—do!"

"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant with his gaze still fixed.

"Sergeant—pray don't oathe!"

"But zookers, mam——!"

"Sergeant—ha' done, I say!"

"But damme, Mrs. Agatha mam, asking your pardon, I'm sure—but don't ye see—he's been at 'em again! The three best clusters on the tree—gone, mam, gone! Stole, Mrs. Agatha mam, 'twixt now and twelve o'clock noon——"

"O Gemini, the wretch!"

"I'll take my oath them cherries was a-blowing not an hour agone, mam, on that branch atop the wall!"

"Who could ha' done it?"

"Not knowing, mam, can't say, but this last week the rogue has captured fourteen squads of our best cherries—off this one tree, and this, as you know, Mrs. Agatha mam, be the Major's favourite tree! So I say, mam, whoever the villain be, I say—damn him, Mrs. Agatha mam!"

"Fie—fie, Sergeant, swearing will not mend matters."

"Maybe not, mam, maybe not, but same does me a power o' good! Egad, when I mind how I've watched and tended them particular cherries Mrs. Agatha I could——"

"Then don't, Sergeant!"

"What beats me," said he, rubbing his square chin with the shaft of the hammer, "what beats me is—how did he do it? Must be uncommonly long in the arms and legs to reach so high unless he used a pole——"

"Or a ladder?" suggested Mrs. Agatha.

"Meaning he did it by escalade, mam? Hum—no, I see no signs of scaling ladders mam and the ground is soft, d'ye see? But a pole now——"

"Or a ladder—on the other side of the wall, Sergeant——"

"B'gad, mam!" he exclaimed. "I believe you're right—though to be sure the house next door is empty."

"Was!" corrected Mrs. Agatha. "Lud, Sergeant, there's a great lady from London been living there a month and more with a houseful of lackeys and servants."

"Ha, a month, mam? Lackeys and servants say you? B'gad, say I, that's them! Must report this to the Major. Must report at once!" and the Sergeant laid down his hammer.

"And where is the Major?"

"Mam," said the Sergeant, consulting a large, brass chronometer, "the hour is pre-cisely three-fourteen, consequently he is now a-sitting in his Ramillie coat a-writing of his History of Fortification—in ten vollums."

"'Twill be pity to wake him!" sighed Mrs. Agatha.

"Wake him?" repeated the Sergeant, staring; whereupon Mrs. Agatha laughed and went her way while he continued to stare after her until her trim figure and snowy mob-cap had vanished behind the yew-hedge.

Then the Sergeant sighed, reached for his coat, put it on, adjusted his tall, leathern stock, sighed again and turning sharp about, marched into the house.

CHAPTER II

INTRODUCING THE RAVISHER OF THE SAME

Major John D'Arcy was hard at work on his book (that is to say, he had been, for divers plans and papers littered the table before him) but just now he leaned far back in his elbow-chair, long legs stretched out, deep-plunged in balmy slumber; perceiving which the Sergeant halted suddenly, stood at ease and stared.

The Major's great black peruke dangled from the chair-back, and his close-cropped head (already something grizzled at the temples) was bowed upon his broad chest, wherefore, ever and anon, he snored gently. The Major was forty-one but just now as he sat lost in the oblivion of sleep he looked thirty; but then again when he strode gravely to and fro in his old service coat (limping a little by reason of an old wound) and with black brows wrinkled in sober thought he looked fifty at the least.

Thus he continued to sleep and the Sergeant to stare until presently, choking upon a snore, the Major opened his eyes and sat up briskly, whereupon the Sergeant immediately came to attention.

"Ha, Zeb!" exclaimed the Major in mild wonder, "what is it, Sergeant Zeb?"

"Your honour 'tis the cherries——"

"Cherries?" yawned the Major, "the cherries are doing very well, thanks to your unremitting care, Sergeant, and of all fruits commend me to cherries. Now had it been cherries that led our common mother Eve into—ha—difficulties, Sergeant, I could have sympathised more deeply with her lamentable—ha—I say with her very deplorable—ha——"

"Reverse, sir?"

"Reverse?" mused the Major, rubbing his chin. "Aye, reverse will serve, Zeb, 'twill serve!"

"And three more squads of 'em missing, sir—looted, your honour's arternoon by means of escalade t'other side party-wall. Said cherries believed to have been took by parties unknown lately from London, sir, not sixty minutes since and therefore suspected to be not far off."

"Why, this must be looked to, Zeb!" said the Major, rising. "So, Sergeant, let us look—forthwith."

"Wig, sir!" suggested the Sergeant, holding it out.

"Aye, to be sure!" nodded the Major, taking and clapping it on somewhat askew. "Now—Sergeant—forward!"

"Stick, sir!" said the Sergeant, proffering a stout crab-tree staff.

"Aye!" smiled the Major, twirling it in a sinewy hand, "'twill be useful like as not."

So saying (being ever a man of action) the Major sallied forth carrying the stick very much as if it had been a small-sword; along the terrace he went and down the steps (two at a time) and so across the wide sweep of velvety lawn with prodigious strides albeit limping a little by reason of one of his many wounds, the tails of his war-worn Ramillie coat fluttering behind. Reaching the orchard he crossed to a particular corner and halted before a certain part of the red brick wall where grew the cherry tree in question.

"Sir," said the Sergeant, squaring his shoulders, "you'll note as all cherries has been looted from top branch—only ones as was ripe——"

"A thousand devils!" exclaimed the Major.

"Also," continued the Sergeant, "said branch has been broke sir."

"Ten thousand——" The Major stopped suddenly and shutting his mouth very tight opened his grey eyes very wide and stared into two other eyes which had risen into view on the opposite side of the wall, a pair of eyes that looked serenely down at him, long, heavy-lashed, deeply blue beneath the curve of their long, black lashes; he was conscious also of a nose, neither straight nor aquiline, of a mouth scarlet and full-lipped, of a chin round, white, dimpled but combative and of a faded sun-bonnet beneath whose crumpled brim peeped a tress of glossy, black hair.

"Now God—bless—my soul!" exclaimed the Major.

"'Tis to be hoped so, sir," said the apparition gravely, "you were swearing, I think?"

The Major flushed.

"Young woman——" he began.

"Ancient man!"

"Madam!"

"Sir!"

The Major stood silent awhile, staring up into the grave blue eyes above the wall.

"Pray," said he at last, "why do you steal my cherries?"

"To speak truth, sir, because I am so extreme fond of cherries."

Here Sergeant Tring gurgled, choked, coughed and finding the Major's eye upon him immediately came to attention, very stiff in the back and red in the face.

The Major stroked his clean-shaven chin and eyed him askance.

"Sergeant, you may—er—go," said he; whereat the Sergeant saluted, wheeled sharply and marched swiftly away.

"And pray," questioned the Major again, "who might you be?"

"A maid, sir."

"Hum!" said he, "and what would your mistress say if she knew you habitually stole and ate my cherries?"

"My mistress?" The grave blue eyes opened wider.

"Aye," nodded the Major, "the fine London lady. You are her maid, I take it?"

"Indeed, sir, her very own."

"Well, suppose I inform her of your conduct, how then?"

"She'd swear at me, sir."

"Egad, and would she so?"

"O, sir, she often doth and stamps at and reviles and rails at me morning, noon and night!"

"Poor child!" said the Major.

"Truly, sir, I do think she'd do me an injury if she didn't care for me so much."

"Then she cares for you?"

"More than anyone in the world beside! Indeed she loveth me as herself, sir!"

"Women be mysterious creatures!" said the Major, sententiously.

"But you know my lady belike by repute, sir?"

"Not even her name."

"Not know of the Lady Elizabeth Carlyon!" and up went a pair of delicate black brows in scornful amaze.

"I have known but three women in my life, and one of them my mother," he answered.

"You sound rather dismal, methinks. But you must have remarked my lady in the Mall, sir?"

"I seldom go to London."

"Now, sir, you sound infinite dismal and plaguily dull!"

"Dull?" repeated the Major thoughtfully, "aye perhaps I am, and 'tis but natural—ancient men often are, I believe."

"And your peruke is all askew!"

"Alack, it generally is!" sighed the Major.

"And you wear a vile old coat!"

"Truly I fear it hath seen its best days!" sighed the Major, glancing down wistfully at the war-worn garment in question.

"O, man," she cried, shaking her head at him, "for love of Heaven don't be so pestilent humble—I despise humility in horse or man!"

"Humble? Am I?" queried the Major and fell to pondering the question, chin in hand.

"Aye, truly," she answered, nodding aggressively, "your humility nauseates me, positively!"

"Child," he answered smiling, "what manner of man would you have?"

"Grandad," she answered, "I would have him tall and strong and brave, but—above all—masterful!"

"In a word, a blustering bully!" he answered gently, grey eyes a-twinkle.

"Aye," she nodded vehemently, "even that, rather than—than a—a——"

"An ancient man, ill-dressed and humble," he suggested and laughed; whereat she frowned and bit her bonnet-string in strong, white teeth, then:

"'Tis a very beast of a coat!" she exclaimed, "stained, spotted, tarnished, tattered and torn!"

"Torn!" exclaimed the Major, glancing down at himself again. "Egad and Sergeant Zebedee mended it but a week since——"

"And the buttons are scratched and hanging by threads!"

"Aye, but they'll not come off," said the Major confidently, "I sewed 'em on myself."

"You sewed them—you!" and she laughed in fine scorn. "Indeed, sir, I marvel they don't drop off under my very eyes!"

"Madam," said he gravely, "among few accomplishments, permit me to say I am a somewhat expert—er—needles-man."

Hereupon the apparition seated herself dexterously on the broad coping of the wall and from that vantage surveyed him with eyes of cold disparagement. And after she had regarded him thus for a long moment she spoke 'twixt curling red lips:

"O, Gemini—I might have known it!"

At this the Major ruffled the curls of his great wig and regarded her with some apprehension. At last he ventured a question:

"And pray madam, what might you have known concerning me?"

"A man who sews on his own buttons is a disgrace to his sex," she answered.

"But how if he have no woman to do it for him?"

"He should be a man and—get one."

"Hum!" said the Major thoughtfully, "a needle is a sharp engine and apt to prick one occasionally 'tis true, and yet a man may prefer it to a woman."

"And you," she exclaimed, drooping disdainful lashes, "you—are a—soldier!"

"I was!" he answered.

"Soldiers are gallant, they say."

"They are kind!" bowed the Major.

"You are, I think, the poor, old, wounded soldier Major d'Arcy who lives at the Manor yonder?" she questioned.

"I am that shattered wreck, madam, and what remains of me is very humbly at your service!" and setting hand to bosom of war-worn coat he bowed with a prodigious flourish.

"And you have never been so extreme fortunate as to behold my Lady Elizabeth Carlyon?"

"Hum!" said the Major, pondering, "what like is she?"

At this slender hands clasped each other, dark eyes upturned themselves to translucent heaven and rounded bosom heaved ecstatic:

"O sir, she is extreme beautiful, 'tis said! She is a toast adored! She is seen but to be worshipped! She hath wit, beauty and a thousand accomplishments! She hath such an air! Such a killing droop of the eyelash! She is—O, she is irresistible!"

"Indeed," said the Major, glancing up into the beautiful face above, "the description is just, though something too limited, perhaps."

The eyes came back to earth and the Major in a flash:

"Then you have seen her, sir?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Then describe her—come!"

"Why, she is, I judge, neither too short nor too tall!"

"True!" nodded the apparition, gently acquiescent.

"Of a delicate slimness——"

"True—O, most true, sir!"

"Yet sufficiently—er—full and rounded!"

The dark eyes were veiled suddenly by down-drooping lashes:

"You think so, sir?"

"Hair night-black, a chin well-determined and bravely dimpled—

"It hath been remarked before, sir!"

"Rosy lips——"

"Fie, sir, 'tis a vulgar phrase and trite. I suggest instead rose-petals steeped in dew."

"A nose——"

"Indeed, sir?"

"Neither arched nor straight and eyes—eyes——" the Major hesitated, stammered and came to an abrupt pause.

"And what of her eyes, sir? I have heard them called dreamy lakes, starry pools and unfathomable deeps, ere now. What d'you make of them?"

But the Major's own eyes were lowered, his bronzed cheek showed an unwonted flush and his sinewy fingers were fumbling with one of his loose coat-buttons.

"Nought!" said he at last, "others methinks have described 'em better than ever I could."

"Major d'Arcy," said the voice softer and sweeter than ever, "I grieve to tell you your wig is more over one eye than ever. And as for your old coat, some fine day, sir, an you chance to walk hereabouts I may possibly trouble to show you how a woman sews a button on!"

Saying which the apparition vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

The Major stood awhile deep-plunged in reverie, then setting the crabtree staff beneath his arm he wended his way slowly towards the house, limping a little more than usual as he always did when much preoccupied.

On his way he chanced upon the Sergeant wandering somewhat aimlessly with a hammer in his hand.

"Sergeant," said he slowly, "er—Zebedee—if any more cherries—should happen to—er—go astray—vanish——"

"Or be stole, sir!" added the Sergeant.

"Exactly, Zeb, precisely,—if such a contingency should arise you will—er——"

"Challenge three times, sir and then—"

"Er—no, Sergeant, no! I think, under the circumstances, Zeb, we'll just—er—let 'em—ah—vanish, d'ye see!"

Then the Major limped slowly and serenely into the house and left the Sergeant staring at the hammer in his hand with eyes very wide and round.

"Ventre bleu! Sacré bleu! Zookers!" said he.

CHAPTER III

WHICH TELLS HOW THE MAJOR CLIMBED A WALL

A wonderfully pleasant place was the Major's orchard, very retired and secluded by reason of its high old walls flushing rosily through green leaves; an orchard, this, full of ancient trees gnarled and crooked whose writhen boughs sprawled and twisted; an orchard carpeted with velvety turf whereon plump thrushes and blackbirds hopped and waddled, or, perched aloft, filled the sunny air with rich, throaty warblings and fluty trills and flourishes. Here Sergeant Tring, ever a man of his hands, had contrived and built a rustic arbour (its architecture faintly suggestive of a rabbit-hutch and a sentry-box) of which he was justly proud.

Now Major d'Arcy despite his many battles had an inborn love of peace and quietness, of the soft rustle of wind in leaves, of sunshine and the mellow pipe of thrush and blackbird, hence it was not at all surprising that he should develop a sudden fancy for strolling, to and fro in his orchard of a sunny afternoon, book in hand, or, sitting in the Sergeant's hutch-like sentry-box, puff dreamily at pipe of clay, or again, tucking up his ruffles and squaring his elbows, fall to work on his History of Fortification; and if his glance happened to rove from printed page or busy quill in a certain direction, what of it? Though it was to be remarked that his full-flowing peruke was seldom askew and the lace of his cravat and the ruffles below the huge cuffs of his Ramillie coat were of the finest point.

It was a hot afternoon, very slumberous and still; flowers drooped languid heads, birds twittered sleepily, butterflies wheeled and hovered, and the Major, sitting in the shady arbour, stared at a certain part of the old wall, sighed, and taking up his pipe began to fill it absently, his gaze yet fixed. All at once he sprang up, radiant-eyed, and strode across the smooth grass.

The faded sun-bonnet was not; her black hair was coiled high, while at white brow and glowing cheek silken curls wantoned in an artful disorder, moreover her simple russet gown had given place to a rich, flowered satin. All this he noticed at a glance though his gaze never wandered from the witching eyes of her. Were they blue or black or dark brown?

"Sir," said she, acknowledging his deep reverence with a stately inclination of her shapely head, "I would curtsey if I might, but to curtsey on a ladder were dangerous and not to be lightly undertaken."

Quoth the Major:

"It has been a long time—a very long time since you—since I—er—that is—

"Exactly five days, sir!"

"Why—ah—to be sure these summer days do grow uncommon long, mam—

"Which means, sir, that you've wanted me?"

The Major started:

"Why er—I—indeed I—I hardly know!" he stammered.

"Which proves it beyond all doubt!" she nodded serenely.

The Major was silent.

"Then, sir," she continued gravely, "since 'tis beyond all doubt you wanted me and hither came daily to look for me, as methinks you did—?"

Here she paused expectant, whereupon the Major stooped to survey his neat shoe-buckle.

"Well, sir, did you not come patiently a-seeking me here?"

"Why, mam," he answered, rubbing his chin with his pipe-stem, "'tis true I came hither—having a fancy for——"

"Then, sir, since being hither come you found me not, why, having legs, didn't you climb over the wall and seek me where you might have found me?"

The Major caught his breath and nearly dropped his pipe.

"Indeed it never occurred to me!"

"To be sure the climbing of walls is an infinite trying and arduous task for—ancient limbs," she sighed, shaking her head, "yet—even you, might have achieved it—with care."

The Major laughed:

"'Tis possible, mam," said he.

"And it never occurred to you?"

"No indeed, mam, and never would!"

"Then you lack imagination and a man without imagination is akin to the brutes and—" but here she broke off to utter a small scream and glancing up in alarm he saw her eyes were closed and that she shuddered violently.

"Madam!" he cried, "mam! My lady—good heaven are you sick—faint?"

Regardless of the cherry-tree he reached up long arms and swinging himself up astride the wall, had an arm about her shivering form all in a moment; thus as she leaned against him he caught the perfume of all her warm, soft daintiness, then she drew away.

"What was it?" he questioned anxiously as she opened her eyes, "were you faint, mam? Was it a fit? Good lack, mam, I——"

"Do—not—call me—that!" she cried, eyes flashing and—yes, they were blue—very darkly blue—"Never dare to call me—so—again!"

"Call you what, mam?"

"Mam!" she cried, gnashing her white teeth—"'tis a hateful word!"

"Indeed I—I had not thought it so," stammered the Major. "It is, I believe, a word in common use and——"

"Aye, 'tis common! 'Tis odious! 'Tis vulgar!"

"I crave your ladyship's pardon!" And he bowed as well as his position would allow, though a little stiffly.

"You are marvellous nimble, sir!"

"Your ladyship is gracious!"

"Considering your age, sir!"

"And you, madam, I lament that at yours you should be subject to fits."

"Fits!" she cried in frowning amaze.

"Seizures, then——"

"'Twas no seizure, sir—'twas yourself!"

"Me?" he exclaimed, staring.

"You—and your abominable tobacco-pipe!" Here she shivered daintily.

"Alack, madam, see, 'tis broke!"

"Heaven be thanked, sir."

"'Twas an admirable pipe—an old friend," he murmured.

"O fie, sir—only chairmen and watchmen and worse, drink smoke. 'Tis a low habit, vicious, vain and vulgar."

"Is it so indeed, madam?"

"It is! Aunt Belinda says so and I think so. If you must have vices why not snuff?"

"But I hate snuff!"

"But 'tis so elegant! There's Sir Jasper Denholm takes it with such an air I vow 'tis perfectly ravishing! And Sir Benjamin Tripp and Viscount Merivale in especial—such grace! Such an elegant turn of the wrist! But to suck a pipe—O Gemini!"

"I'm sorry my pipe offends you!" said he, glancing at her glowing loveliness.

And here, because of her beauty and nearness he grew silent and finding he yet held part of his clay pipe, broken in his hasty ascent, he fell to turning it over in his fingers, staring at it very hard but seeing it not at all; whereat she fell to studying him, his broad shoulders and powerful hands, his clean-cut aquiline features, his tender mouth and strong, square chin. Thus, the Major, glancing up suddenly, eye met eye and for a long moment they looked on one another, then, as she turned away he saw her cheek crimson suddenly and she, aware of this, clenched her white fists and flushed all the deeper.

"'Tis abominable rude to—stare so!" she said, over her shoulder.

"You are the Lady Elizabeth Carlyon, I think?" he enquired.

"And then, sir?"

"Then you are well used to being stared at, methinks."

"At a distance, sir!"

Here the Major edged away a couple of inches.

"You have heard of such a person before, then?" she enquired loftily.

"I go to London—sometimes, madam, when I must and when last there I chanced to hear her acclaimed and toasted as the 'Admirable Betty'!" said he, frowning.

"I am sometimes called Betty, sir," she acknowledged.

"Also 'Bewitching Bet'!" Here he scowled fiercely at a bunch of cherries.

"Do you think Bet so ill a name, sir?" she enquired, stealing a glance at him.

"'Bewitching Bet'!" he repeated grimly and the hand that grasped his broken pipe became a fist, observing which she smiled slyly.

"Or is it that the 'bewitching' offends you, sir?" she questioned innocently.

"Both, mam, both!" said he, scowling yet.

"La, sir," she cried gaily, "in this light and at this precise angle I do protest you look quite handsome when you frown."

The Major immediately laughed.

"If," she continued, "your chin were less grim and craggy and your nose a little different and your eyes less like gimlets and needles—if you wore a modish French wig instead of a horsehair mat and had your garments made by a London tailor instead of a country cobbler and carpenter you would be almost attractive—by candle light."

"Is my wig so unmodish?" he enquired smiling a trifle ruefully, "'tis my best."

"Unmodish?" White hands were lifted, and sparkling eyes rolled themselves in agonised protest. "There's a new tie-wig come in—un peu negligée—a most truly ravishing confection. As for clothes——"

"And needles," he added, "pray what of your promise?"

"Promise, sir?"

"You were to teach me how to sew on a button, I think?"

"Button!" she repeated, staring,

"If you've forgot, 'tis no matter, madam," said he and dropped very nimbly from the wall.

"Ah, my forgetfulness hath angered you, sir."

"No, child, no, extreme youth is apt to be extreme thoughtless and forgetful——"

"Sir, I am twenty-two."

"And I am forty-one!" he said wistfully.

"'Tis a monstrous great age, sir!"

"I begin to fear it is!" said he rather ruefully.

"And great age is apt to be peevish and slothful and childish and fretful and must be ruled. So come you over the wall this instant, sir!"

"And wherefore, madam?"

"'Tis so my will!"

"But——"

"Plague take it, sir, how may I sew on your abominable buttons with a wall betwixt us? Over with you this moment—obey!"

The Major obeyed forthwith.

CHAPTER IV

CONCERNING THE BUTTONS OF THE RAMILLIE COAT

"Now pray remark, sir," said the Lady Elizabeth Carlyon, seating herself in a shady arbour and taking up her needle and thread, "a woman, instead of sucking her thread and rubbing it into a black spike and cursing, threads her needle—so! Thereafter she takes the object to be sewed and holds it—no, she can't, sir, while you sit so much afar, prithee come closer to her—there! Yet no—'twill never do—she'll be apt to prick you sitting thus——"

"If I took off my coat, madam——"

"'Twould be monstrous indecorous, sir! No, you must kneel down—here at my feet!"

"But—madam——"

"To your knees, sir, or I'll prick you vilely! She now takes the article to be sewed and—pray why keep at such a distance? She cannot sew gracefully while you pull one way and she another! She then fits on her thimble, poises needle and—sews!" The which my lady forthwith proceeded to do making wondrous pretty play with white hand and delicate wrist the while.

And when she had sewn in silence for perhaps one half-minute she fell to converse thus:

"Indeed you look vastly appealing on your knees, sir. Pray have you knelt to many lovely ladies?"

"Never in my life!" he answered fervently.

"And yet you kneel with infinite grace—'tis quite affecting, how doth it feel to crouch thus humbly before the sex?"

"Uncommon hard to the knees, madam."

"Indeed I fear you have no soul, sir."

"Ha!" exclaimed the Major, rising hastily, "someone comes, I think!"

Sure enough, in due time, a somewhat languid but herculean footman appeared, who perceiving the Major, faltered, stared, pulled himself together and, approaching at speed, bowed in swift and supple humility and spoke:

"Four gentlemen to see your ladyship!"

"Only four? Their names?"

The large menial expanded large chest and spake with unction:

"The Marquis of Alton, Sir Jasper Denholm, Sir Benjamin Tripp and Mr. Marchdale."

"Well say I'm out—say I'm engaged—say I wish to be private!"

The large footman blinked, and the Major strove to appear unconscious that my lady held him tethered by needle and thread.

"Very good, madam! Though, 'umbly craving your ladyship's pardon, my lady, your aunt wished me to tell you most express——"

"Well, tell her I won't!"

"My lady, I will—immediate!" So saying, the large footman bowed again, blinked again and bore himself off, blinking as he went.

"And now, Major d'Arcy, if you will condescend to abase yourself we will continue our sewing lesson."

"But mam——"

"Do—not——"

"Your ladyship's guests——"

"Pooh! to my ladyship's guests! Come, be kneeling, sir, and take heed you don't break my thread."

"Now I wonder," said the Major, "I wonder what your lackey thinks——"

"He don't, he can't, he never does—except about food or drink or tobacco—faugh!"

Up started the Major again as from the adjacent yew-walk a faint screaming arose.

"Good God!" exclaimed the Major. "'Tis a woman!"

"Nay sir, 'tis merely my aunt!"

"But madam—hark to her, she is in distress!"

"Nay sir, she doth but wail—'tis no matter!"

"'Tis desperate sound she makes, madam."

"But extreme ladylike, sir, Aunt Belinda is ever preposterously feminine and ladylike, sir. Her present woe arises perchance because she hath encountered a grub on her way hither or been routed by a beetle—the which last I do fervently hope."

This hope, however, was doomed to disappointment for very suddenly a lady appeared, a somewhat faded lady who, with dainty petticoats uplifted, tripped hastily towards them uttering small, wailing screams as she came.

"O Betty!" she cried. "Betty! O Elizabeth, child—a rat! O dear heart o' me, a great rat, child! That sat in the path, Betty, and looked at me, child—with a huge, great tail! O sweet heaven!"

"Looked at you with his tail, aunt?"

"Nay, child—faith, my poor senses do so twitter I scarce know what I say—but its wicked wild eyes! And it curled its horrid tail in monstrous threatening fashion! And O, thank heaven—a man!"

Here the agitated lady tottered towards the Major and, supported by his arm, sank down upon the bench and closing her eyes, gasped feebly.

"Madam!" he exclaimed, bending over her in great alarm.

"O lud!" she murmured faintly.

"By heaven, she's swooning!" exclaimed the Major.

"Nay, sir," sighed Lady Betty, "'tis no swoon nor even a faint, 'tis merely a twitter. Dear aunt will be herself again directly—so come let me sew on that button or I'll prick you, I vow I will!"

At this Lady Belinda, opening her languid eyes, stared and gasped again.

"Mercy of heaven, child!" she exclaimed, "what do you?"

"Sew on this gentleman's buttons, aunt!"

"Buttons, child! Heaven above!"

"Coat-buttons, aunt!"

"Mercy on us! Buttons! In the arbour! With a man——"

"Major d'Arcy, our neighbour, aunt. Major, my aunt, Lady Belinda Damain."

Hereupon the Major bowed a trifle awkwardly since Lady Betty still had him in leash, while her aunt, rising, sank into a curtsey that was a wonder to behold and thereafter sighed and languished like the faded beauty she was.

"My undutiful niece, sir," said she, "hath no eye to decorum, she is for ever shocking the proprieties and me—alack, 'tis a naughty baggage—a romping hoyden, a wicked puss——"

"Aunt Belinda, dare to call me a 'puss' again and I'll scratch!"

"And you are Major d'Arcy—of the Guards?"

"Late of the Third, madam."

"Related to the d'Arcys of Sussex?"

"Very distantly, I believe."

"Charming people! A noble family!"

The Major would have bowed again but for my lady Betty's levelled needle; thereafter while her aunt alternately prattled of the joys of Bath and languished over the delights of London, the Major's buttons were rapidly sewn into place and my lady was in the act of nibbling the thread when once again the ponderous menial drew nigh who, making the utmost of his generous proportions, announced:

"Lord Alvaston, Captain West and Mr. Dalroyd——"

"O Betty!" exclaimed Lady Belinda, clasping rapturous fingers, "Mr. Dalroyd—that charming man who was so attentive at Bath and afterwards in London—such legs, my dear, O Gemini!"

"To see the Lady Elizabeth—most express, my ladies."

"Tell them to go—say I'm busy——"

"Betty!" wailed her aunt.

"Say I'm engaged, say——"

"O Bet—Betty—my child," twittered her aunt, "why this cruel coldness—this harsh rigour?"

"O say I'm out—say anything!"

"Which, my lady, I did—most particular and Mr. Dalroyd remarks as how he'll wait till you will—most determined!"

"O the dear, delightful, bold creature! And such a leg, my dear! Such an air and—O dear heart o' me, if he isn't coming in quest of us yonder! The dear, desperate, audacious man! I'll go greet him and do you follow, child!"

And Lady Belinda fluttered twittering away, followed by the ponderous lackey.

The Major sighed and glanced toward the distant ladder.

"You would appear to be in much request, madam," said he, "and faith, 'tis but natural, youth and such beauty must attract all men and——"

"All men, sir?"

"Indeed, all men who are blessed with eyes to see——"

Here chancing to meet her look he faltered and stopped.

"To see—what?" she enquired.

"'Bewitching Bet'!" he answered bowing very low.

"Ah—no!" she cried—"not you!" and turning suddenly away she broke off a rose that bloomed near by and stood twisting it in her white fingers.

"And wherefore not?" he questioned.

"'Tis not for your lips," she said, softly.

The Major whose glance happened to be wandering, winced slightly and flushed.

"Aye—indeed, I had forgot," said he, rather vaguely—"Youth must to youth and——"

"Must it, sir?

"Inevitably, madam, it is but natural and——"

"How vastly wise you are, Major d'Arcy!" The curl of her lip was quite wasted on him for he was staring at the rose she was caressing.

"'Twas said also by one much wiser than I 'crabbed age and youth cannot live together.' And you are very young, my lady and—very beautiful."

"And therefore to be pitied!" she sighed.

"In heaven's name, why?"

"For that I am a lonely maid that suffers from a plague of beaux, sir, most of them over young and all of them vastly trying. 'Bewitching Bet'!" This time he did see the scorn of her curling lip. "I had rather you call me anything else—even 'child' or—'Betty.'"

They stood awhile in silence, the Major looking at her and she at the rose: "'Betty'!" said he at last, half to himself, as if trying the sound of it. "'Tis a most—pretty name!"

"I had not thought so," she answered. And there was silence again, he watching where she was heedlessly brushing the rose to and fro across her vivid lips and looking at nothing in particular.

"Your guests await you," said he.

"They often do," she answered.

"I'll go," said the Major and glanced toward the ladder. "Good-bye, my lady."

"Well?" she asked softly.

"And—er—my grateful thanks——"

"Well?" she asked again, softer yet.

"I also hope that—er—I trust that since we're neighbours, I—we——"

"The wall is not insurmountable, sir. Well? O man," she cried suddenly—"if you really want it so why don't you ask for it—or take it?"

The Major stared and flushed.

"You—you mean——"

"This!" she cried and tossed the rose to his feet. Scarcely believing his eyes he stooped and took it up, and holding it in reverent fingers watched her hasting along the yew-walk. Standing thus he saw her met by a slender, elegant gentleman, saw him stoop to kiss her white fingers, and, turning suddenly, strode to the ladder.

So the Major presently climbed back over the wall and went his way, the rose tenderly cherished in the depths of one of his great side-pockets and, as he went, he limped rather noticeably but whistled softly to himself, a thing very strange in him, whistled softly but very merrily.

CHAPTER V

HOW SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING BEGAN TO WONDER

Mrs. Agatha sat just within the kitchen-garden shelling peas—and Mrs. Agatha did it as only a really accomplished woman might; at least, so thought Sergeant Zebedee, who, busied about some of his multifarious carpentry jobs, happened to come that way. He thought also that with her pretty face beneath snowy mob-cap, her shapely figure in its neat gown, she made as attractive a picture as any man might see on the longest day's march—of all which Mrs. Agatha was supremely conscious, of course.

"A hot day, mam!" said he, halting.

Mrs. Agatha glanced up demurely, smiled, and gave all her attention to the peas again.

"You do be getting more observant every day, Sergeant!" she said, shelling away rapidly.

The Sergeant stroked his new-shaven cheek with a pair of pincers he chanced to be holding and stared down at her busy fingers; Mrs. Agatha possessed very shapely hands, soft and dimpled—of which she was also aware.

"But you look cool enough, mam," said he, ponderously, "and 'tis become a matter of——"

"Duty, Sergeant?" she enquired.

"No, mam, a matter of wonder to me how you manage it?"

"Belike 'tis all because Nature made me so."

"Natur', mam—aye, 'tis a wonderful institootion——"

"For making me cool?"

"For making you at all, mam!" Having said which, he wheeled suddenly, and took three quick strides away but, hearing her call, he turned and took three slow ones back again. "Well, mam?" he enquired, staring at the pincers.

"'Tis a hot day, Sergeant!" she laughed. At this he stood silent awhile, lost in contemplation of her dexterous hands.

"Egad!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "'Tis a beautiful finger!"

"Is it, Sergeant?"

"For a trigger—aye mam. To shoot straight a man must have a true eye, mam, but he must also have a shooting-hand, quick and light o' the finger, d'ye see, not to spoil alignment. If you'd been a man, now, you'd ha' handled a musket wi' the best if you'd only been a man——"

"But I'm—only a woman."

"True, mam, true—'tis Natur' again—fault o' circumstance——"

"And I don't want to be a man——"

"Certainly not, mam——"

"And wouldn't if I could!"

"Glad, o' that, mam."

"O, and prithee why?"

"Because as a woman you're—female, d'ye see—I mean as you're what Natur' intended and such being so you're—naturally formed—I mean——"

"What d'you mean, pray?"

"A woman. And now, talking o' the Major——"

"But we're not!"

"Aye, but we are, mam, and so talking, the Major do surprise me—same be a-changing, mam."

"Changing? How?"

"Well, this morning he went——"

"Into the orchard!" said Mrs. Agatha, nodding.

"Aye, he did. Since I finished that arbour he's took to it amazing—sits there by the hour—mam!" Mrs. Agatha smiled at the peas. "But this morning, mam, arter breakfast, he went and turned out all his—clothes, mam. 'Sergeant,' says he, 'be these the best I've got'—and him as never troubled over his clothes except to put 'em on and forget 'em."

"But you hadn't built the arbour then!" said Mrs. Agatha softly.

"Arbour!" exclaimed the Sergeant, staring.

"You've known him a long time?"

"I've knowed him nigh twenty years and I thought I did know him but I don't know him—there's developments—he's took to whistling of late. Only this morning I heard him whistling o' this song 'Barbary Allen' which same were a damned—no, a devilish—no, a con-founded barbarious young maid if words mean aught."

"True, she had no heart, Sergeant!"

"And a woman without an 'eart, mam——"

"A heart, Sergeant!"

"Aye, mam," said he, staring at the pincers, "a maid or woman without an 'eart is no good for herself or any——"

"Man!" suggested Mrs. Agatha, softly.

"True, mam, and speaking o' men brings us back to the Major and him a-whistling as merry as any grig."

"Grigs don't whistle, Sergeant."

"No more they do, mam, no—lark's the word. Also he's set on buying a noo wig, mam, and him with four brand-noo—almost, except his service wig which I'll grant you is a bit wore and moth-eaten like arter three campaigns which therefore aren't to be nowise wondered at. But what is to be wondered at is his honour troubling about suchlike when 'tis me as generally reports to him when garments is outwore and me as has done the ordering of same, these ten year and more. And now here's him wanting to buy a noo wig all at once! Mam, what I say is—damme!"

"Sergeant, ha' done!"

"Ax your pardon, mam, but 'tis so strange and onexpected. A noo wig! Wants one more modish! Aye," said the Sergeant, shaking his head, "'modish' were the word, mam—'modish'! Now what I says to that is——"

"Sergeant, hush!"

"Why I ain't said it yet, mam——"

"Then don't!"

"Very well, mam!" he sighed. "But 'modish'——"

"And why shouldn't he be modish?" demanded Mrs. Agatha warmly, "he's young enough and handsome enough."

"He's all that, mam, yet——"

"Why should any man be slovenly and old before his time?"

"Aye, why indeed, mam but——"

"There's yourself, for instance."

"Who—me, mam?" exclaimed the Sergeant, hitting himself an amazed blow on the chest with the pincers, "me?"

"Aye, you! Not that you're slovenly, but you talk and act like a Methusalem instead of a—a careless boy of forty."

"Three, mam—forty-three."

"Aye, a helpless child of forty-three."

"Child!" murmured the Sergeant. "Helpless child—me? Now what I says to that is——"

"Hush!" said Mrs. Agatha, severely; but beholding his stupefaction she laughed merrily and taking up the peas, vanished into the kitchen, laughing still.

"Child—me—helpless child!" said the Sergeant, staring after her. "Now what I says is——"

And there being none to hush him, the Sergeant, in English, French and Low Dutch, proceeded to "say it" forthwith.

CHAPTER VI

WHICH DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, A POACHER

The Major rubbed his chin with dubious finger, pushed back his wig and taking up the letter from the desk before him, broke the seal and read as follows:

"MY VERY DEAR UNCLE:

"Being in a somewhat low state of health and spirits—"

"Spirits!" said the Major. "Ha!"

"—induced by a too close application to my duties—"

"Hum!" quoth the Major, rubbing his chin harder than ever.

"—I purpose (subject to your permission) to inflict myself upon you—"

"The devil he does!"

"—having been ordered rest and quiet and country air."

"Hum! I wonder!" mused the Major.

"Pray spare yourself the fatigue of writing as I leave London at once and well knowing your extreme kindness I hope to have the felicity of greeting you within a day or so,

Your most grateful, humble and obedient nephew,
TOM."

Having read this through the Major fell to profound meditation.

"I wonder?" he mused and pulled the bell.

"Sergeant!" said he, as the door opened.

"Sir?" said the Sergeant advancing three paces and coming to attention.

"Are there any—er—strangers in the village?"

"Last time I chanced to drop into the 'George and Dragon' there was a round dozen gentlemen a-staying there, sir."

"Young gentlemen?"

"Aye, sir, them as I ob-served was, and very fine young gents too—almost as fine as their lackeys, sir."

"A dozen of 'em, Zebedee!"

The Major rubbed his chin again and frowned slightly.

"Then my nephew will make the thirteenth. Tell Mrs. Agatha to have a chamber ready for him to-night."

"The Viscount a-comin' here, sir? Always thought same couldn't abide country!"

"He hath changed his mind it seems or——"

The Major paused suddenly and glanced toward the open window, for, upon the air without was a distant clamour of voices and shouting pierced, ever and anon, by a wild hunting yell. As the uproar grew nearer and louder the Major rose, and crossing to the casement, beheld his lodge-gates swung wide before an insurging crowd, a motley throng, for, among rustic homespun and smock-frock he espied velvet coats brave with gold and silver lace. Before this riot a tall and slender gentleman strode waving a richly be-laced hat in one hand and flourishing a whip in the other.

"Hark away! Hark away!" he yelled, while from those behind came boisterous laughter and shouts of "Yoick!" "Tally-ho!" "Gone away!" and the like.

At the terrace steps the concourse halted and out upon this clamorous throng the quiet figure of the Major limped, his wig a little askew as usual. As he came, the clamour subsided and the crowd, falling back, discovered half-a-dozen stalwart keepers who dragged between them a slender youth, bruised and bloody.

"Ah," said the Major, surveying the scene with interest, "and what may all this be?"

"O demmit, sir!" cried the slender young gentleman, clapping hat to gorgeous bosom and bowing, "Step me vitals, sir—what should it be but a demmed rogue and a rebbit, sir!"

"O, a rabbit?" said the Major.

"And a rogue, sir! Pink me, 'tis the demmdest, infernal, long-leggedest rascal and led us the demmdest chase I promise you! Hill and dale, hedge and wall, copse and spinney, O demn! Better than any fox I ever hunted, there was only Alvaston, Marchdale, your humble and one or two keeper-fellows in at the death—pace too hot, sir—strike me dumb!"

"And pray, sir," enquired the Major, "whom have I the fortune to address?"

"O Ged, sir, to be sure—I'm Alton—very obedient, humble—gentleman yonder blowing his nose like a demmed trumpet is my friend Tony Marchdale of Marchdale—big fellow in the purple coat and nose to match is Sir Benjamin Tripp" (here Sir Benjamin bowed, spluttering mildly) "gentleman with the sparrow-legs is Lord Alvaston" (here his lordship posturing gracefully with his slender legs, bowed, cursing amiably)—"stand-and-deliver gentleman with hook-nose, Captain West of the Guards—die-away gentleman in lavender and gold, Mr. Dalroyd—fat fellow in abominable scratch-wig who looks as if he'd swallowed a lemon the wrong way, don't know—and there we are, sir—demme!"

"And I, gentlemen, am John d'Arcy, at your service. What can I do for you?"

"O egad, sir—strike me everlasting blue, 'tis we have been doing for you! Here we've caught your rogue for you—chased him high—chased him low—here, there and everywhere—bushes, burrs and briers, dirt and dust sir—O demmit!

"If," began the Major, "if you will have the goodness to be a little more explicit——"

But here the short, plump, fierce-eyed gentleman in the scratch-wig, elbowing aside the yokels who stood near strode forward excitedly:

"You are Major d'Arcy?" he challenged.

The Major bowed.

"Why then, sir, give me leave to say we've had the extreme good fortune to catch a poacher on your land. You'll know me of course. I'm Sir Oliver Rington of Chevening."

"No!" said the Major.

"Then you'll have heard of me, to be sure?"

"I fear not."

"Sir, I'm your member—and——"

"I rejoice to know it!"

"And justice o' the peace."

"I felicitate you!"

"As such, sir, 'tis my present endeavour to get an enactment passed making the law more rigorous against poaching——"

"A noble work!" sighed the Major.

"In the which, sir, I am being vigorously supported by the neighbouring gentry. You are a stranger in these parts, I think?"

"I have resided at the Manor precisely a month and two days, sir."

"Then, sir, permit me to say that the quality hereabouts are united against such miserable rogues as this damned poaching rascal."

"You are something in the majority, 'twould seem!" said the Major, glancing from the blood-smeared face of the solitary captive to the shuffling throng.

"We are determined to put down such roguery with a firm hand, sir," answered Sir Oliver, truculently, "I have already succeeded in having four such rascals as yon transported for life, sir."

"For a dem rebbit—O Ged!" exclaimed Lord Alton.

"You forget, Alton," interposed Mr. Dalroyd, languidly, "you forget, the rabbit may be a sheep next week, a horse the next, your purse the next and——"

"And this, sir, was merely a rabbit, I believe, which happens to be mine," said the Major, turning to glance at the speaker.

Mr. Dalroyd was tall and slim and pallidly handsome; from black periwig to elegant riding boots he was point-de-vice, a languid, soft-spoken, very fine gentleman indeed, who surveyed the Major's tall, upright figure, with sleepy-lidded eyes. So for a long moment they viewed each other, the Major serene of brow, his hands buried in the pockets of his threadbare Ramillie coat, Mr. Dalroyd cool and leisuredly critical, yet gradually as he met the other's languid gaze, the Major's expression changed, his black brows twitched together, his keen eyes grew suddenly intent and withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he began absently to finger the scar that marked his temple; then Mr. Dalroyd smiled faintly and turned a languid shoulder.

"Gentlemen," said he, "our sport is done, the play grows wearisome—let us be gone."

At this, Sir Oliver Rington approached the Major and in his eagerness tapped him on the arm with his whip.

"With your permission, Major, I'll see this rogue set in the stocks and after safely under lock and key. You'll prosecute, of course."

Very gently the Major set aside Sir Oliver's whip and limped over to the prisoner:

"He looks sufficiently young!" said he.

"A criminal type!" nodded Sir Oliver, "I've convicted many such—a very brutal, desperate rogue!"

"To be sure he's very bloody!" said the Major.

"Aye," growled Sir Oliver, "and serve him right—he gave enough trouble for six."

"And something faint!"

"Aye, feint it is sir—the rascal's shamming."

"And dusty!"

"O, a foul beast!" agreed Sir Oliver.

"And hath a hungry look. So shall he go wash and eat——"

"Wash—eat—how—what in the devil's name, sir——"

"Sergeant!"

"Sir!" answered the Sergeant, very upright and stiff in the back.

"Take the fellow to the stables and when he's washed—feed him!"

"Very good, sir!" Saying which, the Sergeant advanced upon the drooping prisoner, set hand to ragged coat-collar, and wheeling him half-left, marched him away.

"Strike me everlasting perishing purple!" exclaimed the Marquis.

"Damnation!" cried Sir Oliver, his whip quivering in his fist, "d'ye mean to say, sir—d'ye mean——" he choked.

"I mean to say, that since the prisoner stole my property I will dispose of him as I think fit——"

"Fit sir—fit—as you think fit!" spluttered Sir Oliver.

"Or as it pleases me, sir."

"You sir—you!" panted Sir Oliver in sudden frenzy, "and who the devil are you that dare run counter to the law—a beggarly half-pay soldier——"

"O demmit, sir!" exclaimed the Marquis, restraining plump ferocity, "try to be a little decent, I beg, just a little—remember you are not in the House now, sir!"

Sir Oliver sulkily permitted himself to be drawn a little aside, then, halting suddenly, wheeled about and pointed at the Major with his whip.

"Gentlemen all," he cried, "behold a man who hath no respect for the Constitution, for Church, State or King God save him! Behold a—a being who is traitor to his class! A man who—who'd—O damme—who'd—shoot a fox!"

The Major laughed suddenly and shook his head.

"No," said he, "no, I'll shoot neither foxes—nor even fools, sir—if—I say if—it may be avoided. And so, gentlemen, thanking you for your extreme zeal on my behalf in the matter of my poacher, I have the honour to bid you, each and every, good day."

So saying, the Major bowed and turning, limped into the house.

CHAPTER VII

WHICH RELATES HOW THE POACHER ESCAPED

The rising sun made a glory in the east, purple, amber and flaming gold; before his advent sombre night fled away and sullen mists rolled up and vanished; up he came in triumphant majesty, his far-flung, level beams waking a myriad sparkles on grass and leaf where the dew yet clung; they woke also the blackbird inhabiting the great tree whose spreading boughs shaded a certain gable of the Manor. This blackbird, then, being awake, forthwith prepares to summon others to bid welcome to the day, tunes sleepy pipe, finds himself astonishingly hoarse, pauses awhile to ruminate on the wherefore of this, tries again with better effect, stretches himself, re-settles a ruffled feather and finally, being broad awake, bursts into a passionate ecstasy of throaty warblings.

It was at this precise moment that the Major thrust cropped head from his open lattice and leaned there awhile to breathe in the dawn's sweet freshness and to feast his eyes upon dew-spangled earth. And beholding noble house and stately trees with smiling green fields beyond where goodly farmsteads nestled, all his own far as the eye could see and farther, he drew a deep and joyous breath, contrasting all this with his late penury. Now, as he leaned thus in the warm sun, his wandering eye fell upon a small isolated outbuilding, its narrow windows strongly barred, its oaken door padlocked. Instantly the Major drew in his head and began to dress; which done, he clapped on his peruke and opening the door with some degree of care, stepped forth of his chamber, and, carrying his shoes in his hand, tiptoed along the wide gallery, and, descending the great stairs with the same caution, proceeded to a certain small room against whose walls were birding-pieces, fishing-rods, hunting-crops, spurs and the like. From amid these heterogeneous articles he reached down a great key and slipping it into his pocket, proceeded to furtively unbar, unlock and let himself out into the young morning. Outside he put on his shoes and descending marble steps and crossing trim lawns presently arrived at a forbidding oaken door, which he opened forthwith.

The poacher lay half-buried among a pile of hay in one corner but at the Major's entrance started up, disclosing a pale, youthful face, whose dark, aquiline features were vaguely reminiscent.

"Hum!" said the Major, rubbing his chin and staring, whereat the prisoner, scowling sullenly, turned away.

"Ha!" said the Major. "Sirrah, 'tis a fair day for walking I think, therefore, an you be so minded—walk!"

"D'ye mean you'll let me—go?" demanded the prisoner.

"Aye!"

"Free?"

"There's the door!"

The prisoner sprang to his feet, brushed the hay from his rough and stained garments, glanced from his deliverer to the glory of the morning and stepped out into the sunlight.

"You were wiser to avoid Sir Oliver Rington's neighbourhood, and here's somewhat to aid you on your way."

So saying, the Major strode off and left the poacher staring down at the gold coins in his palm.

The Major wandered thoughtfully along box-bordered paths, past marble fauns and nymphs; between hedges of clipped yew and so to the rose-garden, ablaze with colour and fragrant with bloom. In the midst was a time-worn sundial set about with marble seats and here the Major leaned to muse awhile and so came upon a quaint-lettered posy graven upon the dial which ran as follows:

"Youth is joyous; Age is melancholy:
Age and Youth together is but folly."

"Hum!" said the Major and sighed, and sighing, turned away, limping more than usual, for his meditations were profound. Thus, deep in thought he came back to the isolated building, locked it up again, and wended his way back to the house.

Having replaced the key he sat himself down in his study and tucking up his ruffles, fell to work on his History of Fortification, though, to be sure, his pen was frequently idle and once he opened a drawer to stare down at a rapidly fading rose.

Gradually the great house about him awoke to life and morning bustle; light feet tripped to and fro, maids' voices chattered and sang merrily, dusters flicked, mops twirled and Mrs. Agatha admonished, while, from the kitchens afar came the faint but delectable rattle of crockery while the Major drove parallels, constructed trenches and covered ways and dreamed of the Lady Betty Carlyon, of her eyes, her hair, the dimple in her wilful chin and of all her alluring witchery. And bethinking him of her warm, soft daintiness, as when she had leaned in his clasp for that much-remembered moment, he almost thought to catch again the faint, sweet fragrance of her.

Moved by a sudden impulse he rose, and crossing to a mirror, stood to examine himself critically as he had never done before in all his life.

And truly, now he came to notice, his wig was shabby despite the Sergeant's unremitting care; then his shoes were clumsy and thick of sole, his cotton stockings showed a darn here and there and his coat—!

The Major shook his head and sighed:

"'Tis a very beast of a coat!"

In his heart he ruefully admitted that it was.

Now, as to his face?

The Major stared keenly at well-opened, grey eyes which stared back at him under level brows; at straightish nose, widish mouth and strong, deep-cleft chin; each feature in turn was the object of his wistful scrutiny and he must even trace out the scar that marked his left temple and seek to hide it with the limp side-curls of his peruke. Then he turned away and seating himself at his desk leaned there, head on hand, staring blindly at the written sheets before him.

And behind his thoughts was a line from the posy on the sundial:

"Youth is joyous, Age is melancholy:"

The Major sighed. Suddenly he started and turned as a knock sounded on the door, which, opening forthwith, disclosed the Sergeant, his usually trim habit slightly disordered, his usually serene brow creased and clammy, his eye woeful.

"Ah, Sergeant," said the Major placidly, "good morning, Zeb."

"Sir," said the Sergeant, advancing three steps and coming to attention. "I've come, sir, to report gross dee-reliction of dooty, sir."

"Indeed—whose?"

"Mine, sir. You put prisoner in my charge, sir—same has took French leave, sir, by aid o' witchcraft, hocus-pocus, or the devil, sir, prisoner having vanished himself into thin air, sir——"

"Remarkable!" said the Major.

"Found the place locked up and all serene, sir, but on opening door found prisoner had went which didn't seem nowise nat'ral, sir. Hows'mever, fell in a search party immediate, self and gardeners, sir, but though we beat the park an' the spinney, sir, owing to spells and witchcraft 'twas but labour in vain, prisoner having been spirited away, d'ye see?"

"Astonishing!" said the Major.

The Sergeant mopped his brow and sighed.

"Prisoner having bolted and altogether went, sir—same being vanished, though suspecting witches and hocus-pocus, must hold myself responsible for same——"

"No, no, Zeb."

"And feel myself defaulter, sir, owing to which shall stop and deny myself customary ale to-day, sir."

"Very good, Zeb."

"And talking of ale, sir, think it my dooty to report as in the 'George and Dragon' last evening Sir Oliver Rington were talking agin' you, sir—very fierce."

"I'm not surprised, Zeb, his kind must talk."

"Same person, sir, made oncommon free wi' your name, laying thereto certain and divers eppythets, sir, among which was 'vulgar fellow' and 'beggarly upstart' which me overhearing was forced to shout 'damn liar' as in dooty bound, sir. Whereupon his two grooms, wi' five or six other rogues, took me front, flank and rear and run me out into the road. Whereupon, chancing to have pint-pot in my hand, contrived with same to alter the faces o' two or three of 'em for time being, as in dooty bound, sir. All of which has caused more talk which I do truly lament."

"A pint-pot is an awkward weapon, Zebedee!"

"True, sir, same being apt to bend."

"I trust you did no serious hurt, Sergeant?"

"Not so serious as I could ha' wished, sir."

"And I hope it won't occur again."

"I hope so too, sir! Regarding the prisoner, sir——"

"He has escaped, I understand, Zeb."

"He has so, your honour."

"Then there is no prisoner."

"Why as to that, sir," began the Sergeant, scratching his big chin—

"As to that, Zeb, 'tis just as well for everyone concerned, especially the prisoner, that—er—isn't, as 'twere and so forth, d'ye see, Sergeant?" So saying the Major took up his pen and the Sergeant strode away, though more than once he shook his head in dark perplexity.

CHAPTER VIII

OF PANCRAS, VISCOUNT MERIVALE

The Major's study, opening out of the library, was a smallish chamber, very like himself in that its appointments were simple and plain to austerity. Its furniture comprised a desk, a couple of chairs and a settee, its adornments consisted of the portrait of a gentleman in armour who scowled, a Sèvres vase full of roses set there by Mrs. Agatha, a pair of silver-mounted small-swords above the carved mantel but within easy reach, flanked by a couple of brace of handsomely mounted pistols.

Just now, table, chairs and settee had been pushed into a corner and the chamber rang with the clash and grind of vicious-darting steel where the Major and Sergeant Zebedee in stockinged-feet and shirt-sleeves, thrust and parried and lunged, bright eyes wide and watchful, lips grim-set, supple of wrist and apparently tireless of arm, the Major all lissom, graceful ease despite his limp, the Sergeant a trifle stiff but grimly business-like and deadly; a sudden fierce rally, a thrust, a lightning riposte and the Major stepped back.

"Touché!" he exclaimed, lowering his point. "'Tis a wicked thrust of yours—that in tierce, Zebedee!"

"'Twas you as taught it me, sir," answered the Sergeant, whipping his foil to the salute, "same as you taught me my letters, consequently I am bold to fight or read any man as ever drawed breath."

"You do credit to my method, Sergeant Zeb—especially that trick o' the wrist—'tis mine own and I think unique. Come again, we have another ten minutes."

Hereupon they gravely saluted each other, came to the engage and once more the place echoed to rasping steel and quick-thudding feet. It was a particularly fierce and brilliant bout, in the middle of which and quite unobserved by the combatants, the door opened and a young gentleman appeared. He was altogether a remarkable young gentleman being remarkably young, languid and gorgeous. A pale mauve coat, gold of button and rich of braid, its skirts sufficiently full and ample, seemed moulded upon his slender figure, his legs were encased in long, brown riding-boots of excellent cut and finish, furnished with jingling silver spurs, his face exactly modish of pallor, high-nosed and delicately featured, was set off by a great periwig whose glossy curls had that just and nicely-ordered disorder fashion required; in his right hand he held his hat, a looped and belaced affair, two fingers of his left were posed elegantly upon the silver hilt of his sword the brown leathern scabbard of which cocked its silver lip beneath his coat at precisely the right angle; thus, as he stood regarding the fencing bout he seemed indeed the very "glass of fashion and mould of form" and unutterably serene.

"Ha!" exclaimed the Sergeant suddenly, "clean through the gizzard, sir!" and lowering his point in turn he shook his head, "'twould ha' done my business for good an' all, sir." And it was to be noted that despite their exertions neither he nor the Major breathed overfast or seemed unduly over-heated; remarking which the young gentleman animadverted gently as follows:

"Gad, nunky mine, Gad save my poor perishing sawl how d'ye do it—ye don't blow and ye ain't sweating——"

The Major started and turned:

"What—nephew!" hastening forward to greet his visitor, "What, Pancras lad, when did you arrive?"

"Ten minutes since, sir. I strolled up from the 'George and Dragon' and left my fellows to come on with the horses and baggage. Begad, sir, 'tis a cursed fine property this, a noble heritage! Give you joy of it! Here's a change from your trooping and fighting! You grow warm, nunky, warm, eh?"

"'Tis a great change, nephew, and most unexpected. But speaking of change, Pancras, you have grown out of recognition since last I saw you."

"Gad prasper me, sir, I hope so—'tis five long years agone and I'm my own man since my father had the grace to break his neck a-hunting, though 'tis a pity he contrived to break my mother's heart first, sweet, patient soul. Ha, sir, d'ye mind the day you pitched him out o' the gun-room window?"

"He's dead, Pancras!" said the Major, flushing.

"Which is very well, sir, since you're alive and I'm alive and so's the Sergeant here. How goes it Zeb—good old Zeb. How goes it, Sergeant Zeb?" and the Viscount's white, be-ringed hand met the Sergeant's hairy one in a hearty grip.

"Look at him, nunky, look at him a Gad's name—same old square face, not changed a hair since he used to come a-marching back with you from some campaign or other, rat me! D'ye mind, Zeb, d'ye mind how you used to make me wooden swords and teach me how to bear my point—eh?"

"Aye, I mind, sir," nodded the Sergeant, grim lips smiling, "'tis not so long since."

"Talking of fence, sir, give me leave to say—as one somewhat proficient in the art—that your style is a little antiquated!"

"Is't so, nephew?"

"Rat me if it isn't, sir! It lacketh that niceness of finish, that gracious poise o' the bady, that 'je ne sais quoi' which is all the mode."

"So, nephew, you fence—

"Of course, nunky, we all do—'tis the fashion. I fence a bout or so every day with the great Mancini, sir."

"So he's great these days?"

"How, d'ye know him, uncle?"

"Years ago I fenced with him in Flanders."

"Well, sir?"

"I thought him too flamboyant——"

"O, Gad requite me, sir! Had you but felt his celebrated attack—that stoccata! Let me show you!" So saying, the Viscount tossed his hat into a corner, took the Sergeant's foil and fell into a graceful fencing posture.

"Come, nunky, on guard!" he cried. Smiling, the Major saluted. "Here he is, see you, the point bearing so, and before you can blink——"

"Your coat, sir!" said the Sergeant, proffering to take it.

"Let be, Zeb, let be," sighed the Viscount, "it takes my fellow to get me into 't, and my two fellows to get me out on't, so let be. Come, nunky mine." Smiling, the Major fell to his guard and the blades rang together. "Here he is, see you, his point bearing so, and, ere you can blink he comes out of tierce and——

"I pink you—so!" said the Major.

"Gad's me life!" exclaimed his nephew, staring. "What the—how—come again, sir!"

Once more the blades clinked and instantly the Viscount lunged; the Major stepped back, his blade whirled and the Viscount's weapon spun from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

"Gad save me poor perishing sawl!" he exclaimed, staring gloomily at his fallen weapon, "how did ye do 't, sir? Sergeant Zeb, damme you're laughing at me!"

"Sir," answered the Sergeant, picking up the foil, "I were!"

"Very curst of you! And how did he manage Mancini?"

"Much the same as he managed you, sir, only——"

"Only?"

"Not so—so prompt, sir!"

"The devil he did! But Mancini's esteemed one of the best——"

"So were his honour, sir!"

"O!" said the Viscount, "and he didn't puff and he ain't sweating—my sawl!"

"'Tis use, nephew."

"And country air, sir! Look at you—young as you were five years since—nay, younger, I vow. Now look at me, a pasitive bunch of fiddle-strings—appetite bad, stomach worse, nerves—O love me! A pasitive wreck, Gad prasper me!"

The Major's sharp eyes noted the youthful, upright figure, the alert glance, the resolute set of mouth and chin, and he smiled.

"To be sure you are in a—er—a low, weak state of health, I understand?"

"O sir, most curst."

"Poor Pancras!" said the Major.

"No, no, sir, a Gad's name don't call me so, 'tis a curst name, 'twas my father's name, beside 'tis a name to hang a dog. Call me Tam, Tam's short and to the point—all my friends call me Tam, so call me Tam!"

"So be it, Tom. So you come into the country for your health?"

"Aye, sir, I do. Nothing like the country, sir, balmy air—mighty invigorating, look at the ploughmen they eat and drink and sleep and—er——"

"Plough!" suggested the Major, gravely.

"Begad, sir, so they do. And besides, I do love the country—brooks and beehives, nunky; cabbages, y'know, cows d'ye see and clods and things——"

"And cuckoos, Tom."

"Aye, and cuckoos!" said the Viscount serenely.

"Indeed, the country hath a beauty all its own, sir, so am I come to——"

"Be near her, nephew!"

"Eh? O! Begad!" saying which Viscount Merivale took out a highly ornate gold snuff-box, looked at it, tapped it and put it away again. "Nunky," he murmured, "since you're so curst wide-awake I'm free to confess that for the last six months I've worshipped at the shrine of the Admirable Betty—de-votedly, sir!"

"There be others also, I think!" said the Major, handing his foil to the Sergeant.

"Gad love me, sir, 'tis true enough! The whole town is run mad for her pasitively, and 'tis small wonder! She's a blooming peach, nunky, a pearl of price—let me perish! A goddess, a veritable——"

"Woman!" said the Major.

"And, sir, this glory of her sex blooms and blossoms—next door. Ha' ye seen her yet?"

"Once or twice, Tom."

"Now I protest, sir—ain't she the most glorious creature—a peerless piece—a paragon? By heaven, 'tis the sweetest, perversest witch and so do my hopes soar."

"Doth she prove so kind, nephew?"

"O sir, she doth flout me consistently."

"Flout you?"

"Constantly, thank Vanus! 'Tis when she's kind I fall i' the dumps."

"God bless me!" exclaimed the Major.

"Look'ee sir, there's Tripp, for instance, dear old bottlenose Ben, she smiles on him and suffers him to bear her fan, misfortunate dog! There's Alton, she permits him to attend her regularly and hand her from chair or coach, poor devil! There's West and Marchdale, I've known her talk with them in corners, unhappy wights! There's Dalroyd——"

"The 'die-away' gentleman?" said the Major.

"O he's death and the devil for her, he is—a sleepy, smouldering flame, rat me! And she is scarce so kind to him I could wish. But as for me, nunky, me she scorns, flouts, contemns and quarrels with, so doth hope sing within me!"

"Hum!" said the Major, clapping on his wig.

"So I am here in the fervent hope that ere the year is out she may be my Viscountess and—O my stricken sawl!"

"What is't, nephew?"

"Aye, sir, that's the question—what? Faith, it might be anything."

"You mean my wig, Tom?" enquired the Major, laughing, yet flushing a little.

"Wig?" murmured the Viscount, "after all, sir, there is a resemblance—though faint. Sure you never venture abroad in the thing?

"Why not?"

"'Twould be pasitively indecent, sir!"

Here the Major laughed, but the Sergeant, setting the furniture in place, scowled fixedly at the chair he chanced to be grasping.

"Perhaps 'tis time I got me a new one," said the Major, slipping into his coat.

"One!" exclaimed the Viscount. "O pink me, sir—a man of your standing and position needs a dozen. A wig, sir, is as capricious as a woman—it can make a gentleman a dowdy, a fool look wise and a wise man an ass, 'tis therefore a—what the——"

The Viscount rose and putting up his glass peered at his uncle in pained astonishment:

"Sir—sir," he faltered, "'tis a perfectly curst object that—may I venture to enquire——"

"What, my coat, Tom?"

"Coat—coat—O let me perish!" And the Viscount sank limply into a chair and drooped there in dejection. "Calls it a coat!" he murmured.

"'Tis past its first bloom, I'll allow——"

"Bloom—O stap me!" whispered the Viscount.

"But 'twas a very good coat once——"

"Nay sir, nay, I protest," cried the Viscount, "upon a far, far distant day it may have been a something to keep a man warm, but 'twas never, O never a coat——"

"Indeed, Tom?"

"Indeed, sir, in its halcyon days 'twas an ill dream, now—'tis a pasitive nightmare. Have you any other garment a trifle less gruesome, sir?"

"I have two other suits I think, Sergeant?"

"Three, your honour, there's your d'Oyley stuff suit" (the Viscount groaned), "there's your blue and silver and the black velvet garnished with——"

"Sounds curst funereal, Zeb! O my poor nunky! Go fetch 'em, Sergeant, and let me see 'em—'twill distress and pain me I know but—go fetch 'em!"

Here, at a nod from the Major, Sergeant Zebedee departed.

"I—er—live very retired, Tom," began the Major.

"We'll change all that, sir——"

"The devil, you say!"

"O nunky, nunky, 'tis time I took you in hand. D'ye ever hunt now?"

"Why no!"

"Visit your neighbours?"

"Not as yet, Tom."

"Go among your tenantry?"

"Very seldom——"

"O fie, sir, fie! Here's you pasitively wasting all your natural advantages,—shape, stature, habit o' bady all thrown away—I always admired your curst, high, stand-and-deliver air—even as a child, and here's you living and clothing yourself like——"

He paused as the Sergeant re-entered, who, spreading out the three suits upon the table with a flourish, stood at attention.

"I knew it—I feared so!" murmured the Viscount, turning over the garments. He sighed over them, he groaned, he nearly wept. "Take 'em away—away, Zeb," he faltered at last, "hide 'em from the eye o' day, lose 'em, a Gad's name, Zeb—burn 'em!"

"Burn 'em, sir?" repeated the Sergeant, folding up the despised garments with painful care, "axing your pardon, m'lord, same being his honour's I'd rather——"

"Next week, nunky, you shall ride to town with me and acquire some real clothes."

The Major stroked his chin and surveyed the Sergeant's wooden expression!

"Egad, Tom," said he, "I think I will!"

Glancing from the window, the Major beheld a train of heavily-laden pack-horses approaching, up the drive.

"Why, what's all this?" he exclaimed.

"That?" answered the Viscount yawning, "merely a few of my clothes, sir, and trifling oddments——"

"God bless my soul!"

"Sir," said the Sergeant, tucking the garments under his arm beneath the Viscount's horrified gaze, "with your permission will proceed to warn grooms and stable-boys of approaching cavalry squadron!" and he marched out forthwith.

CHAPTER IX

WHICH IS A VERY BRIEF CHAPTER

"I pr'ythee spare me, gentle boy
Press me no more for that slight toy
That foolish trifle of a heart
I swear it will not do its part
Though thou dost thine——"

The Viscount checked his song and inserting the upper half of his person through the open lattice, hailed the Major cheerily.

"What, uncle, nunky, nunk—still at it? 'Tis high time you went to change your dress."

"O? And why, Tom?"

"I look for our company here in twenty minutes or so."

"What company, may I ask?"

"Lady Belinda and Our Admirable Betty."

"Good God!" ejaculated the Major starting up in sudden agitation. "Coming here—you never mean it?"

"I do indeed, sir!"

"But Lord! Why should they come?"

"As I gather, sir, 'tis because you invited 'em——"

"I? Never in my life!"

"Why, 'tis true sir, I was your mouthpiece—your ambassador, as it were."

"And she—er—they are coming here! Both!"

"Both, sir."

"Lord, Tom, 'tis a something desperate situation, what am I to do with——"

"Leave 'em to me sir! They shan't daunt you!"

"Ha! To you, Tom?"

"And dear old Ben——"

"O?"

"And Alton——"

"Indeed!"

"And Marchdale——"

"Any more, nephew?"

"And Alvaston——"

"Ah?"

"And Dalroyd and Denholm——"

"Did I invite 'em all, Tom?"

"Every one, sir!"

"I wonder what made me?"

"Loneliness, sir!"

"D'ye think so, Tom?"

"Aye, you've always been a lonely man, I mind."

"Perhaps I have—except for the Sergeant."

"You are still, sir."

"Belike I am—though I have Sergeant Zeb."

"But we'll change all that in a month—aye, less! You shall grow two or three hundred years younger and enjoy at last the youth you've never known."

"Faith, you'd give me much, Tom!"

The Viscount took out his snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and forgot his affectations.

"Sir," said he, "there was, on a time, a little, wretched boy, who, hating and fearing his father, grieving in his sweet mother's griefs until she died, found thereafter a friend, very tender and strong, in a big, red-coated uncle——"

"By adoption, nephew."

"Aye sir, but I found him more truly satisfying to my youthful needs than any uncle by blood, Lord love me! At whose all too infrequent visits my boyish griefs and fears fled away—O Gad, sir, in those days I made of you a something betwixt Ajax defying the lightning and a—wet-nurse, and plague take it, sir, d'ye wonder if I——" Here the Viscount took a pinch of snuff and sneezed violently. "Rat me!" he gasped, "'tis the hatefullest stuff!" Followed a volley of sneezing and thereafter a feeble voice—"The which reminds me sir we must drink tea——"

"But I abominate tea, Tom."

"So do I, sir, so do I—curst stuff! You know the song:

'Let Mahometan fools
Live by heathenish rules
And be damned over tea-cups and coffee—'

But the women dote on it, dear creatures! 'Tis to the sex what water is to the pig (poor, fat, ignorant brute!) ale to the yeoman (lusty fellow) Nantzy to your nobby-nosed parson (roguish old boy) and wine to your man of true taste. So, let there be tea, sir."

"By all means, Tom!"

"And sir—if I may venture a suggestion—?"

"Take courage, nephew, and try!"

"Why then, wear your blue and silver, nunky, 'tis the least obnaxious and by the way, have you such a thing as a lackey or so about the place to get in one's way and to be tumbled over as is the polite custom, sir?"

"Hum!" said the Major thoughtfully, "I fancy the Sergeant has drafted 'em all into his gardening squad—ask Mrs. Agatha, she'll know."

CHAPTER X

INTRODUCING DIVERS FINE GENTLEMEN

"Gentlemen!" said the Viscount, "you have, I believe, had the honour to meet my uncle, Major d'Arcy, for a moment, 'tis now my privilege to make you better acquainted, for to know him is to honour him. Uncle, I present our Ben, our blooming Benjamin—Sir Benjamin Tripp."

"Ods body, sir!" cried Sir Benjamin, plump, rubicund and jovial. "'Tis a joy—a joy, I vow! Od, sir,'tis I protest an infinite joy to——"

"Ha' done with your joys, Ben," said the Viscount, "here's Tony all set for his bow! Nunky—Mr. Anthony Marchdale!" Mr. Marchdale, a man of the world of some nineteen summers bent languidly and lisped:

"Kiss your hands, sir!"

"I present Lord Alvaston!" His lordship, making the utmost of his slender legs aided by a pair of clocked silk stockings bowed exuberantly.

"Very devoted humble, sir! As regards your poacher, sir, ma humble 'pinion's precisely your 'pinion sir—poacher's a dam rogue but rogue's a man 'n' rabbit's only rabbit—if 'sequently if dam rogue kills rabbit an' rabbit's your rabbit——"

"Stint your plaguy rabbits a while, Bob. Nunky, Captain West."

"Yours to command, sir!" said the Captain, a trifle mature, a trifle grim, but shooting his ruffles with a youthful ease.

"The Marquis of Alton!"

"I agree with Ben, sir, 'tis a real joy, strike me dumb if 'tisn't!"

"Sir Jasper Denholm!"

Sir Jasper, chiefly remarkable for an interesting pallor, and handsome eyes which had earned for themselves the epithet of "soulful," bowed in turn:

"Sir," he sighed, "your dutiful humble! If you be one of this sighful, amorous fellowship that worships peerless Betty from afar, 'tis an added bond, sir, a——" Speech was extinguished by a gusty sigh.

"Od so!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, hilariously, "do we then greet another rival for the smiles of our Admirable Lady Betty—begad!"

The Major started slightly then smiled and shook his head in denial.

"Nay sir, such presumption is not in me——"

"But, indeed, sir," sighed Sir Jasper, "you must have marked how Cupid lieth basking in the dimple of her able chin, lieth ambushed in her night-soft hair, playeth (naughty young wanton) in her snowy bosom, lurketh (rosy elf) 'neath——"

"Sir!" said the Major, rather hastily, "I have eyes!"

"Enough, sir—whoso hath eyes must worship! So do we salute you as a fellow-sufferer deep-smit of Eros his blissful, barbed dart."

"Od rabbit me, 'tis so!" cried Sir Benjamin. "Here's wine, come, a toast, let us fill to Love's latest bleeding victim—let us solemnly——"

The door opened, a rehabilitated footman announced: 'Lady Belinda Damain, Lady Elizabeth Carlyon,' and in the ladies swept, whereupon the Major instinctively felt to see if his peruke were straight.

"O dear heart!" exclaimed the Lady Belinda, halting with slim foot daintily poised. "So many gentlemen—I vow 'tis pure! And discussing a toast, too! O Gemini! Dear sirs, what is't—relate!"

"I' faith, madam," cried Sir Benjamin, "we greet and commiserate another victim to your glorious niece's glowing charms, we salute our fellow-sufferer Major d'Arcy!"

The Major laughed a little uncertainly as he hastened to welcome his guests.

"Indeed," said he, "what man having eyes can fail to admire though from afar, and in all humility!"

At this, Lady Betty laughed also and meeting her roguish look he flushed and bent very low above the Lady Belinda's hand but conscious only of her who stood so near and who in turn sank down before him in gracious curtsey, down and down, looking up at him the while with smile a little malicious and eyes of laughing mockery ere she rose, all supple, joyous ease despite her frills and furbelows.

"Doth he suffer much, think you, gentlemen?" she enquired, turning towards the company yet with gaze upon the Major's placid face. "Burneth he with amorous fire, think you, wriggleth he on Cupid's dart?"

"O infallibly!" answered Sir Benjamin, "I'll warrant me, madam, he flameth inwardly——

"E'en as unhappy I!" sighed Sir Jasper Denholm.

"And I myself!" said the Captain, shooting a ruffle.

"O Gad!" exclaimed Viscount Merivale, "why leave out the rest of us?"

"Demme, yes!" cried the Marquis, "we are all our divine Betty's miserable humble, obedient slaves to command——"

"'Tis excellent well!" exclaimed my lady gaily, "miserable slaves, I greet you one and all and 'tis now my will, mandate and command that you shall attend dear my aunt whiles I question this most placid sufferer as to his torments. Major, your hand—pray let us walk!"

As one in a dream he took her soft fingers in his and let her lead him whither she would. Side by side they passed through stately rooms lit by windows rich with stained glass; beneath carved and gilded ceilings, along broad corridors, up noble stairways and down again, she full of blithe talk, he rather more silent even than usual. She quizzed the grim effigies in armour, bowed airily to the portraits, peeped into cupboards and corners, viewing all things with quick, appraising, feminine eyes while he, looking at this and that as she directed him, was conscious only of her.

"'Tis a fine house!" she said critically, "and yet it hath, methinks, a sad and plaintive air. 'Tis all so big and desolate!"

"Desolate!" said he, thoughtfully.

"And lonely and cold, and empty and—ha'n't you noticed it, sir?"

"Why, no!"

"I marvel!"

"As for lonely, mam, they tell me I am naturally so, and then I have my work."

"And that, sir?"

"I'm writing a History of Fortification."

"It sounds plaguy dull!"

"So it does!" he agreed. In time they came to the library and study but on the threshold of that small, bare chamber, my lady paused.

"You poor soul!" she exclaimed. The Major looked startled. "'Tis here you sit and write?" she demanded. He admitted it. "And not so much as a rug on the floor!"

"Rugs are apt to—er—encumber one's feet!" he suggested.

"Nor a picture to light this dull panelling! Not a cushion, not a footstool! O 'tis a dungeon, 'tis deadly drear and smells horribly of tobacco—faugh!"

"Shall we rejoin the company?" he ventured.

"So bare, so barren!" she sighed, "so lorn and loveless!" Here she sank down at the desk in the Major's great armchair and shook disparaging head at him: "Why not work in comfort?"

"Is it so lacking?" he questioned, "I was content——"

"With very little, sir!"

"Surely to be content is to be happy?"

"And are you so—very happy, Major d'Arcy?"

"I—think so! At the least, I'm content——"

"Is a man ever content?" she enquired, taking up one of his pens in idle fingers.

The Major fell to pondering this, watching her the while as, with the feather of the pen she began to touch and stroke her vivid lips and he noticed how full and gentle were their curves.

"He is a fool who strives for the impossible!" said he at last.

"Nay, he is a very man!" she retorted. "Are there many things impossible after all, to a man of sufficient determination, I wonder—or a woman?"

The Major, seating himself on a corner of the desk, pondered this also; and now the feather of the pen was caressing the dimple in her chin, and he noticed how firm this chin was for all its round softness.

"'Deed, sir," she went on again, "I feel as we had known each other all our days, I wonder why?"

The Major took up his tobacco-box that lay near by and turned it over and over before he answered and without looking at her:

"I'm happy to know it, madam, very!"

"And my name is Betty and yours is John and we are neighbours. So I shall call you Major John and sometimes Major Jack—when you please me."

"How did you learn my name?" he asked gently; but now he did look at her.

"Major John," she answered lightly, "you possess a nephew."

"Aye, to be sure!" said he and looked at the tobacco-box again, then put it by, rather suddenly, and rose, "which reminds me that the company wait you, mam——"

"Do—not——"

"Madam!"

"Nor that!"

"My lady Betty," he amended, after a momentary pause. "The company—

"Pish to the company!"

"But madam, consider——"

"Pooh to the company! Pray be seated again, Major John. You love your nephew, sir?"

"Indeed! 'Tis a noble fellow, handsome, rich and—young——"

"True, he's very young, Major John!"

"And—er—" the Major glanced a little helplessly towards the tobacco-box, "he—he loves you and, er——"

"Mm!" said Lady Betty, biting the pen thoughtfully between white teeth. "He loves me, sir—go on, I beg!"

"And being a lover he awaits you impatiently."

"And the others, sir."

"And the others of course, and here are you—I mean here am I——"

"You, Major John—but O why drag yourself into it?"

"I mean that whiles they wait for sight of you I—er—keep you here——"

"By main force, sir."

The Major laughed.

"They will be growing desperate, I doubt," said he.

"Well, let 'em, Major John, I prefer to be—kept here awhile. Pray be seated as you were."

He obeyed, though his usually serene brow was flushed and his gaze wandered towards the tobacco-box again, perceiving which, my lady placed it in his hand.

"As regards your nephew——"

"Meaning Tom."

"Meaning Pancras, sir, he plagued me monstrously this morning. I was alone within the bower and he had the extreme impertinence to—climb the wall."

"The deuce he did, mam!"

"It hath been done before, I think, sir!" she sighed. "Being stole into the arbour he set a cushion on the floor and his knees thereon and, referring to his tablets, spoke me thus: 'Here beginneth the one-hundred-and-forty-sixth supplication for the hand, the heart, the peerless body of the most adorable——' but I spare you the rest, sir. Upon this, I, for the one-hundred and forty-sixth time incontinent refused him, whereupon he was for reading an ode he hath writ me, whereupon I, very naturally, sought to flee away, whereupon a great, vile, hugeous, ugly, monstrous, green and hairy caterpillar fell upon me—whereupon, of course, I swooned immediately."

"Poor child!" said the Major.

"The couch being comfortably near, sir."

"Couch!" exclaimed the Major, staring.

"Would you have me swoon on the floor, sir?"

"But if you swoon, mam——"

"I swoon gracefully, sir—'tis a family trait. I, being in a swoon, then, Major John, your nephew had the extreme temerity to—kiss me."

The Major looked highly uncomfortable.

"He kissed me here, sir!" and rosy finger-tip indicated dimpled chin. "To be sure he aimed for my lips, but, by subtlety, I substituted my chin which he kissed—O, passionately!"

The Major dropped the tobacco-box.

"But I understand you—but you were swooning!" he stammered.

"I frequently do, Major John, I also faint, sir, as occasion doth demand."

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed.

"And wherefore this amaze, sir?"

"'Fore Heaven, madam, I had not dreamed of such—such duplicity."

"O Innocence!" she cried.

"Do all fine ladies feign swoons, madam?"

"Major Innocence, they do! They swoon by rote and they faint by rule."

"Thank Heaven there be none to come swooning my way!" said he fervently.

"Dare you contemn the sex, sir?

"Nay, I'm not so bold, madam, or sufficiently experienced."

"To be sure your knowledge of the sex is limited, I understand."

"Very!"

"You have known but three ladies, I think?"

The Major bowed.

"Then I make the fourth, Major John."

"But indeed, I should never learn to know you in the least."

"Why, 'tis very well!" she nodded. "That which mystifies, attracts."

"Do you wish to attract?" he enquired, stooping for the tobacco-box.

"Sir, I am a woman!"

"True," he smiled, "for whose presence several poor gentlemen do sigh. Let us join 'em."

"Ah! You wish to be rid of me!" She laid down the pen and, leaning chin on hand, regarded him with eyes of meekness. "Do you wish to be rid of me?" she enquired humbly. "Do I weary you with my idle chatter, most grave philosopher?" She had a trick of pouting red lips sometimes when thinking and she did so now as she waited her answer.

"No!" said he.

"I could wish you a little more emphatic, sir and much more—more fiercely masculine—ferocity tempered with respect. Could you ever forget to be so preposterously sedate?"

"I climbed a wall!" he reminded her.

"Pooh!" she exclaimed, "and sat there as gravely unruffled, as proper and precise as a parson in a pulpit. See you now, perched upon a corner of the desk, yet you perch so sublimely correct and solemn 'tis vastly annoying. Could you ever contrive to lose your temper, I wonder?"

"Never with a child," he answered, smiling.

Lady Betty stiffened and stared at him with proud head upflung, grew very red, grew pale, and finally laughed; but her eyes glittered beneath down-sweeping lashes as she answered softly:

"'Deed, sir, I'm very contemptibly young, sir, immaturely hoydenish, sir, green, callow, unripe and altogether of no account to a tried man o' the world sir, of age and judgment ripe—aye, a little over-ripe, perchance. And yet, O!" my lady sighed ecstatic, "I dare swear that one day you shall not find in all the South country such a furiously-angry, ferociously-passionate, rampantly-raging old gentleman as Major John d'Arcy, sir!"

"And there's your aunt calling us, I think," said he, gently. Lady Betty bit her lip and frowned at her dainty shoe. "Pray let her wail, sir, 'tis her one delight when there chance to be a sufficiency of gentlemen to attend her, so suffer the poor soul to wail awhile, sir—nay, she's here!"

As the Major rose the door opened and Lady Belinda entered "twittering" upon the arms of Viscount Merivale and Sir Benjamin Tripp.

"Olack-a-day, dear Bet!" she gasped, "my own love-bird, 'tis here you are and the dear Major too! We've sought thee everywhere, child, the tea languishes—high an low we've sought thee, puss. 'Tis a monstrous fine house but vast—so many stairs—such work—upstairs and downstairs I've climbed and clambered, child——"

"Od so, 'tis true enough!" said Sir Benjamin clapping laced handkerchief to heated brow, "haven't done so much, hem! I say so much climbing for years, I vow!"

Here the Viscount, serene as ever, slowly closed one eye.

"Come Betty sweet, tea grows impatient and clamours for thee and I for tea, and the gentlemen all do passion for thee."

"By the way, Tom," said the Major as they followed the company, "I don't see Mr. Dalroyd here."

"No more he is, nunky!" answered the Viscount, "but then, Lord, sir, Dalroyd is something of an unknown quantity, at all times."

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH LADY BELINDA TALKS

"And pray mam," enquired the Major as they strolled over velvety lawn, "are you and my lady Betty settled in the country for good?"

The Lady Belinda stopped suddenly and raised clasped hands to heaven.

"Hark to the monster!" she ejaculated, "O Lud, Major, how can you? Stop in the country—I? O heaven—a wilderness of cabbages and caterpillars—of champing cows and snorting bulls! Sir, sir, at the bare possibility I vow I could positively swoon away——"

"Don't, mam!" cried the Major hastily. "No, no mam, pray don't," he pleaded.

"I detest the country sir, I——"

"Quite so, quite so," said the Major soothingly, "cows mam, I understand—quite natural indeed!"

"I loathe and abominate the country, sir—so rude and savage! Such mud and so—so infinite muddy and clingy! What can one do in the country but mope and sigh to be out of it?"

"Well, one can walk in it, mam, and——"

"Walk, sir? But I nauseate walking—in the country extremely. Think of the brooks sir, so—so barbarously wet and—and brooky. Think of the wind so bold to rumple one and spiky things to drag at and tear and take liberties with one's garments! Think of the things that creep and crawl and the things that fly and buzz—and the spiders' webs that tickle one's face! No sir, no—the country is no place for one endowed with a fine and delicate nature."

"Certainly not, mam," said the Major heartily. "Then you'll be leaving shortly?"

"I so beseech Heaven on my two bended knees, sir, but alas, I know not! 'Tis Betty—an orphan, sweet child and in my care. But indeed she's so wickedly wilful, so fly-by-night, so rampant o' youth and—and unreason."

"Indeed, mam!"

"And though sweet Bet is an angel of goodness she hath a temper, O!"

"Hum!" said the Major.

"And such—such animal spirits! So vulgarly robust! Such rude health and vigorous as a dairy-maid! And talking of dairy matters, only the other morning I found her positively—milking a cow!"

"Egad and did you so, mam?"

"And this morning such a romping in the dairy and there was she—O sir!"

"What, mam?"

"Arms all naked—churning, sir!

"O, churning?"

"Riotously, sir!"

"Did you—er—swoon, mam?"

"Indeed I could ha' done, dear Major, but—'twixt you and me, though dear Bet hath the best of hearts, she is perhaps a little unsympathetic I'll not deny, and hath betimes a sharp tongue, I must confess."

"Indeed I—I should judge so, mam."

"O you men!" sighed the Lady Belinda, turning up her eyes, "so quick to spy out foibles feminine—la sir and fie! But indeed though I do love my sweet Bet, O passionately, truth bids me say she can be almost shrewish!"

"You have my sympathy, mam!"

"Dear Major, I deserve it—if you only knew! The pranks she hath played me—so wild, so ungoverned, so—so unvirginal!" The Major winced. "I have known her gallop her horse in the paddock—man-fashion!" The Major looked relieved; perceiving which, Lady Belinda, sinking her voice, continued: "And once, sir, O heaven, can I ever forget! Once—O I tremble to speak it! Once——" The Major flinched again. "Once, sir, she actually ventured forth dressed in—in—O I blush!—in—O Modesty! O Purity!—in—O——!"

"Madam, a God's name—in what?"

"Male attire, sir—O I burn!"

The Major did the same.

"Not—you don't mean—abroad, mam, in—in 'em?"

"I do, sir, I do! She swaggered down the Mall, sir ogling the women, and finding me alone and I not knowing her, she did so leer and nudge me that I all but swooned 'twixt fear and modesty, sir!"

"Good God!" ejaculated the Major, faintly, "was she—alone, madam?"

"She was with her naughty brother Charles and methought he'd die of his unseemly mirth. A wild youth, indeed and she hath the same lawless spirit, sir. All their motherless days I have cared for 'em and what with their waywardness and my own high-strung nature—O me!"

"I can conceive your days have not been—uneventful, mam."

"Charles is known to you, of course, sir?"

"No, mam."

"But your nephew Pancras and he are greatly intimate!"

"I've never even heard of him, madam."

"Why then you don't know that poor, naughty, misguided Charles is—hush, they come! Yonder, sir—O Cupid, a ravishing couple!"

Lady Betty and the Viscount were approaching them, quarrelling as usual, she bright-eyed and flushed of cheek, he handsome, debonair and unutterably serene.

"A truly noble pair, dear Major!" sighed Lady Belinda.

"Indeed, yes, mam!"

"'Twould be an excellent match?"

"Excellent!"

"Both so well suited, so rich, so handsome——"

"And so—young, mam!"

"O sir, I yearn to have 'em married!" The Major was silent. "'Twould tame her wildness, I warrant. How think you?"

"Belike it would, madam."

"Then let us conspire together for their good, dear sir! Let us wed 'em as soon as may be—come?"