The Star-Gazers Part 45

Pretty little rustic-looking thing. I rather like the little la.s.sie; she's so fresh and innocent. I wonder what dignified Madame Glynne would say. Bet a hundred to one little Lucy's thinking about me now, and making up her mind to come."

He was right; Lucy was thinking about him, and wis.h.i.+ng he had been at the bottom of the sea that morning before he had met her.

"Oh, what will Mr Oldroyd think?" she sobbed, as the tears ran down her face. "It's nothing to him, and he's nothing to me; but it's horrible for him to have seen me walking out at this time in the morning, and _alone_, with that stupid, common, racing, betting creature, whom I absolutely abominate."

She walked on, weeping silently for a few minutes before resuming her self-reproaches.

"I'm afraid it was very wicked and wrong and forward of me, but I did so want to know whether he really cared for Glynne. And he doesn't--he doesn't--he does not," she sobbed pa.s.sionately. "He's a wicked, bad, empty-headed, deceitful monster; and he'd make Glynne wretched all her life. Why, he was making love to me, and talking slightingly of her all the time."

Here there was another burst of sobs, in the midst of which, and the accompanying blinding tears, she stooped down to pick another mushroom, but only to viciously throw it away, for it to fall bottom upwards impaled upon the sharp thorns of a green furze bush close at hand.

"I don't care," she cried; "they may think what they like, both of them, and they may say what they like. I was trying to fight my poor, dear, injured, darling brother's battle, and to make things happier for him, and if I'm a martyr through it, I will be, and I don't care a pin."

She was walking on, blinded by the veil of tears that fell from her eyes, seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the song of birds and the whirr and hum of the insect world. The morning was now glorious, and the wild, desolate common land was full of beauty; but Lucy's heart was sore with trouble, and outburst followed outburst as she went homeward.

"I've found him out, though, after all, and it's worth every pain I may feel, and Glynne shall know what a wretch he is, and then she'll turn to poor, dear Moray, and he'll be happy once again. Poor fellow, how he has suffered, and without a word, believing that there was no hope for him when there is; and I don't care, I'm growing reckless now; I'd even let Glynne see how unworthy Captain Rolph is, by going to meet him. It doesn't matter a bit, people will believe I'm weak and silly; and if the captain were to boast that he had won me, everybody would believe him.

Oh, it's dreadful, dreadful, I want to do mischief to some one else and--and--and--but I don't care, not a bit. Yes, I do," she sobbed bitterly. "Everybody will think me a weak, foolish, untrustworthy girl, and it will break my heart, and--oh!"

Lucy stopped short, tear-blinded, having nearly run against an obstacle in the way.

The obstacle was Lucy's mental definition of "everybody," who would think slightingly of her now.

For "everybody" was seated upon a pony, waiting evidently for her to come.

Volume 2, Chapter VII.

STARLIGHT DOINGS.

It was astonis.h.i.+ng how great the interest in the stars had now become in the neighbourhood of Brackley. Glynne was studying hard so as to learn something of the wondrous...o...b.. of whose astounding nature Moray Alleyne loved to speak; and now Philip Oldroyd had told himself that it would be far better if he were not quite so ignorant on matters astronomical.

The result was that he had purchased a book or two giving accounts of the Royal Observatory, the peculiarities of the different instruments used, the various objects most studied; and in these works he was coaching himself up as fast as he could on the present night--having "a comfortable read" as he called it, before going to bed--when there came a bit of a novelty for him, a sudden summons to go and see a patient.

"What's the matter?" he said, going to the door to answer the call, after a glance at his watch, to see that it was half-past twelve.

"Well, sir," said the messenger, Caleb Kent, "it's mate o' mine hurt hissen like, somehow. Met of a fall, I think."

"Fall, eh? Where is he hurt?"

"Mostlings 'bout the 'ead, sir, but he's a bit touched all over."

"What did he fall off--a cart?"

"No, sir, it warn't off a cart. Hadn't you better come and see him, sir?"

"Of course, my man, but I don't want to go away from home, and then find I might have taken something, and saved my patient a great deal of suffering."

"Yes, sir; quite right, sir," said the man mysteriously; "well, you see, sir, I can't talk about it like. It weer a fall certainly, but some one made him fall."

"Oh, a fight, eh?"

"Yes, sir; there was a bit of a fight."

"Well, if your mate has been fighting, is he bad enough to want a doctor?"

"He's down bad, sir. It warn't fisties."

"Sticks?"

The man nodded.

"Anything worse?"

"Well, sir, I didn't mean to speak about it, but it weer."

"I think I have it," thought Oldroyd. "The man has been shot in a poaching affray. Where is it?" he said aloud.

"Lars cottage through Lindham, sir. Tile roof."

"Six miles away?"

"Yes, sir; 'bout six miles."

As Oldroyd spoke, he was busily thrusting a case or two and some lint into his pockets, and filling a couple of small phials; after which he b.u.t.toned up his coat and put out his lamp.

"Now, then, my man, I must just call at the mill, and then I'm ready for you."

"Going to walk, sir?" said the messenger.

"No; I'm going to get the miller's pony. I'm sorry I can't offer to drive you back."

"Never you mind about me, sir. I can get over the ground," said the man; and following Oldroyd down the lane, he stopped with him at a long low cottage, close beside the dammed up river, where a couple of sharp raps caused a cas.e.m.e.nt to be opened.

"You, doctor?" said a voice; and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, there was the word "catch," and Oldroyd cleverly caught a key attached by a string to a very large horse-chestnut. Then the cas.e.m.e.nt was closed, and the two went round to the stable, where a stout pony's slumbers were interrupted, and the patient beast saddled and bridled and led out, ready to spread its four legs as far apart as possible when the young doctor mounted as if afraid of being pulled over by his weight.

"Now, then," said Oldroyd, relocking the door, "forward as fast as you like. When you're tired I'll get down."

"Oh, I sha'n't be tired," said the man, quietly; and he started off at a regular dog-trot. "That there pony'll go anywhere, sir, so I shall take the short cuts."

"Mind the boggy bits, my man."

"You needn't be skeard about them, sir; that there pony wouldn't near one if you tried to make him."

Oldroyd nodded, and the man trotted to the front, the pony following, and, in spite of two or three proposals that they should change places, the guide kept on in the same untiring manner.

Here and there, though, when they had pa.s.sed the common, and were ascending the hills, the man took hold of the pony's mane, and trudged by the side; and during these times Oldroyd learned all about the fight in the fir wood.

"Whose place was it at?" said Oldroyd at last.

"Sir John Day's, sir."