The Sapphire Cross Part 28

ANOTHER ENCOUNTER.

"What now?" grumbled the post-boy, as he turned in his saddle, and then, in obedience to the gesticulations directed at him, pulled up very slowly, and not until he had traversed nearly a hundred yards of road.

Flinging down the steps, the gentleman alighted, half dragged his daughter from her seat, so rudely, indeed, that she nearly fell. Then drawing her arm tightly through his own, he walked back to the injured post-boy and gave some order, his forehead netted the while with the swelling veins, and his face now pale and flushed by the pa.s.sion that agitated his breast.

He seemed to quite ignore the presence of Brace, and before the young man could recover from his astonishment, father and daughter were hurriedly walking away.

"Is there anything wrong?--is--that is, can I be of no a.s.sistance?"

stammered Brace, as he ran after and overtook them--speaking to the father, but gazing the while in the daughter's pale and frightened face, as if his eyes were riveted there; but only to meet with a strange, imploring look, half horror--half dread.

The stranger tried to speak, as he raised one trembling hand, pointing towards the carriage, but no words pa.s.sed his lips; and motioning the young man fiercely, he hurriedly led his trembling charge away.

"Is he mad?" said Brace to himself. "And to drag that poor girl away like that! What more can I do?" he muttered, as the post-boy drew up alongside of where he stood.

"I've put the portmanty back in the front, sor, as them two ain't agoing."

But Brace Norton did not seem to hear him, as, seeking for some clue to this strange alteration in the old man's behaviour, his eyes fell upon the seat of the chaise the travellers had so lately occupied, where, forgotten for the time, lay his travelling writing-case, with its bra.s.s-plate bearing his name and that of his s.h.i.+p.

Well, yes, he had forgotten that, but what was there in his name to make the old man leap from the chaise as if half mad, unless--

There was a faint suspicion in his mind--a dim and confused mingling of fragments of old stories that had never made any impression upon him before; but now he struggled hard to recall in their entirety these shadowy memories of the past. In vain, though; he only grew more mystified than ever. The strangers were already at a turn of the road, and it was in his mind to run after them and ask for some explanation, when his eyes fell upon the handkerchief that the gentleman had placed within his hands--a handkerchief that now for the first time he saw was not the one he had applied to the injured temple, and his heart throbbed as he thought that it was his that she now held; but the next instant a feeling of trouble and pleasure mingled, as it were, came upon him, and he looked eagerly in the corner of the piece of cambric, to find there, in faint but still legible characters, the two words, "Isa Gernon."

An old quarrel--some unpleasantry between the two families--some feeling of bitterness on the part of Sir Murray Gernon, who, with his daughter, had been resident in Italy for some twenty years. That must be it, for he could evoke nothing from the past--nothing tangible. Sir Murray had seen, then, the name of Norton in the chaise, and he refused to accept service from any one bearing that patronymic. It was absurd, too, after all these years; but it would only be an insult to a man of such pride of speech and mien to follow and press upon him what he would look upon as a favour. A little gentle advance or two upon the part of those at the Hall might put all right; for if that was Sir Murray Gernon returned unexpectedly after all these years to dwell at the Castle, there must be no enmity now. And this, then, was his daughter!

So mused Brace Norton as he mentally smoothed away all difficulties ahead, rejoicing, too, he knew not why, at the prospect of possessing such neighbours. He must, he felt, question them at home about the past, and try to adopt means for a reconciliation.

Here he stopped short, roused by the sight of the wrecked chaise, and recalling the position of those from whom he had but now parted. If that were Sir Murray Gernon, he was a good six miles from the Castle, to which place it seemed impossible that he could walk. What could be done, then, to help them without its being known from whence the help arrived? He had at last determined upon being taken back to the town, and informing the hotel-keeper of the state of affairs, when a heavily-laden fly was driven up, the roof and the driver's box being filled with luggage, when, seeing the state of the post-boy and the injured chaise, the fly-man pulled up, and began to make inquiries.

"No bones broke, Tommy," said the post-boy, in reply; "but I shall be precious glad to get back."

"An' was that the chay Sir Mooray Jairnon was in?" exclaimed a voice; and a ma.s.sive-looking grizzled head was thrust out of the fly-window.

"Was it your master," said the post-boy: "grey gent with a young lady?"

"Yes--yes! Where are they?" exclaimed an eager female voice. "Pray get out, McCray, and see."

"Dinna fash yersel', la.s.sie," said the first speaker. "There's naebodie hurt, I ken. But where's Sir Mooray, my lad?"

"Walked on," said the post-boy.

"You are, then, that gentleman's servant?" exclaimed Brace Norton, now eagerly joining in the conversation.

"And wha may ye be that ask sic a question?"

"Only a traveller on the road," said Brace, smiling, as he glanced at the comely, pleasant-faced female who had just stepped out of the fly; "but your master and the young lady have just walked on. You have arrived in capital time, for I fear that she is much shaken. It was a very rude fall."

"Gudeness save us, Jenny! jump in again, and let's drive on. I'm verra grateful for your information, sir, and I thank ye."

"Pray make haste, McCray!" cried the pleasant-faced dame, smoothing back the grey-streaked bands of hair from her forehead.

And the next minute, with the satisfaction of knowing that he had sent help where it was needed, Brace Norton was standing alone in the road.

He was very thoughtful and serious as he stood there, once more trying to bring back something of the old history from the past days of his parents' life; but he soon gave it up as an impossible task, and one most unsuited for his present place of study. So, a.s.sisting the injured post-boy to mount, upon his reiterated a.s.surance that he could easily reach home alone, Brace once more stepped up to his own conveyance, and, very thoughtful and dreamy, slowly continued his journey.

Four miles further on, having purposely kept the post-boy at a slow rate, Brace overtook the late occupants of the fly, arm-in-arm, and st.u.r.dily trudging on towards Merland, when, rightly concluding that their places had been taken by Sir Murray and his daughter, Brace stopped the post-boy, and invited the old Scot and his companion to share the conveyance.

"Na, na, sir; ye're verra kind, but I'd raither not, and the gudewife here is of the same opinion. I wish ye a gude day, sir--a gude day.

Ye'll excuse our hurrying on."

There was a something in the man's manner that whispered of exclusiveness, and a desire to avoid strangers, which checked Brace Norton in his desire to press his offers of service. He had the good sense to feel, too, that, with the master so determinedly distant, any advances toward the servant might be looked upon as an insult. So, reluctantly giving the order to proceed, the wheels of the chaise spun round, and the next moment, at a turn of the road, Brace caught a glimpse of the couple trudging along; when, throwing himself back in the vehicle, the young man began to ponder upon what was the cause, his thoughts, too, often being occupied by the faces of his mother and Isa Gernon.

Book 2, Chapter IV.

DREAD.

Twenty winters had not come and pa.s.sed away without leaving traces of their frosty rime upon the heads of Captain Norton and his wife; but as they stood in the Hall dining-room, hand clasping hand, and gazing into each others face, it was evident that, whatever might have been the past, there was peace, content, and happiness there.

"Yes," said Mrs Norton, now grown into a pleasant matronly dame, "he has come back. The whole village rings with the news. So unexpected, too."

"Poor fellow!" said Captain Norton, after a few minutes' quiet thought.

"Heaven grant that he may be more happy! I am sorry, though, Ada--very sorry; for his coming seems to open old wounds. But come--come, darling!" he exclaimed, as he drew her towards his breast. "Don't wear that troubled face. Surely, after all these years--"

"Pray forgive me!" said Mrs Norton, nestling closer to him; and she smiled happily in reply to his caresses. "As you say, Philip, Heaven help him, and clear up the dark mystery of his life! I do not see why we should trouble ourselves about his coming back."

"Well--no," said Captain Norton, uneasily; "but one cannot help recalling how events shaped themselves after his last return. But there, let us dismiss it all, for I cannot trust myself even now to dwell upon all these old matters. I would make up my mind to leave, and at once, in spite of the inconvenience, only that it would be like a tacit acknowledgment that I was afraid to meet him; and you know how charitable people can be."

"Oh no; we could not think of leaving," said Mrs Norton, hastily; "but I think--nay, I feel sure that with him the past will be buried entirely; for, Philip," she added, solemnly, "may Heaven forgive me if I am uncharitable, but I believe that the man who could so cruelly malign my husband must have had his own ends to serve. I could not refrain from saying this, as the subject was brought up; but whatever evil-- whatever wrong-doing was connected with poor Marion's disappearance, must some day or other be brought out into the light of day. Twenty years--twenty long years--has the matter slumbered, and it may slumber twenty more; and, in spite now of my utter indifference to public opinion, I cannot help longing for the mystery to be cleared up in our day. But, whether or no, promise me this, dearest, that it shall not be allowed to trouble you--that you will not brood over it; and that, come what may, you will avoid all encounter with that bad, proud man, whose coming seems like a cloud sent over dear old Merland. I almost feel thankful that poor Mr and Mrs Elstree are now far away from trouble and care. There was that dread suspicion, though, in both their hearts; I feel sure, however, they struggled to the last to keep it back. But there: let us dismiss it all; and you promise me, do you not?"

Captain Norton's calm, quiet smile was enough to rea.s.sure his wife; and as he took his seat at a side-table, covered with correspondence, she stood behind him, leaning her hands upon his shoulder.

"We are going on at a famous rate, Ada," he said, after a busy pause, in short, sharp, decisive tones, that smacked of the man of business--"returns increasing every month. Some of the prophetic old wiseacres would give their ears now for shares in our rusty old iron company. By the way, though, Brace has not written for any money lately. Is it not time we heard from him?"

"Yes," said Mrs Norton, with anxiety in her tones; "and--"

"Now, don't be an old fidget," said the Captain, laughingly, as once more he drew her towards him. "That poor old head of yours is as full of s.h.i.+pwrecks and disasters at sea as one of the wreck-charts or Lloyd's ledgers. What a pity it is that we did not have half-a-dozen boys for you to share that weak old heart of yours amongst, so that you need not have had to worry yourself to death about one!"

"But surely we ought to have had a letter a month since."

"Certainly, my love, if the poor boy had had a post-office close at hand into which he could pop it. Don't be so unreasonable. You don't know how even an adverse wind will keep a vessel away from port for weeks together. You must study statistics, so as to ease that heart of yours, by learning how seldom a mishap befalls a s.h.i.+p. We shall be hearing from him before long, and--There, bless my soul, I must keep a clerk; I've forgotten to answer Harrison and Son's letter."

"What was that about?" said Mrs Norton, as, pleased to see how happy her husband was in his business pursuits--upon which, in spite of adversity at the outset, fortune had of late smiled in full suns.h.i.+ne-- she tried to enter into each matter, knowing full well how his busy life had been the cure for a mind diseased.

"What was it about?" said Captain Norton, dreamily. "Oh, about the marsh--the warping, you know. I am to have two thousand acres."

"But I don't know," said Mrs Norton, smiling; "you promised to explain."

"To be sure; so I did!" he exclaimed, eagerly reaching down a rolled-up plan, and spreading it upon the table. "Now look here, Ada; this will be an expensive affair, and we shall reap no benefit from it ourselves, for it is a matter of years and years; but that young dog will have an estate which will make him hold up his head as high as he likes. Now, see here--this is my side. I've bought these two thousand acres of worthless marshland--worthless save for peat-digging and wild-duck shooting. This is the piece, Ada, love," he said, solemnly, as he laid a finger upon the plan. "I chose this so that I might preserve the pine-wood untouched."

He stopped to gaze up in his wife's face, and as she recalled the past, she bent over him until her cheek touched his forehead.