The Runaways: A New and Original Story. Gould Nat

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СКАЧАТЬ of command, Bersak lowered himself – no other word adequately expresses the dog's movement, – to the hearthrug, and with his fore-paws stretched out watched the Squire's face.

      How much would Redmond Maynard have given to see the door open and his son Ulick walk in. All he possessed – aye, more, many years of his life. He knew how Bersak would have leapt [to] his feet with a mighty bark of welcome, and a spring forward until his strong paws reached Ulick's shoulders.

      He fixed his eyes on the door, and as he did so it opened. But it was not Ulick entering, although the newcomer brought a faint smile on his face.

      "Irene!" he exclaimed, as the vision in furs came across the fire-lit room; "this is good of you. However did you get here; is it still snowing?"

      "No, Squire, it is not snowing, although there is plenty of snow; and as to how I came here, well – look at my boots," and she held up her dress and disclosed a pair of strong "lace-ups," fitting perfectly her well-shaped feet.

      "So you walked all the way from the Manor, and with the express object of cheering a lonely old man on a depressing winter's evening. I call that good of you, positively charitable, but Irene Courtly's name is ever associated with good works," said the Squire.

      "I am afraid the good work on this occasion is closely allied with selfishness," she replied, smiling. "Being alone, I appreciate the feelings of others similarly situated, and that is how I came to think of you."

      "Alone!" he exclaimed. "Where is Warren?"

      "Gone to London. Important business. No hunting, you see, Squire," she said, with a laugh he thought had not a very true ring about it.

      Redmond Maynard gave an impatient gesture, and Bersak pushed his head against her hand in doggish sympathy. Irene Courtly noticed the movement, and said —

      "He really had to go; he assured me it was absolutely necessary," she said.

      Warren Courtly had also added. "I'll be back in a few days, Irene. Run over and see the Squire, you will be company for each other."

      "You cannot humbug me, Irene," said Redmond Maynard. "He's tired of the country because there is no sport, and I call it downright selfish of him to go up to town and leave you behind at Anselm Manor."

      "But, really, I did not wish to go, Squire."

      "You mean it?"

      "Yes, most decidedly."

      "Then pull off those furs; let me send Bob over for your things and your maid, and stay here until Warren returns," said the Squire.

      This time the laugh was hearty enough, and she said —

      "Impetuous as ever, Squire. I only wish I could."

      "And what is to prevent your doing so?"

      "My duty towards my neighbours," said Irene, laughing.

      "Love your neighbour as yourself, and I am your nearest neighbour," he answered.

      Then, going to the window, he opened it, and, putting out his arm for a few moments, drew it in again and showed her the snowflakes on his coat-sleeve.

      "You cannot possibly return to the Manor in such weather," he said, and touched the bell.

      "Can you drive, or ride, to Anselm Manor, Bob?" he asked.

      The man shook his head doubtfully.

      "I'll try, sir."

      "Take the old mare and 'the tub,' and bring Mrs. Courtly's maid back. She will know what her mistress requires."

      "Yes, sir, I'll manage it," replied Bob Heather, with alacrity.

      Mary Marley, Mrs. Courtly's maid, was Bob Heather's favourite, and he had an idea she preferred him to any of her admirers.

      "The maid did it," said the Squire, with a smile. "I doubt if he would have undertaken the journey for the luggage alone."

      Irene laughed, and then, in a serious mood, said, as she stroked Bersak's head, "Do you think it right for me to remain here. You are my oldest friend, and my guardian until I married Warren. Ought I to stay?"

      "Of course, of course," he replied impatiently. "It is snowing fast again. Warren would not expect you to go home on such a night."

      She settled down to spend a quiet evening with him. She knew what this night meant to him, what it might have meant to her had all gone well with Ulick.

      Watching him as he sat with the firelight on his face, she noticed how he had aged during the past year. No, not aged exactly, for he was still a firm, strong, active man; but there was something in his noble, if severe, face that told of a great struggle racking him within.

      She knew the largeness of his heart, and his notions of honour, which many modern hypocrites laughed at, because their little minds could not grasp his greatness. She remembered how he guarded her [as] his own child when her father, Colonel Carstone, died and left her as a legacy to his old friend. He brought her as a girl of sixteen to Hazelwell, and said —

      "Irene, this is your home. Your father gave you to me, and it is a sacred gift. You will get on with Ulick, he is a good lad, and you have known each other for some years. Hazelwell will be the brighter for your presence."

      She revered Redmond Maynard above all men, and whatever he did she considered right, until – until Ulick left his home.

      "He is thinking of him now," she thought. "Oh, why does he not come home? The old scandal is dead; I have forgiven him, surely he has – he must."

      Bersak sat with his head in her lap looking into her face, his sharp, keen eyes blinking, and occasionally he turned to look at the silent figure in the chair. Irene did not disturb him, but to know his thoughts she would have given much.

      She saw his hands clench the chair tightly – sure sign of a strong man's emotion.

      Quietly she rose from her seat, took a footstool, placed it beside him, and sat at his feet. She laid her head on his knee; Bersak followed her and lay at her feet. They formed a pretty group in the firelight's glow. The room was warm and cosy, although large; outside, the snow was still falling, adding steadily to the frozen mass upon which it descended.

      Redmond Maynard placed his hand on her head and gently stroked her hair. She remained silent and quite still.

      "It is like old times to have you here again," he said at length.

      "And I am very glad to be with you. Will you play chess, shall I read to you, or will you talk?" she said.

      "Being a woman, Irene, I will talk to you."

      "Am I such a chatterbox?" she answered, laughing.

      "Not that, anything but that. You speak when you have something to say; you are not an aimless chatterer."

      "Warren says my tongue is never still."

      "Warren is an ass," he snapped.

      "Oh, dear no, not at all. He is by no means stupid."

      "I retract; I ought not to have made use of the expression."

      "I will keep it to СКАЧАТЬ