The Runaways: A New and Original Story. Gould Nat

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СКАЧАТЬ went past the stud farm, and came across Eli Todd, who had been going his rounds.

      Next to his runaway daughter, Janet, Eli Todd was devoted to Irene. He had known her from a child, had taught her to ride, and was proud of her accomplishment. He stood admiring her as she rode up.

      "Good-morning, Eli; how are all your pets? I expect this weather does not suit some of them, but, of course, you have no foals yet?" said Irene.

      "Everything is going on well," he replied; "but I am a bit anxious about old Honeysuckle."

      "She must be getting on for twenty?" said Irene.

      "Not far off that, Mrs. Courtly; in fact, I feel sure she is twenty, only it would not do to tell the Squire so, because he vows she is only eighteen, he won't hear of her being more," replied Eli, smiling.

      "There is not much difference between eighteen and twenty; but why are you anxious about Honeysuckle, is there anything seriously amiss with her? I am going through Helton, and can ask Bard to call."

      James Bard was the well-known county vet., and he lived at the little village of Helton, giving as his reason, "I prefer Helton; if I had my residence in the county town, people would be always demanding my services for all kinds of frivolous cases; it is a far way to Helton, and when they take the trouble to come for me I know the case is worth going to."

      "No, thank you," replied Eli. "It is not necessary for Jim Bard to be called in, and I hope it will not be."

      "Then what is it?" asked Irene.

      "The old mare is very heavy in foal, and I'm mightily afraid the youngster will come into the world before the first of January, and there's no need to tell you that would be a misfortune," replied Eli.

      "If he was born on December 31st it would mean he would be a year old on January 1st," said Irene, smiling.

      "That's just it, and look what a disadvantage he would be at all his life. I may be wrong, but I assure you I am having a very anxious time."

      "Have you told Mr. Maynard?"

      "No, and please say nothing about it to him. He would only worry, and be constantly backwards and forwards between the house and the stables. You know how fond he is of the old mare."

      "Honeysuckle is one of his great favourites, and no wonder; it is a good many years since she won the Oaks and the St. Leger for him. That is a fine painting he has of her in his study. I am afraid my poor effort will look very paltry beside it."

      "Have you taken to painting horses?" asked Eli. He believed Irene capable of doing almost anything she put her hand to.

      "I have tried to paint Random, and I am riding over to the Manor for the painting, as the Squire is anxious to see it."

      "He'll make a grand picture; he's a fine subject to work on. There are not many hunters like him in the county. He was Mr. Ulick's favourite, and I was precious glad when you got him, for I was very much afraid the Squire would have sold him."

      "You were very fond of Ulick, were you not, Eli?" she asked, in a soft tone of voice.

      "To my mind there's not a man round these parts to compare with him."

      "And you do not believe he ran away with Janet?"

      "He never did that, I'll swear. You know he was not a man of that sort."

      "Suspicion was, and still is, strong against him," she said.

      "You cannot judge a man on suspicion, and in your heart you do not believe him guilty," he said.

      "How can I believe otherwise? Who else could have done it?"

      "I wish I could find out," he answered, vehemently. "I will some day, and then – "

      "What then?"

      "Something will happen. When I stand face to face with the man who stole my girl, he'll have to look to himself," said Eli, sternly.

      "Do you think Janet will ever come back?" she asked.

      "Yes, as sure as I believe Mr. Ulick will."

      "I hope you will prove a true prophet," she replied. "If Ulick came back to Hazelwell and cleared himself, it would make a young man of the Squire. I should like to look round the stables, but I have no time now."

      "Come when you like, I shall be only too pleased to show you the mares. Don't say anything to the Squire about Honeysuckle, please, Mrs. Courtly."

      "I will not; I am discretion itself in such matters," laughed Irene, as she rode away.

      It was four miles to the Manor, and when she arrived there she thought how cold and forbidding the old place looked when compared with Hazelwell.

      The housekeeper was surprised to see her, and bustled about briskly.

      "I am not going to remain long," said Irene. "I have merely come for a picture. I suppose Mr. Courtly has not returned?"

      "No, but there is a letter for you, and it is his handwriting on the envelope."

      Irene went into the morning-room and found some letters in the basket on the table.

      She opened the one from her husband first. It was brief and to the point.

      "Dear Irene, – I shall not be home for a week. If you feel lonely, go over to Hazelwell; I am sure the Squire will give you a warm welcome. Business must be attended to, you know, and the Anselm Estate takes a good deal of looking after. With love, I am, &c., Warren."

      "Et cetera," said Irene to herself, smiling. "That's so like Warren. He is made up of et ceteras – it may mean much or little – it is so delightfully vague."

      A faint odour of perfume was perceptible, and she wondered where it came from. The letter was still in her hand, and as she wafted it carelessly about she discovered the paper was highly scented.

      "That's not club paper," she thought. "Clubs are too prosaic to have scented paper about, besides, there is no heading; he must have written it at some friend's house. But why should it be a plain sheet with no address? And what a peculiar scent. My dear Warren, this requires some explanation; I will carefully preserve your eloquent epistle. Scented paper and legal affairs do not go well together, not in the management of estates, although I have no doubt breach of promise cases agree with it."

      She folded the letter, and put it in the drawer of her writing-desk.

      Two letters were addressed to Warren, and these she placed on one side; the fourth bore the London postmark, and she did not know the writing. The contents puzzled her. The letter was a request for money to enable the writer to tide over temporary difficulties. It was signed Felix Hoffman. She had never heard the name before. Why did the man write to her? How came he to know her address? It was a strange begging-letter, for no hint was given as to the writer's position, how he came to be in distress, why he wrote to her, or any information that was likely to induce her to accede to his request. The strangeness of the letter appealed to her. She firmly believed the man wanted money, also that he would repay her. There was no whining about it, none of the professional begging-letter writer's ways. Half-a-dozen lines, and no sum mentioned. The address sounded genuine – 25, Main Street, Feltham, Middlesex. Where was Feltham? She took up Bradshaw's Guide, and found it was СКАЧАТЬ