Johnny Ludlow, Fourth Series. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ was still in a quandary; his countenance betrayed it. “Did you notice that he resembled William Brook, St. George?”

      “No. It did not strike me that he resembled any one. His face was well wrapped up from the cold, and I did not get a clear view of it: I am not sure that I should know it again. I should know his voice, though,” he added quickly.

      Poor Aunt Hester, listening to all this in dismay, felt the disappointment keenly: the tears were stealing down her face. “And we have been drinking his health, and—and feeling so thankful that he was safely back again!” she murmured gently.

      “Hang it, yes,” added Mr. Delorane. “Well, well; I dare say a day or two more will bring him. I must say I thought it odd that you should not have mentioned it to me, St. George, if he had come.”

      “I should have thought it very odd, sir,” spoke St. George.

      “Will you take a glass of wine?”

      “No, thank you; I have not time for it. Those deeds have to be gone over, you know, sir, before post-time,” replied St. George; and he left the room.

      “And if ever you two boys serve me such a trick again—bringing me over with a cock-and-bull story that people have come back from sea who haven’t—I’ll punish you,” stuttered the Squire, too angry to speak clearly.

      We went away in humility; heads down, metaphorically speaking, tails between legs. The Squire kept up the ball, firing away sarcastic reproaches hotly.

      Tod never answered. The truth was, he felt angry himself. Not with the Squire, but with the affair altogether. Tod hated mystification, and the matter was mystifying him utterly. With all his heart, with all the sight of his eyes, he had believed it to be William Brook: and he could not drive the conviction away, that it was Brook, and that St. George was giving him house room.

      “I don’t like complications,” spoke he resentfully.

      “Complications!” retorted the Squire. “What complications are there in this? None. You two lads must have been thinking of William Brook, perhaps speaking of him, and so you thought you saw him. That’s all about it, Joe.”

      The complications were not at an end. A curious addition to them was at hand. The Squire came to a halt at the turning to the Ravine, undecided whether to betake himself home at once, or to make a call first at Timberdale Court, to see Robert Ashton.

      “I think we’ll go there, lads,” said he: “there’s plenty of time. I want to ask him how that squabble about the hunting arrangements has been settled.”

      So we continued our way along the road, presently crossing it to take the one in which the Court was situated: a large handsome house, lying back on the right hand. Before gaining it, however, we had to pass the pretty villa rented by Mr. St. George, its stable and coach-house and dog-kennel beside it. The railway was on ahead; a train was shrieking itself at that moment into the station.

      St. George’s groom and man-of-all-work, Japhet, was sweeping up the leaves on the little lawn. Tod, who was in advance of us, put his arms on the gate. “Are you going to make a bonfire with them?” asked he.

      “There’s enough for’t, sir,” answered Japhet. “I never see such a wind as yesterday’s,” he ran on, dropping his besom to face Tod, for the man was a lazy fellow, always ready for a gossip. “I’m sure I thought it ’ud ha’ blowed the trees down as well as the leaves.”

      “It was pretty strong,” assented Tod, as I halted beside him, and the Squire walked on towards the Court. “We were out in it—coming home from Pigeon Green. There was one gust that I thought would have blown the horses right over.”

      “The master, he were out in it, too, a coming home from Worcester,” cried Japhet, taking off his old hat to push his red hair back. “When he got in here, he said as he’d had enough on’t for one journey. I should think the poor horse had too; his coat were all wet.”

      Tod lifted up his head, speaking impulsively. “Was your master alone, Japhet, when he got home? Had he any one with him?”

      “Yes, he were all alone, sir,” replied the man. “Miss Delorane were with him when he drove off in the morning, but she stayed at Worcester.”

      Had Tod taken a moment for thought he might not have asked the question. He had nothing of the sneak in him, and would have scorned to pump a servant about his master’s movements. The answer tended to destroy his theory of Brook’s being concealed here, and to uphold the account given by Mr. St. George.

      Quitting the railings, we ran to catch up the Squire. And at that moment two or three railway passengers loomed into view, coming from the train. One of them was Ellin Delorane.

      She came along briskly, with a buoyant step and a smiling face. The Squire dropped us a word of caution.

      “Now don’t go telling her of your stupid fancy about Brook, you two: it would only cause her disappointment.” And with the last word we met her.

      “Ah ha, Miss Ellin!” he exclaimed, taking her hands. “And so the truant’s back again!”

      “Yes, he is back again,” she softly whispered, with a blush that was deep in colour.

      The Squire did not quite catch the words. She and he were at cross-purposes. “We have but now left your house, my dear,” he continued. “Your aunt does not expect you back to-day; she thought you would stay at Worcester till Saturday.”

      Ellin smiled shyly. “Have you seen him?” she asked in the same soft whisper.

      “Seen whom, my dear?”

      “Mr. Brook.”

      “Mr. Brook! Do you mean William Brook? He is not back, is he?”

      “Yes, he is back,” she answered. “I thought you might have seen him: you spoke of the return of the truant.”

      “Why, child, I meant you,” explained the Squire. “Nobody else. Who says William Brook is back?”

      “Oh, I say it,” returned Ellin, her cheeks all rosy dimples. “He reached Worcester yesterday.”

      “And where is he now?” cried the Squire, feeling a little at sea.

      “He is here, at Timberdale,” answered Ellin. “Mr. St. George drove him home last night.”

      “There!” cried Tod with startling emphasis. “There, father, please not to disparage my sight any more.”

      Well, what do you think of this for another complication? It took me aback. The Squire rubbed his face, and stared.

      “My dear, just let us understand how the land lies,” said he, putting his hand on Ellin’s shoulder. “Do you say that William Brook reached Worcester yesterday on his return, and that St. George drove him home here at night?”

      “Yes,” replied Ellin. “Why should you doubt it? It is true.”

      “Well, we thought St. George did drive him home,” was the Squire’s answer, staring into her face; “we passed his gig in Dip Lane and thought that it was Brook that he had with him. But St. George denies this. He says it was not Brook; that he has not seen Brook, does not know he has come home; he says the man he had with him was a stranger, to whom he was giving a СКАЧАТЬ