The Runaways by Nat Gould (best way to read an ebook .txt) 📖

stood looking at his face, with the closed eyes and the black mark on the neck. She stood perfectly still; no cry came from her; but her look of horror told she knew he was dead.

The Squire reached her just as she fell forward, insensible, on her husband's body. He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and sat down on the slab. With one hand he drew the handkerchief over Warren's face again.

"This is a sad blow," he thought. "It is a blessing she is insensible. It may be all for the best."

He allowed her to remain in this state for some minutes, and then tried to rouse her. His foot pained him, but he scarcely felt it.

Irene opened her eyes and shuddered. At first she did not realise where she was, but, as she caught sight of the gravestones, they recalled all.

"He is dead!" she said, slowly. "Poor Warren! he is dead!"

The tears came to her relief, and the Squire remained silent, with his arm supporting her.

Suddenly she flung herself on Warren's body and moaned bitterly.

The Squire placed his hand on her shoulder, and said—

"Irene, bear up; there is much to be done. We must take him home—to Hazelwell first, if you wish; it is nearer."

"No, no!" she said. "To the Manor. I want to be there with him alone!"

The carriage came, and was closely followed by Ulick and Dr. Harding, who examined Warren, and found his neck broken.

Tenderly they placed him in the carriage. Irene insisted upon getting in, and the Squire followed her, saying to Ulick—

"You and Dr. Harding had better follow us to the Manor."

Warren Courtly was taken back to his home, which he had left in the morning full of health and spirits, if not happiness. He little thought, when he mounted the fiery grey, how he was to return.

The news of the fatal accident soon spread, but it had not reached Anselm Manor, and there was consternation when they arrived.

Mrs. Dixon did all in her power for her mistress, and managed to calm and soothe her.

"It is dreadful!" moaned Irene.

She did not love Warren, but the shock of his death affected her terribly. It was so sudden, so unlooked for; and he was so young. She could hardly believe it. Dixon remained with her during the night, and towards early morning she sank into a troubled slumber.

"I cannot remain here," said Ulick, soon after their arrival. "It would not be right for me to do so. You will remain, father?"

"Yes; but you must go to Hazelwell," was the reply.

Warren was dead, and Irene knew nothing of his connection with Janet. He was glad of that; he had no hesitation in going to Hazelwell now.

"I will," he replied, and the Squire gave a sigh of relief.

"Home again, at last!" he thought. "Warren's death has brought us together again; once at Hazelwell he will not leave it."

Warren Courtly was buried in Anselm church, in the vault where several of his ancestors reposed; and Irene was a widow, having been only a very short time a wife, and that only in name.

It was a shock to the county, and the members of the Rushshire Hunt in particular, and it was generally acknowledged Warren's rashness at attempting such a leap caused his early death.

Ulick and the Squire examined the wall where the grey and his rider were killed, and the latter said—

"I wonder what made him attempt it? As a rule he was not rash."

Ulick explained what had happened, and how Warren had dared him to follow him.

"I wonder sometimes if he was angry because Irene lent me Random to ride, and that caused him to act as he did."

"I should not be disposed to look at it in that light," answered his father. "He may have been surprised to see you out, more especially on Random; but there was no harm in your riding him. There was something else at the bottom of the challenge he threw out to you. Did you ever doubt his courage?"

"If I did, he was unaware of it," was the answer.

"Then it must have been in a sudden fit of rashness he did it," said the Squire.

Janet Todd read the account of the fatal accident to Warren Courtly in the paper, but she did not grieve much over his death, although she felt sorry it had taken place. There was nothing now to hinder her returning to her father, and it was the only thing she could do, as she had very little money.

She wrote to Eli begging his forgiveness, and asking if he would take her back. Needless to say, his reply was loving and fatherly, and he implored her to come home without delay.

Janet returned, and Eli—good, large-hearted man that he was—received her with open arms, and she was grateful for his kindness.

Some weeks after her return he said to her one night—

"Janet, I had made up my mind never to allude to the past, but I will ask you one question and have done with it."

She knew what the question was, and decided there could be no harm in answering it now, more especially as Irene knew the whole circumstances.

"I will answer any question you care to ask me," she said.

"Who induced you to run away and leave me?" he asked.

"Warren Courtly."

"I thought as much," was his reply.

CHAPTER XX. PERFECT HARMONY.

It was over twelve months since Warren Courtly came to an untimely end, and the Squire and his son were in the morning-room, where he had kept vigil on the anniversary of Ulick's departure. There was no snow on this occasion, as they looked out of the window at the familiar scene; but the ground was held in the grip of a hard frost, and the white crystals had not yet vanished from the trees.

"Irene is coming for dinner to-night," said the Squire, as he looked at him.

"And who else is coming?"

"Only Dr. Harding and the Vicar and his wife," replied his father.

Ulick did not immediately reply, but stood at the window while the Squire sat down.

Bersak, who was lying on the hearthrug, went to him and licked his hand. He patted the dog's head, but, as he made no movement to go away, Bersak went and laid down at the Squire's feet.

During the months that had elapsed since Warren's death he had seen very little of Irene, had, in fact, avoided her as much as possible, and absented himself a good deal from Hazelwell, his excuse being that he liked to see his horses run, especially the Saint.

The "curiosity" had won some good handicaps, and, at the Squire's request, he had been sent down to Hazelwell at the end of his four-year-old career, much to Fred May's chagrin, as he wished to keep him in work, and said it was throwing money away to send him to the stud at that age. Ulick, however, wished to please his father, so the Saint was now an important member of the Hazelwell stud, and Eli Todd was as proud of him as the trainer had been.

The Squire knew it was not altogether racing that caused his son to vanish from home for weeks at a time. He appreciated the delicacy of feeling which actuated him and took him away from Irene's presence in the early months of her widowhood. He saw in his conduct a sure sign that he was in love with her, and he gleaned from Irene's look of disappointment, when she saw Ulick was absent, that she returned his affection.

It had always been a thorn in the Squire's side that he had induced Irene to marry Warren Courtly, who was unsuited to her, and had thus placed an insurmountable barrier in Ulick's way.

By an accident that obstacle had been removed, and he did not intend his cherished idea should again come to nothing.

The Squire did not mourn for Warren Courtly. He was no hypocrite, and, although sorry for his early death, he argued that it was all for the best, more especially when he came to examine into his affairs, and afterwards when he had made Janet tell him who had run away with her. This she did on giving his word he would keep her secret.

Warren, who had left the Squire joint executor with Irene, had involved the Anselm estate heavily, and it would take some years to wipe off the debt that had accumulated. Irene had a considerable income, but not more than half she had a right to have expected. There was a mortgage on the Manor itself, but the Squire quickly took that up on his own account.

As Ulick looked out of the window, his thoughts were busy with memories of the past, and in them Irene was a conspicuous figure. He had waited more than twelve months, and held his peace, although he was impatient to pour out his love to her now she was free. He was thinking whether he would have an opportunity of doing so to-night, and, if it occurred, whether he would take it. What would her answer be? He did not wish to be over-confident, but he looked forward to a favourable reply, and his heart beat fast in expectation.

He was not aware Irene knew who ran away with Janet, and he was pleased to think she had no knowledge of Warren's conduct.

His father watched him with a smile on his face, and thought—

"He means to ask her to-night. He is making up his mind, and I will see he has the chance."

"Is there anything particularly striking to look at out there?" asked the Squire. "If so, I will join you."

Ulick laughed as he replied, "I was taking very little notice of the view. I was thinking over old times."

"Pleasant thoughts?"

"Yes, most of them."

"We were a couple of fools to remain separated for such a long time," said the Squire.

"We appreciate being together again the more now," replied Ulick.

"Eli is precious glad to have that girl of his back again," said the Squire. "I hope the lesson she has had will teach her to behave better in the future."

"There is no fear about that," replied Ulick. "It has been severe."

"Not nearly so severe as she deserved," was the reply.

It was a merry dinner party, and they were all in high spirits. Later on in the evening the Squire and the Vicar's wife challenged the Vicar and the Doctor to a quiet rubber, which was eagerly accepted.

"You two young people can look after yourselves," said the Squire to Irene and his son, and she flushed slightly at his words.

Whist was an interesting game to the players, but Ulick and Irene evidently found it slow as spectators, and quietly left the room.

A bright fire was blazing in the drawing-room, and Irene sat down at the piano and idly ran her hands over the keys. The lamps shed a soft, yellow light over the room, and the effect was soothing and tranquil.

Presently Irene sang a simple song, and, when it was ended, went on with another. She was fond of music; so was Ulick, and he listened to her sweet, low notes, and watched her face as she sang, half unconscious of his presence.

When she stopped and looked up she found him standing near her. Their eyes