Fast as the Wind by Nat Gould (distant reading TXT) 📖

you is that we are married, and are now Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe. I wished it to take place at once, and she was willing to do anything I asked.

"As Mr. and Mrs. William Rolfe, we sail for Melbourne in a fortnight, where I shall go up country and buy a small station somewhere. We intend to keep out of the world, to live for ourselves. Lenise wishes it, she says a lifelong devotion to me will only help to blot out the past. Of her love I am certain; she is not demonstrative, but I catch her sometimes unawares, and her face expresses her thoughts. Forgive her as I have, Picton, write her a kindly letter, tell her she has done right, wish her happiness in her new life. We shall not come to Haverton; it is better not.

"I won a large sum over Tearaway; I had a thousand pounds on her at a hundred to three. I do not want any more money. Keep the dear old place up; some day we may see it, but not for years—it may be never. I should like to see you, Sir Robert, and Captain Ben, if you will meet me in town, just to say farewell. I hope you will be happy with Rita; I am sure you will. At some future time you may tell her the tramp she treated so kindly on his way to Torquay was your brother Hector. I have Dick's coat she gave me; I shall always keep it as a treasured remembrance of a good woman's kindness and sympathy. Remember always that Hector Woodridge is dead, that William Rolfe lives, and is a settler in Australia. In that great country we shall be surrounded by new scenes, faces, and places; no one will know us; we shall live our lives peacefully until the end.

"The storm is over, Picton, and calm come at last. This is how I took my revenge. How strange are the workings of Providence, how sure is His eternal justice, how wonderful and mysterious His ordering of all things!"

Picton then read Lenise's confession, which exonerated Hector from blame. It was brief and to the point; she did not spare herself.

"I'll tell you what, Picton, Hector's a great man, an extraordinary man, he deserves the highest praise we can give him," said Sir Robert, and with this they all agreed.

"Remember, Hector is dead, William Rolfe lives," said Picton, and again they agreed to abide by this decision.

CHAPTER XXX TEARAWAY'S PROGENY

IT was a quiet wedding and Dick gave his sister away. A few friends met at Torwood to bid them speed on their honeymoon, which was spent at Florence. On their return they went direct to Haverton, and Mrs. Woodridge settled down to her duties as mistress of the house, with Mrs. Yeoman as her trusty guide.

Rita was supremely happy; Picton told her Hector's story when they were in Florence.

"So I was right when I thought I recognized Mr. Rolfe as the man who asked me for help, or rather whom I assisted on his tramp to Torquay," she said.

"Yes, you were right," said Picton. "You made a greater hit than you were aware of."

Picton schooled The Rascal over stiff fences on Haverton Moor. A four-mile course had been specially mapped out by Brant during his absence in Italy, and the fences were as high as those on the National course.

"You'll find 'em formidable," said the trainer, "but if he's to jump the National course so much the better."

Picton soon found, as he had thought when he won on him at Torquay, that The Rascal was a great fencer. The ease with which he went over the biggest jump without a mistake proved this, and Brant grew enthusiastic about his chance. Rita was nervous when she saw Picton riding over these great jumps, but The Rascal seemed to fly them so easily she gained confidence and eventually became as keen about his winning the National as Picton himself.

Everything went well with his preparation; the horse was as sound as a bell, and under Brant's tuition became quiet and docile.

The Rascal liked Picton, he and his rider were on excellent terms, they knew exactly how they felt toward each other. A week before the Aintree meeting Dick Langford came to Haverton. He was surprised when he saw the improvement in The Rascal, grew enthusiastic as he watched Picton ride him over the big fences.

"I'd no idea he could jump like that!" exclaimed Dick.

"I had when I won on him at Torquay," said Picton.

"Do you think he's a chance in the National?" Dick said to the trainer.

"He has, Mr. Langford, a ripping chance. I can't pick out anything to beat him, and he's got such a nice weight, only ten stone; he'll gallop them all to a standstill. And as for fencing, he'll fly Beecher's Brook like a bird."

Neither Rita nor Picton, nor their many friends who saw the race, will ever forget that memorable Grand National. What an awful day it was! The March wind howled and whistled over the course, biting and stinging, cutting the face almost like a lash. Then sleet fell, followed by a whirling snowstorm, which had not abated when the horses went out. The course was heavy, dangerously slippery, but for all that not bad going. It was all against the top weights.

The Rascal lashed out as he felt the stinging half-frozen particles whipping his skin. He put back his ears, lowered his head, and took a lot of persuading before he faced the blast. Most of the horses protested in the same way.

Then the sun gleamed out, the snow ceased, and for a few minutes it was bright and clear.

They were off, twenty of them, and a glorious sight it was. Rita stood with Captain Ben, Sir Robert, and Dick. They had an excellent view of the course; had it been clearer they would have seen the whole race.

When the horses had gone a little over a mile, snow fell again, the sun disappeared in the gloom, the light became bad.

Picton could hardly see the jumps, so blinding was the storm; but The Rascal saw them and despite slipping, and an occasional stumble, cleared them. Once he rapped hard; this roused him and for the remainder of the journey he did not make a mistake.

It was an extraordinary race. Horse after horse came down, until at the last two jumps only three were left in. Another fell, then Mortimer came down at the last obstacle, and The Rascal came in alone, being the only one to finish the course. It was a day of triumph for Picton and his friends. A big stake was landed, a big double, the St. Leger and the Grand National won for the famous saffron colors.

The Rascal and Tearaway were the pets of the Haverton stable. The former won at Manchester and Sandown, Picton riding him. The filly won the Great Metropolitan and the Ascot Gold Cup, following this up with a veritable triumph in the Cesarewitch, carrying nine stone. She then retired to the stud, and was mated with her old opponent Tristram, to the huge delight of Sir Robert, who prophesied the result would be a remarkable equine prodigy. The Rascal ran in the National again and fell, the only time he came down in a long and wonderful career; Picton had a nasty spill and was brought back in the ambulance. This was a shock to Rita; she longed for the time when he would give up steeplechase riding, but she never hinted at it, she knew how passionately fond of it he was. The Rascal won the great 'Chase again the following year, thus setting the seal on his fame by carrying top weight to victory.

By this time Picton and Rita had two sons; this was followed in due course by two girls; so they were supremely happy and all went swimmingly at Haverton. They had troops of friends. Picton became Master of the Haverton Hounds, and his popularity was unbounded. Rita was regarded as a ministering angel when she went abroad, scattering good things around in the depth of winter, and all the poor blessed her name.

Brack retired from active service, but had half a dozen boats and was a popular favorite at Torquay. Picton never forgot him at Christmas, or the farmer on the moor, who had helped Hector to escape.

Carl Hackler often chaffed Brack about the escaped prisoner and said he was not quite sure yet whether he had not smuggled him on board the Sea-mew.

Brack, however, was as close as an oyster, and Carl got no satisfaction in this direction.

Far away across the ocean, in Australia, about fifty miles from Ballarat in Victoria, Hector and his wife settled down, as Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe, on a small station with a picturesque homestead and excellent paddocks surrounding. They were happy, but there was one shadow hanging over their lives which had not yet lifted. They could not forget; it was impossible. They never alluded to it, but they knew it was there. Still, they were contented and made friends in the new land. They were prosperous. Hector took kindly to the life. He worked; his hands all liked him. He had a fine herd of cattle, a hundred good horses, sheep on a large run he had just taken over, in addition to Willaura, his homestead.

Lenise had her share in the stock: she owned a few horses, a couple of Alderney cows, and a large number of poultry of various breeds with which she took prizes, and of which she was very proud. After ten years came the crowning of her life. She had a son, and in bearing him she almost lost her life. Never till he felt her slipping away from him had Hector known how much he loved her. When she recovered, after a long illness, she said to him:

"I feel we are forgiven. Our child has lifted the shadow from our lives. We must think of the past no more; we must live for him and the future."

Picton received frequent letters from his brother, and answered them. In one he wrote to Hector that it was evident he never intended returning to England, and that the only chance of seeing him again was to go out to Australia. "Rita says she would like the trip, and it would do us both good. Captain Ben is a trustworthy friend to leave in charge of Haverton, so don't be surprised if some day we arrive at Willaura."

"Do you think she would like me?" Lenise asked her husband.

"Yes; no one could help liking you," he replied.

"Do you ever regret marrying me?" she asked.

"That is a foolish question. You know I do not. Never ask me again," he said.

Hector sometimes went to Melbourne. On one of his visits he saw a broken-down man in Bourke Street and recognized him as Fletcher Denyer. He gave him a wide berth and did not mention it to his wife. He heard once or twice from Brack, who in one letter said: "Brother Bill is a free man again—I reckon you know what that means; the man who did it confessed on his death-bed. He looks after my boats. He's a good sort, is Bill. Mr. Picton never forgets me. He's a good sort too. So are you; so's everybody to me."

"Tearaway's stock are doing wonders," wrote Picton. "Her best are by Tristram, and Runaway is a champion. I think he will turn out the best she has had, and he is by Sir Robert's old favorite, and will probably be the last he will get, as he is very weak and ailing but hobbles about in his paddock. I am sending