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The few wax-candles the servants had been able to put about only served to make the gloom visible. The party were taking their places, the young clergyman directing them where to stand. He opened his book and was commencing, when a hand was laid upon Hartledon's shoulder. "Lord Hartledon, what is the meaning of this?" Lord Hartledon recognised the voice, and broke into a cold perspiration.
The Rector, dark and proud, condescended to return the courtesy: and the meeting was over. Toiling across Lord Hartledon's path was the labourer to whom the Rector had been speaking. He had an empty bottle slung over his shoulder, and carried a sickle. The man's day's work was over, and had left fatigue behind it. "Good-night to your lordship!" "Is it you, Ripper?"
It would quite have faded, but for certain interviews with Thomas Carr at his chambers, when Hartledon's look of care precluded the idea that they could be visits of mere idleness or pleasure; and for the secret trouble that unmistakably sat on her husband like an incubus.
"I am Lord Hartledon's butler." "Is Lord Hartledon at home?" "No, sir. He is in France." "I read a notice of his marriage in the public papers," continued the stranger, whose eyes were fixed on Hedges. "It was, I suppose, a correct one?" "My lord was married the week before last: about ten or eleven days ago." "Ay; April the fourteenth, the paper said. She is one of the Kirton family.
He then asked a great many questions, some about Lord Hartledon's personal habits, some about Lady Maude: the butler answered them freely or cautiously, as he thought he might, feeling inclined all the while to chase the intruder off the premises. Presently he turned his attention on the house. "A fine old place, this, Mr. Butler." "Yes, sir." "I suppose I could look over it, if I wished?"
Anne had been a great deal at Hartledon that week, and was as interested in the race as any of them, wearing Lord Hartledon's colours. "How did you hear it, Anne?" he was asking. "Mamma told me. She came into my room just now, and said there had been words." "Well, it's true. The doctor took me to task exactly as he used to do when I was a boy.
"Maude," he suddenly exclaimed, "the fountains are to play on Sunday at Versailles. Will you go to see them?" "I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too," was Lady Hartledon's answer, spoken with apathy. "Are you?" he returned, with animation, as though not sorry to hear the avowal. "Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. When shall we leave?"
Her next care was to assume the entire management of the two children, putting Lord Hartledon's authority over them at virtual, if not actual, defiance. The death of her daughter was in truth a severe blow to the dowager; not from love, for she really possessed no natural affection at all, but from fear that she should lose her footing in the house which was so desirable a refuge.
An account that had been standing for more than two years was sent in to Lord Hartledon's steward; it was for some harness, a saddle, a silver-mounted whip, and a few trifles of that sort, supplied by a small tradesman in the village. Lord Hartledon protested there was nothing of the sort owing; but upon inquiry the debtor proved to be Mr. Percival Elster.
There was an eager look on Lord Hartledon's face as he stood behind his wife. It was directed to Mr. Carr, and said as plainly as look could say, "Don't undeceive her; keep up the delusion." But Thomas Carr was not so apt at keeping up delusions at the expense of truth, and he only smiled in reply. "What damages are they suing for?" "Oh," said Mr.
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