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The sultry August glided by, and in the warm, still days of late September Hugh awoke from the sleep which had so long hung over him. Raising himself upon his elbow, he glanced around the room.
But then Marcelline certainly was rather a funny person. "And the cochon de Barbarie, where is he to sleep, Monsieur?" she said to Hugh. Hugh looked rather distressed. "I don't know," he said. "At home he slept in his little house on a sort of balcony there was outside my window. But there isn't any balcony here besides, it's so very cold, and he's quite strange, you know."
Only three drums were found, but tin kettles and pans were not wanting, and these, superintended by Hugh Barr, the town drummer, did great execution.
Presently they reached the edge of the woods. The wagon road they had followed the night before ran all the way through the stretch and a break in the trees a short distance away showed where it came out on that side. "We must go carefully now," warned Hugh. "How far in is the old house?" "Oh, about a quarter of a mile," said Bob. "I don't believe any one is apt to be out here in the daytime."
Do not say no," she said earnestly as she saw a refusal in his eye, "I know what you are thinking of, but they do not know that you have been told anything it makes no difference." She laid her gentle detaining hand, as irresistible in its way as most things, upon his arm, and he followed her in. Only Hugh was in the sitting-room, and he was in a great easy-chair by the fire.
"I should never do to be a very poor man's wife," she said to herself; and remembered as she said it, that in reference to the prospect of her being Lady Peterborough, the man who was to be Lord Peterborough was at any rate ready to make her his wife, and on that side there were none of those difficulties about house, and money, and position which stood in the way of the Hugh Stanbury side of the question.
Evidently his had not been a life of leisure. As he lounged easily upon the edge of the berth, Hugh could not but admire his long, straight figure, the broad shoulders and the pale face with its tense earnestness. "Manila, you know, is an important post these days," said Veath. "There's a lot of work to be done there in the next few years. I'm from Indiana.
She was always downright. "Oh, Hugh, doesn't your father mean to put you in business?" she exclaimed. A hot flush spread over my face. Even to her I had not betrayed my apprehensions on this painful subject. Perhaps it was because of this very reason, knowing me as she did, that she had divined my fate. Could my father have spoken of it to anyone? "Not that I know of," I said angrily.
While he was revolving these things in his mind, and preparing himself for the interview with his uncle which could not but be a stormy one, he saw Hugh Redgauntlet come riding slowly back to meet them without any attendants. Cristal Nixon rode up as he approached, and, as they met, fixed on him a look of inquiry. 'The fool, Crackenthorp, said Redgauntlet, has let strangers into his house.
Youth cannot wait, it must utter its half-formed wishes, put out its crude fruits; and it used to seem to Hugh that one of the most pathetic and beautiful things in the world was the intensity of feeling, the limitless dreams, that rose shadowily in a boy's mind side by side with the inarticulateness, the failure to command any medium of expression.
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