"I was inclined to, my lord; but I do not see how you were to have known it."
"I heard yesterday from Lady Ascot."
"I am sorry he is coming," said Marston.
"So am I. I can't stay in the house with him. The contrast of his loud, coarse voice and stable slang to the sort of quiet conversation we have had lately would be intolerable; besides, he is an atrocious young ruffian, and will ruin our boy if he can."
"Charles won't let him now, Lord Saltire."
"Charles is young and foolish. I am glad, however, that Welter does not go back to Oxford with him. But there will be Welter's set in their glory, I suppose, unless some of them have got hung. I would sooner see him at home. He is naturally quiet and domestic. I suppose he was in a sad set up there."
"He was in a very good set, and a very bad one. He was a favourite everywhere."
"He had made some acquaintances he ought to be proud of, at least," said Lord Saltire, in a way which made honest Marston blush. "I wish he wasn't going to Ranford."
"Report says," said Marston, "that affairs are getting somewhat shaky there: Welter's tradesmen can't get any money."
Lord Saltire shook his head significantly, and then said, "Now I want to speak to you about yourself. Did not you have a disappointment to-day?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Ha!"
They both sat silent for a moment.
"How did you guess that, Lord Saltire?"
"I saw what was going on; and, by your manner and hers to-day, I guessed something had taken place. Is there no hope for you?"
"None."
"I feared not: but what right had I to tell you so?"
"Perhaps, my lord, I should not have believed you if you had," said Marston, smiling.
"What man would have? You are not angry?"
"How could I be? The world is out of joint, that is all."
"You are a true gentleman. I swear to you," said the old man, eagerly, "that there is no one in fault. She has given her honest little heart away--and what wonder!--but believe me that you are behaving as a man should behave, in not resenting it. If you were a heathen and a Frenchman (synonymous terms, my dear boy), you might find it your duty to cut somebody's throat; but, being a Christian and a gentleman, you will remain a true friend to somebody who loves you dearly, and is worth loving in return. This sort of thing cuts a man up confoundedly. It happened to me once; but, believe me, you will get over it."
"I mean to do so. How kind and generous you are to me! How shall I ever repay you?"
"By kindness to those I love," said the old man. "I take this opportunity of telling you that your fortunes are my particular care. I cannot get you the wife you love, but I am rich and powerful, and can do much. Not another word. Go to bed, sir--to bed."
Marston, sitting on his bedside that night, said aloud to himself, "And so that is that dicing old _roue_, Saltire, is it? Well, well; it is a funny world. What a noble fellow he would have been if he had had a better chance. Nay, what a noble fellow he is. I am ten years older since this morning" (he wasn't, but he thought it). And so he said his prayers like an honest man, and prayed for the kind old heathen who had such a warm heart; and then, being nowise ashamed to do so, he prayed that he might sleep well; and, for a time, he forgot all about his disappointment, and slept like a child.
Lord Saltire's valet was a staid and sober-minded gentleman of sixty-four. Generally, when he was putting his lordship to bed, he used to give him the news of the day; but to-night Lord Saltire said, "Never mind the news, Simpson, if you please; I am thinking of something." My lord used to wear a sort of muffler, like a footless stocking, to keep his old knees warm in bed. He remained silent till he got one on, and then, without taking the other from the expectant Simpson, he addressed the fire-irons aloud:
"This is a pretty clumsy contrivance to call a world!" he said, with profound scorn. "Look here (to the poker), here's as fine a lad as ever you saw, goes and falls in love with a charming girl, who cares no more for him than the deuce. He proposes to her, and is refused. Why? because she has given her heart away to another fine young fellow, who don't care twopence for her, and has given _his_ heart away to the most ambitious young Jezebel in the three kingdoms, who I don't believe cares so very much for him. I am utterly disgusted with the whole system of mundane affairs! Simpson, give me that muffler, if you please; and pray don't wake me before nine. I must try to sleep off the recollection of some of this folly."
CHAPTER XIX.
ELLEN'S FLIGHT.
After all the fatigues and adventures of the day before, Charles slept well--long pleasant dreams of roaming in sunny places on summer days fell to his happy lot--and so he was not pleased when he found himself shaken by the shoulder.
It was William come to wake him. Charles was at once alarmed to see him there, and started up, saying--
"Is anything the matter, Will? Is my father ill?"
"The Master's well, I trust, Master Charles. I want to tell you something that I want others to find out for themselves."
"What is it?" said Charles, seriously alarmed, for he had had his suspicions lately, though he had dreaded to give them a name.
"Ellen is gone!"
"My dear lad," said Charles, hurriedly, "what makes you think so? Since when have you missed her?"
"Since yesterday afternoon."
"Have you been in her room?"
"Yes. She has not been to bed, and the window is open just as it was yesterday morning at bed-making time."
"Hush--wait! There may be time yet. Go down and saddle two horses at once. I will tell you what I know as we ride, but there is not time now.
Tell me only one thing, Is there any one she would be likely to go to at Coombe?"
"No one that I know of."
William departed to get the horses. Charles had suddenly thought of the solitary female figure he had seen passing along the dizzy sheep-path the day before, and he determined to follow that till he lost sight of it.
"For the poor dear girl's sake--for the honour of this old house--I wonder who is at the bottom of all this? I must tell Marston," he said, when he was out on the landing. "George, tell them to get me some coffee instantly. I am going out hunting."
Marston thought as Charles did. The right thing to do would be to follow her, see that she wanted for nothing, and leave her brother with her for a time. "He won't quarrel with her now, you'll see. He is a good fellow, mind you, Charles, though he did lose his temper with her that night."
So they rode forth side by side into the wild winter's morning. The rain had ceased for a time, but the low dark clouds were hurrying swiftly before the blast, and eddying among the loftier tors and summits. The wind was behind them, and their way was east, across the lofty downs.
"William," said Charles, at last, "who is at the bottom of this?"
"I don't know, Master Charles. If I did there would be mischief, unless it was one of two."
"Ay, Will, but it ain't. You don't think it is Cuthbert?"
"No, no! He, forsooth! Father Mackworth knows, I believe, more than we do."