"You do not suspect him?"
"Certainly not. I did, but I don't now. I suspect he knows, as I said, more than we do. He has been speaking harshly to her about it."
They had arrived at the hill round which Charles suspected he had seen her pass the day before. It was impossible to pass round the promontory on horseback in the best of weathers; now doubly so. They would have to pass inland of it. They both pulled up their horses and looked. The steep slope of turf, the top of which, close over head, was hid by flying mists, trended suddenly downwards, and disappeared. Eight hundred feet below was the raging sea.
As they stood there, the same thought came across both of them. It was a dreadful place. They neither spoke at all, but spurred on faster, till the little grey village of Coombe, down at their feet, sheltered from the storm by the lofty hills around, opened to their view; and they pushed on down the steep rocky path.
No. No one had seen her yesterday at such a time. The streets would have been full of the miners coming from work; or, if she had come earlier, there would have been plenty of people to see her. It was a small place, and no stranger, they said, could ever pass through it unnoticed.
And, though they scoured the country far and wide, and though for months after the fishermen fished among the quiet bays beneath the cliffs in fear, lest they should find there something which should be carried in silent awe up the village, and laid quietly in the old churchyard, beneath the elm; yet Ellen was gone--gone from their ken like a summer cloud. They thought it a pious fraud to tell Densil that she was gone--with some excuse, I forget what, but which satisfied him. In a conclave held over the matter, Cuthbert seemed only surprised and shocked, but evidently knew nothing of the matter. Father Mackworth said that he expected something of the kind for some little time, and William held his peace. The gossips in the village laid their heads together, and shook them. There was but one opinion there.
"Never again shall she put garland on; Instead of it she'll wear sad cypress now, And bitter elder broken from the bough."
Nora--poor old Nora--took to her bed. Father Mackworth was with her continually, but she sank and sank. Father Mackworth was called away across the moors, one afternoon, to an outlying Catholic tenant's family; and, during his absence, William was sent to Charles to pray him to come, in God's name, to his mother. Charles ran across at once, but Nora was speechless. She had something to say to Charles; but the great Sower, which shall sow us all in the ground, and tread us down, had His hand heavy on her, and she could not speak. In the morning, when the gale had broken, and the white sea-birds were soaring and skimming between the blue sky and the noble green, rolling sea, and the ships were running up channel, and the fishing-boats were putting out gaily from the pier, and all nature was brilliant and beautiful, old Nora lay dead, and her secret with her.
"Master Charles," said William, as they stood on the shore together, "she knew something, and Ellen knows it too, I very much suspect. The time will come, Master Charles, when we shall have to hunt her through the world, and get the secret from her."
"William, I would go many weary journeys to bring poor Ellen back into the ways of peace. The fact of her being your sister would be enough to make me do that."
CHAPTER XX.
RANFORD AGAIN.
Charles, though no genius, had a certain amount of common sense, and, indeed, more of that commodity than most people gave him credit for.
Therefore he did not pursue the subject with William. Firstly, because he did not think he could get any more out of him (for William had a certain amount of sturdy obstinacy in his composition); and secondly, because he knew William was, in the main, a sensible fellow, and loved the ground he stood on. Charles would never believe that William would serve him falsely; and he was right.
He told Marston of the curious words which William had used, and Marston had said--
"I don't understand it. The devil is abroad. Are you coming into any money at your father's death?"
"I am to have 180 a year."
"I wouldn't give 50 a year for your chance of it. What is this property worth?"
"9,000 a year. The governor has lived very extravagantly. The stable establishment is fit for a duke now; and, then, look at the servants!"
"He is not living up to ten thousand a year now, I should say."
"No; but it is only the other day he gave up the hounds. They cost him two thousand a year; and, while he had them, the house was carried on very extravagantly. The governor has a wonderful talent for muddling away money; and, what is more, I believe he was bit with the railways.
You know, I believe, the estate is involved."
"Bathershin. But still, Cuthbert won't marry, and his life is a bad one, and you are a heretic, my poor little innocent."
"And then?"
"Heaven only knows what then. I am sure I don't. At what time does the worthy and intellectual Welter arrive?"
"He will be here about six."
"Two hours more rational existence for one, then. After that a smell as of ten thousand stables and fifty stale copies of _Bell's Life_ in one's nose, till his lordship takes his departure. I don't like your cousin, Charles."
"What an astounding piece of news! He says you are a conceited prig, and give yourself airs."
"He never said a wiser or truer thing in his life. I am exactly that; and he is a fifth-class steeple chaserider, with a title."
"How you and he will fight!"
"So I expect. That is, if he has the courage for battle, which I rather doubt. He is terribly afraid of me."
"I think you are hard on poor Welter," said Charles; "I do, indeed. He is a generous, good-hearted fellow."
"Oh! we are all generous, good-hearted fellows," said Marston, "as long as we have plenty of money and good digestions. You are right, though, Charley. He is what you say, as far as I know; but the reason I hate him is this:--You are the dearest friend I have, and I am jealous of him. He is in eternal antagonism to me. I am always trying to lead you right, and he is equally diligent in leading you into wrong."
"Well, he sha'n't lead me into any more, I promise you now. Do be civil to him."
"Of course I will, you gaby. Did you think I was going to show fight in your house?"
When Marston came down to dinner, there was Lord Welter, sitting beside old Densil, and kindly amusing him with all sorts of gossip--stable and other.
"How do, Marston?" said he, rising and coming forward.
"How d'ye do, Lord Welter?" said Marston.
"I am very glad to meet you here," said Lord Welter, with a good-humoured smile, "although I am ashamed to look you in the face.
Marston, my dear Mr. Ravenshoe, is Charles's good genius, and I am his evil one; I am always getting Charles into mischief, and he is always trying to keep him out of it. Hitherto, however, I have been completely successful, and he has made a dead failure."
Old Densil laughed. "You are doing yourself injustice, Welter," he said.
"Is he not doing himself an injustice, Mr. Marston?"
"Not in the least, sir," said Marston. And the two young men shook hands more cordially than they had ever done before.
That evening Lord Welter fulfilled Mary's prophecy, that he would smoke in his bedroom, and not only smoked there himself, but induced Charles to come and do so also. Marston was not in the humour for the style of conversation he knew he should have there, and so he retired to bed, and left the other two to themselves.
"Well, Charles," said Welter. "Oh, by the by, I have got a letter for you from that mysterious madcap, Adelaide. She couldn't send it by post; that would not have been mysterious and underhand enough for her. Catch hold."
Charles caught hold, and read his letter. Welter watched him curiously from under the heavy eyebrows, and when he had finished, said--
"Come, put that away, and talk. That sort of thing is pretty much the same in all cases, I take it. As far as my own experience goes, it is always the same. Scold and whine and whimper; whimper, whine, and scold.
How's that old keeper of yours?"
"He has lost his wife."
"Poor fellow! I remember his wife--a handsome Irish woman."