<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></SPAN>CHAPTER III.</h2>
<h3>TWO QUARRELS.</h3>
<p>Three days later the shooting party assembled. Several gentlemen came to
stay at the house, while Ronald Mervyn and his party, of course, put up
at Mervyn Hall. The shooting was very successful, and the party were
well pleased with their visit. Reginald Carne was quiet and courteous to
his guests, generally accompanying them through the day, though he did
not himself carry a gun. After the first day's shooting there was a
dinner party at Mervyn Hall, and the following evening there was one at
The Hold.</p>
<p>Lieutenant Gulston enjoyed himself more than any one else, though he was
one of the least successful of the sportsmen, missing easy shots in a
most unaccountable manner, and seeming to take but moderate interest in
the shooting. He had, very shortly after arriving at the house, come to
the conclusion that the doctor was altogether mistaken, and that
Reginald Carne showed no signs whatever of being in any way different
from other men. "The doctor is so accustomed to us sailors," he said to
himself, "that if a man is quiet and studious he begins to fancy
directly there must be something queer about him. That is always the
way with doctors who make madness a special study. They suspect every
one they come across of being out of their mind. I shouldn't be at all
surprised if he doesn't fancy I am cracked myself. The idea is perfectly
absurd. I watched Carne closely at dinner, and no one could have been
more pleasant and gentlemanly than he was. I expect Mackenzie must have
heard a word let drop about this old story, and of course if he did he
would set down Carne at once as being insane. Well, thank goodness,
that's off my mind; it's been worrying me horribly for the last few
days. I have been a fool to trouble myself so about Mackenzie's
croakings, but now I will not think anything more about it."</p>
<p>On the following Sunday, as Ruth Powlett was returning from church in
the morning, and was passing through the little wood that lay between
Carnesford and The Hold, there was a rustle among the trees, and George
Forester sprang out suddenly.</p>
<p>"I have been waiting since daybreak to see you, Ruth, but as you came
with that old housekeeper I could not speak to you. I have been in
Plymouth for the last week. I hear that they are after me for that
skirmish with the keepers, so I am going away for a bit, but I couldn't
go till I said good-bye to you first, and heard you promise that you
would always be faithful to me."</p>
<p>"I will say good-bye, George, and my thoughts and prayers will always be
with you, but I cannot promise to be faithful—not in the way you mean."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, Ruth?" he asked, angrily. "Do you mean that after all
these years you are going to throw me off?"</p>
<p>Ruth was about to reply, when there was a slight rustling in the bushes.</p>
<p>"There is some one in the path in the wood."</p>
<p>George Forester listened for a moment.</p>
<p>"It's only a rabbit," he said, impatiently. "Never mind that now, but
answer my question. Do you dare to tell me that you are going to throw
me over?"</p>
<p>"I am not going to throw you off, George," she said, quietly; "but I am
going to give you up. I have tried, oh! how hard I have tried, to
believe that you would be better some day, but I can't hope so any
longer. You have promised again and again that you would give up
drinking, but you are always breaking your promise, and now I find that
in spite of all I've said, you still hold with those bad men at
Dareport, and that you have taken to poaching, and now they are in
search of you for being one of those concerned in desperately wounding
John Morton. No, George, I have for years withstood even my father. I
have loved you in spite of his reproaches and entreaties, but I feel now
that instead of your making me happy I should be utterly miserable if I
married you, and I have made a promise to Miss Carne that I would give
you up."</p>
<p>"Oh, she has been meddling, has she?" George Forester said with a
terrible imprecation; "I will have revenge on her, I swear I will. So
it's she who has done the mischief, and made you false to all you
promised. Curse you! with your smooth face, and your church-going ways,
and your canting lies. You think, now they are hunting me away, you can
take up with some one else; but you shan't, I swear, though I swing for
it."</p>
<p>And he grasped her suddenly by the throat; but at this moment there was
a sound of voices in the road behind them, and dashing Ruth to the
ground with a force that stunned her, he sprang into the woods. A minute
later the stablemen at The Hold came along the road and found Ruth still
lying on the ground.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/></div>
<h3>"<i>He grasped her suddenly by the throat.</i>"</h3>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p>After a minute's consultation they determined to carry her down to her
father's house, as they had no idea what was the best course to pursue
to bring her round. Two of them, therefore, lifted and carried her down,
while the other hurried on to prepare the miller for their arrival.</p>
<p>"Master Powlett," he said as he entered, "your girl has hurt herself; I
expect she slipped on a stone somehow, going up the hill, and came down
heavy; anyhow we found her lying there insensible, and my two mates are
bringing her down. We saw her two or three hundred yards ahead of us as
we came out of the churchyard, so she could not have laid there above a
minute or so when we came up."</p>
<p>Ruth was brought in. Mrs. Powlett had not yet returned from Dareport,
but a neighbour was soon fetched in by one of the men while another went
for the doctor, and in a few minutes Ruth opened her eyes.</p>
<p>"Don't talk, dear," her father said, "lie quiet for a few minutes and
you will soon be better; you slipped down in the road, you know, and
gave yourself a shake, but it will be all right now."</p>
<p>Ruth closed her eyes again and lay quiet for a short time, then she
looked up again and tried to sit up.</p>
<p>"I am better now, father."</p>
<p>"Thank God for that, Ruth. It gave me a turn when I saw you carried in
here, I can tell you; but lie still a little time longer, the doctor
will be here in a few minutes."</p>
<p>"I don't want him, father."</p>
<p>"Yes, you do, my dear, and anyhow as he has been sent for he must come
and see you; you need not trouble about going up to The Hold, it was
three of the men there that found you and brought you down; I will send
a note by them to Miss Carne telling her you had a bad fall, and that we
will keep you here until to-morrow morning. I am sure you will not be
fit to walk up that hill again to-day. Anyhow we will wait until the
doctor comes and hear what he says."</p>
<p>Ten minutes later the doctor arrived, and after hearing Hiram's account
of what had happened, felt Ruth's pulse and then examined her head.</p>
<p>"Ah, here is where you fell," he said; "a good deal of swelling, and it
has cut the skin. However, a little bathing with warm water is all that
is wanted. There, now, stand up if you can and walk a step or two, and
tell me if you feel any pain anywhere else.</p>
<p>"Ah, nowhere except in the shoulder. Move your arm. Ah, that is all
right, nothing broken. You will find you are bruised a good deal, I have
no doubt. Well, you must keep on the sofa all day, and not do any
talking. You have had a severe shake, that's evident, and must take care
of yourself for a day or two. You have lost all your colour, and your
pulse is unsteady and your heart beating anyhow. You must keep her quite
quiet, Hiram. If I were you I would get her up to bed. Of course you
must not let her talk, and I don't want any talking going on around her,
you understand?"</p>
<p>Hiram did understand, and before Mrs. Powlett returned from chapel,
Ruth, with the assistance of the woman who had come in, was in bed.</p>
<p>"I look upon it as a judgment," Mrs. Powlett said upon her return, when
she heard the particulars. "If she had been with me at chapel this never
would have happened. It's a message to her that no good can come of her
sitting under that blind guide, the parson. I hope it will open her
eyes, and that she will be led to join the fold."</p>
<p>"I don't think it is likely, Hesba," Hiram said, quietly, "and you will
find it hard to persuade her that loose stone I suppose she trod on was
dropped special into the road to trip her up in coming from church.
Anyhow you can't talk about it to-day; the doctor's orders are that she
is to be kept perfectly quiet, that she is not to talk herself, and that
there's to be no talking in the room. He says she can have a cup of tea
if she can take it, but I doubt at present whether she can take even
that; the poor child looks as if she could scarce open her eyes for
anything, and no wonder, for the doctor says she must have fallen
tremendous heavy."</p>
<p>Mrs. Powlett made the tea and took it upstairs. Any ideas she may have
had of improving the occasion, in spite of the doctor's injunctions,
vanished when she saw Ruth's white face on the pillow. Noiselessly she
placed the little table close to the bed and put the cup upon it. Ruth
opened her eyes as she did so.</p>
<p>"Here is some tea, dearie," Hesba said, softly. "I will put it down
here, and you can drink it when you feel inclined." Ruth murmured "Thank
you," and Hesba stooped over her and kissed her cheek more softly than
she had ever done before, and then went quietly out of the room again.</p>
<p>"She looks worse than I thought for, Hiram," she said, as she proceeded
to help the little servant they kept to lay the cloth for dinner. "I
doubt she's more hurt than the doctor thinks. I could see there were
tears on her cheek, and Ruth was never one to cry, not when she was hurt
ever so much. Of course, it may be because she is low and weak; still I
tell you that I don't like it. Is the doctor coming again?"</p>
<p>"Yes; he said he would look in again this evening."</p>
<p>"I don't like it," Hesba repeated, "and after dinner I will put on my
bonnet and go down to the doctor myself and hear what he has got to say
about her. Perhaps he will tell me more than he would you; he knows what
poor creatures men are. They just get frighted out of what wits they've
got, if you let on any one's bad; but I will get it out of him. It
frets me to think I wasn't here when she was brought in, instead of
having strangers messing about her."</p>
<p>It came into Hiram's mind to retort that her being away at that moment
was a special warning against her going to Dareport; but the low,
troubled voice in which she spoke, and the furtive passing of her hand
across her cheek to brush away a tear, effectually silenced him. It was
all so unusual in the case of Hesba, whom, indeed, he had never seen so
soft and womanly since the first day she had crossed the threshold of
the house, that he was at once touched and alarmed.</p>
<p>"I hope you are wrong, wife; I hope you are wrong," he said, putting his
hand on her shoulder. "I don't think the doctor thought badly of it, but
he seemed puzzled like, I thought; but if there's trouble, Hesba, we
will bear it together, you and I; it's sent for good, we both know that.
We goes the same way, you know, wife, if we don't go by the same road."</p>
<p>The woman made no answer, for at that moment the girl appeared with the
dinner. Hesba ate but a few mouthfuls, and then saying sharply that she
had no appetite, rose from the table, put on her bonnet and shawl, and,
without a word, walked out.</p>
<p>She was away longer than Hiram expected, and in the meantime he had to
answer the questions of many of the neighbours, who, having heard from
the woman who had been called in of Ruth's accident, came to learn the
particulars. When Hesba returned she brought a bundle with her.</p>
<p>"The doctor's coming in an hour," she said. "I didn't get much out of
him, except he said it had been a shock to her system, and he was afraid
that there might be slight concussion of the brain. He said if that was
so we should want some ice to put to her head, and I have been up to The
Hold and seen Miss Carne. I had heard Ruth say they always have ice up
there, and she has given me some. She was just coming down to inquire
about Ruth, but of course I told her she couldn't talk to nobody. That
was the doctor's orders. Has she moved since I have been away?"</p>
<p>Hiram shook his head. "I have been up twice, but she was just lying with
her eyes closed."</p>
<p>"Well, I will go and sit up there," Hesba said. "Tell that girl if she
makes any noise, out of the house she goes; and the best thing you can
do is to take your pipe and sit in that arbour outside, or walk up and
down if you can't keep yourself warm; and don't let any one come
knocking at the door and worriting her. It will be worse for them if I
has to come down."</p>
<p>Hiram Powlett obeyed his wife's parting injunction and kept on guard all
the afternoon, being absent from his usual place in church for the first
time for years. In the evening there was nothing for him to do in the
house, and his wife being upstairs, he followed his usual custom of
dropping for half an hour into the snuggery of the "Carne Arms."</p>
<p>"Yes, it's true," he said in answer to the questions of his cronies,
"Ruth has had a bad fall, and the doctor this afternoon says as she has
got a slight concussion of the brain. He said he hoped she would get
over it, but he looked serious-like when he came downstairs. It's a bad
affair, I expect. But she is in God's hands, and a better girl never
stepped, though I says it." There was a murmur of regret and consolation
among the three smokers, but they saw that Hiram was too upset for many
words, and the conversation turned into other channels for a time, Hiram
taking no share in it but smoking silently.</p>
<p>"It's a rum thing," he said, presently, during a pause in the
conversation, "that a man don't know really about a woman's nature, not
when he has lived with her for years and years. Now there's my wife
Hesba, who has got a tongue as sharp as any one in this village." A
momentary smile passed round the circle, for the sharpness of Hesba
Powlett's tongue was notorious. "It scarce seemed to me, neighbours, as
she had got a soft side to her or that she cared more for Ruth than she
did for the house-dog. She always did her duty by her, I will say that
for her; and a tidier woman and a better housewife there ain't in the
country round. But duty is one thing and love is another. Now you would
hardly believe it, but I do think that Hesba feels this business as much
as I do. You wouldn't have knowed her; she goes about the house with her
shoes off as quiet as a mouse, and she speaks that soft and gentle you
wouldn't know it was her. Women's queer creatures anyway."</p>
<p>There was a chorus of assent to the proposition, and, in fact, the
discovery that Hesba Powlett had a soft side to her nature was
astonishing indeed.</p>
<p>For three days Ruth Powlett lay unconscious, and then quiet and good
nursing, and the ice on her head, had their effect; and one evening the
doctor, on visiting her, said that he thought a change had taken place,
and that she was now sleeping naturally. The next morning there was
consciousness in her eyes when she opened them, and she looked in
surprise at the room darkened by a curtain pinned across the window, and
at Hesba, sitting by her bedside, with a huge nightcap on her head.</p>
<p>"What is it, mother, what has happened?"</p>
<p>"You have been ill, Ruth, but thank God you are better now. Don't talk,
dear, and don't worry. I have got some beef-tea warming by the fire; the
doctor said you were to try and drink a cup when you woke, and then to
go off to sleep again."</p>
<p>Ruth looked with a feeble surprise after Hesba as she left the room,
missing the sharp, decisive foot-tread. In a minute she returned as
noiselessly as she had gone.</p>
<p>"Can you hold the cup yourself, Ruth, or shall I feed you?"</p>
<p>Ruth put out her hand, but it was too weak to hold the cup. She was
able, however, slightly to raise her head, and Hesba held the cup to her
lips.</p>
<p>"What have you done to your feet, mother?" she asked, as she finished
the broth.</p>
<p>"I have left my shoes downstairs, Ruth; the doctor said you were to be
kept quiet. Now try to go to sleep, that's a dear."</p>
<p>She stooped and kissed the girl affectionately, and Ruth, to her
surprise, felt a tear drop on her cheek. She was wondering over this
strange circumstance when she again fell asleep.</p>
<p>In a few days she was about the house again, but she was silent and
grave, and did not gain strength as fast as the doctor had hoped for.
However, in three weeks' time she was well enough to return to The Hold.
Hiram had strongly remonstrated against her doing so, but she seemed to
set her mind upon it, urging that she would be better for having
something to think about and do than in remaining idle at home; and as
the doctor was also of opinion that the change would be rather likely to
benefit than to do her harm, Hiram gave way.</p>
<p>The day before she left she said to her father:</p>
<p>"Do you know whether George Forester has been caught, or whether he has
got away?"</p>
<p>"He has not been caught, Ruth, but I don't think he has gone away; there
is a talk in the village that he has been hiding down at Dareport, and
the constable has gone over there several times, but he can't find signs
of him. I think he must be mad to stay so near when he knows he is
wanted. I can't think what is keeping him."</p>
<p>"I have made up my mind, father, to give him up. You have been right,
and I know now he would not make me a good husband; but please don't say
anything against him, it is hard enough as it is."</p>
<p>Hiram kissed his daughter.</p>
<p>"Thank God for that news, Ruth. I hoped after that poaching business you
would see it in that light, and that he wasn't fit for a mate for one
like you. Your mother will be glad, child. She ain't like the same woman
as she was, is she?"</p>
<p>"No, indeed, father, I do not seem to know her."</p>
<p>"I don't know as I was ever so knocked over in my life as I was
yesterday, Ruth, when your mother came downstairs in her bonnet and
shawl, and said, 'I am going to church with you, Hiram.' I didn't open
my lips until we were half-way, and then she said as how it had been
borne in on her as how her not being here when you was brought in was a
judgment on her for being away at Dareport instead of being at church
with us; and she said more than that, as how, now she thought over it,
she saw as she hadn't done right by me and you all these years, and
hoped to make a better wife what time she was left to us. I wasn't sure
at church time as it wasn't a dream to see her sitting there beside me,
and joining in the hymns, listening attentive to the parson as she has
always been running down. She said on the way home she felt just as she
did when she was a girl, five-and-twenty years ago, and used to come
over here to church, afore she took up with the Methodies."</p>
<p>Ruth kissed her father.</p>
<p>"Then my fall has done good after all," she said. "It makes me happy to
know it."</p>
<p>"I shall be happy when I see you quite yourself again, Ruth. Come back
to us soon, dear."</p>
<p>"I will, father; in the spring I will come home again for good, I
promise you," and so Ruth returned for a time to The Hold.</p>
<p>"I am glad you are back again, Ruth," Miss Carne, who had been down
several times to see her, said. "I told you not to hurry yourself, and I
would have done without you for another month, but you know I am really
very glad to have you back again. Mary managed my hair very well, but I
could not talk to her as I do to you."</p>
<p>Ruth had not been many hours in the house before she learnt from her
fellow-servants that Mr. Gulston had been over two or three times since
the shooting party, and that the servants in general had an opinion that
he came over to see Miss Carne.</p>
<p>"It's easy to see that with half an eye," one of the girls said, "and I
think Miss Margaret likes him too, and no wonder, for a properer-looking
man is not to be seen; but I always thought she would have married her
cousin. Every one has thought so for years."</p>
<p>"It's much better she should take the sailor gentleman," one of the
elder women said. "I am not saying anything against Mr. Ronald, who is
as nice a young gentleman as one would want to see, but he is her
cousin, and I don't hold to marriages among cousins anyhow, and
especially in a family like ours."</p>
<p>"I think it is better for us not to talk about it at all," Ruth said,
quietly; "I don't think it right and proper, and it will be quite time
enough to talk about Miss Margaret's affairs when we know she is
engaged."</p>
<p>The others were silent for a minute after Ruth's remark, and then the
under-housemaid, who had been an old playmate of Ruth's, said:</p>
<p>"You never have ideas like other people, Ruth Powlett. It is a funny
thing that we can't say a word about people in the house without being
snapped up."</p>
<p>"Ruth is right," the other said, "and your tongue runs too fast, Jane.
As Ruth says, it will be quite time enough to talk when Miss Margaret
is engaged; till then the least said the better."</p>
<p>In truth, Lieutenant Gulston had been several times at The Hold, and his
friend the doctor, seeing his admonition had been altogether thrown
away, avoided the subject, but from his gravity of manner showed that he
had not forgotten it; and he shook his head sadly when one afternoon the
lieutenant had obtained leave until the following day. "I wish I had
never spoken. Had I not been an old fool I should have known well enough
that he was fairly taken by her. We have sailed together for twelve
years, and now there is an end to our friendship. I hope that will be
all, and that he will not have reason to be sorry he did not take my
advice and drop it in time. Of course she may have escaped and I think
that she has done so; but it's a terrible risk—terrible. I would give a
year's pay that it shouldn't have happened."</p>
<p>An hour before Lieutenant Gulston left his ship, Ronald Mervyn had
started for The Hold. A word that had been said by a young officer of
the flagship who was dining at mess had caught his ears. It was
concerning his first-lieutenant.</p>
<p>"He's got quite a fishing mania at present, and twice a week he goes off
for the day to some place twenty miles away—Carnesford, I think it is.
He does not seem to have much luck; anyhow, he never brings any fish
home. He is an awfully good fellow, Gulston; the best first-lieutenant I
ever sailed with by a long way."</p>
<p>What Ronald Mervyn heard was not pleasant to him. He had noticed the
attentions Gulston had paid to Margaret Carne at the ball, and had been
by no means pleased at meeting him, installed at The Hold with the
shooting party, and the thought that he had been twice a week over in
that neighbourhood caused an angry surprise. The next morning,
therefore, he telegraphed home for a horse to meet him at the station,
and started as soon as lunch was over. He stayed half an hour at home,
for his house lay on the road between the station and Carne's Hold. The
answer he received from his sister to a question he put did not add to
his good temper.</p>
<p>Oh, yes. Mr. Gulston had called a day or two after he had been to the
shooting party, and they had heard he had been at The Hold several times
since.</p>
<p>When he arrived there, Ronald found that Margaret and her brother were
both in the drawing-room, and he stood chatting with them there for some
time, or rather chatting with Margaret, for Reginald was dull and moody.
At last the latter sauntered away.</p>
<p>"What's the matter with you, sir?" Margaret said to her cousin. "You
don't seem to be quite yourself; is it the weather? Reginald is duller
and more silent than usual, he has hardly spoken a word to-day."</p>
<p>"No, it's not the weather," he replied, sharply. "I want to ask you a
question, Margaret."</p>
<p>"Well, if you ask it civilly," the girl replied, "I will answer it, but
certainly not otherwise."</p>
<p>"I hear that that sailor fellow has been coming here several times. What
does it mean?"</p>
<p>Margaret Carne threw back her head haughtily. "What do you mean, Ronald,
by speaking in that tone; are you out of your mind?"</p>
<p>"Not more than the family in general," he replied, grimly; "but you have
not answered my question."</p>
<p>"I have not asked Lieutenant Gulston what he comes here for," she said,
coldly; "and, besides, I do not recognise your right to ask me such a
question."</p>
<p>"Not recognise my right?" he repeated, passionately. "I should have
thought that a man had every right to ask such a question of the woman
he is going to marry."</p>
<p>"Going to marry?" she repeated, scornfully. "At any rate this is the
first I have heard of it."</p>
<p>"It has always been a settled thing," he said, "and you know it as well
as I do. You promised me ten years ago that you would be my wife some
day."</p>
<p>"Ten years ago I was a child. Ronald, how can you talk like this! You
know we have always been as brother and sister together. I have never
thought of anything else of late. You have been home four or five
months, anyhow, and you have had plenty of time to speak if you wanted
to. You never said a word to lead me to believe that you thought of me
in any other way than as a cousin."</p>
<p>"I thought we understood each other, Margaret."</p>
<p>"I thought so too," the girl replied, "but not in the same way. Oh,
Ronald, don't say this; we have always been such friends, and perhaps
years ago I might have thought it would be something more; but since
then I have grown up and grown wiser, and even if I had loved you in the
way you speak of, I would not have married you, because I am sure it
would be bad for us both. We have both that terrible curse in our blood,
and if there was not another man in the world I would not marry you."</p>
<p>"I don't believe you would have said so a month ago," Ronald Mervyn
said, looking darkly at her. "This Gulston has come between us, that's
what it is, and you cannot deny it."</p>
<p>"You are not behaving like a gentleman, Ronald," the girl said, quietly.
"You have no right to say such things."</p>
<p>"I have a right to say anything," he burst out. "You have fooled me and
spoilt my life, but you shall regret it. You think after all these years
I am to be thrown by like an old glove. No, by Heaven; you may throw me
over, but I swear you shall never marry this sailor or any one else,
whatever I do to prevent it. You say I have the curse of the Carnes in
my blood. You are right, and you shall have cause to regret it."</p>
<p>He leapt from the window, which Margaret had thrown open a short time
before, for the fire had overheated the room, ran down to the stables,
leapt on his horse, and rode off at a furious pace. Neither he nor
Margaret had noticed that a moment before a man passed along the walk
close under the window. It was Lieutenant Gulston. He paused for a
moment as he heard his name uttered in angry tones, opened the hall door
without ceremony, and hurried towards that of the drawing-room. Reginald
Carne was standing close to it, and it flashed across Gulston's mind
that he had been listening. He turned his head at the sailor's quick
step. "Don't go in there just at present, Gulston, I fancy Margaret is
having a quarrel with her cousin. They are quiet now, we had best leave
them alone."</p>
<p>"He was using very strong language," the sailor said, hotly. "I caught a
word or two as I passed the windows."</p>
<p>"It's a family failing. I fancy he has gone now. I will go in and see. I
think it were best for you to walk off for a few minutes, and then come
back again. People may quarrel with their relatives, you know, but they
don't often care for other people to be behind the scenes."</p>
<p>"No, you are quite right," Gulston answered; "the fact is, for the
moment I was fairly frightened by the violence of his tone, and really
feared that he was going to do something violent. It was foolish, of
course, and I really beg your pardon. Yes, what you say is quite right.
If you will allow me I will have the horse put in the trap again. I got
out at the gate and walked across the garden, telling the man to take
the horse straight round to the stables; but I think I had better go
and come again another day. After such a scene as she has gone through
Miss Carne will not care about having a stranger here."</p>
<p>"No, I don't think that would be best," Reginald Carne said. "She would
wonder why you did not come, and would, likely enough, hear from her
maid that you had been and gone away again, and might guess you had
heard something of the talking in there. No, I think you had better do
as I said—go away, and come again in a few minutes."</p>
<p>The lieutenant accordingly went out and walked about the shrubbery for a
short time, and then returned. Miss Carne did not appear at dinner, but
sent down a message to say that she had so bad a headache she would not
be able to appear downstairs that evening.</p>
<p>Reginald Carne did not play the part of host so well as usual. At times
he was gloomy and abstracted, and then he roused himself and talked
rapidly. Lieutenant Gulston thought that he was seriously discomposed at
the quarrel between his sister and his cousin; and he determined at any
rate not to take the present occasion to carry out the intention he had
formed of telling Reginald Carne that he was in love with his sister,
and hoped he would have no objection to his telling her so, as he had a
good income besides his pay as first-lieutenant. When the men had been
sitting silently for some time after wine was put on the table, he said:</p>
<p>"I think, Carne, I will not stop here to-night. Your sister is evidently
quite upset with this affair, and no wonder. I shall feel myself
horribly <i>de trop</i>, and would rather come again some other time if you
will let me. If you will let your man put a horse in the trap I shall
catch the ten o'clock train comfortably."</p>
<p>"Perhaps that would be best, Gulston. I am not a very lively companion
at the best of times, and family quarrels are unpleasant enough for a
stranger."</p>
<p>A few minutes later Lieutenant Gulston was on his way to the station. He
had much to think about on his way home. In one respect he had every
reason to be well satisfied with what he had heard, as it had left no
doubt whatever in his mind that Margaret Carne had refused the offer of
her cousin, and that the latter had believed that he had been refused
because she loved him—Charlie Gulston. Of course she had not said so;
still she could not have denied it, or her cousin's wrath would not have
been turned against him.</p>
<p>Then he was sorry that such a quarrel had taken place, as it would
probably lead to a breach between the two families. He knew Margaret was
very fond of her aunt and the girls. Then the violence with which Ronald
Mervyn had spoken caused him a deal of uneasiness. Was it possible that
a sane man would have gone on like that? Was it possible that the curse
of the Carnes was still working? This was an unpleasant thought; but
that which followed was still more anxious.</p>
<p>Certainly, from the tone of his voice, he had believed that Ronald
Mervyn was on the point of using violence to Margaret, and if the man
was really not altogether right in his head there was no saying what he
might do. As for himself, he laughed at the threats that had been
uttered against him. Mad or sane, he had not the slightest fear of
Ronald Mervyn. But if, as was likely enough, this mad-brained fellow
tried to fix a quarrel upon him in some public way, it might be horribly
unpleasant—so unpleasant that he did not care to think of it. He
consoled himself by hoping that when Mervyn's first burst of passion had
calmed down, he might look at the matter in a more reasonable light, and
see that at any rate he could not bring about a public quarrel without
Margaret's name being in some way drawn into it; that her cousin could
not wish, however angry he might be with her.</p>
<p>It was an unpleasant business. If Margaret accepted him, he would take
her away from all these associations. It was marvellous that she was so
bright and cheerful, knowing this horrible story about that Spanish
woman, and that there was a taint in the blood. That brother of hers,
too, was enough to keep the story always in her mind. The doctor was
certainly right about him. Of course he wasn't mad, but there was
something strange about him, and at times you caught him looking at you
in an unpleasant sort of way.</p>
<p>"He is always very civil," the lieutenant muttered to himself; "in fact,
wonderfully civil and hospitable, and all that. Still I never feel quite
at my ease with him. If I had been a rich man, and they had been hard
up, I should have certainly suspected there was a design in his
invitations, and that he wanted me to marry Margaret; but, of course,
that is absurd. He can't tell that I have a penny beyond my pay; and a
girl like Margaret might marry any one she liked, at any rate out of
Devonshire. Perhaps he may not have liked the idea of her marrying this
cousin of hers; and no doubt he is right there, and seeing, as I daresay
he did see, that I was taken with Margaret, he thought it better to give
me a chance than to let her marry Mervyn.</p>
<p>"I don't care a snap whether all her relations are mad or not. I know
that she is as free from the taint as I am; but it can't be wholesome
for a girl to live in such an atmosphere, and the next time I go over I
will put the question I meant to put this evening, and if she says yes,
I will very soon get her out of it all." And then the lieutenant
indulged in visions of pretty houses, with bright gardens looking over
the sea, and finally concluded that a little place near Ryde or Cowes
would be in every way best and most convenient, as being handy to
Portsmouth, and far removed from Devonshire and its associations. "I
hope to get my step in about a year; then I will go on half-pay. I have
capital interest, and I daresay my cousin in the Admiralty will be able
to get me a dockyard appointment of some sort at Portsmouth; if not, I
shall, of course, give it up. I am not going to knock about the world
after I am married."</p>
<p>This train of thought occupied him until almost mechanically he left the
train, walked down to the water, hailed a boat, and was taken alongside
his ship.</p>
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