University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
A NIGHT RIDE.

St. Leger, looking intently at Harley, could see that he was worn
and a little fatigued—not very much, however, for his enormous
powers of endurance had evidently resisted successfully anything
like physical prostration. He had plainly lost a great deal of
sleep, or had ridden far, but this had little effect on him. His
expression was calm and somewhat sad, but his bodily strength
was evidently unabated, and St. Leger admired for the hundredth
time this remarkable physique, which he had seen tested so often
in their long hunts on the shores of the Danube.

Harley exchanged a cordial grasp of the hand with his friend,
and said:

“Well, my dear St. Leger, how have you been getting on during
my absence? Amusing yourself, I hope.”

“In a moderate degree. And now, give an account of yourself!”

“An account of myself?”

“Certainly. Do you presume to imagine that a man can be
allowed to take himself off in this abrupt and mysterious manner,
with a friend staying in his house, remain absent whole days and
nights, and, when at last he condescends to return, is not to be
interrogated in reference to his shocking neglect of all the rules of
good society?”

Harley smiled. “I am thus compelled to account for all my
movements?”

“Certainly you are.”

“Well, question me.”

“Where have you been?”

“I have been riding out.”

“Far?”

“Quite far.”

“The distance?”

“Well, something like an hundred miles.”

“An hundred miles! On business, no doubt?”

“Yes,” said Harley.

His head drooped as he spoke, and his face grew grave and sad.

“I will tell you where I have been some day,” he added, “and
answer all your questions, friend. I owe you that.”

The words brought to St. Leger's mind his eternal thought—“Is
he, or is he not, married!”

“You really are a perfect bird of passage, Harley,” he said,
“always moving about, always on the wing. Why don't you settle
down?”

“Settle down?”

“And get married.”

“Married?”

“Is that proceeding an enormity in human beings?”

“No, but I have not the least desire to marry.”

“Woman-hater!”

“Have it as you will.”

St. Leger assumed his most careless tone, and said:

“I really would not be surprised if you had tried the business,
and had a wife already living.”

Harley turned his head slightly at these words, and was silent
for a moment. Then he said, coolly.

“What an idea! But you are eternally jesting.”

“At least, there must be some reason for this repugnance.
Virginia is a nest of doves to tempt any hawk. Try where I have
failed—!”

“No, thank you. If for no other reason, because you will go
back.”

“You are mistaken, Harley. I have abandoned all pretensions
to the hand of the fair Evelyn.”

“Are you perfectly certain? Did she?—that is, have you?—but
here I am growing ill-bred! I am prying into your private affairs,
and nothing certainly could be in worse taste.”

“Not at all! not at all!” St. Leger hastened to say. “A friend
may certainly drop ceremony with his friend.”

“To a certain point, yes, but not beyond that. Every man, my
dear St. Leger, has something in his life, at some time or other,
which he would not thank his best friend to pry into. If, therefore,
you confide to me, of your own accord, your feelings, intentions,
what has happened, or may happen—well and good. But I
shall not be so ill-bred as to interrogate you. To say the very
least, the proceeding would not be comme il faut.”

St. Leger groaned internally, and gave up the struggle. To continue
his questions would be ill-bred, intrusive, by no means
comme il faut! Had not Harley told him so?

“Well, my dear fellow,” he said, “let us drop the subject of
matrimony, and come to other things. I have not told you the
news. Sainty has arrived.”

“Sainty!”

“Does the fact please you or displease you?”

“It delights me beyond words.”

And, indeed, Harley's face suddenly glowed.

“Where is he?”

The answer was given by Sainty himself, who saw his brother
from a distance, began to run, and reaching the steps, rushed up,
and hugged Harley with both arms.

“My dear old brother, what an age it seems since I saw you!”
exclaimed the boy.

“Well, here you are, mon garçon!” said Harley, with a happy
light in his eyes. “How did you leave all at Eton?”

“Flourishing, brother! But let Eton alone. I have forgotten all
about it. This is the place for me.”

“I really think it is! And when did you get home? Did you
have enough of money? I believe I am growing quite young, my
boy! Come tell me everything.”

And Sainty Harley proceeded to tell his brother everything. He
was in the middle of his narrative, when old James came to say
that dinner was ready to be served.

“I am glad of it,” exclaimed Sainty Harley, “I am as hungry as
a wolf, brother, and I suppose you are too, as you have been riding.
Where have you been? Mr. St. Leger didn't know.”

“I went to see a friend. But there is just time to get ready for
dinner. I'll go make my toilet, and you will tell me the rest of
your adventures over a bottle of claret.”

Harley went to his chamber, and changed his dusty suit for one
of plain black. Dinner followed, was removed, and talk over the
claret succeeded. Saint George Harley gave a full account of
himself, described his visit to Oakhill and that to Blandfield, and
as they rose from table wound up with the observation.

“Why don't you court the tall one—Evelyn? She's the one for
you, brother!”

Harley smiled and said,

“I have no intention of marrying, my boy; and now let me
direct the conversation to yourself. You are two inches taller!
You are going to have a moustache and whiskers!”

They fell into easy talk, and an hour passed.

At the end of that time Sainty's conversation grew less animated,
his eyelids drooped a little, and once or twice he nodded in his
arm-chair, in front of the cheerful blaze. His long tramp had told
upon him, and after a manful effort to remain awake, he laughed,
yawned, rose, and said he believed he would go to bed.

“Do so, Sainty,” said his brother; “sleep is necessary at your
age, and we will finish our talk to-morrow.”

The youth quickly availed himself of this permission, bade them
a laughing good-night, and disappeared. Thereupon Harley leaned
back in his chair; reflected; rose in a few minutes; walked to and
fro, and looked out of the window.

“What is the matter?” said St. Leger. “I should think you
would be glad enough to sit down and rest yourself after such a
tremendous ride; and here you are jumping up and walking about,
and pacing to and fro like that tiger I saw in his cage in London.
What's the matter?”

“Well—there is some business which I am afraid I shall have to
attend to to-night.”

“Business?”

“With Judge Bland.”

“Judge Bland! Why, he is at Blandfield.”

“I shall be compelled to go there to-night, I fear.”

St. Leger looked attentively at the speaker.

“Your business must be pressing to take you out such a chill
night, when you are so much fatigued.”

“I do not feel fatigued—for the rest, my business is pressing.”

“And you are going?”

“Yes, I shall have to, I think.”

“I will go with you, then!” said St. Leger, quickly; that is, if
you desire my company.”

“You? The ride will not be very agreeable.”

“No matter. Sainty's gone to bed, and I have the evening on
my hands. Order my horse when you order yours.”

“I will do so at once, and owe you many thanks. My own society
is no great luxury to me; but you must not count on a long
visit. To be frank—I wish to return by nine or ten o'clock.”

“Why?”

Harley hesitated.

“Well—I have an appointment.”

“An appointment?”

“At Huntsdon here—between eleven and twelve.”

St. Leger's curiosity was so much excited by this response, that
he would probably have lost sight of his friend's views on prying
into things, and pried; but Harley went straight out of the room
to order the horses. They were soon ready, and, just as the darkness
had fully come, the friends set out slowly toward Blandfield.

St. Leger had in his disposition a very considerable amount of
that trait which is incorrectly supposed to be peculiar to the opposite
sex—curiosity. All about Harley had come to interest him
enormously, but unfortunately his friend had, with a few words,
rendered direct interrogation impossible. Still, some things were

not subjected to this prohibition; and when they had ridden on
for a mile or so, St. Leger said:

“I have something to tell you that I think will interest you,
Harley.”

“Ah? What is that?” was Harley's response.

“Do you know that the grounds around Huntsdon are haunted?”

“Haunted?”

“Yes—by a woman.”

Harley turned his head quickly.

“By a woman!”

“A woman dressed in black.”

“You are jesting, St. Leger!”

“I am not jesting in the least—I have seen her.”

“Seen her?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“On the night you rode away on some errand—that I know
nothing about.”

St. Leger thereupon informed his friend of the adventures which
had befallen him on his return from Blandfield, the meeting with
the vagrants, the interview with Puccoon, and the appearance of
the woman in black under his window.

Harley listened to the narrative in silence, and did not utter a
syllable until his friend had finished. He then said, after reflecting
for some moments,

“Have you seen her since that night?”

“I have not.”

“And you have not heard of her, or the strollers?”

“All seem to have vanished.”

“Harley reflected deeply; his head drooping—his eyes fixed
upon the ground.

“Poor thing!” he muttered.

St. Leger was burning with curiosity; but before he could speak,
Harley said:

“I will be frank with you, my dear friend, and say that your
account of this poor woman's visit affects me deeply. I will tell
you more about her before very long: I can only say now that the
long ride I have just taken was connected with her. I have made
every effort to find her, but without success. I thought I could
trace her, but have not been able to do so. What you tell me may
enable me to discover her now—but the subject is melancholy; let
us dismiss it.”

“Very well, but—”

“How chill it is growing. It was well we put on some wrapping.

It really feels like snow. What an extraordinary climate! The
morning was positively warm.”

It was plain what these words meant, and St. Leger said no
more. They rode on in silence, and at last saw before them the
lights of Blandfield.

As they rode up the avenue, Harley held out his hand. A white
flake settled upon it. He looked up at the dull, leaden sky.

“I was right,” he said; “it is snowing.”