MY 
 
 LADY 
 
 APRIL 
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 BY JOHN OVERTON 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAQH 
 
 I. CASSILLIS CLEARS THE STAGE i 
 
 II. LADY FORREST AT HOME . 10 
 
 III. INTRODUCING THE HERO 23 
 
 IV. THE DECOY 32 
 
 V. BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN . . 41 
 
 VI. THE PRIZE FIGHTER 56 
 
 VII. LARRY CAVANAGH 72 
 
 VIII. TRAGEDY IN THE AIR 91 
 
 IX. SPIDER AND FLY 97 
 
 X. THE PAPER DOLL 109 
 
 XI. SUSPICION . . 115 
 
 XII. THE WATCHER ON THE HILL . . . .122 
 
 XIII. LURCHED 132 
 
 XIV. AT THE SIGN OF THE GOAT AND COM- 
 
 PASSES 136 
 
 XV. ALARUMS 149 
 
 XVI. EXCURSIONS ...... 158 
 
 XVII. YOUNG CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 183 
 
 XVIII. NEWS 199 
 
 2131871
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEE PAGE 
 
 XIX. MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST .... 205 
 
 XX. YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE . . . 218 
 
 XXI. THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 231 
 
 XXII. ASH HOLT GRANGE 242 
 
 XXIII. T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" . . .248 
 
 XXIV. IN THE WEST WING 256
 
 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CASSILLIS CLEARS THE STAGE 
 
 GLAD in yellow linen drawers and jacket, 
 and up to his armpits in the steaming waters 
 of the King's Bath, Sir George Forrest 
 hooked his wrist through an iron ring in the wall, 
 and yawned with no attempt to disguise his bore- 
 dom. 
 
 Beaux, almost unrecognizable in the hideous cos- 
 tume that custom demanded, lounged through the 
 water, cropped heads tied in silk kerchiefs or 
 crowned with the fashionable tricorn. Belles, half- 
 hid beneath chip hats, controlled their water-logged 
 dresses with some difficulty and kept watchful eyes 
 upon the little wooden trays that bobbed in front 
 of them, precariously carrying handkerchief, patch- 
 box and nosegay. 
 
 Habitues idled at the windows of the Pump- 
 Room and the air was full of shouted conversa- 
 tion; sally and repartee; compliment and laughing 
 banter. 
 
 Somewhere near, a band played noisily, and
 
 2 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 April sunshine, reflected from the troubled waters, 
 rippled and splashed in a thousand jack-o'-lanterns 
 upon the gray buildings. 
 
 Through the bottom of his empty glass Mr. Cas- 
 sillis caught sight of Sir George and leaned out of a 
 window to hail him. 
 
 Sir George was not enthusiastic. "Hello, Cas- 
 sillis," he yawned. "How d'e do?" 
 
 "Didn't know you bathed!" bawled Mr. Cassillis. 
 
 "I don't," returned Forrest. "That is, not as a 
 rule, y'know. Got a headache this morning. 
 Thought it might do good." 
 
 "Aha! Too many libations to the rosy god, eh?" 
 Mr. Cassillis went through a suggestive pantomime. 
 
 Sir George scowled. "Demmed popinjay!" he 
 muttered, and, loosing his hold upon the ring, waded 
 through the crowd of bathers toward the dark steps 
 that led to The Slips. 
 
 Craning a long neck Mr. Cassillis watched his 
 progress, and presently beckoned to a seedy-16oking 
 individual behind him. 
 
 "You were asking for Sir George Forrest? 
 Look, yonder he goes to dress. You'll catch him 
 as he comes out if you go round to the entrance." 
 
 The fellow nodded, laid a finger to his nose and 
 pouched a shilling. 
 
 Mr. Cassillis, sniffing at a pomander, minced away 
 to breakfast in Spring Gardens with my Lady Gil- 
 lespie, whose portrait he had just completed; and 
 emerging into the sunny day a little later, Sir 
 George found himself tapped smartly on the shoul-
 
 CASSILLIS CLEARS THE STAGE 3 
 
 der by a dirty hand holding a folded paper. 
 
 "What's this?" said he, recoiling instinctively. 
 
 The man grinned. "I've served ye, right enough. 
 Sir George Forrest, an't it? To the suit o' Mrs. 
 Deykin. Eight hundred an' forty odd." 
 
 "A writ?" groaned Sir George. "O demmit!" 
 
 Much too upset to walk he hailed a chair and 
 was carried home, floundering into his wife's room 
 to find her at her dressing-table sipping chocolate 
 and dawdling over an elaborate toilet. 
 
 "O lud, George!" said she. "What need have 
 you to burst in upon me like a bull in a china shop? 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 The waiting-woman discreetly vanished. 
 
 He flung the paper into her lap and himself on 
 to a settee, threw hat and wig across the floor and 
 swore till he was hoarse. 
 
 "A writ!" Lavinia opened the paper and read 
 it hurriedly, biting her lower lip. 
 
 "A writ, thanks to your extravagance. I told 
 you 'twould come to it, but you never heeded. 
 You'll land me in the Fleet 'fore you've done. You 
 suggested taking this house and running a faro 
 table. Deuced risky undertaking. I said as much, 
 but you'll never listen to reason. You would try 
 it." 
 
 "What else could I have done, sir? We had 
 to have money " 
 
 "And now comes a writ, just as our tables begin 
 to be fashionable. What need had you to run into 
 debt?"
 
 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Great heavens, sir ! I must be clothed !" 
 
 On the subject of his wife's wardrobe Sir George 
 expressed himself with more force than politeness; 
 v_2d Lavinia was pondering the choice between a 
 swoon or hysterics when her woman tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 "Mr. Cassillis to wait upon you, m'lady." 
 
 "Demmit, we're not at home!" cried Sir George. 
 
 Janet looked at her mistress. 
 
 "Beg him to walk upstairs," said Lavinia, and 
 as the maid went, "George, don't be a fool. He 
 may be able to help." 
 
 "Gad, he owes us a debt of gratitude!" George 
 brightened, retrieved his wig, and donned it before 
 the mirror. "After all, 'twas I took him up and 
 made him the rage. Why, he'd not one shilling to 
 rub against another when we brought him to Win- 
 terbourne and let him paint our portraits. And now 
 half Bath crowds his studio." He turned as the 
 tap of high heels approached along the polished 
 landing. Lavinia had a prejudice against carpets 
 which deadened the sound of feet. "Hello, 
 Cassillis," cried Forrest. "Here's sad news !" 
 
 "Take these books back to the library, Janet," 
 said her mistress. "And call at Mrs. Wells' and ask 
 if my red petticoat is scoured. Bring it with you. 
 You may have to wait. And get a yard of blue 
 sarcenet at the shop in Green Street. And leave 
 these notes in The Circus. And as you come back 
 call at Mrs. Darbey's for that pattern I lent her.
 
 And then come finish me. Don't loiter, child. I'm 
 in a hurry." 
 
 Annoyed that she was given no opportunity of 
 listening at the door, Janet collected an armful of 
 novels and took herself off. Lavinia fidgeted with 
 the silver-topped jars upon her table; Sir George 
 gloomily surveyed his boots ; Mr. Cassillis, glancing 
 from one to the other, murmured something about 
 calling later at a more convenient hour. 
 
 "No, don't go," said Forrest without looking up. 
 "We're in the deuce of a mess, Cassillis. Give 
 him the demmed thing, Lawy." 
 
 The artist's pale eyes met Lady Forrest's for a 
 moment. He took the paper from her hand, read 
 it, pursed his lips into a silent whistle. "Eight 
 forty-two. Phew ! The woman's done you, some- 
 how. Sure, you can't owe all that for clothes !" 
 
 Lavinia's indignant rejoinder died in her throat as 
 she met his glance. 
 
 Sir George got up and began to pace to and fro, 
 airing his grievances, relieved that this painter fel- 
 low took his view of the matter. He had been 
 half afraid that Cassillis would side with Lavinia. 
 A puppy, always hanging on to some woman's 
 skirts ! 
 
 "Well, 'tis deuced unpleasant, but nothing worse," 
 said Cassillis at length. "You've a week." 
 
 "O lud, I can't pay it!" 
 
 "No? Hum." Mr. Cassillis meditated, sucking 
 the head of his clouded cane. "Of all God-forsaken
 
 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 holes, a sponging house is the most abhorrent. 
 I know. I've tried em!" 
 
 "The bad old days 'fore you met us, eh?" sug- 
 gested Sir George hopefully. 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 Sir George pondered the question of how much 
 he might reasonably expect to borrow from Mr. 
 Cassillis, and was dashed by the other's next words. 
 
 "The only alternative," mused Mr. Cassillis, "is 
 ah flight." For the fraction of a second his 
 pale eyes rested on Lavinia. 
 
 "Flight? Demmit, I can borrow " 
 
 Mr. Cassillis looked sideways. "On what se- 
 curity? No, my dear fellow. You don't borrow, 
 you abscond." He waved airy fingers. "Ab- 
 scond. Ride to Southampton. Take boat to 
 Folkstone. Once there, any smuggling lugger will 
 put you ashore in France and no questions asked." 
 
 "Od rot you, man, you've got it pat!" said Sir 
 George suspiciously. "One'd think you'd planned 
 it all out." 
 
 "La, no !" Mr. Cassillis giggled. " 'Tis mon- 
 strous simple. I'll put it about that you've taken the 
 London road. Once in Paris you can start another 
 gaming house and come back in a couple o' years' 
 time positively rolling in money." 
 
 "Gad, that's not a bad notion!" Sir George 
 glanced at the mirror and preened himself. At 
 forty-two he was still a personable fellow. "Paris ! 
 What a life! Where's Doll? Let's have her in 
 and tell"
 
 CASSILLIS CLEARS THE STAGE 7 
 
 "Dorothy's visiting Miss Abrams for a day or 
 two," interposed Lavinia. "There's no need to dis- 
 tress her " 
 
 "Distress?" echoed Sir George. "We'll tell her 
 nothing of all this. I'll take Charles and go to 
 Paris on business. You wind up affairs here and 
 follow with Dolly and your woman. What's sim- 
 pler? Let her stay on at the Jewess's by all means. 
 She's well out on't. Cassillis, you'll be discreet? 
 Well, I'll see my man about the horses. The sooner 
 I'm off the better." Amazingly cheered by the pros- 
 pect of Paris, Forrest nodded his farewell and strode 
 off whistling. 
 
 Mr. Cassillis flourished through a bow, straight- 
 ened up, and as the door closed, tossed hat and cane 
 upon the couch and crossed to Lavinia. 
 
 "Well, what now ?" said she, rising. 
 
 With his hands at his hips and feet apart, he 
 stood regarding her with a curious smile. 
 
 She looked up : met his eyes : stiffened into 
 immobility. 
 
 "To be brutal, you owe me close upon two thou- 
 sand pounds already, Vinny," said he. "Did you 
 believe I should be such a fool as to lend you more ?" 
 
 She remained silent, stone-cold, staring at him 
 with dilated eyes. 
 
 "You and I together could make more out of 
 faro than do you and Sir George," said he beneath 
 his breath. "Your tables don't bring you in enough 
 to live as you do, and I know a few things about 
 faro that "
 
 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Not yet, but they will," she said determinedly. 
 "We're just beginning to be fashionable." 
 
 "This writ'll ruin you." 
 
 "O lud, I can run the house without George !" 
 
 "But my dear creature, there'll be a sale. The 
 place'll be stripped. They'll leave you nothing but 
 what you stand in ! I dare swear you owe others be- 
 side your dressmaker, and when the news gets about 
 your tradesfolk'll come clamoring. What then?" 
 An unconcerned observer might have thought Mr. 
 Cassillis exulted. 
 
 Lady Forrest sank into a chair, still staring in a 
 dazed way at the man before her. "I I thought 
 maybe you could help," she faltered. 
 
 He dropped to his knee and took her hands. 
 
 "Gad, Vinny, I'm no philanthropist! Why 
 should I stir a finger to help your husband? I'm 
 thinking of myself and you. Here's a chance in 
 a million, and are we to let it slip for fear of gos- 
 sip? You're no child, to be frighted at such scare- 
 crows, and I " 
 
 "You take too much for granted, sir," she re- 
 buked him. "D'ye think I'm a woman to run off 
 with the first man that throws his kerchief ?" 
 
 Mr. Cassillis got to his feet, dusted his knees, 
 glanced at her, and grinned. "I take nothing for 
 granted, madam." He discovered her hand-glass 
 among the litter upon the dressing-table, and pre- 
 sented it, bowing. "Allow me." 
 
 Lady Forrest thrust it away. "You you devil !" 
 she cried below her breath. "Ah ! Cruel "
 
 CASSILLIS CLEARS THE STAGE 9 
 
 "Madam, you amaze me. I am the soul of kind- 
 ness and ah generosity. I give. I lend. I de- 
 mand no usury. And like Lazarus, I'm content 
 with the leavings from another's ah table." 
 
 "Cad !" she said vehemently. 
 
 Mr. Cassillis shrugged, snuffed, and strolled to 
 the window where rosy chintz curtains obscured the 
 sun. 
 
 Lady Forrest looked helplessly after him, utterly 
 at a loss. Never in all her life had she experienced 
 such treatment. It astounded her, but she found 
 something of a fascination in it. Flattery would 
 have left her cold ; open courtship had no value what- 
 soever, being an everyday affair among the gallants 
 who crowded her rooms. 
 
 Mr. Cassillis intrigued her. 
 
 At the end of five minutes he found her at his 
 elbow. 
 
 "Well," said he, taking her by the shoulders, and 
 regarding her with twinkling eyes, "which shall it 
 be? Vienna? Berlin? Rome?"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 
 
 BELOW the windows of Sir Julian Carew the 
 Bath band serenaded that old beau upon the 
 attainment of his eightieth birthday. An 
 unwonted guggling in the performance provoked in- 
 quiry ; neighboring sashes were thrown up, becapped 
 heads thrust out; shouts and laughter mingled 
 with the music. 
 
 "O lud !" snapped Lady Forrest. "What ails the 
 creatures? Janet, go see." 
 
 Her woman stepped out upon the balcony and 
 looking across the street beheld the cause of the con- 
 fusion lounging at ease upon the sunny pavement, 
 eating fruit. 
 
 "Well ?" called her mistress impatiently. 
 
 Janet giggled. " 'Tis a gypsy ragamuffin suckin 
 lemons. La, see the flageolet a-shaking his pipe! 
 No wonder they can't play. Here comes Sir Ju- 
 lian's major-domo to tip 'em." 
 
 A pompous old servant descended the semicircular 
 stone steps before Sir Julian's door, distributed sil- 
 ver, swore genteelly at the loafer, and retired. 
 
 The discomfited musicians swore with a differ- 
 ence; spat, shook out their instruments, and beat a 
 
 10
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME n 
 
 retreat, growling; and the gray thoroughfare, 
 splashed with sunshine and the gay green of April, 
 fiighed its relief and drowsed again. A black and 
 white cat came up the area of the Forrest house and 
 began a comprehensive toilet, and the gypsy kissed 
 his hand to her and faded into the landscape after 
 the manner of nis kind. 
 
 Unaware of the cat, Janet took the salute to her- 
 self, tossed her curls, tweaked the curtains into place, 
 and collecting empty chocolate cups, flounced away. 
 
 As the door closed upon her Lavinia Forrest 
 turned to the woman who brooded, plump and com- 
 placent, upon the settee beside the hearth. 
 
 "Well, Kate," she invited. "What's this of a 
 new-comer? I heard the bells." 
 
 Mrs. Darbey jerked forward. "Why, my love," 
 she quacked, "the town talks of no one else. Six 
 foot, and as handsome as Acheron or am I think- 
 ing of Achilles? And the favorite of his uncle, 
 Sir Julian, though to be sure he's not the heir un- 
 less his cousin should well, well, we must hope for 
 the best. And generous, my dear, to a fault. The 
 dipper told me he gave her a guinea before he'd so 
 much as put his lips to a glass. And he's engaged 
 to attend the ball to-night, I had it from the book- 
 shop on the walls " Mrs. Darbey paused to 
 breathe. 
 
 "A Carew, did you say?" Lady Forrest emptied 
 a trinket box into her lap and chose half a dozen 
 rings, fitting them abstractedly upon her thin fin- 
 gers.
 
 12 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Ralph Carew. Sir Julian keeps his eightieth 
 birthday to-day. A great age. Strange, an't it, 
 Sir Julian, the eldest o' the family, should out-live 
 his brothers? Henry died at forty. Raymond at 
 forty-five. Carews seldom make old bones, but 
 they know how to enjoy life. They tell me Ray^ 
 mond was almost a pagan, so rash, so willful. Lud, 
 Valerius don't take after him! Must favor his 
 mother, I suppose. Spaniards are so lazy, an't they? 
 The climate. Sir Julian don't seem to take kindly 
 to his heir. Dotes upon Ralph. Regards him as a 
 son. Sure, 'tis a monstrous pity " She relapsed 
 into sighs. 
 
 "What is?" inquired Lavinia. "How you do 
 gabble, Kate!" 
 
 "Why, my love, my thoughts run so fast I vow 
 I can't keep pace with 'em. What was I saying? 
 O lud, yes! A pity young Ralph an't the heir. 
 So friendly, so good-natured, and quite unattached 
 I have it on the best authority. And is your 
 daughter to be at the ball ? A sweet child. I won- 
 der " Mrs. Darbey's small gray eyes brooded 
 certain romantic possibilities. 
 
 "And the cousin," inquired Lavinia. "Is he 
 married?" 
 
 "Valerius? What an unfortunate name! 
 Sounds like a medicine! Married? O lud, no! 
 As well expect an oyster to fall in love. Poor 
 creature!" 
 
 "Deformed?" suggested Lady Forrest, smoth- 
 ering her exasperation.
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 13 
 
 Mrs. Darbey snooped forward like a duck in a 
 gutter. "Heavens! You don't tell me," she 
 gasped, round eyes protruding a little. "Well now, 
 'tis not remarkable. He's not crippled. I saw 
 him but yesterday on the Parade. A lanky, lan- 
 guid fellow, monstrous over-dressed, and so bored 
 he seemed ready to fall asleep as he walked. 
 What's the defect?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing," replied Lady Forrest. "Don't 
 jump to conclusions, Kate." 
 
 "And how is dear Sir George? I han't seen 
 him about this age!" 
 
 It appeared that dear Sir George had posted to 
 London a week ago on urgent business. Skillful 
 questions elicited the information that Lavinia 
 might possibly have to follow him, and that Doro- 
 thy would visit in the neighborhood until her par- 
 ents returned. 
 
 "No bad news, I trust?" Mrs. Darbey was avid 
 for detail. 
 
 "O la, no!" yawned Lavinia. 
 
 "Family matters, perhaps?" 
 
 "Yes. Monstrous boring, an't they? I protest 
 I hardly know whether a family wedding an't worse 
 than a family funeral. And how I detest wearing 
 black." 
 
 "Ah!" Mrs. Darbey hit the trail at last and 
 beamed her satisfaction. "Well, I hope 'tis a 
 legacy." 
 
 Lavinia allowed her to hope but changed the sub- 
 ject adroitly, and various reputations in Bath were
 
 i 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 under dissection when the maid appeared, wide- 
 eyed. 
 
 "Mr. Everett, m'lady," said she, plaiting the 
 hem of her pinner. 
 
 Lady Forrest turned sharply and recognized a 
 danger signal. "Lud, how tiresome men are! 
 Did you tell him I was engaged?" 
 
 "Most particular, m'lady. But he said 'twas 
 important." 
 
 "What's o'clock, child?" 
 
 " 'Tis close on twelve, m'lady." 
 
 "O lud!" quacked Mrs. Darbey, rising hastily. 
 "And I vowed I'd meet Lady Sue at noon!" She 
 collected her fan, her muff and her silk bag ; preened 
 herself and made her adieu, explaining at great 
 length that she had missed half a dozen appoint- 
 ments in order to visit her sweet Lavvy. 
 
 Her sweet Lavvy pecked at her, smiled mechan- 
 ically, and nodded to her woman. 
 
 Janet reappeared a moment later. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked her mistress. 
 
 "A rough-looking fellow, m'lady. He got his 
 foot in the door 'fore I could slam it. He's a- 
 sitting in the dining-room." 
 
 "Did Mrs. Darbey see him?" 
 
 "La, no, m'lady. I took good care o' that!" 
 
 Lady Forrest exchanged her wrapper for a gown 
 and descended to make acquaintance with the genus 
 bailiff. It was not a pleasant experience. Barthol- 
 omew Griggs prided himself on his manners with 
 women.
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 15 
 
 Revolted, Lavinia ' escaped to her boudoir and 
 summoned Janet, but when the maid came her 
 mistress for once found nothing to say. 
 
 The two women looked at one another. 
 
 "If quite convenient to you, m'lady, I should 
 wish to leave, not being accustomed to having the 
 bumbailey a-sitting in my dining-room, as it were." 
 She was prepared for reproaches. 
 
 "It's very well," assented Lady Forrest, out- 
 wardly composed. "Be good enough to lay my 
 pink taffety ready for to-night. And Janet, say 
 nothing to Miss Dorothy. I'll not have her dis- 
 turbed. She'll sleep till five, and then you may 
 dress her for the ball. Order a chair for six 
 o'clock." 
 
 She turned to her desk and chose a pen, trying 
 the nib upon a finger-nail. 
 
 "But, m'lady, do we open the rooms to-night as 
 usual?" gasped Janet, never able to understand her 
 mistress's self-control, and invariably losing her 
 head before Lavinia's icy restraint. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "But the" 
 
 "He can sit in the pantry. See that he has a 
 good supper and plenty of ale, and Janet you may 
 lock him in. I'll not have him coming upstairs 
 among my guests." 
 
 Impressed, Janet retired; dusted the gaming- 
 rooms upon the first floor, replenished the candle- 
 sticks, and descending, set glass and china ready 
 in the dining-room.
 
 1 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Bartholomew Griggs, writing laboriously in a 
 dirty pocket-book, dogged her steps. 
 
 "Get out from under my feet, I tell ye!" said 
 Janet at length. "You'll get trod on. What are 
 you at?" 
 
 "Tottin' up the furniture, missie," rejoined 
 Griggs. "What's the lay? Party to-night?" 
 
 "Ho, no more'n usual!" said Janet, breathing 
 on a spoon and rubbing it vigorously. 
 
 "We entertain lavish, don't we?" chuckled 
 Griggs. "Let's see. Cut glass aypernay badly 
 chipped on foot. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen 
 ecod! how many o' them long-legged glasses?" 
 He sucked his pencil and eyed the table apprais- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Keep your fingers off 'em!" snapped Janet, os- 
 tentatiously polishing. 
 
 "Oh, bless your heart, I an't doin' no damage. 
 But anything to obleege a lady." He smirked at 
 her and pottered round the room, examining the 
 gilded mirrors and muttering to himself. Janet, 
 watching him sidelong, was suddenly concerned 
 about her wages. It became imperative to know 
 what would happen in the course of the next few 
 days. 
 
 "Well," said she more amicably. "I'm for the 
 town." 
 
 "Shopping?" queried Griggs. 
 
 "Ordering the supper," she told him. "What's 
 your fancy?" 
 
 Bartholomew owned to a passion for trillibub.
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 17 
 
 Janet sneered. "We'd have the gentry take this 
 for a tripe house! Choose something that don't 
 stink, man! Onions, indeed!" 
 
 "Most things as is tasty smells," mused Griggs, 
 scratching one eai. "And I do love something 
 tasty. What about oysters, miss?" 
 
 Janet signified approval and invited him to come 
 carry her basket. 
 
 "Can't leave, me dear," Griggs wagged a shabby 
 head. "I'm in possession, an' here I stays till the 
 sale's over. Nothing's to be took away, d'ye see. 
 I'm responsible. I doubt I should let ye take a 
 basket strictly speakin' " 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" snapped Janet. "D'ye ex- 
 pect me to carry oysters in my apron?" She 
 flounced off, donned cloak and hood and hurried 
 in to the town, where passing an apothecary's, she 
 developed a raging toothache and dived down three 
 steps into the little shop. 
 
 "Something to make you sleep?" said the as- 
 sistant, leaning solicitously over the counter. "Bet- 
 ter let me draw it, miss, and ha' done with it." 
 
 "Oh, 'tis but a cold," said Janet, her hand to 
 her cheek. "I'll take two powders, please. Do 
 they taste badly?" 
 
 "Put 'em in your supper beer and you'll never 
 know you've had 'em," he assured her. 
 
 Dressed, perfumed and painted, Lady Forrest 
 went on a tour of inspection through morning-room 
 and dining room, where refreshments were spread
 
 1 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 upon long tables, and servants, hired only for a 
 few hours each night, waited napkin in hand. 
 
 The rooms set aside for gaming occupied the 
 whole of the first floor. Lavinia glanced in and 
 found Janet distributing new packs of cards. 
 
 ^Where's that man?" she inquired. 
 
 The abigail looked up. "He's had his supper 
 and he's asleep in the butler's pantry, m'lady." 
 
 "Did you lock him in?" 
 
 "No, m'lady. I did better. He'd ha' kicked 
 the door down and raised a monstrous racket. I 
 put a sleeping powder in his ale. He's safe till 
 morning." 
 
 Lady Forrest stopped suddenly, a finger at her 
 lip. 
 
 "You're certain he'll not wake?" 
 
 "Oh la, yes!" returned Janet. "The pottecary 
 vowed one would ensure a good night's rest. I 
 gave him two." 
 
 " 'Tis very well. I shall close the rooms early 
 to-night, child. My head aches. You needn't sit 
 up for me." 
 
 "Thank you, m'lady." 
 
 Lavinia idly picked up a pack of cards, cut, and 
 glanced at the result. The Queen of Hearts. Her 
 fate was sealed. 
 
 Oddly at ease now that her decision was made, 
 she left the gaming-rooms, and climbing the stair 
 to an attic bedchamber, entered without ceremony. 
 
 Her daughter Dorothy stood upon a chair before 
 the toilet-table, examining her slippered feet in a
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 19 
 
 small mirror, and turned pettishly as Lady Forrest 
 came in. 
 
 "What on earth ?" began Lavinia. 
 
 Dorothy shrugged and descended. "If I am to 
 be your decoy you might at least give me a long 
 glass," she pouted. "For all I know my petti- 
 coat's inches below my gown, and half the urchins 
 in Bath will be shouting that my father loves me 
 better than my mother." 
 
 Lavinia winced a little. "Janet should dress 
 you." 
 
 "Janet neglects me shamefully. When can I 
 have a woman of my own. 
 
 ' 'Tis too costly, child," said her mother, eyeing 
 her. "You're exquisite. Come, control your tem- 
 per, or you'll ruin your mouth. There's nothing 
 lines a face like ill-humor. Remember that, miss !" 
 
 The young girl lifted a candle in each hand and 
 gazed into the mirror, scrutinizing herself as though 
 her reflection had been the picture of a third per- 
 son. 
 
 A fair-skinned, oval face confronted her; golden 
 hair caught up in distracting curls, frosted with 
 powder; blue eyes shadowed by heavy lashes; a 
 patch below a dimpled mouth. 
 
 "Well," said Lady Forrest complacently, "you're 
 the prettiest girl in Bath. Make the most of your 
 time, child. We Bridlingtons age early." 
 
 "O me!" cried Dorothy. "My time, forsooth! 
 'Tis little chance I have. I'm nothing more than a 
 bait, and I'm tired of it! I want "
 
 20 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "You want a master, eh?" sneered her mother, 
 and caught her wrist in thin, cruel fingers. "Are 
 you so enamored of your glimpses of married life 
 that you want to rush into the trap? Little fool! 
 Now attend Sir Julian's nephew will be at the 
 Rooms to-night. Ralph Carew. Remember the 
 name. He must be induced to play here to-mor- 
 row. To-morrow ! You understand ? What, 
 have I bruised your wrist? Well, tie a black rib- 
 bon round it, 'tis the last fashion." 
 
 Ignoring Dorothy's half-uttered remonstrances, 
 Lady Forrest sailed downstairs, telling herself that 
 she had done all that could be expected of her. 
 She had secured Dorothy's future, for young Carew 
 could not fail to fall captive to so much beauty in 
 distress. 
 
 The beauty was there for all to see: the distress, 
 alas, was inevitable. Lady Forrest had no inten- 
 tion of taking a grown daughter to Vienna. The 
 chit knew her world. She could look after her- 
 self. Lavinia grudgingly acknowledged that she 
 must leave her some money., 
 
 A gathering hum of talk below told that her 
 doors were open, but she sat down at the bureau, 
 wrote a letter, enclosed some gold, sealed it, ad- 
 dressed it to Dorothy and slipped it into her pocket. 
 Then, throwing a scarf about her shoul- 
 ders, she descended to the drawing-room, aglow 
 with candle-light, almost impassable for chairs and 
 card-tables. A larger table was set in the farther 
 room, exposed by the folding doors; and habitues
 
 LADY FORREST AT HOME 21 
 
 were already hurrying to their seats, greeting ac- 
 quaintances, their eyes set abstractedly. 
 
 In spite of herself, she shivered. 
 
 It was as though, dead, she watched her world 
 move on without her. Her reign in Bath was over. 
 After to-night her candles would remain unlit, her 
 rooms empty. Her flight would cause no more 
 than a surface ripple on the life of the town. 
 Shrugs, leers, a half-uttered sentence and she 
 would be forgotten. Another would start a gam- 
 ing-house, defying law and order. Jealousy of her 
 unknown supplanter sickened her: she loved the life 
 she led, the little power she wielded. She loved the 
 atmosphere of excitement, of risk, of delicious un- 
 certainty. It was hard to give it up at the moment 
 when half the fashionable world of Bath flocked to 
 her tables. She was too old to begin all over again 
 in another country. 
 
 Almost she resolved to stay on and brazen matters 
 out, and remembered that before many days were 
 over the furniture, the glass and china, the very 
 clothes she wore would be sold to pay her debts. 
 
 Flight was unavoidable, and flight with Cassillis 
 preferable to flight alone. She waited with what 
 patience she could muster until her guests went down 
 to supper; and then, alone among the disordered 
 chairs, she faced Cassillis. 
 
 "What now?" he asked. "Have you decided?" 
 
 "It must be to-night," said she, composed, pale 
 beneath her rouge. "There's a bailiff in the house 
 wait! I've no time to explain my woman's
 
 22 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 drugged him. I'll stop the play at half after ten, 
 and then " 
 
 "You'll come! I'll have a chaise under the big 
 cedar on the London road at eleven. I'll to my 
 lodging, and pack. We must get away before 
 Dorothy comes home. What'll the child do?" 
 
 "Oh, I've arranged for Dorothy," Lady Forrest 
 assured him. "Till eleven!" 
 
 They separated with a handclasp. Mr. Cassillis 
 found hat and cloak and let himself out of the house. 
 
 Lady Forrest sailed down to supper.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 INTRODUCING THE HERO 
 
 "y^NlR," said young Carew, "your very good 
 ^^ health!" 
 
 l^_X The old man seated at the head of the 
 shining table gazed bleakly up at the young man, 
 bowing, glass in hand ; gazed, smiled, and sighed. 
 
 "Thank'ee, lad. Thank'ee. But don't wish me 
 many happy returns o' the day. 'Tis not to be 
 desired. Eighty ! Great heaven, and it seems but 
 yesterday that I was eighteen!" He fell silent, 
 twirling his empty glass by its twisted stem. 
 
 Young Carew stretched cut his hand impulsively 
 and pressed his uncle's withered fingers. "Gad, 
 sir ! You bring the tears into my throat," he said. 
 "I regard you as a second father. I I can't lose 
 you yet." 
 
 Sir Julian grinned. "You managed to exist a 
 couple o' years without me." 
 
 "Only because you refused to come, sir!" ex- 
 claimed Ralph, flushing. 
 
 "Pho! The Grand Tour at seventy-seven! I'd 
 ha' been damnably in your way, lad. There, I 
 was but plaguing you. You're a good boy, but how 
 goes the song? 
 
 23
 
 24 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 'Crabbed age and youth ' 
 
 [Let's see. You must be three and twenty?" 
 
 "Twenty-four, sir." 
 
 "Twenty- four. Gad, you've all life before you. 
 And heart-whole, eh ? Ha, Batlh'll soon mend that ! 
 Running over with pretty maids. You can take 
 your pick of a posy. We'll have you wed 'fore 
 the year's out." 
 
 The prospect did not seem to appeal to young 
 Carew. "You never married, sir," he began. 
 
 Sir Julian moved uneasily in his great chair. 
 "No, lad, no. I never married. But 'tis the only 
 proper life for a man or woman either, for that 
 matter. It is not good for man to be alone. Ah, 
 you love your freedom, but wait till you face a 
 lonely old age. You must do better than I. I'll 
 live to dandle your son, please God." 
 
 "I'll endeavor to oblige you, Uncle," laughed 
 Ralph. "But there's no haste, is there?" 
 
 His uncle glanced at him. "No, no haste. Still, 
 I'd like to see ye wed. Well, ha' ye seen aught o' 
 Val? I bid him dine with us, but it seems he has 
 forgot." 
 
 "No, I've not met with him as yet," replied 
 Ralph. "How does he spend his time? He ap- 
 pears to have no interests. I made inquiries 
 but" 
 
 "Devil take me if I understand the fellow!" cried 
 Sir Julian irritably. "He comes and he goes as 
 the whim seize him. In and out o' the house
 
 INTRODUCING THE HERO 25 
 
 every day for a week, and then never a sight of 
 him for month on end. And then one day he 
 lounges in as though he could scarce drag one foot 
 after t'other, and sprawls all over the furniture in 
 most unseemly fashion for a man of breeding. And 
 never a word of explanation or apology. Strange ? 
 Rat me, I think he's a fool, or mad! Raymond 
 was crazy to take a foreigner to wife!" 
 
 "He was named at the chocolate house in my 
 presence," said Ralph. "I mentioned our relation- 
 ship and asked er where he could be found. If 
 you'll believe me, sir, the room positively shouted 
 with laughter. I wondered " 
 
 Sir Julian condemned his kinsman feature by 
 feature : swore he was no Carew to make the name 
 a byword and a laughing-stock: thumped angrily 
 on the arms of his chair with clenched fists upon 
 which the knuckles stood out whitely: and was 
 with some difficulty soothed by young Carew who be- 
 came a little alarmed at his uncle's unbridled rage, 
 and strove to lead his thoughts into another channel. 
 
 "D'ye go to the ball to-night?" asked Sir Julian 
 at length, sipping his wine and leaning back still 
 flushed with his recent vehemence. 
 
 "Not if you'd like me to remain, sir." Ralph 
 shot a furtive glance at the tall clock in the corner. 
 
 "Pho! No. I'm no spoil sport!" declared Sir 
 Julian. "Come now, what d'ye think o' the fight 
 to-morrow ? What's this I hear of a boxing gypsy ?" 
 
 "Merodach? Faith, I've not seen him, sir. I 
 know nothing but gossip. The odds were in his
 
 26 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 favor in Orange Grove this morning, but being 
 new come to Bath I'm all at sea. From what I 
 could gather the other's the safe man." 
 
 "Brooke?" mused Sir Julian. "Ah, he put up a 
 good fight five years ago. I doubt he's too old for it 
 now. Well, Harris, what is it?" 
 
 The major-domo bowed, holding the door. "Mr. 
 Valerius, sir, to pay his respects." 
 
 The baronet's heavy gray eyebrows drew together 
 as a pale figure lounged into the circle of candle- 
 light : a tall exquisite clad in creamy satin, fair hair 
 falling in curls about his powdered cheeks. 
 
 "What, candles ?" said he in some surprise. " 'Tis 
 still daylight " 
 
 "I prefer to dine in private," grumbled Sir Julian. 
 "That Forrest woman across the way is for ever 
 peering at me from the windows. Shameless bag- 
 gage! I draw my curtains 'fore I sit down. 
 What, sir ! I bid ye dine with me and here ye come 
 nigh two hours late. An't my table dainty enough 
 to suit your stomach?" He snatched his fingers 
 away as his nephew bent to kiss them. "Od rot 
 ye, man! I'll not have your foreign tricks! Shake 
 hands!" 
 
 "Sir, I tender a thousand apologies " 
 
 "Pho! One's enough, one's enough." 
 
 " 'Twas impossible to dine, I 
 
 "Then ye'll wine. Harris, another glass." 
 
 Valerius Carew waved the servant away. "I pro- 
 test, sir, my my doctor positively forbids it." He 
 sank into a chair, a laced kerchief at his lips.
 
 INTRODUCING THE HERO 27 
 
 "Zoons, Val, are ye ill?" quoth his uncle testily. 
 "What's a glass o' port more or less? Ye look 
 hale enough!" 
 
 "Appearances, my dear sir," drawled Valerius, 
 putting long legs across the seat of another chair, 
 "appearances are not always to be relied upon." 
 His languid eyelids flickered : a smile twitched at the 
 corner of his fine mouth. He looked across at his 
 cousin. "Well, coz, and so we meet at last ! You 
 must have left England as I landed. Ah, the Grand 
 Tour? And you return a polished rolling stone! 
 No moss about you, Ralph, eh? I like your taste 
 in waistcoats. Paris ? Gad, what a hole this town 
 must seem after Paris? Positively a hole! A 
 wallow full of wallowing fat cattle!" 
 
 "Don't ye sneer at Bath, sir!" expostulated Sir 
 Julian, thumping the arm of his chair. 
 
 "O dear sir, Truth's at the bottom o' the well. 
 I looked in at the Pump-Room this morning 
 and the King's Bath was full positively full of 
 of prodigies in yellow calico, wallowing. Faugh! 
 A fearsome spectacle! What brings you to Bath, 
 Ralph? Rheumatism?" 
 
 "I came post from London to congratulate Sir 
 Julian," said Ralph coldly, staring with ill-concealed 
 disgust at his foppish kinsman. 
 
 "Congratulate? O lud, and I forgot! Sir, a 
 thousand pardons! What a moongazer I am!" 
 He took the old man's hand and shook it warmly. 
 "Happy returns, Uncle! And may your dearest 
 wishes come home to roost!"
 
 28 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Thank'ee, Val. Thank'ee." Sir Julian thawed 
 a little. "Well, ha' ye news o' the fight?" 
 
 Valerius was obviously at a loss. "Fight? Oh, 
 to be sure. I hear Sir Harry's bird won him close 
 upon three hundred guineas. Killed two cocks 
 as dead as mutton, and so mauled another that 
 they wrung its neck. Oh, a very devil, I assure 
 you." 
 
 "Zoons, I'm not talking of cocking! The fight, 
 man! The big fight to-morrow. Brooke against 
 some dark horse of a gypsy. What d'ye make of 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh," drawled Valerius. "Boxing? Gad, I'm 
 no oracle." He examined his nails with care, 
 breathed upon them, polished them with a laced 
 kerchief, and broke into a high-pitched giggle. 
 "What d'ye think ? Old Lady Kirkpatrick lost her 
 snuff box at the Rooms last night, and when 'twas 
 found 'twas full of " 
 
 "Od's bud!" Sir Julian thumped angrily upon 
 both arms of his chair. "One'd think you was a 
 lady's maid !" he roared. "Tittle-tattling gossip, and 
 never a care for a gentleman's amusements ! I dare 
 swear you never went near the cocking match?" 
 
 "You're right, sir. A bloody business," returned 
 his nephew wearily. "I abhor blood." 
 
 "Sure, I think your veins run milk!" jeered the 
 old man. 
 
 "So? What says our divine Will?
 
 INTRODUCING THE HERO 29 
 
 '. . . Yet do I fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way . . .' " 
 
 "Tcha!" sputtered Sir Julian. "Hamlet was a 
 fool, and mad into the bargain!" 
 
 "Indeed? You amaze me, sir. But as it chances 
 I was speaking of Macbeth, who was neither a fool 
 nor mad, but merely hagdriven." 
 
 Disconcerted, Sir Julian helped himself to wine 
 and pushed the decanter toward Ralph. "Another 
 glass 'fore ye start for the ball, lad. What, no 
 more? Well, well, 'tis wise to keep a cool head 
 among all this gallimaufry. 'Tis a queer crowd 
 gathers here, and ye can't be too careful." 
 
 "I'll heed your warning, uncle," laughed the 
 youngest Carew. "But sure, after two years of 
 foreign travel a man should be able to take care of 
 himself. Are you coming, coz ?" 
 
 "Where? To the Rooms? Heaven forbid! 
 And as it happens I have other engagements. 
 The stars in their courses fight for me, Ralph. 
 Fare ye well." 
 
 For a long time after the younger cousin had gone 
 Sir Julian remained sunk in his chair, glowering at 
 his heir, and thwarted affection embittered his next 
 words. 
 
 "Gad !" said he below his breath. "That the in- 
 heritance should descend to such a booby!"
 
 30 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "You can break the entail, sir," suggested Va- 
 lerius, apparently waking from a doze. 
 
 "Pho! You've sharp ears, young man!" 
 
 "I thank God," returned his nephew piously. 
 
 Sir Julian grunted, following the carved spirals 
 of his chair with nervous fingers. "Come, come!" 
 he quavered at length. "You're young, Val. 
 Shake off this damnable sloth. I vow I half believe 
 you pose! We Carews gad, we have our faults, 
 but they're of the hot-blooded sort. None of us 
 has been the brainless ass you appear. By heaven, 
 sir, I'd rather see you a rake than than a flaccid 
 nonentity!" 
 
 Sir Julian became unprintable. It was a full- 
 blooded age, and he was never one to mince words. 
 
 A flush stole up his nephew's cheeks beneath their 
 mask of powder, the muscles of his jaws drew tense. 
 
 "What, have I stirred you?" cried the baronet, 
 and chuckled. 
 
 "No, faith," drawled Valerius, stretching. "I 
 blush for your language, sir." 
 
 Sir Julian became almost apoplectic in his wrath; 
 shook feeble hands in the air ; called heaven to wit- 
 ness he'd break the entail ; choked, gasped, and fell 
 back in his chair clawing at his cravat. 
 
 Harris came in answer to a clamoring bell. 
 
 "See to Sir Julian," said Valerius. "He's 
 excited, Harris. I strongly disapprove of excite- 
 ment. Is he often so?" 
 
 Harris went to the dresser and returned with a 
 restorative, motioning the young man to be silent.
 
 INTRODUCING THE HERO 31 
 
 He drew back the curtains and threw up a window ; 
 and presently, under his ministrations Sir Julian 
 opened bloodshot eyes, coughed, drained the 
 glass, and scowled upon his kinsman. 
 
 "You came near finishing me with your non- 
 sense," he muttered. "Go away! Harris, send 
 him away. I'm too old to be badgered. What, 
 sir! You're laughing at me. I swear you laugh 
 at me. No Carew was ever a milksop. Get ye 
 gone! Go to the devil so that you find your man- 
 hood, I care not ! Harris, send for Robertson. I'll 
 break the entail . . . demmit, Ralph Ralph's the 
 lad! He shall have" 
 
 His head fell back and Valerius caught him round 
 the shoulders. "Go fetch a doctor!" he said. 
 "Get his bed warmed." 
 
 Old Harris shambled away, discovered the foot- 
 men at cards in the pantry, and sent one for the 
 doctor: woke the drowsing housekeeper and bade 
 her fill the warming-pan : and having given a dozen 
 orders to the startled servants, climbed the stairs 
 again, panting a little in his haste. He might have 
 been out of the room some twenty minutes. 
 
 Sir Julian lay dead upon the floor beside his desk. 
 There was no sign of Valerius Carew.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE DECOY 
 
 A CROWD of chairmen carrying sedans 
 blocked the flagged court before the doors 
 of the Assembly Rooms, jostling each other 
 to the vast inconvenience of their passengers, who 
 cursed or shrieked as became their sex. Running 
 footmen elbowed a way through the crush for their 
 masters; link boys hung about, awaiting engage- 
 ments as escort when the ball should be over. 
 Loungers gathered to watch the quality, for the 
 Abbey clock had but just told six, and spring sun- 
 light shamed the candles that flickered in the sconces 
 of the ballroom. 
 
 White hat tucked beneath one arm, an ancient 
 dandy leaned upon his cane; quizzing new-comers; 
 greeting acquaintances ; frowning majestically upon 
 any who did not satisfy his fastidious taste. 
 
 Beaux minced in ; bowed to the King of Bath and 
 raised square glasses to scan the seats against the 
 walls, eyes alert for an alluring glance from the 
 beauties who swam to and fro, hoops swaying, fans 
 accentuating trifles of gossip, tit-bits of scandal. 
 
 Boyishly eager, young Carew made his way 
 through the throng. Women appraised his figure; 
 
 32
 
 THE DECOY 33 
 
 men discussed the fashion of his brocaded coat; 
 shy girls, peering from the shelter of dowagers' 
 wings, hoped he would notice them and beg the 
 favor of a dance. 
 
 Dorothy Forrest caught his name and turned to 
 look at him as he was presented to old Lady Kirk- 
 patrick; and young Carew murmured inane replies 
 to inquiries after relatives whom he seldom saw and 
 was only too glad to forget, following the girl with 
 eyes that glowed. 
 
 Gad, this was Bath! An English rose. Deli- 
 cious memories of the dark-skinned beauties of his 
 travels faded into mere pleasant recollection. 
 
 "Young man!" Lady Kirkpatrick's fan upon his 
 wrist made him start. "Attend me, if you please. 
 Your wits are wool-gathering. 'Tis dangerous 
 sport in Bath. The unwary lamb goes off shorn!" 
 Her puckered eyes beneath their bushy brows re- 
 garded him mischievously. "And how doth your 
 great-aunt Sophia?" 
 
 "Faith, ma'm, I believe she's well," answered 
 young Carew, aware to his finger-tips that the rose- 
 pink girl was watching him from the shelter of 
 her fan. "That is, I I gad, I recollect now, she 
 died last year while I was in Venice. I'd not seen 
 her for an age, ma'm. I'd forgot." 
 
 "And your cousin Valerius? He's not here to- 
 night?" ' 
 
 "No, ma'm. I believe he has other engage- 
 ments." 
 
 "Ha! A strange creature. Tell me, does he
 
 34 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 frequent that woman Forrest's rooms? A bag- 
 gage! What, han't ye heard of 'em? Yon- 
 der's the daughter, out hunting game for her 
 mother's table. He, he ! A pretty pair ! Take an 
 old woman's advice and keep clear of 'em, my 
 dear." 
 
 Young Carew raised an astounded face. "What, 
 ma'm? That beautiful child a decoy?" 
 
 "O me! that these things should be!" jeered the 
 dowager with a grimace. "I dare swear that in 
 fancy you was leading her to the altar. Well, fore- 
 warned is forearmed. Keep out of her clutches. 
 A vampire ! Nash should forbid her the place, but 
 he's the worst gambler o' the lot. Well, you don't 
 want to listen to my croakings. D'ye dance? Let 
 me present ye to my niece. Sarah ! Sarah ! Where 
 the devil has the child got?" 
 
 Miss Sarah crept from a back seat and curtsied 
 to the shining floor; and taking his due place in 
 the order of dancers, young Carew did his duty, 
 walking a couple of minuets before he escaped, his 
 blue eyes roving in search of the rosy goddess so 
 brutally maligned. 
 
 He found her presently in a smaller room, drink- 
 ing tea beneath a glass chandelier, and for an in- 
 stant he stood wondering if the picture she made 
 was fortuitous or designed: she was as well placed 
 as a statuette in some connoisseur's gallery. The 
 soft light of the candles shone like an aureole in 
 her glimmering hair; her eyes were shadowy under 
 their veil of thick lashes; her rosy gown seemed
 
 THE DECOY 35 
 
 almost to radiate light. He could not believe that 
 she was painted. 
 
 Half a dozen men surrounded her, ogling, flat- 
 tering, thrall to her dainty loveliness, intrigued by 
 her very imperturbation. Jealous of the new- 
 comer's appearance they gathered closer, turning 
 their backs upon Carew, attitudinizing, barricading 
 Dorothy with lifted shoulders and gesticulating 
 hands. 
 
 Carew smiled and awaited his opportunity, and 
 as he watched there came a hair-raising crack, one 
 of the supporting chains broke, and the great can- 
 delabrum tilted suddenly to one side and hung sway- 
 ing, glass lusters clashing, a cloud of lighted candles 
 falling like meteors. 
 
 The beaux beneath sprang backward, swearing, 
 shouting, protecting themselves from the flying fire 
 with upflung elbows and tricorn hats. But before 
 Dorothy Forrest could rise Carew burst through 
 the ring, lifted her bodily and bore her off. 
 
 It was all over before those in the ball-room 
 realized the danger. Servants put out the guttering 
 candles, cleared the room and locked the doors for 
 fear the candelabrum should crash to the floor. 
 Dancing continued; tea and cards claimed their de- 
 votees. 
 
 Beyond the locked anteroom Ralph Carew paused 
 on the threshold; and unwilling to go out into the 
 street with the girl in his arms, turned aside into a 
 smaller room, laid her on a couch and threw open a 
 window.
 
 36 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Presently she sat upright, smiling faintly, her 
 hands busy with her disordered gown. 
 
 "O lud!" said she. "I'm all over grease!" 
 
 Carew looked blank. "You might have been 
 burnt to death, madam/' he began, piqued. 
 
 "True. I might. But for your heroic conduct, 
 fair sir. You think I should be at you on my 
 knees, groveling gratitude?" Adorably mischie- 
 vous, she teased him, chin tilted, eyes dancing behind 
 lowered lashes. 
 
 "Give thanks to heaven, madam." 
 
 "O lud, I do I do! A burnt skin is such an 
 abomination!" She stood up and looked him in 
 the face; her voice dropped a full tone. "I thank 
 you too, sir, with all my heart." She took a rose 
 from her bodice and brushed it with her lips. " 'Tis 
 near crushed to death, but it smells all the sweeter 
 for that. 'Tis yours, sir, if you will." She held 
 it out to him with fingers that shook a little in spite 
 of her sang-froid. 
 
 Young Carew took flower and hand and all, and 
 bent his lips to them. 
 
 "La, sir, how you tremble!" laughed the girl. 
 "There was no danger, was there?" 
 
 " 'Tis in the touch of you," he told her; and had 
 her in his arms before she guessed his intent. 
 
 Dorothy Forrest released herself with dignity. 
 
 "Keep your distance, sir. What though you 
 saved my life? You have no right " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Forrest," said Ralph, 
 and bowed.
 
 THE DECOY 37 
 
 She pondered him, a finger at her lip. "You 
 know my name? O la! half Bath knows my name. 
 My reputation save the mark! is at the mercy 
 of those old tabbies in the card-room. No doubt 
 Lady Kirkpatrick solemnly warned you that I was 
 a decoy? O lud, what a horrid tale for innocent 
 ears! And you believed her, and thought me law- 
 ful prey" 
 
 " 'Fore God, I did not !" cried Carew, shocked. 
 "Yet you'd have kissed me?" 
 "Gad, ma'm, I'm not a plaster saint! What man 
 with you in his arms could " 
 
 "Pho !" sneered Miss Forrest. " Tis no more 
 than propinquity!" And sank again upon the 
 couch, her fan at her chin; her eyes, mischievously 
 alluring, lifted to his. 
 
 Being no plaster saint, young Carew did as most 
 men would have done: seated himself beside her, 
 took possession of her hand, said whatever sweet 
 nonsense came first to his tongue; declared that 
 he must see her again next day; begged for a 
 tryst, blue eyes alight and pulses hammering in his 
 throat. 
 
 In spite of herself Dorothy was stirred, roused 
 from her studied apathy by his impetuous wooing. 
 At the bottom of her heart she felt she still cherished 
 her old dream of a Fairy Prince who would come 
 one day and carry her off from the loathsome life 
 she was compelled to lead. Beneath his ardor the 
 cloak of her indifference fell away like the split 
 sheath of a flower; and timidly, hesitating on the
 
 38 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 brink of passion, she blossomed under his very 
 eyes. 
 
 Young Carew was aware only of her rising color, 
 her catching breath ; that the child's soul was open- 
 ing like a rose he did not dream ; he saw no more 
 than a pretty girl, shielding he*, flushed cheeks with 
 a gauze fan. 
 
 Presently into their dimly lit retreat came a serv- 
 ant seeking him : coughed, muttered an apology and 
 backed away. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Carew, rising. 
 
 "Mr. Carew, sir? A man from Sir Julian Ca- 
 rew's to see you. Most urgent, sir, or I'd not have 
 ventured hem ! Been looking for you all over the 
 Rooms, sir, for the last half-hour." 
 
 "Bid him wait. I'll see him in a moment." 
 Ralph turned to Dorothy Forrest. "Where do you 
 live? Where can I meet you? Give me time and 
 place and I'll" 
 
 "No." She shook her head. "No, I'll be frank 
 with you, Mr. Carew. I I was sent here to-night 
 to to make certain that you'd come to the house 
 to-morrow. My parents keep a a faro table. It 
 is all true I I am their decoy." Her voice broke, 
 she held him off with resolute, trembling little hands. 
 "No! You must never see me again I I'll not 
 lure you to your ruin." 
 
 He laughed and took her. "Why, sweeting, I'm 
 no pigeon to be plucked at will! I've seen some- 
 thing of life. I can be trusted alone!"
 
 THE DECOY 39 
 
 "No!" she insisted. "No. Believe me, sir, I I 
 like you too well to have a hand in your undoing. 
 Forget that we ever met. I I beseech you, let me 
 go the servant " 
 
 Footsteps in the corridor sent them yards apart, 
 flushed, a little dizzy. 
 
 The girl escaped through a farther door that led 
 to the ladies' dressing-rooms; the man turned to 
 face his uncle's major-domo, gray to the gills, breath- 
 less, perspiring. 
 
 "Why, Harris?" cried Carew. What's amiss?" 
 
 "More than I like to tell, sir." The old man laid 
 a shaking hand upon his arm. "After you left, 
 Mr. Ralph, Sir Julian quarreled with Mr. Valerius. 
 I heard high words, sir, an' I an't ashamed to say 
 I listened at the door, bein' nervous for Sir Julian, 
 sir, on account of his heart. The doctor warned us 
 'twould come if he got roused, an' roused he were, 
 Mr. Ralph. Fair ragin'. The bell went fit to 
 deave ye, an' I goes in. 'Send for Robertson/ he 
 gasps. 'Demme,' says he, Til break the entail, 
 Ralph's the lad for me.' An' then he falls a-chokin' 
 an' a-clawin' at the air. I give him a draught we 
 had by us, an' went below-stairs to send one o' the 
 men for the doctor. An' when I got back, sir, Sir 
 Julian were lyin' dead an' Mr. Valerius was gone." 
 
 "Good gad, Harris !" cried young Carew. "What 
 d'ye mean? Valerius ran away and left him to die 
 alone ? The chicken-hearted cur !" 
 
 Harris wagged a mournful head. "I wish I 
 could think so, Mr. Ralph. I wish to heaven I
 
 40 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 could believe it But facts is facts, an' 'tis a fact 
 I heard 'em a-quarrelin'." 
 
 "Zoons, man! What are you hinting? Speak 
 out!" 
 
 The servant dropped his voice to a hoarse whis- 
 per. 'I thinks, Mr. Ralph, I thinks Mr. Valerius 
 made quite sure Sir Julian couldn't break the entail 
 afore he went an' took hisself off!" 
 
 "Murder?" whispered young Carew.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 
 
 THE Globe Inn in King's Mead Square rang 
 with shouts and laughter and all the jolly 
 uproar of men gathered for a merrymak- 
 ing. Piles of dirty plates encumbered the dresser, 
 empty bottles lay heaped in corners of the room, and 
 round the table sprawled a score of young bloods 
 intent on making a night of it. 
 
 Flushed with wine; pulling at long clays; scrib- 
 bling notes of incredible wagers, these patrons of 
 sport hammered on the board with pewter pots and 
 howled for a speech, until, urged from behind by 
 eager partisans, a tall man rose in response. 
 
 Of all in that smoke-wreathed room, he alone was 
 sober and master of his tongue: clad in a shabby, 
 carefully brushed suit of brown cloth, a blue necker- 
 chief knotted about his throat, he stood for a mo- 
 ment smiling absently, leaning on strong, brown 
 hands spread upon the table. 
 
 "Speech!" bawled Sir Harry Kirkpatrick from 
 the chair. "Speech! Silence for the gypsy ! Hie! 
 Silence, gen'lemen, I beg. Damn it, be quiet ! Now, 
 on wi' ye, Merodach." 
 
 They fell silent, staring owl-fashion at the lean 
 41
 
 42 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 young face above them. The gypsy laughed and 
 stood erect, tucking his thumbs into the armholes of 
 his striped waistcoat." 
 
 "Ecod, gents and lordings," said he, white teeth 
 flashing in a wide smile. "You know well enough 
 I can't speechify! An' if I could, what should I 
 say? 'Thank'ee, lords and gentles, for a meal I've 
 scarce tasted, and wine I've not drunk.' Cock's 
 blood, what it is to be in training!" 
 
 They howled with laughter as at some stupendous 
 joke : swore it was a burning shame : vowed they'd 
 make up for it once he had won the fight : promised 
 him a carouse next night and lifted slopping tanL-- 
 ards to his very good health. 
 
 "Gen'lemen, I'll be givin' ye a sentiment. The 
 true British spirit, which, like purest gold, has no 
 alloy!" Mr. Larry Cavanagh, swaying on his feet, 
 was interrupted by a shout from the top of the table, 
 where a red-faced little man expostulated, gestic- 
 ulating violently. 
 
 "My very words, Mr. Cavanagh. My own ex- 
 pression! You're a dcmmed plagiarist " 
 
 "I protest, sir n-not in the least, upon me soul!" 
 declared Larry, flourishing a full glass. "Merely 
 quoted, Captain Godfrey. Merely quoted. A man 
 may quote, I presume, without offense?" 
 
 "Demme, sir! You gave it as your sentiment, 
 and you'll find it in my pamphlet on the Champions, 
 my peroration, sir ! Demme, name your friend, Mr. 
 Cavanagh, and my representative shall wait upon 
 him in the morning. What's that? Nash be
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 43 
 
 demmed for an infernal little milksop ! Can't a man 
 fight if he" 
 
 "We carry no swords in Bath, sir," interposed 
 Cavanagh eagerly. "But faith, mine's rustin' in 
 me lodgin', an' I " 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen, ha' done!" Sir Harry 
 Kirkpatrick thrust down the pugnacious little soldier 
 and called for order. "As Chairman on this 
 f'licitous occasion, I must positively I must insist 
 on peace. Shall we in hie infringe the pre pre- 
 rogative of our champion Merodach, by by cour- 
 renancing a perry quarrel on the very eve of his big 
 fight? Hie! Perish I say perish the thought! 
 Larry, your hand. Captain, yours. Gen'lemen, a 
 a sublime sen'iment surras hie ! surras we have jus' 
 heard expressed, belongs to the posterity " 
 
 Cheers drowned his voice. The Captain was un- 
 derstood to accept the explanation. Mr. Cavanagh 
 pledged him handsomely and expressed a burning 
 desire to purchase a dozen copies of the Captain's 
 immortal work. 
 
 Through the genial hubbub that filled the room 
 broke the name of Valerius Carew. 
 
 "Gad, it's a queer fish !" said one. 
 
 "His young coz seemed anxious to behold him! 
 First person I've e'er met who wasn't flying in 
 t'other direction. A bore? Gad save me, Revell, 
 Carew'd bore the Sphinx! He han't a word for a 
 friend nor a blow for an enemy nor stap me ! nor 
 an eye for a wench!" 
 
 "And his cousin wanted to meet him, eh?"
 
 44 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Yes. Told me he'd never set eyes on Val. It 
 seemed deuced odd." 
 
 "Oh, Raymond Carew wed a nigger well then, 
 a foreigner, and old Sir Antony refused to meet her. 
 So they lived abroad. Valerius han't been in Eng- 
 land long and the youngker's but just back from 
 Germany " 
 
 "Paris! Seen his clothes? Oh, he posted hell- 
 for-leather from town to kiss dear nunkie's hands 
 and wish him long life." 
 
 "Pshaw! He's eighty!" 
 
 "Just. The lad knows which side his bread's but- 
 tered." 
 
 "But Valerius inherits, he's " 
 
 "An' do ye say so?" Mr. Cavanagh cocked an 
 eyebrow. "Do ye say so, indeed? Faith, time'll 
 show." 
 
 "Where's young Carew to-night? An't he inter- 
 ested in sport? Old Carew'd stake the last tooth 
 in his head on Brooke." 
 
 Sir Harry laughed. "Old Carew's not seen our 
 Merodach. Brooke's antiquated." 
 
 "Broughton coached him, didn't he?" 
 
 "Merodach's pupil of Broughton's, too. Oh, 'tis 
 a sweet match! Merodach, here's luck, an' damn 
 you if you're beat! I've laid my last crown on 
 you!" 
 
 " 'Tis a cracked one, Merodach, cracked in the 
 ring! Take no heed of him, man!" shouted Cava- 
 nagh. "We'll all be ruined entirely if ye fail. 
 What, ye' re not leavin' us?"
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 45 
 
 " Tis ten, gentlemen, and I'm for bed," returned 
 the gypsy, rising. 
 
 "Who's it will be takin' ye home? An escort 
 ho!" 
 
 " 'Tis his trainer's business." 
 
 "Gentlemen, I train myself, and I need no pro- 
 tection, thanking you kindly." A mischievous light 
 flickered in Merodach's eyes for an instant as he sur- 
 veyed his patrons, who appeared more in need of 
 escort than capable of giving it. "Till to-morrow, 
 sirs, and thank'ee for your entertainment !" 
 
 Under cover of a shouted chorus he made his 
 escape and set out for his lodging, striding bare- 
 headed through the narrow streets; breathing deep 
 to clear his lungs of smoke; lifting dark eyes to 
 the moon that shone above the clustered house-tops ; 
 whistling below his breath. 
 
 The coming fight caused him no uneasiness. He 
 had met and vanquished more formidable opponents 
 than Brooke: he had no misgivings, although he 
 knew that the fortunes of a dozen patrons depended 
 upon his victory. 
 
 Brooke's adherents had no misgivings either ; their 
 plans were well laid. 
 
 As the gypsy swung into an alley among the 
 huddle of markets north of Orange Grove, a lame 
 beggar whined for alms. Merodach stopped, thrust- 
 ing both hands into his breeches' pockets to search 
 for a coin, and something abominably heavy hit 
 him on the back of the head. He fell like a log. 
 The lame beggar sprang upon him, trailing a length
 
 46 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 of rope, and presently, bound wrist and ankle, and 
 still unconscious, Merodach was borne away by 
 four men. 
 
 Avoiding the watch they chose by-ways and at 
 length reached the outskirts of the town. The Lon- 
 don road lay empty in the moonlight, patched with 
 black shadows, still wet from a recent shower. A 
 black and white cat picked her way between the 
 starry puddles and, gaining an area railing, peered 
 down. Four men were carrying something cum- 
 brous into the empty house. 
 
 Half an hour passed before they reappeared with 
 a bundle of clothing; a brown suit, a blue necker- 
 chief, stout shoes, all tied together with a pair of 
 gray worsted stockings. 
 
 "Not a hitch," said one. "Demme, 'twas easy as 
 kiss my hand. He's safe out o' the way." 
 
 "What're ye going to do wi' the clobber?" 
 
 "Pitch it in the river, o' course." 
 
 "What d'ye stand to win, Giles ?" 
 
 "Ecod, a tidy lump!" The rogue chuckled and 
 jingled loose coppers in his pocket. "There'll be no 
 fight. 'Twas play or pay, and Sir Humphrey Mid- 
 diet on'll make it worth our while, I'll take my oath. 
 Sst! what's this?'" 
 
 From the dark house of Sir George Forrest a 
 cloaked figure emerged, hood clutched about its face, 
 one shoulder dragged down by the weight of a 
 valise. The woman was off up the London road 
 with never a glance behind, and as the clack of high
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 47 
 
 heels faded, Giles caught at a comrade's coat skirts. 
 "Let her go," he urged. " 'Tis an assignation, 
 for sure. There'll be a man somewhere waiting an' 
 we don't want to be seen about here. Off to bed wi* 
 ye, cullies." 
 
 Lady Forrest stopped the play at an extraordinary 
 hour that night. By half after ten the house was 
 empty. Her guests wondered, grumbled, protested, 
 swore. She laughingly declared that they might 
 stay until three o'clock next evening, but to-night she 
 would be private. 
 
 There was no gainsaying that. 
 
 The rooms once empty, she extinguished the lights 
 and earned her winnings upstairs to her chamber. 
 Janet was asleep before the fire and roused, smother- 
 ing a yawn as her mistress came in. 
 
 "You may unpin me, child," said Lavinia wearily. 
 "And then get to bed." 
 
 "An't you well, my lady?" Janet glanced at the 
 clock. " Tis but half after ten." 
 
 "I'm tired to death," sighed Lavinia. "Give me 
 my wrapper and the salts. No, I need nothing else. 
 You may go." 
 
 Janet went as far as the turn of the stair, blew 
 out her candle and waited. As was to be expected, 
 Lady Forrest threw open her door five minutes later, 
 glanced round, and retired again. The abigail heard 
 the key turn. Leaving her shoes upon the upper 
 landing she endeavored to see what was afoot, but
 
 48 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 the key blocked her view and she returned to sit 
 huddled upon the attic chair, drowsing, yawning, 
 wondering what her mistress could be at. 
 
 The slam of the front door awoke her and craning 
 over the rail she listened for Dorothy's step in the 
 hall. It did not come. She was mistaken. Some 
 one had gone out. 
 
 Muttering to herself, Janet lit her candle, pulled 
 on her slippers, and ran downstairs to find Lady 
 Forrest's door wide and the room in darkness. 
 
 "Lawks !" ejaculated Janet, and broke into a flood 
 of execration. "Gone? Oh, the viper! And what 
 o' my wages, three months due and nothing left " 
 She plunged into the clothes closet; rummaged 
 through tumbled drawers; flung aside the bed cur- 
 tains to examine the pillows; sobbing in impotent 
 rage as she shook out soiled kerchiefs and overset 
 half -empty band-boxes. "Rot her! Never a groat, 
 an' Sir George, an' Mr. Charles off to France, though 
 they did think to hoodwink me wi' their talk o' 
 London, I'm no fool and a bumbailey in the pantry 
 an' now my lady off, eloping for what I can tell. 
 Oh, the beldam! Not so much as a jeweled but- 
 ton !" She rushed to the dressing-table. The silver 
 tops were missing from the essence pots ; the buckles 
 had been torn from two pairs of shoes ; there was not 
 a trinket of any kind. 
 
 Her eyes fell on a letter. She caught it up, and 
 a jingle of money came from the folded paper. The 
 woman hesitated, fingering the seal, remembering 
 that the theft of more than forty shillings committed
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 49 
 
 in a house was a crime punishable by death. Yet 
 she had not received her wages. She set her teeth 
 and ripped the letter open, counting the gold eagerly. 
 Ten guineas. It would serve. She rolled it in a 
 wide silk ribbon and pinned it carefully in an under- 
 pocket : then she realized that in her haste she had 
 so torn the letter that it could not be refolded. 
 Sweeping aside a litter of brushes and rouge pots 
 she spread it flat upon the table, poring over it, her 
 lips pinched between fingers and thumb. 
 
 "My DEAR DOLL," wrote Lady Forrest, "You are 
 aware that your father has been called away on 
 business. I have of a sudden found it necessary 
 to go too. Do not be Alarmed. Janet will look 
 after you. I enclose ten guineas as you may need 
 some Money. No doubt more will be forthcoming 
 shortly but I beg you to be Careful. It will be well 
 if you leave Bath within the week and post to your 
 cousin's at Winterbourne Chase. Wait there until 
 I send for you. All this is Monstrous upsetting but 
 it could not be Avoided. I have Perfect Confidence 
 in your Ability to take care of yourself, but have 
 nought to do with Mrs. Bradley. The woman has 
 a most unpleasant Reputation. 
 
 "Your affect, mother, 
 
 "LAVINIA FORREST." 
 
 Manifestly, it was impossible to give that letter 
 to Miss Dorothy lacking the ten gold pieces. Janet 
 glanced at the clock, tore the paper across and across
 
 50 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 and held the scraps in the flame of a candle. As 
 the ashes fell sidelong to the carpet she set her 
 foot upon them, rubbing them to powder. Then un- 
 reasoning, panic terror laid hold upon her. 
 
 The house was empty save for the bailiff asleep 
 upon two chairs in the butler's pantry, but at any 
 moment Miss Dorothy might return. Greed and 
 dread of the law fought in Janet's mind, but it was 
 not her intention to leave empty handed. She 
 snatched a silk petticoat and a brocaded gown, gloves, 
 fans, and a lace scarf, rolled them into two bundles 
 and finding a long leathern strap among the trunks 
 in a garret, slung her booty over her shoulders. 
 Her wide cloak covered the bundles well enough to 
 pass unnoticed in the night. 
 
 Moving stealthily she crept downstairs and out 
 by the garden door and the shadows swallowed her 
 up. 
 
 Thus it came about that Dorothy Forrest, still 
 flushed with the demure gayety of country dances, 
 was put into her chair by three adorers and carried 
 home to a deserted house. 
 
 That Ralph Carew did not reappear to dance with 
 her troubled her not at all. She understood that 
 his uncle's servant had summoned him away. If 
 she knew anything of men he would not rest con- 
 tent until he had contrived a meeting. It was de- 
 lightfully romantic, to be sure ; but her mother would 
 storm at her when she saw those grease spots upon 
 her gown, a new one, hardly worn. She hoped that
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 51 
 
 Lady Forrest would be too tired to notice them; 
 she might slip unobserved to bed, and try what a 
 hot iron and flannel would do in the morning. 
 
 Emerging from her chair she dismissed the men 
 with the assurance born of long habit, and set her 
 key in the door. It was a damning fact in the eyes 
 of Bath, that latch-key, that trapesing to and fro 
 at all hours, without so much as a maid in attend- 
 dance. Dorothy thought nothing of it. 
 
 The door swung back upon a dark hall: fortune 
 favored her: doubtless her mother's guests had 
 left earlier than was ordinary, and she had retired. 
 It was monstrous lucky. 
 
 The girl groped her way to the dining room, raked 
 the dying fire, and lit a taper at the embers. Candle- 
 light revealed scattered plates and glasses, despoiled 
 dishes upon the dresser, chairs set all ways as though 
 invisible occupants still gossiped. Dorothy hesi- 
 tated. It was odd that Janet had not cleared away. 
 
 She poured wine, chose a cake and stood eating, 
 still a little excited over her adventure; pondering 
 young Carew's impetuous wooing; smiling; flush- 
 ing; acknowledging that he was a presentable fel- 
 low; exultant in that Lady Kirkpatrick's malicious 
 tongue had had no effect upon his estimation of her. 
 
 Nibbling at a candied pear Dorothy took her 
 candle and went above-stairs, glancing into the de- 
 serted gaming rooms. The air smelt stale and she 
 propped the doors open. 
 
 On the next landing she paused outside her 
 mother's room, arrested by a white silk stocking
 
 52 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 that trailed across the threshold. The door stood 
 slightly ajar and she pushed it wide and entered, 
 aghast at the scene of confusion that met her eyes. 
 Drawers had been pulled out of their chests and 
 turned upside down upon the floor. Heaps of rum- 
 pled underclothing lay in corners; a hat was in the 
 grate and a bottle of essence was spilt over the 
 dressing-table, which reeked of bergamot. 
 
 "Mother !" cried the girl, and snatched at the cur- 
 tains of the bed, not knowing what she might find. 
 The pillows were flung against the foot; the bed 
 had not been used, for Lavinia's night-rail was 
 folded under the covers. Amazed, frightened, 
 Dorothy lit more candles and searched the room, 
 half expecting to discover a letter, a message of 
 some sort. 
 
 There was nothing. 
 
 She went into her father's chamber and found 
 it empty but more or less in order. His valise and 
 the saddle-bags were gone from the cupboard in the 
 wall ; the closet where his man slept was empty too, 
 but she knew that Sir George had taken his valet 
 and ridden to London on urgent business a week 
 ago. 
 
 Sobbing under her breath, the girl ran about the 
 desolate house, a candle flaring in one hand, her 
 skirts caught up in the other; calling in frightened 
 whispers; almost distraught with half-formed mis- 
 givings ; forgetting all her mother's cruelty and spite 
 in her anxiety as to her fate.
 
 BETWEEN TWILIGHT AND DAWN 53 
 
 At length, dishevelled, tear-stained, she gave up 
 the search, lingering at the stair-head, remembering 
 that she had not been through the kitchens. The 
 thought of the dark basement stayed her: she would 
 wait until the morning. 
 
 Trembling, she climbed to the top of the house, 
 peered into one attic half filled with trunks and 
 lumber, and hastily retreated to her own room, a 
 garret with sloping roof and great cupboards built 
 into the walls. A door at one side led to the smaller 
 room where Janet slept, and Dorothy went in once 
 more to make quite certain that the woman was not 
 there. She opened the door of a closet, pushed at 
 the hanging clothes ; knelt down to peer beneath the 
 bed. Naturally the buxom Janet was in none of 
 these places, but somehow it comforted her to look. 
 
 Presently, tired out with apprehension and dismay, 
 Dorothy undressed and crept to bed, falling into an 
 uneasy slumber, her tear-wet cheek pressed into the 
 pillows. 
 
 In the small hours of the morning Bartholomew 
 Griggs fell off his two chairs and awoke, cursing. 
 A curious taste in his mouth suggested that his sup- 
 per ale had been drugged, and he remembered that 
 the woman had urged him to help himself gener- 
 ously. Women were the devil. 
 
 He got to his feet and rubbed his cramped legs, 
 stamping about the pantry to restore circulation; 
 and then, resolved to spend the rest of the night in
 
 54 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 a more comfortable way, he went upstairs in search 
 of cushions and a settee, and something to wash 
 that vile taste from his tongue. 
 
 The dining-room provided wine and Griggs got 
 rid of the taste without difficulty, ate a second sup- 
 per and emptied three bottles of canary. Then he 
 looked about him with the hazy notion that a bed 
 would be convenient. 
 
 Rolling out to the hall his hands fell on the 
 banister and he climbed slowly, clinging to the rail, 
 aware that doors gaped upon the landings but un- 
 willing to let go his hold in order to explore. 
 
 "Mushn' disturb th' quality," he mumbled. 
 "Atticsh besh f'r likes o' me." And adventured 
 higher, stumbling in the dawning light that showed 
 gray through the tall windows. 
 
 As her door swung inward beneath his weight 
 Dorothy awoke and sat upright, dazed, cold with 
 sudden fear. The man lurched forward, and even 
 as she scrambled to the floor he collapsed upon her 
 bed and immediately slept. 
 
 Panic-stricken, Dorothy darted into Janet's 
 room, pushed to the door and dragged a table 
 against it ; and creeping into the wall-cupboard sank 
 down upon a fallen cloak and sat shivering in her 
 thin night-dress. 
 
 The unreality of a dream hedged her round. 
 The whole evening seemed to have been one long 
 series of disasters, and even in the sanctuary of 
 Janet's clothes-closet there was no peace, for a
 
 55 
 
 rat was scrabbling intermittently in the wainscot. 
 
 Dorothy abhorred rats. She raised her hand and 
 smacked the wall with the flat of her palm, and 
 was startled almost out of her senses to hear an 
 answering blow.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 
 
 PETRIFIED with sudden fright Dorothy sat 
 rigid, palpitating, crouched against the wall, 
 choking back the scream that rose in her 
 throat. Hordes of rats were preferable to the 
 drunken creature asleep upon her bed. 
 
 A pulsating silence followed that one terrible 
 knock, but after a while she became aware that 
 something moved in the wall at her ear. There 
 came a muffled groan, a subdued scuffling, then 
 an unmistakable blow, thudding upon bare boards. 
 To Dorothy's certain knowledge the house next 
 door had been empty for over a year. She held 
 her breath to listen. 
 
 The thought of ghosts never entered her mind. 
 There was something human and alive, shut into 
 a cupboard similar to that in which she crouched. 
 A big dog, perhaps. Dorothy had spent the greater 
 part of her childhood in the country and was per- 
 fectly accustomed to big dogs, the bigger the bet- 
 ter. If she could get it out a big dog would be 
 a very comforting companion. Heartened at the 
 thought she tapped again, and again came an an- 
 swering thump, an inarticulate appeal for help, 
 curiously close to her ear. 
 
 56
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 57 
 
 She felt along the papered walls of the closet 
 and her fingers slid into a crack, a long groove 
 running downward to the floor. Panting with 
 eagerness and amazement, tremulous with excite- 
 ment, she wrenched a steel buckle from one of 
 Janet's shoes and tore at the paper. 
 
 There was a door. 
 
 A heavy body turned over in the farther cup- 
 board and uncouth sounds suggested that some one 
 was trying to speak through a gag. 
 
 "Oh, what is it ?" cried Dorothy. "Who's there? 
 Can you hear me? Push at the wall!" 
 
 A man's knees and feet forced back the little 
 door and Dorothy peered through, groping in pitch 
 darkness. As the prisoner struggled to a sitting 
 posture and thrust forward his head her fingers 
 encountered thick, crisp hair, and the knotted ends 
 of a kerchief. The gag was out almost before she 
 knew how she had done it. 
 
 "Thanks," said a deep voice. "Have you a 
 knife?" 
 
 "I I can fetch a scissors," gasped the girl. 
 "What?" 
 
 "I'll tell you more when I've had a drink." 
 
 Scrambling backward into Janet's room, Dorothy 
 presently found a jug of water and a pair of stout 
 scissors. She crept again into the cupboard and 
 held the jug while the man drank thirstily. 
 
 "Phew!" said he. "A foul cotton gagf They 
 might ha' given me clean linen, but 'tis too much 
 to hope from sandbaggers."
 
 58 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 His voice puzzled Dorothy: it seemed familiar, 
 and yet unlike any other that she had ever heard. 
 She faltered something about scissors. 
 
 "If you'll get a light I'll roll over and you can 
 reach my wrists," he said. 
 
 Retiring again to Janet's room Dorothy found 
 flint and steel, but as the candle flared up beneath 
 the glowing sulphur match, she caught sight of her- 
 self in the cracked mirror, and realized that she 
 was clad only in her night-dress. She snatched the 
 first garment that csrtie to hand, knotted a kerchief 
 about her shoulders, and carrying the light went 
 back to the cupboard. 
 
 The man looked up to find a slender girl in the 
 gray cotton dress of a waiting-maid, kneeling at the 
 opening to his prison; her neck half hidden by a 
 white muslin, her slim fingers glowing rosily against 
 the candle flame. The girl looked down upon a 
 swarthy, half-naked fellow bound hand and foot 
 with thin, strong cords. He wriggled over and lay 
 upon his face while she cut through his bonds, and 
 when at length his wrists were free he bade her, 
 rather roughly, to leave him. 
 
 She pulled a blanket from the bed and tossed it 
 into the closet, and then retiring to the dressing- 
 table, busied herself with her tumbled hair. Pres- 
 ently out into the garret strode a savage figure, 
 black hair tossing over black eyes, sinewy arms and 
 legs bare : the blanket with a hole cut in the middle 
 covered him from shoulder to knee, and was girded 
 over his narrow hips with a length of rope.
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 59 
 
 Yet in spite of his barbaric aspect Dorothy found 
 nothing to fear. 
 
 "I've spoilt your blanket," said he, smiling down 
 at her. "Will your mistress whip you?" 
 
 Not knowing quite how to correct his very nat- 
 ural mistake, Dorothy shook her head. 
 
 "Is the household asleep, child? Can you get 
 me food and drink? I've been mewed in that hole 
 for hours." He dropped upon the bed and began 
 to rub his chafed ankles. 
 
 Dorothy moved to lift away the table from the 
 door. He looked up, amazed. 
 
 "What, d'you barricade yourself at night? Good 
 gad! Here let me " He would have opened 
 the door for her but that she stayed him, a finger 
 at her lips. 
 
 "There's a man asleep in there I'm afraid I 
 don't know I don't wish him to waken " A 
 sob caught her voice. "Will you shall we tiptoe 
 through and down the stair? There's food and 
 wine I'll tell you I'll explain O lud, sir, come 
 softly I'm nigh dead of terror!" 
 
 He nodded reassuringly, his eyes questing over 
 her poor gown, her shining hair, her piteously trem- 
 bling hands. 
 
 A stertorous snore reached them as she pulled 
 open the door, and shielding the light the gypsy 
 halted for an instant beside the bed, gazing curi- 
 ously down at the unlovely occupant. 
 
 "Phew!" said he below his breath. "Barty 
 Griggs, on my soul!"
 
 60 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "You know him?" whispered Dorothy. 
 
 Merodach nodded again. 
 
 They crept out, barefoot, and closing the door 
 cautiously, Dorothy led the way to the dining room, 
 where she cleared a space on the disordered table 
 and chose wine and food. 
 
 "To our better acquaintance!" said the gypsy, 
 smiling above his glass. "Come, child, you must 
 drink. You're trembling with cold and I dare swear 
 you're bursting with curiosity." 
 
 She swept the hair out of her eyes with a dazed 
 little gesture and di-ank obediently. "To our bet- 
 ter acquaintance," said she. 
 
 He caught the glass as it slid out of her nerveless 
 ringers. "Is this cold or terror? What has 
 frighted you so? Was it Barty? Lud, when he's 
 in liquor he's harmless as a fish!" 
 
 "I was asleep when he blundered into my room. 
 Who is he? Why is" 
 
 "I think 'tis probable he's here on business," 
 ventured Merodach. "Must I explain? Child, he's 
 a bailiff." 
 
 For a moment Dorothy gave no sign that she 
 understood. Then she sank into a chair and sat 
 clutching the table-cloth, staring perplexedly at the 
 man before her. "A a bailiff?" echoed she. 
 W what ?" 
 
 "In possession. Is your master in debt?" 
 
 "My my father was called away to London a 
 week since, and to-night I came from the Rooms 
 to find my mother gone and the house empty "
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 61 
 
 "But for Barty Griggs?" 
 
 "He must have been below-stairs," said she, con- 
 sidering. "I daren't search the basement. There 
 are black beetles." 
 
 He nodded solemnly, and cutting up part of a 
 cold chicken set it before her. "Eat, or you'll be 
 ill," he said, and began his own meal with a good 
 appetite. 
 
 After a while: "You drink nothing," said 
 Dorothy. "An't the wine to your taste?" 
 
 "I'm in training," he explained. "One glass, to 
 drive out the chill of that garret, but no more. 
 To-morrow I'm to meet Brooke. That's why I was 
 sandbagged and stripped and shut up out o' the 
 way. They're afraid of me. They thought even 
 if I got free I'd not go to the fight half-naked." 
 He laughed and showed her the muscles of his 
 arms with a boyish exultation that was engaging. 
 "Feel! I'm fit as a fiddle, and Brooke well 
 Brooke's relying on his reputation. What, don't 
 you understand, child? I'm a prize fighter. Oh, 
 'tis a great life, believe me!" 
 
 "You fight for money?" she hazarded. 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 Sitting there clad in his girt blanket he made a 
 picturesque, strenuous figure, and unconsciously 
 Dorothy compared him with the men she knew, to 
 their detriment. He seemed serenely unaware of 
 her peering eyes, perfectly indifferent as to the 
 effect of his words upon her, unconscious of any- 
 thing extraordinary in the situation.
 
 62 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "The fire's not out," said he, stretching. "I'll 
 mend it and we can sit and talk in comfort until 
 morning." Without asking permission he busied 
 himself about the hearth, raking out the dead ash, 
 blowing red embers to a blaze, piling on dry wood 
 that was stacked ready to hand until when the fire 
 was roaring up the chimney he threw a couple of 
 cushions upon the floor and beckoned the girl 
 nearer. 
 
 "Come toast your toes," he invited, "and tell 
 me your side o' the story. You know mine." 
 
 "I don't know your name," began Dorothy. 
 
 He laughed. "Who does? Men call me Mero- 
 dach, and it serves as well as another. Merodach, 
 the god of battle, the god of the morning light 
 and the spring sun. Oh, 'tis a name takes some 
 living up to, I assure you!" He Scit down cross- 
 legged and patted the other cushion with the air 
 of a host at a wayside encampment, offering hos- 
 pitality to a fellow traveler. In the dancing fire- 
 light he looked a very faun ; an artless, friendly 
 denizen of open spaces, content for the moment to 
 rest beside a hearth, but ready to follow the wind's 
 will the instant he heard the call. 
 
 The girl caught something of his friendliness and 
 dropped beside him, stretching her fingers to the 
 blaze; but in spite of his invitation she remained 
 silent. 
 
 At length : "This, if I mistake not, is Sir George 
 Forrest's house?" he began.
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 63 
 
 "Yes." For an instant she turned her head and 
 looked him in the eyes. "If you know so much, 
 doubtless you know more. 'Tis common knowl- 
 edge that my parents keep a faro table." 
 
 "Your parents!" 
 
 "I am Dorothy Forrest. The town will tell you 
 that I am a decoy," she checked his half-uttered 
 exclamation with a swift hand. " 'Tis true. I go 
 as old Lady Kirkpatrick says at every oppor- 
 tunity I go a-hunting game for my mother's table. 
 'Tis her one witty speech. She delivered it with 
 vast gravity to-night, but I'm persuaded that it 
 made no impression " she broke off, glanced at 
 him, decided that 'twas no secret, and added 
 "upon Mr. Ralph Carew." 
 
 Merodach lifted his head and regarded her 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "You met Mr. Ralph Carew?" 
 
 "At the ball," she admitted. 
 
 "A new-comer?" 
 
 "But just returned from two years' travel." 
 
 "And he's to come here to-morrow to-night 
 rather, to adventure his fortune?" 
 
 "No," said Dorothy softly. "I forbade him." 
 
 Merodach laughed. "O child ! Han't ye learned 
 'tis the surest way to bring a man? Gad, you 
 knew it!" 
 
 "I was in earnest," cried the girl. "I forbade 
 him the house. He'll not come. Oh, shame! 
 You believe what they say of me ; he did not !"
 
 64 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "I think of you as one more sinned against than 
 sinning," he began, and bit his lip with a covert 
 glance at her. 
 
 The words conveyed nothing to Dorothy, who 
 read nothing worth remembering and remembered 
 nothing that she read. 
 
 The gypsy clasped his hands about his knees and 
 gazed at the fire, relieved, albeit a little disappointed 
 in her. "So your parents have left you in charge?" 
 he suggested. 
 
 "Faith, they've left me," answered the girl with 
 a little catch in her breath. "I searched every- 
 where for a message, a letter but there was noth- 
 ing." 
 
 "Servants?" 
 
 "My father's man rode with him a week ago. 
 My mother's woman sure, she'd take her " 
 
 "She's gone?" 
 
 Dorothy nodded, groping amid a chaos of half- 
 formed thoughts. 
 
 "But a house this size needs other servants?" 
 
 "They come in by the hour," she explained. 
 "There's no room for them to sleep. The pastry- 
 cook sends men to help with the supper. D'you 
 think they could have ransacked the place? 'Tis 
 so upset Janet would never have left it so. O lud, 
 I don't know what to think!" 
 
 "Will you let me search the house?" said Mero- 
 dach. 
 
 "If you would. I was afraid to venture in the 
 kitchens."
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 65 
 
 He stood up, knotted the rope more tightly about 
 his waist, stretched like a lithe animal, and pro- 
 fessed himself ready. 
 
 "D'you want a weapon?" faltered Dorothy. "A 
 poker" 
 
 He laughed and held out clenched fists. "I go 
 armed. Is it dark below-stairs ? Will you carry 
 a light?" 
 
 The pale beauty of a moonstone surrounded them 
 as they came out into the hall: in the narrow win- 
 dows the east was already faintly flushed : across 
 the dew-gray meadows the placid Avon shone like 
 silver, and a bird began chirking in the budding 
 cherry orchards below the garden. 
 
 Together they searched the hall, the morning 
 room : descended to the basement to peer into coal- 
 cellar and pantry: explored the deserted, echoing 
 kitchens, but found no clue to the mystery. 
 
 Merodach refused to go out into the area. "I 
 must lie close till evening," said he. "The match 
 is at six. If you can find me clothing I'll burst 
 upon 'em at the eleventh hour, Adrastia turned 
 male!" He laughed, meeting her blank stare. 
 " 'Twas play or pay, and a dozen fortunes 
 lie in my hands. Brooke's adherents look to 
 win without a fight. I'll be there to disappoint 
 'em!" 
 
 In Sir George's room Dorothy opened the closet, 
 hesitated, a finger at her lip, and then finding his 
 eyes upon her smiled and stood back. 
 
 "Sure, you'd best choose for yourself. My
 
 66 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 father's clothes will be a thought small for you, 
 but there's no other " 
 
 "His man?" suggested Merodach, glancing dis- 
 paragingly at the array of silks and satins which 
 Sir George had perforce left behind him in his 
 flight. 
 
 "O lud! Charles is a grasshopper beside you!" 
 laughed Dorothy. "See, here's a green riding coat 
 would do, and there's linen in this chest." She 
 left him and went into her mother's room where 
 she folded petticoats away, hung gowns in the cup- 
 board and restored the place to some degree of 
 order. Finally, having smoothed the bed and 
 opened the windows, she turned to go and came 
 face to face with Bartholomew Griggs, who leered 
 at her and straightway lifted up his voice in song. 
 
 " 'As I was a-walkin one mornin' in May, 
 To view the green fields and the meadows so gay, 
 I heard a fair damsel, so sweet did she sing, 
 "Oh I will be married on a Tuesday mor-ning!" 
 Ta rum ti de dum ti de ' ' 
 
 He took a ponderous dancing step and winked with 
 great cordiality. 
 
 u 'I step-ped up to her an' thus did I say ' 
 
 Come, says I, han't ye got a kiss for old Barty?" 
 A dirty hand grabbed at her. 
 
 "Keep your distance, fellow," said Dorothy, and
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 67 
 
 made to pass him: but the glance that would have 
 annihilated Mr. Ralph Carew had no effect what- 
 soever upon the bailiff. He gathered her to him 
 and pursed thick lips. 
 
 "Merodach!" screamed Dorothy. 
 
 In after life Bartholomew Griggs was wont to 
 boast that he had received Merodach's left under 
 the ear, and lived to tell the tale. "Gosh!" he'd 
 say, gazing round upon the circle of admirers. 
 "Caught me here, see? Lifted me clean off me feet. 
 Sent me spinning into a corner, an* there I lay 
 thinkin' as how the roof had fallen in. Zoons, 
 boys ! Merodach's left, an' he but six an' twenty !" 
 
 Merodach stood above him, buttoning a flowered 
 waistcoat. "What, man!" said he, grinning. 
 "Never look so scared. I might ha' killed ye." 
 
 "Oons!" gasped Bartholomew, rubbing his jowl. 
 "Merodach, as I'm a sinner!" He remained gap- 
 ing at the gypsy until pride overcame the natural 
 hostility a man feels toward one who has knocked 
 him flying. Merodach thrust forth a hand and 
 pulled him to his feet, and the bailiff pumped his 
 arm up and down, stuttering with elation. 
 
 "Sir, I'm proud to shake ye by the hand. Gad, 
 I hope I carry a bruise ! 'Twill be summat to boast 
 on to my grandchildren. Sir, your very obleeged 
 'umble servant. Eh, I saw ye fight in Broughton's 
 behind the Oxford Road, an' a pretty sight ye 
 made!" He leered across at Dorothy. "Poachin', 
 was I? Well, sir, 'twas unbeknownst, an' I asks 
 pardon "
 
 68 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Merodach cut him short. " Tis Miss Forrest, 
 who's saved my life and my reputation. I'll tell 
 you more as we get breakfast, the house is empty 
 but for ourselves. Up, man, and forage!" With 
 a reassuring nod to Dorothy he pushed the bailiff 
 before him. The girl heard them descend to the 
 kitchens, and leaning over the banister caught 
 sounds of chopping wood and the rattle of thick 
 crockery. 
 
 Heartsick, desolate, she went back to her room 
 and dressed in a peacock-blue gown which she par- 
 ticularly detested: rolled up her hair with none of 
 the fastidious pains she generally took, and glanc- 
 ing at herself in the mirror, was curiously com- 
 forted to find that she looked a perfect fright. She 
 had forbidden Ralph Carew to come. Why should 
 she dress for a gypsy prize-fighter and a horrible 
 bailiff? Would they expect her to eat with them? 
 
 She resolved not to breakfast, and met Merodach 
 carrying a loaded tray at the head of the first stair. 
 
 "Where'll you have it?" said he cheerily. 
 
 "Thank you. I need nothing." 
 
 He glanced from her piled golden hair to the 
 severe blue gown. "Faith, you look a madonna, 
 but I'll swear you're flesh and blood. Come and 
 eat, or I lose my labor." 
 
 Hot coffee, bread, butter, a boiled egg, honey 
 he set them all out upon the table and offered his 
 wrist to lead her to a chair. Her fingers rested for 
 an instant upon warm, smooth skin ; she found her-
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 69 
 
 self seated with a steaming cup at her side, before 
 she realized exactly what had happened. 
 
 Merodach pushed the salt cellar within reach and 
 cut the top off her egg. She looked up, amazed 
 at his attention. 
 
 "Griggs'll not trouble you," he told her coolly. 
 "I've to offer his apologies. 'Tis as I expected. 
 He's here in possession, and Lady Forrest has 
 evidently made a bolt of it. Her woman drugged 
 his supper ale." 
 
 "It's strange she left no message," faltered 
 Dorothy, instinctively motioning him to the chair 
 beside her. With Sir George's clothes he seemed 
 to have put on something of the manners of a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "There's a smear of ash trodden into the carpet 
 below my lady's table. I believe she did write and 
 left you money, and her woman took it and burned 
 the letter." 
 
 " Tis possible. But how ?" 
 
 "Two bits escaped the candle," he added, and 
 laid them before her; diagonal strips of singed 
 paper, each showing part of two lines in Lavinia's 
 narrow writing. ". . . the week . . . wait there 
 . . ." and "confidence in ... Mrs. Bradley . . ." 
 was decipherable. 
 
 "Mrs. Bradley?" murmured Dorothy. "How 
 odd!" 
 
 "A friend of yours?" hazarded Merodach, 
 watching her.
 
 70 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Lud, no! I've seen her at the Rooms. I dis- 
 like her extremely." 
 
 "Has no one told you her profession?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. She used to keep a finishing school 
 for the daughters of gentlemen. Even now one or 
 two old pupils live with her. My mother evidently 
 intends me to wait there until she can send." Miss 
 Forrest tried to fit the two scraps of paper together, 
 failed, and shrugged. "I'd liefer go into a nunnery, 
 but beggars can't be choosers and I've no means of 
 hiring a post-chaise." 
 
 "I can lend you " he burst out, and stopped. 
 
 "If you win your fight?" said she. "Thank you, 
 but I want no blood-money." 
 
 For an instant their eyes met, coldly blue challeng- 
 ing keen, bright brown. Miss Forrest was the first 
 to look away. 
 
 "You dislike prize fighting?" he said; and some- 
 how she was aware that he would not utter the 
 words that had leaped to his tongue. 
 
 "O God !" cried the girl, and choked upon a sob. 
 "I loathe all fighting. My whole life is full of 
 nothing else. My parents wrangle over everything 
 and nothing, and I with them. We fight for money 
 night after night with cards and dice and wine for 
 weapons. I, I fight my pride, my modesty, my 
 self-respect, and folk think me brazen O lud, one 
 has to wear armor!" She bit a trembling lip and 
 smiled at him wanly. "Now you think I rant. Oh 
 yes, you do." She shrugged and rose; he was on 
 his feet instantly. "Well, one must live. I may
 
 THE PRIZE FIGHTER 71 
 
 come to the stage yet. I think I could play Ophelia, 
 but Juliet no." 
 
 "Why not?" he asked absently, unaware that he 
 was staring. 
 
 "I know too much of men ever to fall in love with 
 one of them, even in make-believe." 
 
 "You've gained that knowledge from the beaux 
 you meet here and at the Rooms !" he cried. "Gad, 
 my girl, be fair ! You know but one type of man, 
 and there are scores of others!" 
 
 "True," said Miss Forrest coldly. "Until last 
 night I had spoke with none but gentlemen." 
 
 He found himself staring at the empty doorway, 
 shook -back his hair, grinned good-humoredly, and 
 loading the tray carried it below. 
 
 "Miss hath the megrims," said he as the bailiff 
 rose and jerked crumbs from the creases in his cloth- 
 ing. "Wash up, Barty, while I get something to 
 eat." 
 
 "What! I thought ye broke fast above-stairs?" 
 began Griggs. 
 
 "I was not invited," returned Merodach, and 
 pouring the cold coffee into a skillet, set it among 
 the embers to heat.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 
 
 AFTER another fruitless search Dorothy 
 faced the unpleasant fact that she was 
 penniless, but for the few shillings in her 
 jewel box. Lady Forrest had taken all her personal 
 valuables; Janet had appropriated as much as she 
 could carry. Although Dorothy had never pos- 
 sessed regular pin money she had never been with- 
 out a guinea or two to spend, and Sir George was 
 easy to wheedle if she wanted new clothes. Now 
 she realized that she might lack the absolute neces- 
 sities of life, and the prospect dismayed her. 
 
 Subdued, a little dazed, the girl wandered discon- 
 solately about the house, aware that the bailiff's eyes 
 followed her from the shelter of the door jambs, but 
 reassured by Merodach's influence over the man. 
 
 "I has to see as ye takes nought away," he ex- 
 plained, meeting her on the landing as she came from 
 her mother's room. 
 
 "There's nothing of value that I could carry," re- 
 turned Dorothy wearily. She made to pass him 
 but he remained planted in her path, blinking up at 
 her with small, red-rimmed gray eyes. 
 
 "I'm a soft-hearted customer, I am," said Bar- 
 tholomew, with what he fondly imagined to be an 
 
 72
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 73 
 
 ingratiating smile. "I can't abide to see beauty in 
 distress. A morsel of advice now, missie? Would 
 it be took imperent, or would it be accepted of in the 
 spirit as offered?" 
 
 Heartsick for a friend, Dorothy hesitated, and he 
 caught at her irresolution. 
 
 "If ye'd consent to a bit of palaver wi' me an' 
 young Merodach, conclusions might be come to, 
 d'ye see ? A plan's what ye lack. Summat to work 
 from. Trouble's never such a bogey if looked at 
 fair an' square, an' speakin' strickly for meself, o' 
 course, it's the things I can't see I'm scart on." 
 
 "Thank you. You may tell Merodach I'll speak 
 with him," said Miss Forrest, and descended to the 
 dining-room divided between laughter and tears. 
 The life she led, cut off from the companionship of 
 girls of her own age, had tended to make her mor- 
 bidly self -centered: she saw herself from outside, 
 and was at the same time both actor and spectator 
 of the scenes wherein she played a part. It was 
 characteristic that now, with tears thick upon her 
 lashes, she went over to the mirror above the hearth 
 to note the effect. Her eyes were unbecomingly red. 
 She swallowed hard, and found a seat back to the 
 light. 
 
 The two men discovered her at the head of the 
 table, a pathetic little figure enthroned in a tall arm- 
 chair, her fingers drumming nervously upon the 
 polished board before her. 
 
 "Barty tells me that you need advice," began the 
 gypsy, dropping into a chair at her right.
 
 74 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 She nodded and bit her trembling lower lip. "I 
 need more than advice. I've seven shillings, and 
 the clothes I wear. I I suppose I've no real right 
 even to those." 
 
 "No more ye han't, missie," said Griggs heartily. 
 "Bein' as you might say of the female persuasion." 
 
 "But sure, you've friends in Bath?" suggested 
 Merodach. 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. "Not now. Miss 
 Abrams is gone back to Scotland with her aunt. 
 She was the only woman with whom I was inti- 
 mate" 
 
 "Yet you must have met scores of people who " 
 
 "Scores. But there's not one I can call friend, 
 unless " 
 
 "Barrin' we, missie. Me an' Merodach!" insis- 
 ted Griggs. 
 
 "Thank you," returned the girl, and smiled, April- 
 fashion. 
 
 The trio sat and stared at one another in silence. 
 
 "How long shall I be allowed to stay here?" 
 asked Dorothy at length. 
 
 The bailiff puckered his mouth. "Well, there's 
 to be a sale, d'ye see ? In less'n a week there won't 
 be a stick in the place, 's far as I know. But, 
 speakin, strickly between friends, ye could stay here 
 another couple o' nights, mebbe, an' then ye'd be well 
 advised to flit, takin' wi' ye a small an' inconspickus 
 valise packed wi' strickly personal " 
 
 "Two nights ?" pondered Dorothy. "I might run 
 the tables for two nights. That should bring me in
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 75 
 
 enough to hire a chaise and post to Winterbourne 
 to my cousin's home in Sussex," she added in an- 
 swer to Merodach's inquiring eyes. 
 
 "Thank you, friends. I'll go out and order the 
 supper " She broke off, confused, remembering 
 that she could pay for nothing. 
 
 "Well, your guests must be content with wine 
 and cakes," suggested Merodach. "You've flour 
 and eggs in the house? There was enough left 
 of last night's fare to make a dozen pies and pud- 
 dings." 
 
 "What, can you cook as well as fight?" asked 
 Dorothy, staring. 
 
 "Let me show you!" cried Merodach. 
 
 They spent three hours in the kitchen among 
 a litter of patty-pans and the collected debris of 
 yesterday's meals. Merodach in shirt sleeves, an 
 apron protecting Sir George's green cloth breeches : 
 Dorothy flushed and merry, her rosy elbows pow- 
 dered with flour : Bartholomew red- faced, perspiring 
 from the oven, sucking his fingers surreptitiously. 
 The place rang with the clatter of crockery and the 
 beat of wooden spoons in batter. Merodach whis- 
 tled above the pastry-board: Dorothy chattered as 
 she cut up candied fruits, excited, almost hysterical, 
 rapt out of her habitual apathy by this sudden 
 change in her fortunes. 
 
 Versed as she was in the ephemeral intrigues 
 of Bath, it was a new and wonderful experience 
 to look into a man's eyes and find nothing but a 
 frank kindliness. There was no longer any need
 
 7 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 for self-defense, for the quick parry and thrust of 
 wit against will. She forgot that she was a girl 
 and Merodach a man: she threw restraint and con-.- 
 vention to the winds, and Merodach apparently 
 had never known the necessity for either. 
 
 They made such a merry din that a knocking at 
 the front door failed to disturb them, but presently 
 footsteps upon the basement stair startled them into 
 silence. 
 
 Dorothy glanced from Merodach to Bartholo- 
 mew, but before she could speak the kitchen door 
 swung open to admit Mr. Larry Cavanagh, chapeau 
 bras beneath one arm, amber-headed cane a-dangle 
 from a waistcoat button, a quizzing glass poised 
 in long white fingers. 
 
 "Good ged!" said he, and stood transfixed with 
 amazement. 
 
 Dorothy was the first to recover composure, but 
 something of her gay confidence fled with the ad- 
 vent of the beau. 
 
 "To what, sir, do I owe the honor of this in- 
 trusion?" She sketched a curtsey, recognizing in 
 Cavanagh an habitue of Lady Forrest's tables. 
 
 "Holy Saint Bridget!" murmured Larry. 
 
 "Explain your presence here, sir, I beg," insisted 
 Miss Forrest, striving to appear dignified in bobbed 
 skirts and an egg-splashed pinner. 
 
 "Sure, I called to change the news. Didn't ye 
 hear me, an' I hammerin' at your knocker the way 
 it'd rouse the Seven Sleepers themselves, an' they 
 snorin' ?"
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 77 
 
 "But how did you get in?" 
 
 "Faith, wasn't the door on the latch? I heard 
 voices, so down I came thinkin' I'd find servants, 
 an' ask " He broke off. "What in the name 
 of fortune are ye at?" 
 
 "Preparing supper," returned Dorothy, with de- 
 fiant calm. 
 
 "Good ged!" gasped Cavanagh, and sank upon 
 the settle. "Supper? Ye've enough there to feed 
 a company of dragoons." 
 
 "We expect company," she told him. "The 
 rooms will be open to-night, as usual." 
 
 "But you I was led to believe 'tis put about 
 that that Lady Forrest has found it convenient 
 to go abroad ?" stammered the Irishman. "Rumor's 
 tearin' round the parish with her tongue flappin' 
 like the mad dog's o' Killoon. As a a friend, I 
 I took upon meself to contradict every blessed story, 
 an' come to discover was I perjurin' me soul " 
 
 "My mother was called away on urgent busi- 
 ness last night," began Dorothy, and tilted back her 
 head to sniff. "O lud, something's burning!" 
 
 Further inquiries concerning Lavinia died upon 
 the visitor's lips as Griggs emerged from behind 
 the settle and darted to the oven. 
 
 "Good ged! Bartholomew the Grigg, as I'm a 
 sinner! What, is it turned cook ye are, Barty, 
 ye rogue?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Cavanagh, sir," stammered the bailiff, 
 dropping a tray of steaming patties on the table
 
 7 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 and licking his burnt fingers. "Yes, sir. You gen'- 
 lemen do like your little joke. But, speakin' strickly 
 for meself, o' course, I'm proud to do the scullery- 
 maid, sir. What I says, yer honor, a man's no 
 man as won't put out a helpin' hand to beauty in 
 distress, sir, an' bein' as how the servants " 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh heaved himself upright and ad- 
 vanced, white fingers extended. "Mr. Griggs," said 
 he solemnly. "Ye may be a bumbailey by profes- 
 sion, but demme, nature intended ye for a gentle- 
 man! Sure, 'tis proud I am to shake ye by the 
 hand!" He shook so hard that Bartholomew 
 winced. "Miss Forrest, your most humble, admir- 
 ing servant to command. Your spirit, me dear, is 
 amazin'! Good ged, in your place most women 
 would be vaporish!" He gesticulated, as one about 
 to deliver an epigram. 
 
 "What tho' in Kaos all our hopes do lie? 
 
 We scorn to er to scorn ahem, Oh demmit !" 
 
 He scratched a square jaw, smiling whimsically 
 at Dorothy. 
 
 "From out the wreck Miss Forrest makes a pie!" 
 
 Merodach, hitherto unobserved, lounged forward 
 from the shadows of the big basement kitchen. 
 
 "Good ged!" exploded Cavanagh, swinging round. 
 "I should know that voice. Merodach ! What un- 
 der the sun brings you here?"
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 79 
 
 "I'm in hiding until to-night." Merodach pro- 
 ceeded to explain. 
 
 "Good ged! A door in a cupboard? Never! 
 Merodach, ye're romancin' !" 
 
 "No, sir. These houses were built to accom- 
 modate the Court of a certain exalted person," 
 grinned Merodach. "To save much running to and 
 fro, I am creditably informed that doors led from 
 one house to the next. But 'tis old history. 
 Since when, ways of communication have been 
 bricked up or otherwise covered over, and " 
 His voice dropped. 
 
 "Good ged! Sandbagged? What demned atroc- 
 ity!" shouted Cavanagh. "The town shall know 
 of this. I'll have Brooke hissed off the stage." 
 
 "By your leave, I'd liefer knock him off !" laughed 
 Merodach. "Harkee, Mr. Cavanagh sir." They 
 moved toward the door, the gypsy talking eagerly, 
 the smile upon the other's face widening with com- 
 prehension. 
 
 "Gad, I'm with ye, ye can count upon it. Mum? 
 Zoons, I'm mum as a mackerel. Ye snuff, Mero- 
 dach? May I have the honor?" The lid of a 
 tortoise-shell box snapped open, and the ceremony 
 over, Cavanagh turned again to Dorothy. "Ha' ye 
 been abroad yet, Miss Forrest? No? Then ye'll 
 not have heard the news. Behold me, Mercury, bell- 
 man to the gods ! Oyez Oyez ! Though to be sure 
 'tis too monstrous sad to make sport on't." He 
 dropped his voice and his buffoonery. "Ye must 
 know Sir Julian Carew died last evenin' quite sud-
 
 8o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 denly. A heart attack, so some say. That's as 
 maybe, he went out like a candle phutt!" Larry 
 glanced up and found the gypsy's eyes upon him. 
 "Sure, 'an isn't it strange that death should shock 
 us the way it does ? A child comes into the world 
 like a boat, an' is launched upon an angry sea : and 
 none winces to hear o' that. But when the craft's 
 brought safe to harbor, why then we shudder an' 
 cry 'Horror!' Such is the perversity of foolish hu- 
 man nature. Well, Sir Julian was eighty, an' if 
 rumor don't lie he'd had his fling!" He smiled, 
 shrugged, and glanced from one to the other of his 
 hearers. 
 
 "So his nephew Valerius inherits?" murmured 
 Dorothy, memories of last night crowding thick 
 about her. " 'Tis said Mr. Ralph was his uncle's 
 favorite." 
 
 "Ah now, there ye have me," confessed Cavanagh, 
 warming to his tale. "A mystery surrounds us, 
 me dear creature. Bath is all agog. There's lit- 
 tle else talked of in the Pump-Room, and the cof- 
 fee houses positively seethe with argument. Faith, 
 an election's nothing to it. But not to keep ye in 
 suspense Valerius Carew is suspected of er 
 hastening dear nunkie's end. For didn't the serv- 
 ant swear he heard Sir Julian speak of breakin' 
 the entail in Ralph's favor, an' wasn't he taken 
 instantaneous, the way he'd not time to do it? Sure, 
 Valerius inherits, but there's a warrant out for his 
 arrest on suspicion of murder, so " 
 
 "Good God!" ejaculated Merodach.
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 81 
 
 Dorothy laughed. "Murder? Why, Valerius 
 han't the energy to kill a fly. I passed him in 
 Spring Gardens one sunny morning last week, doz- 
 ing upon a bench, with a link-'boy hired to fan 
 them off his nose ! I wonder he don't keep a negro 
 page. O lud, murder? What fool issued the war- 
 rant?" 
 
 " 'Twas young Ralph applied for it. He's vastly 
 upset." Mr. Cavanagh rocked from heel to toe, 
 pondering. "Well, me dear, he'd sufficient cause. 
 Wasn't Valerius the last to see Sir Julian alive? 
 Oh, I've positive information from the butler him- 
 self. Valerius sent him below-stairs of an errand, 
 and when he returned Sir Julian was dead and 
 Valerius nowhere to be found. Deuced suspicious, 
 an't it, on me soul! Demme, as pretty a mystery 
 as ever was writ to intrigue the patrons of circula- 
 tin' libraries!" 
 
 "And have they arrested Valerius Carew?" asked 
 the girl. "Will he be brought to trial on such a 
 foolish charge as this?" 
 
 "Good ged ! How is it possible ? Isn't it tellin' 
 ye I am he's disappeared!" exclaimed Larry impa- 
 tiently. "It's the most damning fact of all. Lodg- 
 ing in Gay Street ransacked, landlady swears he'd 
 not been home all night. Inquiries at all the tav- 
 erns, none had set eyes on him. Spies haunting 
 the Baths and ambushed in the Abbey the way an 
 earwig couldn't escape notice, an' all to no purpose. 
 Our gentleman has vanished. There's some talk of 
 3 po'shay waitin' under the big cedar on the London
 
 82 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 road, but I'm of the opinion that 'twas another affair 
 altogether, in fact ahem!" He floundered, glanced 
 guiltily from the unconscious girl to the conscious 
 men, and hastily changed the subject. "Well, posi- 
 tively I must fly. Ye open at eight, me dear ? Good. 
 I shall give meself the pleasure of comin', an' if I fail 
 to persuade all the bloods in Bath to follow, demme, 
 I'm no Pied Piper ! Faith, we'll make a night of it. 
 At eight. Miss Dorothy, your very devoted. I kiss 
 your little hands. Plucky child, ye deserve to suc- 
 ceed. Barty, me cherub, adieu! Merodach, we 
 meet at six. Oh never fear, man, 'tis too good a 
 joke to spoil. Adios! I protest, 'tis dumber than 
 the grave I am. Good ged, to see Middleton's face 
 when you appear ! Have ye clothes a cloak ? Well 
 then, till to-night. Miss Dorothy, your most obe- 
 dient!" 
 
 He bowed himself out, Griggs followed to see him 
 to the door. Merodach and Dorothy stood among 
 the litter of preparation in an uneasy silence. The 
 care-free gayety of the morning did not return. 
 
 "Is Valerius Carew known to you ?" asked Mero- 
 dach at length. 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. "Only by sight. He 
 don't attend the Assemblies. The town talks, but 
 'tis all conjecture." 
 
 "What's said?" 
 
 "O lud, the usual gossip ! Mr. Carew's an enigma, 
 and lays himself open to misconception, so 'tis 
 his own fault if he's suspect." Dorothy shrugged, 
 world-weary. "If nothing's positively known you
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 83 
 
 may depend upon't Bath will believe the worst." 
 
 "You're bitter," said Merodach, absently piling 
 up the empty patty-pans. 
 
 "O la, yes ! I'm suspect, too. A grain of truth 
 in the town talk is enough to give rise to a batch 
 of lies." 
 
 "Lake the yeast in the parable," suggested Mero- 
 dach. 
 
 "I've not heard if it." 
 
 "... 'which a woman took and hid in three 
 measures of meal until the whole was leavened' . . ." 
 quoted the gypsy soberly, his eyes upon her. 
 
 Miss Forrest shrugged. "Faith, you sound like 
 the Abbey on a Sunday. Well, we must clear up, 
 I suppose. That's the worst of cooking washing 
 up. Shall we dine here? 'Twill save trouble. 
 There's pickled herrings in the larder and half a 
 lumber pie. Push everything to one end of the 
 table while I go wash my hands." 
 
 True to his promise Mr. Cavanagh arrived soon 
 after eight accompanied by a dozen young fellows 
 all boisterously exhilarated. 
 
 Dorothy, sedate in a gray silk at the head of the 
 stair, was swept into the card-rooms in the whirl 
 of excitement ; deafened by the shouts and laughter, 
 bewildered, a little disconcerted. She had intended 
 to preside at the tables with studied dignity, but 
 there was small chance of that among these mercu- 
 rial gallants. They capered round the chairs; they 
 clamored for wine, and when she brought it they
 
 84 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 drank to Merodach until the lusters upon the cande- 
 labra rang against each other. 
 
 For the moment cards were neglected. They 
 could talk of nothing but the big fight. New ar- 
 rivals bawled for details, and the tumult subsided 
 while Sir Harry Kirkpatrick, gesticulating from the 
 back of an arm-chair as from a pulpit, told the 
 story. 
 
 Crushed into a corner behind the tables Dorothy 
 listened, comprehending nothing of the boxing slang 
 of the day, but realizing that Merodach had won a 
 brilliant victory. Her pulses quickened at the re- 
 membrance of her part in his escape. 
 
 "But, Harry, demmit, ye've started the tale in the 
 middle!" shouted Cavanagh. "Han't ye forgot the 
 rumor of foul play, an' we waitin' there the way 
 we'd be nearly mad with the agonizin' suspense, 
 an' every man of us stakin' his last groat on Mero- 
 dach, an' he not comin' ! Han't ye forgot the cer- 
 tainty of ruin, an' Brooke's supporters shoutin' 
 Tlay or pay!' an' we feelin' as sick as the Wise 
 Men o' Goshen with the green water lippin' round 
 the edge o' the bowl! An' then the magnificent rev- 
 elation of our Champion in the nick of time, risin' 
 out o' the back benches like Venus from the sea, 
 an' flingin' off his cloak an' pitchin' his hat over 
 the rope ! The overwhelmin' relief, the " 
 
 "O lud, Larry, damn your rhetoric !" cried young 
 Revell. " 'Twas like this now listen to a plain 
 tale! We waited kicking our heels in Brooke's 
 rooms until close upon the hour, when "
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 85 
 
 "Merodach!" hiccoughed Captain Godfrey, 
 sprinkling the company with a flourished glass. 
 "Merodach flower o' British sport! Demme, 
 boys, gi' a rouse! Merodach!" 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh's voice cracked with his determina- 
 tion to be heard above the din. "But harkee, gen- 
 tlemen, there was foul play! Hired ruffians sand- 
 bagged him, stripped him, trussed him like a bird 
 for the spit and shut him in a cupboard. And there 
 he might have stayed but for " 
 
 "What ? You're drunk, Cavanagh !" 
 
 "What authority ha' ye for that tale? I tell 
 you" 
 
 "Authority?" vociferated Larry. "Wasn't it Me- 
 rodcfch himself told me? An' yonder stands the 
 nymph to whom he owes his release, demme, I might 
 say his life and his reputation, for she " 
 
 "Rat me! The little Forrest?" 
 
 "Doll, the decoy-duck? Never!" 
 
 "Bravo! Have her out!" 
 
 Dorothy found herself tossed up on to a table, and 
 flushed, panting, a little dishevelled, faced the com- 
 pany, her hands pressed against her throbbing heart. 
 
 Glasses were raised and drained in her honor. 
 Her name was shouted amid approving cheers. She 
 could do nothing but stand smiling, waiting, until 
 the uproar abated. 
 
 "She speaks !" cried young* Revell, and clapped 
 his hand over his neighbor's mouth. 
 
 "Silence! The Forrest makes reply!" 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Dorothy through dry lips.
 
 86 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Gentlemen, for your kind approval, my thanks, 
 but I beg you make less noise or the watch will 
 bid me close the rooms, and faith, I I must enter- 
 tain to-night. Gentlemen, I I know not what tales 
 you have heard, but but the truth is my parents 
 are from home and I needs must keep open house 
 these two nights. So I pray you will you 
 play?" 
 
 She faltered, swayed, and passed her hands over 
 her eyes; giddy -with the sea of moving faces all 
 turned in her direction, stifled by the heat that beat 
 upon her from the candelabrum at her shoulder. 
 
 Late comers, craning their necks, a tip-toe on the 
 landing, were aware of a sudden silence, the crash 
 of a chair overthrown as a man sprang to catch the 
 girl. 
 
 Then, "She's fainted. Open a window." 
 
 Cavanagh carried her up to her mother's room, 
 laid her on the bed and tugged at the bell-rope. 
 There was no response, although, leaning over the 
 well of the stair he could hear the far tinkle of 
 china in the basement. He waited, fuming at the 
 delay; and presently ran downstairs, prepared to 
 tongue-lash the tardy servants. 
 
 The bailiff, lounging over his supper in the kit- 
 chen, stared at the sudden apparition. 
 
 "Where the divil is the servant!" demanded 
 Larry. 
 
 Bartholomew swallowed, stared, and swallowed 
 again; that being at the moment all he was capable 
 of doing.
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 87 
 
 "Where's the woman, what's her name Jane 
 Janet? Miss Forrest's fainting " 
 
 "There ain't nobody here but me," replied Griggs. 
 "Yon's the vinegar in that black " 
 
 "Good ged! Where are the servants?" 
 
 "Didn't the young lady tell ye? Lady Forrest 
 skedaddled last night, an' her woman ain't to be 
 found, neither. Drugged me supper ale, she did, 
 the vixen, an' when I woke me mouth was like the 
 bottom of a empty dustbin. There's none here 
 savin' the young lady an' me. An' how did the 
 fight go, yer honor?" 
 
 "Oh, Brooke was beat, counted out in the tenth 
 round," said Cavanagh absently. "An* now 
 the question is, what's to become o' Miss For- 
 rest?" 
 
 "Merodach won, did he? Ecod, she saved him 
 for it, an' put ten pun in my pocket !" chuckled the 
 bailiff. "An' rat me! half o' that she shall have, 
 bless her! I'd laid more'n I could well afford on 
 young Merodach, but thanks be to missie, he come 
 out on top !" He reached his hat from a bacon hook 
 in the rafters, and placing it upside down upon the 
 table, solemnly pulled out a dirty knitted purse 
 and counted the contents. 
 
 "Three pun ten. That'll be summat to be goin' 
 on with, an' I shall get my winnin's termorrer. 
 Speakin' strictly for meself, o' course, what 1 I says 
 is, she saved the fight, an' bein' now penniless, pore 
 dear, half my winnin's she shall have, so" 
 
 "Penniless?" gasped Cavanagh.
 
 88 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Griggs put the situation before him in language 
 too forcible to print. 
 
 Cavanagh listened in amazement; consigned La- 
 vinia to perdition; threw a curse or two after Sir 
 George; and seizing the protesting bailiff by the el- 
 bow, rushed him upstairs. 
 
 Play was in full swing, but Cavanagh's sudden 
 entrance arm in arm with Bartholomew, brought 
 it to a pause. 
 
 "What now, Larry?" 
 
 "Who's your friend?" 
 
 "Demme, a bum ! What the devil d'ye bring him 
 here?" 
 
 "Lud, Cavanagh, have some decency!" 
 
 " 'Twill be my painful duty to report this distress- 
 ing lapse to Nash!" 
 
 "Gentlemen ! I'm askin' ye as a favor to let this 
 gentleman have a word wi' ye!" Something in 
 his tone silenced them. They sat, twisted round in 
 their chairs, leaning over the tables, half-risen, fro- 
 zen into immobility by the unusual spectacle of the 
 fastidious Irishman cheek by jowl with Bartholo- 
 mew Griggs. The sudden production of Medusa's 
 head would have caused no greater sensation. 
 
 A dull color rose behind the bailiff's stubble of 
 beard. He turned his hat nervously, and the money 
 clinked. 
 
 "Begging, by the lord!" muttered young Revell. 
 
 Griggs looked up. "Ay, sir," said he. "I do 
 make so bold as to pass the hat, egged on by his 
 honor Mr. Cavanagh, so to speak "
 
 LARRY CAVANAGH 89 
 
 "Faith, no !" shouted Larry. "Wasn't it his own 
 idea, an' he puttin' in the half of his winings to 
 start it? Gentlemen, I'll give ye a toast. Barty 
 Griggs! God bless him for a warm-hearted old 
 divil !" He drank, tossed his purse into the hat, and 
 snatching it thrust it under Captain Godfrey's nose. 
 
 "W-what the dooce are ye about?" sputtered the 
 soldier, wincing from the greasy head-gear. 
 
 "Han't I explained 'tis for Miss Forrest, the an- 
 gel, an' she deserted by her blackguardly parents, 
 foul fall 'em ! A guinea, Captain dear ? Good ged, 
 will ye be shamed by little Barty? Boys, I tell ye 
 there'd ha' been no fight at all but for Miss Forrest, 
 an' where should we ha' been, an' we backing Mero- 
 dach to our last crown?" With a running fire of 
 banter and cajolery he went round the tables, shak- 
 ing Barty's disreputable hat until it grew too heavy 
 to shake. For having grasped the fact that Dorothy 
 was destitute, the men gave heartily, and there was 
 no more talk of play that night, principally because 
 many had emptied their pockets. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Cavanagh, nursing the bulging 
 hat in both hands and gulping a little. "On behalf 
 of Miss Forrest I thank ye exceedingly, and for the 
 sake of Miss Forrest I'll be askin' ye to leave dis- 
 creetly an' for the last time. Faith, Revell, don't 
 ye see that we'll be doin' the child a kindness by 
 keepin' away? She'll be postin' off to her aunt's 
 to-morrow. I have the honor, gentlemen, to de- 
 clare these rooms closed. Good night." 
 
 Laughing, cheering, slapping the bailiff on the
 
 90 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 back, they left in twos and threes, until at length 
 Mr. Cavanagh was solitary among the card-strewn 
 tables. 
 
 He scratched his chin reflectively, staring at the 
 money. 
 
 "An' will ye tell me how the divil I'll be givin' 
 it to her?" said he. "Good ged, what if she's an- 
 gry? Deuced delicate job, on me soul!" He tip- 
 toed to the door and listened, suddenly terrified 
 lest Dorothy should catch him there and demand 
 an explanation. There was no sound above-stairs : 
 below, Griggs was closing the door behind the last 
 of the guests. 
 
 Cavanagh found some snuffers upon the chimney- 
 shelf, extinguished the candles, emptied the bailiff's 
 hat upon the middle table, and carrying it by the 
 brim, crept down to the hall. 
 
 Bartholomew met him as he reached the foot of 
 the stair, and for a moment there was a supremely 
 uncomfortable silence. 
 
 "Your hat, Griggs," said Larry at length. "Can 
 you find mine?" The bailiff brought it from 
 the morning-room? "Thank'ee." Mr. Cavanagh 
 swung himself into his cloak, took hat and stick and 
 turned toward the door. "Er I've left the the 
 money on the table," said he a little sheepishly. 
 "No doubt Miss Forrest'll think 'tis her winnings. 
 Tell her Mrs. D'Este was acting banker. No need 
 to be sayin' more, eh, Barty? She'll be asleep. 
 Shut the door softly, ye rascal. Good night."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TRADEGY IN THE AIR 
 
 " -m >TR. CAVANAGH, sir," said Harris with 
 %/ an apologetic cough, "shall I admit 
 
 L\JL him?' 
 
 Young Carew turned from his uncle's desk to 
 glance inquiringly at the servant. "I don't know 
 him, Harris, but then I'm still a stranger in Bath. 
 Was he a friend of Sir Julian? Should I see him?" 
 
 "Well, since you ask, sir, yes, I would advise it. 
 Mr. Cavanagh goes everywhere and knows every- 
 one. And in the matter of ahem of the search, 
 Mr. Ralph, he might be useful." 
 
 "Gad, he might ! Beg him to walk in, and Har- 
 ris sherry." 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh, somber in purple cloth, bowed to 
 Mr. Carew, melancholic in black satin. The Irish- 
 man's quick eye appraised the fashion of the coat 
 and the embroidery of cut steel beads. 
 
 "Faith, parting is such sweet sorrow !" he mused, 
 and commented aloud upon the engaging qualities 
 of the deceased. 
 
 Ralph conducted becomingly: spoke in hushed 
 tones of Sir Julian : poured wine, and used a black- 
 edged kerchief to wipe his lips.
 
 92 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Compliments over, the two men relaxed a little 
 and eyed one another across the decanter. 
 
 "Sure, ye have a look of Sir Julian about ye," 
 said Larry, glancing from his host to the portrait 
 above the hearth. 
 
 "A family resemblance, no doubt," responded 
 Ralph. "I'm happy to be thought like him. He 
 was a second father to me." 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh opened his mouth, reflected, and 
 closed it again without speaking. 
 
 "I'm an orphan," added young Carew. "And an 
 only child. Sir Julian was everything " 
 
 "Faith, a sad loss !" ejaculated Cavanagh to cover 
 the other's emotion; and floundering between cour- 
 tesy and amusement, became platitudinous. "Well, 
 'tis the common lot. Old men die. Young men 
 come into their own. But 'tis a week now since 
 the funeral and here ye remain, mewed up Oh, 
 I make no doubt ye've lashin's of business," he 
 glanced at the rummaged desk. "But for your own 
 sake, Carew, ye should go about. I'd not be urgin' 
 ye to attend the Rooms, but a canter before break- 
 fast along Coombe Down? Sure, 'twould be no 
 disrespect to the old gentleman, he was ever one for 
 pleasure. An' if ye care for company, why, I'll 
 be happy to join ye." 
 
 "You're very kind, Mr. Cavanagh. Later on, I'll 
 take advantage " 
 
 "Oh come, sir, to-morrow " 
 
 "Gad, sir, I hate to appear discourteous, but this 
 odious affair has hipped me, I'll confess, and I "
 
 TRAGEDY IN THE AIR 93 
 
 "Good ged, my dear fellow, I take you! Dem- 
 med awkward. But none can think the worse of 
 you because " he shrugged and broke off. 
 
 "You know Valerius ?" asked Carew, a shade too 
 eagerly. 
 
 Cavanagh threw out expressive hands. "As much 
 as most. A queer fish, believe me. Ye've not 
 met?" 
 
 "Yes. I met him here, that night. In fact I 
 left him with Sir Julian. Tell me, sir, what d'ye 
 make of it? I've gone over every detail until my 
 head whirls." 
 
 "Faith, I've heard nought but gossip," responded 
 the Irishman cautiously; and composed himself to 
 listen to a personal narrative. 
 
 As Ralph ended : "So ye made the acquaintance 
 of Miss Dorothy Forrest?" said he. 
 
 "I named no names!" cried Carew. 
 
 ''Good ged, 'tis no secret. Didn't the child her- 
 self tell me ye saved her life." 
 
 "You know her?" 
 
 "O lud, I'm a friend o' the family." 
 
 "Really!" 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh ignored Ralph's lifted eyebrows, 
 "Ye've heard nothing of the Forrests?" 
 
 "Nothing but gossip," countered Ralph, smiling. 
 
 "They've left." 
 
 "Left?" 
 
 "Left the town, left England, for all I know 
 and left Dolly." Cavanagh outlined events, watch- 
 ing young Carew's changing face.
 
 94 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Good God!" cried Ralph. "What inhuman 
 brutes !" 
 
 "The child was penniless, friendless, but she has 
 the divil's own pluck. Will ye believe me, Carew, 
 she vowed she'd run the tables and win enough to 
 take her down to Sussex, an' she with no more real 
 knowledge of faro than a kitten playing with dead 
 leaves." 
 
 "But she told me 'twas true she was a decoy." 
 
 "Zoons, man! What's that? She did no more 
 than smile an' speak pretty, bless her! She never 
 took a hand in the game. Lud save her, she don't 
 know enough to win. She'd no notion her parents 
 were sharpers." 
 
 "You amaze me, sir!" cried young Carew in- 
 credulously. 
 
 "Good ged, an' isn't that what I'm after?" shouted 
 Larry. "The child's needin' a friend, demme, a 
 lover! I'm too old for her, but you you caught 
 her fancy. Oh, 'twas plain from what she didn't 
 say. She'll trust ye. A young man ridin' over 
 the top o' the hill that's what a girl's lookin' for 
 from the time she can toddle, an' ye " 
 
 "But she forbid me the house," began Ralph, 
 dazed by the other's vehemence. 
 
 "Oh, the divil fly away wi' ye for a fool! Of 
 course she did. She'd not be havin' ye ruined by 
 her Jezebel of a mother. But I'm persuaded the 
 child's waitin' for ye to appear an' save her, an' 
 faith, here ye sit like an old biddy, an' she broody!" 
 
 "Od rot you, sir, you must believe me wher I
 
 TRAGEDY IN THE AIR 95 
 
 tell you that I knew nothing of all this! Sir Ju- 
 lian died while I was at the Rooms, and then I 
 was compelled to post to London to see his lawyers. 
 And since I returned what with the funeral and 
 this suspicion hanging over Valerius " He broke 
 off and paced the length of the room and back. 
 "Where is Miss Forrest?" 
 
 "Faith, an' isn't that what I want to know ?" an- 
 swered Cavanagh. 
 
 "You don't tell me she's vanished?" cried Ralph. 
 
 "She has, an' 'tis drivin' me distracted " 
 
 "But why d'ye come to me?" 
 
 "Good ged, you were my last hope !" Cavanagh 
 strode to the window and stared across the street 
 where a litter of straw and torn paper before the 
 Forrest house remained as evidence of the sale. 
 
 Aware of tragedy in the air, young Carew fol- 
 lowed him. 
 
 "Is that the house?" said he. "I never knew. 
 She wouldn't tell me where she lived." Curtain- 
 less, dusty windows stared at him like the unseeing 
 eyes of a blind man. "Gad, I've been so rapt in 
 my own trouble I heeded nothing that was going 
 on outside. Cavanagh, if you'll tell me how I can 
 help?" 
 
 The Irishman gulped. "We we demme, why 
 should I be ashamed on't? We collected enough 
 money to take her down to Winterbourne, to her 
 cousin's home. The po'shay was hired, her bag- 
 gage ready. The bailiff took himself out o' the way 
 while she came downstairs. An' then, at the very
 
 96 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 threshold, a girl met her. They stood talkin' for 
 the space of a minute, an' then what does Miss 
 Dolly do but pack her into the shay an' they drove 
 off together. So much Barty saw from the area 
 window. But she never went to Winterbourne, 
 for the postilion was back in Bath next day. He'll 
 say nothing. She made him promise to hold his 
 tongue. O lud, if he'd not been the man he is I'd 
 suspect him of murderin' the child for the money 
 she carried. But I'd trust old Jake with Potiphar's 
 wife herself, an' she clothed in jewels." 
 
 Young Carew listened, and thrilled again at the 
 memory of Dorothy in the glow of the chandelier; 
 in the gloom of the anteroom. Her hair had smelled 
 vaguely of flowers violets he knew not what. It 
 went to his head a little. 
 
 "I'll ride with you to-morrow, Cavanagh," said 
 he. "If the chaise was back next day she can't have 
 gone far. Where d'ye keep your nags ? The Three 
 Tuns? I'll meet you in the yard at seven." 
 
 But though they rode out day after day they 
 gained no tidings of Dorothy Forrest.
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 
 
 THE explanation was simple enough, as most 
 explanations are, once they are explained. 
 As Dorothy crossed the flagged footpath 
 to her chaise, a girl touched her on the arm. 
 
 "Miss Forrest?" 
 
 "Yes?" Dorothy turned and met the gaze of a 
 pair of black eyes swimming with tears. 
 
 "I Lady Forrest employed me as sempstress, and 
 they say she has gone away and she she owes me 
 an hundred and thirty pounds. Oh, I've the ac- 
 counts writ out. 'Tis true, ma'am. I've had noth- 
 ing but promises these two years, and now I " 
 
 "Are you in Mrs. Deykin's employ?" began Doro- 
 thy, her hand upon the <chaise dbor. "Wait a 
 moment, Jake. I must speak with this woman." 
 
 "No, ma'am. I work at home embroidery 
 fine sewing " The poor creature was fluttering 
 with anxiety. 
 
 "Beg pardon, miss," urged the grizzled postilion, 
 touching his cap. " 'Tain't wise to linger. Mr. 
 Cavanagh said the quicker we was out o' the town, 
 the better." 
 
 "Then get in, ma'am," said Dorothy. "I'll drive 
 97
 
 98 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 you home and we can talk as we go." But it was 
 the young sempstress who did most of the talking. 
 
 Dorothy sat silent, horror-struck, her heart cold 
 within her ; wavering between incredulity and tears ; 
 unwilling to believe that her mother could have 
 been so callous, so dishonest. 
 
 She leaned out of the window to give the postilion 
 a direction, and presently the man drew up at the 
 entrance to an alley, dank with drippings from the 
 eaves, dark even at midday, and lighted only by 
 a feeble oil-lamp at one end. 
 
 "Wait, Jake," said Dorothy, and picking her way 
 over the cobbles, followed the girl. 
 
 There was no food in the little house : no fire. 
 A genial, childish old man sat huddled in a blanket 
 beside the empty hearth, cutting paper dolls from a 
 news sheet. Before him, round-eyed and breathless 
 with delight, knelt a three-year-old girl, receiving 
 each completed doll in cupped palms, kissing it, 
 naming it with a solemnity befitting the occasion. 
 
 "This one'll be Agafa. Agafa, sit here nex' Jose- 
 phine, an' nen you can talk. Cawoline'll go wound 
 corner, so. Henwietta oh, Gwandaddy, here's 
 Jean!" 
 
 The sempstress stooped to lift her, and shoulder- 
 high the little creature surveyed Dorothy with 
 friendly, starry eyes. 
 
 "A waif," said Jean below her breath, and aloud, 
 "Well, Celia, did you take care of Grandad?" 
 
 A solemn nod. "But Gwandaddy's fingers too 
 cold to cut out soldiers, so dey's all dollies," said
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 99 
 
 the child, and thrust her own mottled hands beneath 
 Jean's shawl. 
 
 Something took Dorothy by the throat. For a 
 brief instant she wavered: Winterbourne, cradled 
 in the bosom of the Weald, beckoned her: there 
 would be violets now in Folly Lane: she could 
 almost smell the faint incense of thyme and hot 
 turf upon the sunny Downs. And even now she 
 was on her way. 
 
 "If you'll let me see your account, ma'am?" she 
 faltered. 
 
 Wondering, Jean set the child down and opened 
 the door of a tiny kitchen, bare, piteously neat. 
 
 Dorothy dropped into the only chair, her heart 
 hammering at her side, staring uncomprehendingly 
 at the papers Jean set before her. The narrow writ- 
 ing danced under her eyes. 
 
 "... a dozen night-rails. Two tucked pinners 
 and four plain. A spotted muslin wrapper. A 
 muslin gown curiously embroidered with butter- 
 flies. . . ." 
 
 Underlinen of her own was there, half worn out 
 now, but still unpaid for: embroidered stockings: 
 cravats for Sir George. Lady Forrest had ordered 
 lavishly, and never troubled to inquire after miss- 
 ing garments. Janet had doubtless taken what she 
 fancied for her own use. A hundred and thirty 
 pounds 
 
 Dorothy awoke to the fact that the girl was speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "I wouldn't have troubled you, ma'am, but to-
 
 ioo MY LADY APRIL 
 
 morrow our landlord comes for the rent. 'Tis long 
 overdue, and he has been tolerant " She choked. 
 "I had to come to you, ma'm, because I've nothing 
 left to sell, and I must keep a roof over our heads 
 for Grandad's sake, and Celia's." 
 
 Slowly from beneath her petticoats Dorothy 
 pulled a hanging pocket; slowly she opened it and 
 drew out a leathern purse heavy with money. Shiv- 
 ering, she poured it all upon the table, and for an 
 instant sat gazing at it dry-eyed, breathless. 
 
 It meant so much to her. 
 
 There was a pregnant silence: then from the 
 other room came the rippling music of the child's 
 laugh, the chuckle of the old man, and out of that 
 heap of gold and silver Dorothy counted seven 
 shillings, and slipped them back into the purse. 
 
 "I I've no real right even to this," said she. 
 "My my parents are heavily in debt. So much 
 the the bailiff told me." She swept the money to- 
 gether deliberately and looked up at the pale face 
 above her. "Will you take this? And when I can 
 I'll send the remainder. And will you forgive me 
 that you waited so long? My sole excuse is, that 
 I did not know." She arose, frightened now that 
 the die was cast ; and leaving Jean sobbing upon the 
 table, went out and shut the door behind her. 
 
 Celia looked up. "A new dolly," said she. 
 "Gwandaddy's done you! Look! What can I call 
 her? What's your name?" 
 
 "Dolly," said Miss Forrest. "Will you call her 
 after me? Just Dolly?"
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 101 
 
 "Jus'-Dolly? (Funny name!) Jus'-Dolly, sit 
 here by Mawia an' Susan can squeege up a bit " 
 Her voice indicated the exact amount of squeezing 
 necessary. She lay prone upon the floor, chin prop- 
 ped on one chubby fist, her free hand rearranging the 
 circle of dolls. 
 
 Dorothy nodded to the ancient beside the hearth 
 and left the little house with seven shillings in her 
 pocket. 
 
 "I've changed my plans, Jake," said she, as the 
 old fellow opened the chaise door for her. "I can't 
 go to Winterbourne after all. Will you take me 
 back to the London road? I'm lost in these al- 
 leys." 
 
 Expostulation was vain. Jake drove her to within 
 a stone's throw of her old home, and there much 
 against his will he left her, valise in hand, waiting 
 in the shadow of the houses until the road should 
 be empty. 
 
 Thus it came about that as dusk rose from the 
 earth, cloaking the valley and the town while yet 
 the sunlit trees upon Beechen Cliff glowed vivid 
 green, Dorothy knocked at the door in the wall that 
 enclosed Mrs. Bradley's gardens. 
 
 She disliked extremely the idea of being under 
 an obligation to the woman, but she believed that 
 Lady Forrest expected her to wait there until she 
 could join her, and Winterbourne being now out 
 of the question, she had no alternative. 
 
 She glanced up at the stone gateway, patched with 
 green moss and orange lichens, somber in the half-
 
 102 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 light; and for an instant she was on the point of 
 retreat. Then slip-shod feet came shuffling over 
 flags, and the girl picked up her bag and stood wait- 
 ing, outwardly composed, although every pulse in 
 her body was beating a vague alarm. 
 
 The weather-stained door shook as a bolt was 
 withdrawn ; a key clacked in the lock ; the door was 
 opened a cautious crack; and a hideous, swarthy 
 face peered out at her in silence. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Bradley within?" asked Dorothy, in as 
 cool a voice as she could muster. 
 
 A nod was her only reply. 
 
 "I would speak with her, if you please." 
 
 The bodyless face still gazed at her round the 
 edge of the door in an uncanny silence. The round 
 eyes opened a little wider, the jaw dropped. 
 
 "I've a message from Lady Forrest," urged Dor- 
 othy desperately. A man was coming along the 
 road and she wished to enter unseen. She pushed 
 the door with her shoulder and as the negress gave 
 back Dorothy slipped inside, to find herself at the 
 head of a little flight of steps that led into a square 
 court laid out in flower plots. The house sur- 
 rounded her on two sides, on the other a formal 
 garden was enclosed by the boundary wall. 
 
 Having locked and bolted the door the black por- 
 tress shambled down the steps and along the path to 
 the porch; and here to Dorothy's astonishment she 
 faced about and picking up a lantern, lifted it to 
 the level of her eyes and stared at the girl for a long 
 moment.
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 103 
 
 From somewhere within the house came the shrill 
 yelp of a kicked dog: a door banged noisily: foot- 
 steps padded along a carpeted landing and came 
 softly, heavily down the stair. 
 
 The portress made an imperative gesture for si- 
 lence, hid her lantern beneath a bench, pulled the 
 inner door almost shut and with a hand upon 
 Dorothy's arm, crouched motionless in the 
 porch. 
 
 From where she stood the girl caught a glimpse of 
 the square hall lit only by a wood fire; shutters 
 were closed over the narrow windows; among the 
 dark masses of furniture brass handles and candle- 
 sticks caught the light and peered out at her like 
 evil red eyes. 
 
 An amorphous, unwieldy body lumbered across 
 the room and was lost in the shadows of the stair 
 that led down to the kitchens. 
 
 The negress gave a queer gasp of relief and push- 
 ing Dorothy out into the court, made urgent, vehe- 
 ment gestures of dismissal, grotesque, vaguely hor- 
 rible. 
 
 Dismayed, bewildered, Dorothy hesitated, protest- 
 ing. 
 
 Night was upon them. From somewhere near 
 an owl hooted like a jeering goblin: bats flickered 
 about the eaves of the old house. It was impossible 
 to walk back to Bath at that hour. 
 
 "I must see Mrs. Bradley," pleaded the girl. 
 " 'Tis urgent. Let me in, I " 
 
 The porch door swung open: a softly purring
 
 io 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 voice broke in upon the one-sided controversy, for 
 all this while the negress had not spoken. 
 
 "Who wishes to see Mrs. Bradley ? Come within. 
 Keren-happuch, what are you about?" 
 
 The portress dropped her arms to her sides with a 
 helpless gesture, stooped for Dorothy's valise, and 
 led the way indoors. 
 
 "Bring lights to the oak room," said Mrs. Brad- 
 ley. "Madam, at your convenience." She stood 
 aside at the door and Dorothy hurried by her, much 
 as she would have shrunk past a fat black spider. 
 
 Having set candles upon a table Keren-happuch 
 slippered away and Mrs. Bradley, grunting a little, 
 lowered herself on to a settee, peering at the girl 
 who stood, wavering, before she found a chair. 
 
 "I believe, ma'am, I have had the pleasure of see- 
 ing you dance at the Rooms?" began Mrs. Brad- 
 ley comfortably. "Miss Forrest, an't it? Ah, I 
 thought so. I never forget a face, and yours, my 
 dear, is remarkable. Would you take off your hat ? 
 Such coloring! Your own hair? Ah, remarkable. 
 Well, and so your parents have gone abroad and for 
 the present you are without a home. What more 
 natural than that you should come to me? Quite 
 so. Doubtless your dear mother suggested it?" 
 
 "I'm persuaded she did leave a letter, ma'am, but 
 somehow 'twas burned," answered Dorothy, sur- 
 prised by the other's apparent knowledge of events. 
 "We I found your name upon a fragment, and 
 'wait there' upon another, and so I I came, al- 
 though "
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 105 
 
 "Very wise,'^ purfed Mrs. Bradley, folding fat 
 hands upon her lap. "Most sensible. And you 
 have your luggage." Her small black eyes peered 
 at the valise, and Dorothy had the sudden, absurd 
 idea that she could see the contents through the 
 leather. "Just personal effects. Quite so. We 
 live retired, my dear. Almost a nunnery." Mrs. 
 Bradley 's shortness of breath made her sentences 
 jerk out like wind from a bellows. "Yes. You'll 
 need but few fallals. Now, if you'd be so good as 
 to pull that bell-rope? I'm not as active as I was. 
 Keren-happuch will light you to your room." 
 
 "But you should know I ought to tell you that 
 for the present I've no money," faltered the girl. 
 "I can pay nothing, and I'd not wish to impose upon 
 your kindness, ma'am. I thought maybe you you 
 could employ me as a sewing-maid, or I under- 
 stand clear-starching " 
 
 "Tut, tut !" chuckled Mrs. Bradley. " Nonsense, 
 my dear!" 
 
 "I I should prefer to earn my keep, ma'am." 
 
 "Well, well. Doubtless we can find you occu- 
 pation. But to-morrow is time enough to discuss 
 that. Have ye supped? No? I'll have a tray 
 sent to your room. Our meal is over." She heaved 
 herself to her feet and waddled ponderously to the 
 chimney-breast where hung an embroidered bell-pull : 
 and presently in answer to a distant tinkle Keren- 
 happuch shuffled in, listened in stolid silence to 
 Mrs. Bradley's orders, and carrying the bag led 
 Dorothy upstairs.
 
 io6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 It was a large house, but in the darkness it ap- 
 peared enormous and Keren's candle seemed 
 drowned in the surrounding gloom. Dorothy 
 stumbled after her and down odd steps and along 
 narrow passages until they reached a garret bed- 
 chamber set among a huddle of gables. 
 
 Here the woman put down her burden, drew 
 white curtains across the window, turned back the 
 bed-clothes, and lighting a second candle, went away. 
 
 The girl ran to the door and watched her down 
 the stair, wondering at her continued silence, but 
 convinced that she was friendly. Then opening 
 her bag she unpacked what she would need that 
 night, resolved that in the morning she would make 
 some excuse to leave. 
 
 A vague horror possessed her: a horror of the 
 silent house; the bloated, panting travesty of a 
 woman below-stairs ; the hideous old negress. In 
 sheer desperation she began to sing to drown the 
 thoughts that threatened to whelm her self-control 
 and unpinning her hair, brushed it out. It fell in a 
 shimmering cloak below her knees. 
 
 Keren came back with a loaded tray, caught sight 
 of Dorothy's hair, and plumping her burden upon 
 a table, stood staring; amazement, awe, and won- 
 der following one another over her wrinkled coun- 
 tenance. So might the Wise Men have stood before 
 Mary the Mother, adoring. She took a step nearer 
 and fell upon her knees, one black hand stretched 
 trembling to touch this golden miracle. 
 
 "What is't ?" said Dorothy, amused. "My hair ?"
 
 SPIDER AND FLY 107 
 
 Against Keren's cheek she thrust a handful, silky- 
 soft, faintly scented, curling at the ends like cling- 
 ing tendrils. 
 
 The negress gave a strange, inarticulate sob and 
 wrung her hands, rocking on her heels, tears cours- 
 ing unheeded down her face: suddenly she scram- 
 bled to her feet and with a peremptory gesture for 
 secrecy, drew a wooden wedge from the folds of 
 muslin at her bosom and thrust it beneath the door. 
 
 Amazed, the girl watched a graphic pantomime, 
 and gathered that as there was no key to the lock 
 upon her door, she was to wedge it firmly before 
 going to sleep. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she whispered in response to the ne- 
 gress' mute inquiries. "Yes, I understand, and I'll 
 keep it hid, but why O heaven!" 
 
 The negress opened wide her lips and pointed 
 down her throat. Her tongue had been cut out. 
 
 Seized with sudden nausea Dorothy fell upon the 
 bed, sobbing, shuddering. Keren picked up her 
 hand, kissed it, patted it reassuringly; gathered up 
 that cloak of hair and plaited it into a shining rope, 
 crooning monotonously below her breath. Then, 
 motioning to the door she repeated her dumb in- 
 junction, hesitated, signed herself, and went away. 
 
 Dorothy wedged the door, listening with her cheek 
 against the panels until Keren's footsteps died out 
 along the passage. The house seemed uncannily 
 quiet: the doors were shut: there were no lights 
 about the passages. 
 
 Shaken, frightened, she sat upon the bedside and
 
 io8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 ate what she could, drank thirstily, and slipping be- 
 tween the sheets fell asleep and lay in a heavy slum- 
 ber until well into the next day. 
 Mrs. Bradley sent for her at noon.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE PAPER DOLL 
 
 I^HE sweet, small winds of April came flut- 
 ing down the alleys behind Murfet Street : 
 wisps of straw and scraps of paper rose 
 in whirling eddies, and, silver-gray against the bril- 
 liant blue of the sky, a flock of pigeons wheeled 
 above the housetops, circling lower and lower yet 
 until with a dazzling flash of white wings they set- 
 tled upon the gabled roof of the mews in Stable 
 Lane. 
 
 Celia ran out into the roadway to catch another 
 glimpse, her round face upturned, her hair on end, 
 shrilling her commands to the birds to fly again. 
 At that moment a tortoise-shell cat stalked along the 
 roof and the startled pigeons rose with a prodigious 
 clapping of wings. 
 
 Celia danced and clapped her hands, regardless of 
 her fragile family, and half a dozen paper dolls flut- 
 tered sidelong to the cobblestones. 
 
 "O babies!" gasped the child. "All in de mud! 
 Tut-tut !" She squatted to gather them up, clucking 
 dismay, murmuring endearments, smoothing Maria's 
 crumpled limbs, wiping a smudge of mud from 
 Agatha's expressionless face; and a baker's boy, 
 
 109
 
 no MY LADY APRIL 
 
 balancing a tray of bread upon his head, came trot- 
 ting round a corner and all but fell over her. 
 
 "Tired o' life, an't ye?" said he, halting with a 
 jerk, and swore as a loaf dropped and rolled into 
 the kennel. 
 
 Celia rose, pattered over to pick it up, wiped it 
 solicitously on her pinner and held it out to him 
 with a wide smile. 
 
 "Demme," sneered the lad. " 'Tis no good. 
 'Tis a mask o' muck ! Get out o' my way, rot ye !" 
 And pushed the child aside as he ran on. 
 
 Celia sat down heavily in a puddle, stared for an 
 instant in amazement, dug both fat fists into her 
 eyes, and howled. 
 
 A shabby fellow came out of a huckster's shop, 
 and crossing the road, swung her shoulder-high. 
 
 "Come now," said Merodach. "You're not hurt, 
 baby!" 
 
 The child withdrew her fists and opened blue 
 eyes, staring down at her rescuer's face, astonish- 
 ment struggling with tears. 
 
 Merodach smiled at her, and that settled it. 
 
 "Howwid boy pushed me in mud," she began, 
 her speech still punctuated with sobs. "Want to 
 go home." She fingered her wet garments gingerly. 
 
 "Yes, let's," said Merodach. "Which way?" 
 Celia considered, and gazing round caught sight 
 of her dolls scattered over the road. She wriggled 
 violently. "Must pick up babies. Put me down, 
 man. Frank you. Oh, Josephine!" She looked 
 from the loaf to the doll in her hand. "She's a
 
 THE PAPER DOLL in 
 
 mask o' muck! Dear, dear! Miawia Ooh, an' 
 here's Jus'-Dolly quite safe." 
 
 'What's her name?" asked Merodach, stooping, 
 hands on knees, to examine a paper lady in a bril- 
 liant gown and a quantity of yellow hair. 
 
 "Jus'-Dolly," explained Celia.. "Jus'-Dolly. I 
 named her after the beau'ful lady what came an' 
 saved us. Jus'-Dolly." 
 
 The gypsy looked at the pink-chalked face and 
 startlingly blue eyes of the paper doll. "Who 
 makes these for you?" said he, a little breathlessly. 
 
 Explanation burst from Celia in a flood. 
 "Gwandaddy. An' Jean bought me some chalks, 
 pink 'n" blue 'n' yellow, after Jus'-Dolly had gone 
 away. An' we had hot bread-'n'-milk, 'n' tea, 'n' 
 stew, 'n' a gingerbwead dog wiv cuwwant eyes, 'n' 
 nen we said: Tank-God- for-a-good-supper-'n'- 
 please-bless-Jus'-Dolly-Amen !' ' 
 
 "And is Jus'-Dolly like this?" Merodach 
 touched the paper doll. 
 
 "Iss!" Celia nodded vigorously. "Jean showed 
 me how to color her, but 7 did Agafa an' Jean 
 rn' Mawia Ooh!" An ecstatic shriek broke 
 from her as Merodach tossed her up on to his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Let's go home and get dry," said he, stooping 
 for the muddied loaf. "Down here?" 
 
 Grasping a handful of black hair, Celia issued 
 directions, and presently they entered the little 
 house at the end of the valley to find the old grand- 
 father drowsing happily before the hearth.
 
 H2 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Good morning to ye, sir," says Merodach, set- 
 ting Celia on her feet. "My lady met with a mis- 
 hap, so I carried her home." He told the old man 
 what had happened, while Celia spread her babies 
 to dry and trotted into the kitchen in search of a 
 towel. 
 
 "Wub me, man," said she, reappearing and pre- 
 senting a fat back. 
 
 Merodach hesitated. 
 
 "My granddaughter's out, sir," quavered the an- 
 cient, blinking. "Can ye wrap the child in a blanket 
 the while her clothes dry? Jean'll be home pres- 
 ently." 
 
 Celia twisted her head round in a vain endeavor 
 to see what would, in years to come, develop into 
 her waist; and obeying instructions Merodach un- 
 tied and unbuttoned until she slid out of her muddied 
 clothing and stood a plump, adorable seraph de- 
 manding to be rubbed. 
 
 At length, cuddled in a blanket, she fell asleep 
 upon her grandfather's knees, and having spread 
 her small garments on a line above the fire, Mero- 
 dach drew up a stool and filled his pipe. 
 
 "You smoke, sir?" said he, and lit up for the old 
 man. 
 
 "Thank'ee, lad, thank' ee! I've not drunk to- 
 bacco for long, eh ! a long, long time not till t'other 
 day, when my granddaughter brought me a screw. 
 Eh, 'tis comfortsome, to be sure. I didn't guess 
 how sore I'd missed it till t'other day. Jean don't 
 complain, but we were come to the very end ah,
 
 THE PAPER DOLL 113 
 
 the bitter end. I know I know. Eh, if they fine 
 folk as owed the money did but feel the pinch, no 
 fire no vittles ecod! they'd not sleep till 'twas 
 all paid up, ah, to the last farden." He fell silent, 
 sucking contentedly at his pipe. 
 
 "Your granddaughter sews?" suggested Mero- 
 dach, eyeing a pile of muslins upon a shelf. 
 
 The ancient shook his head. "Sews? Lor' 
 bless'ee, sir, she sews all day an' sometimes half 
 the night, an' taller dips do try the eyesight cruel. 
 Beautiful work, sir, wonderful fine work my Jean 
 does. But ecod, she'll ha' to wait years for her 
 money years! Madam must have her gowns by 
 such an' such a day, but Jean can wait for her 
 pay. A burnin' shame, lad, an' so 'tis. But what 
 can we do? If she complains, they take their cus- 
 tom somewhere else." 
 
 "And these?" Merodach touched the row of paper 
 dolls. "They're clever. You have an eye " 
 
 "Ah, I did use to cut silhouettes, d'ye see?" ex- 
 plained the gratified old man. "Portraits, ay, an' 
 pictur's, hunting scenes, hosses an' all, an' milk- 
 maids wi' their cows, an' such. But I've lost my 
 touch now, I'm too old. I make shift to snip these 
 out for the little 'un. Yon's my Jean, 'tis not un- 
 like. An' that's Maria, a chair-mender as lives 
 nex' door. This un be Miss Forrest, a sweet young 
 lady, sir, on my soul!" 
 
 "You know her?" said the gypsy, staring at 
 the paper doll. 
 
 The ancient wagged his head. "Why, not to
 
 n 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 say know her. But she come here t'other day an' 
 Jean showed her they bills, ah! 'twere a desp'rate 
 lot o' money to be sure. Outstandin' for years. 
 Oh, I'm spryer than I look, sir. I know a deal 
 more'n Jean thinks. But I keep mum I keep 
 mum. 'Twould but vex her if she guessed I were 
 wooritin'." He fumbled for his hanker and fail- 
 ing that, mopped tears from his withered cheeks 
 with a threadbare cuff. "Dear knows what would 
 ha' come of us, wi' that brute Arkinshaw a-clamor- 
 in' for his rent an' makia' sheep's eyes at my Jean! 
 She'd ha' sold herself for us, sir, I know she would 
 the lamb! But praise God, it didn't come to 
 that! No, sir. Miss Forrest paid up. Not all 
 oh dear no, not all, but enough to set us on our feet 
 again. A sweet creature, sir what's that? Who 
 ah, here's Jean." 
 
 The door opened to admit a sallow, dark-eyed 
 girl, flushed with the wind, her hair escaping from 
 her shabby hood, her arms full of bundles. 
 
 When he left, Merodach had learned all she had 
 to tell of Dorothy Forrest.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 SUSPICION 
 
 YOUNG Carew, riding beside Mr. Cava- 
 nagh on the third day of their search, be- 
 came aware that his companion was looking 
 at something which had escaped his notice. Always 
 a humiliating occurrence. 
 
 "What now?" said he, staring over the common 
 in an endeavor to discover the object of the Irish- 
 man's regard. 
 
 Larry drew rein and for an instant sat silent, 
 fondling his mare's neck. "Yonder's Merodach. 
 We'll wait an' see could he be givin' us any news 
 at all." 
 
 "A gypsy!" said Ralph, who had rather be dead 
 than unconventional. 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh glanced at him and hid a grin. 
 "Merodach, the Champion oh, I'd forgot. Ye 
 were not at the fight. He beat Brooke " 
 
 "I believe Sir Julian spoke of it," admitted young 
 Carew, and watched the new-comer's approach. 
 "Gad, a fine animal!" 
 
 Down a little footpath that wandered through the 
 gorse Merodach came swinging and halted a pace 
 or two away, lifting his hand in response to the 
 Irishman's greeting. He wore no hat, his striped
 
 n6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 shirt was open at the throat, and a pair of sinewy 
 brown legs gleamed below his patched breeches. 
 
 "The top o' the mornin' to ye, Merodach !" cried 
 Larry. 
 
 "Good morning to you, sir, I was looking for 
 you," responded Merodach, and glanced inquiringly 
 from one to the other. 
 
 Cavanagh shook his head. "Divil a trace of 
 her. An' have ye fared better?" 
 
 "I gathered some news yesterday." 
 
 Cavanagh caught the other's hesitation. "Oh," 
 said he heartily. "Sure, ye can speak before Mr. 
 Carew. He's after the child, too." 
 
 A smile lit Merodach's dark face. "She's given 
 away the money you collected for her journey." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Tis true. She paid every farthing of it to a 
 creditor a girl who sewed for Lady Forrest, and 
 who was in direst need." 
 
 "Good ged!" ejaculated Cavanagh, and began to 
 laugh. "Good ged! Now if 'tis not Dolly all 
 over, bless her!" 
 
 "Little fool!" cried young Carew. "Why, 
 there's not the faintest claim upon her, what ?" 
 
 "Miss Forrest considered it a debt of honor," 
 said the gypsy. "Jean the semptress told me 
 the whole story. Miss Forrest kept only seven 
 shillings, which were her own. The postilion con- 
 fesses that he drove her back to within sight of 
 the Forrest house, but Baity Griggs declares she 
 never entered it. So "
 
 SUSPICION 117 
 
 "The London coach passes," suggested Ralph. 
 
 "Yes, sir. I thought of that. But seven shil- 
 lings!" 
 
 A silence fell, broken only by the gentle breath 
 of the horses and the scrape of Colleen's impatient 
 hoof upon the turf. 
 
 "Merodach," said Cavanagh at length, "there's 
 more on the tip of the tongue of ye." 
 
 Their eyes met and slowly the color drained 
 from the Irishman's face. "Good ged, man! Not 
 that!" he stammered, and made as if to push some- 
 thing from him. 
 
 "No," replied the gypsy soberly. "I've no reason 
 to believe she's dead, sir. But I fear she went to 
 Mrs. Bradley's " 
 
 "Holy Mother!" whispered Larry, and sat as 
 if turned to stone. 
 
 Merodach remained absently stroking Colleen's 
 nose, and for an instant neither gave a thought to 
 young Carew who fidgeted in his saddle, wishing 
 to heaven they'd be explicit. 
 
 "In a way, 'tis my fault," said the gypsy at length. 
 "I found some half-burnt scraps of a letter below 
 Lady Forrest's table, and like a clever fool I needs 
 must show them to Miss Dorothy. A word or two 
 was readable and she jumped to the conclusion 
 that her mother bade her wait at Mrs. Bradley's. 
 That, was before the journey to Winterbourne be- 
 came possible, and I'd forgot about it. I thought 
 she was off in Sussex I never dreamed she'd 
 go-"
 
 n8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "But how the deuce do you come to be in Miss 
 Forrest's confidence?" said Ralph querulously, 
 
 "Good ged, boy! What the divil does that 
 matter?" cried Cavanagh. "Merodach, dids't the 
 child know that ?" 
 
 "She told me Mrs. Bradley kept a finishing school 
 for the daughters of gentlemen," replied Merodach. 
 
 "Holy Mother!" said Cavanagh again, and burst 
 into hysterical laughter. 
 
 Outraged in every instinct, young Carew watched 
 sulkily while the Irishman mopped the tears from 
 his face. "I might remind you, sir, that you did 
 me the honor to solicit my assistance," said he 
 with superb dignity. "Unless you make me ac- 
 quaint with the facts, I fail to see how I can be 
 of use." 
 
 "Merodach, you tell him," said Larry helplessly. 
 
 In short, cold sentences Merodach laid the facts 
 before Carew and the lad winced as from a shower 
 of icy water. Doubts assailed him. Lady Kirk- 
 patrick's sneering words rose from some corner of 
 his memory and dinned in his ears. "... Yonder's 
 the daughter, out hunting game for her mother's 
 table. Keep out of her clutches. A va'mpire! 
 Nash should forbid her the place! . . ." 
 
 And the girl herself? He saw her flushed like 
 a cottage rose, shielding her cheeks with a gauze 
 fan, denying him with resolute trembling little 
 hands. 
 
 ' . . . I like you too well to have a hand in your 
 undoing. It is all true I I am a decoy. . . ."
 
 SUSPICION 119 
 
 Gad! it was all true! What a blind fool he had 
 been. Her very resistance was a clever bait. Inno- 
 cent? Maybe. But what girl living as she had 
 done could be ignorant ? Well, his eyes were open 
 now. 
 
 Rousing from his absorption, young Carew re- 
 alized that the other two were covertly watching 
 him, glancing at each other. What parts did they 
 play in this tragi-comedy ? What was the girl to 
 them? 
 
 He recalled Cavanagh's visit of condolence. 
 Lud, what was that but a cloak to cover some deep 
 design? The Irishman's smooth tongue had won 
 his sympathy, but what in heaven's name was 
 Cavanagh's reason for inveigling him into the affair ? 
 He recollected that Cavanagh had acknowledged 
 himself a friend of the family, had suggested that 
 he should ride to Dorothy's rescue. Good lord, it 
 was all one infamous plot to ruin him. It behooved 
 him to walk warily, but sure, a fellow who had just 
 returned from visiting all the great capitals of 
 Europe should be a match for a mad Irishman 
 and gypsy vagrant without a coat to his back. 
 
 Young Carew picked up his reins and ignoring 
 Merodach, turned to Cavanagh. 
 
 "My thanks, sir, for enlightening me. I've not 
 yet had time to become acquaint with Bath, but 
 no doubt you know where this house lies? If the 
 young lady's gone there, nothing remains but to 
 fetch her away. I suppose 'tis merely a matter of 
 a letter, warning Miss Forrest of our intent."
 
 120 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "She'd never get it," said Merodach with con- 
 viction. 
 
 Carew looked at him. "You've some knowledge 
 of Mrs. er Bradley's methods, perhaps?" 
 
 Merodach shrugged. "I know she's a dangerous, 
 unscrupulous woman. 'Tis said she goes armed. 
 She's quite capable of shooting the child, if she 
 knew we were trying to get her out. There's a 
 ten- foot wall surrounds the house and a dumb 
 negress keeps the gate. So much is common 
 knowledge. A prison's less difficult to break be- 
 cause we " 
 
 "Really?" Ralph's glance was withering. 
 "Well, shall we meet to-night, and make the at- 
 tempt?" Blissfully unconscious that he had never 
 been nearer a horse-whipping, he gave his back to 
 Merodach and looked at Cavanagh. 
 
 Larry shook his head. "To-morrow at the dawn 
 we'd stand a better chance, eh, Merodach?" 
 
 Merodach dug clenched fists into his breeches 
 pockets for better security, and nodded. 
 
 "Then to-morrow let it be!" cried young Carew. 
 
 A rendezvous was agreed upon and they parted 
 at the edge of the common. Merodach disappeared 
 among a clump of birches : Cavanagh, being bound 
 for the Three Tuns, offered to lead Carew's horse : 
 and Carew walked home to breakfast, engrossed in 
 thought. 
 
 If plots were afoot, he would counter-plot, and 
 he was convinced that he held an advantage, inas-
 
 SUSPICION 121 
 
 much as Cavanagh and the gypsy could have no 
 notion that his suspicions were aroused. They 
 trusted him, and he had the whole day before him 
 in which to devise a plan.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 
 
 WATCHING his opportunity with the tail 
 of one wise eye, the little brown dog 
 turning the spit before the kitchen fire 
 suddenly scuttled out of the wheel, dodged the 
 irate cook and yapping joyously made for the open 
 door and the sunny garden. 
 
 "Oh, drat the animal!" exclaimed Maria. "I 
 forgot to chain him. Here, miss your legs are 
 younger 'n mine. Catch him while I mind the 
 joint." 
 
 Dorothy untied her apron, threw it over her 
 head and ran out, thankful for a moment's respite. 
 Meals were a sacred rite in Mrs. Bradley's house, 
 and she knew that the cook dare not leave the spit 
 to follow her. She was free for ten minutes. 
 
 The little brown dog raced across the formal 
 flower-beds before the house and gambolling over 
 the lawn disappeared among some bushes at the 
 foot of the sloping garden. 
 
 The girl followed leisurely, calling, whistling to 
 give some show of pursuit. Sparks thrust his head 
 through a clump of guelder roses, put out a derisive 
 
 122
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 1 23 
 
 tongue and dived away again, challenging her to 
 catch him. 
 
 Dorothy looked round, made certain that she 
 could not be seen from the house, and sat down 
 upon a log, her chin in her hands, her eyes absently 
 watching the bubbling waters of a little brook that 
 ran across the bottom of the garden and under a 
 low arch in the boundary wall. 
 
 Great limes in all their glory of fresh leaves 
 towered above her: beyond the wall the ground 
 rose steeply, covered with trees and underbrush, 
 until at the crest of the rise the sky showed pale 
 behind the serried trunks. 
 
 Drawing deep breaths of the sweet air, Dorothy 
 sat motionless, conscious only of the restful green- 
 ness of the place, the cooling wind upon her cheeks, 
 flushed from tending : the oven. The chuckling 
 music of the brook lulled her into a half-doze; she 
 stretched lazily, and opening drowsy eyes, caught 
 a glimpse of movement among the trees fringing 
 the top of the bank opposite. 
 
 A horseman, silhouetted against the patches of 
 sky, disappearing as he passed the clustered tree- 
 trunks, came slowly along the brow of the hill 
 and halted to gaze down into the hollow. 
 
 Dorothy's heart missed a beat and then quickened 
 to a rushing tumult. In a frenzy of suspense, of 
 sudden wild hope, of agonizing fear lest he should 
 turn and ride away, she snatched her white apron 
 and waved it desperately. 
 
 A quick turn of the head assured her that she
 
 i2 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 was seen. She waited, breathless, her eyes upon 
 the shadowy figure, hardly visible in the twilight 
 of the beeches. 
 
 Then a twig cracked upon the lawn at her back 
 and she spun round to face Mrs. Bradley, horrific 
 in a scarlet Spanish shawl, her head muffled against 
 the spring breeze, an ebony stick supporting her 
 either hand. 
 
 It seemed incredible that such a mountain of 
 flesh could have approached so silently. 
 
 Mrs. Bradley possessed a vocabulary of which a 
 sergeant of dragoons might have been proud, and 
 now she swore at Dorothy until her breath gave 
 out and she could only stand gasping, impotent, 
 her heavy face congested with dark color. 
 
 The girl remained silent, trembling, white to the 
 lips; sickened by the old woman's revolting pro- 
 fanity; in terror lest she had seen the watcher 
 among the trees. 
 
 "Cook sent me to catch Sparks, ma'am," she said 
 at last. "He got out of the wheel." 
 
 "You don't catch dogs with waving pinners at 
 'em," sneered Mrs. Bradley. "Who'd ye signal 
 to?" 
 
 "Signal?" faltered Dorothy, resolutely keeping 
 her eyes from straying toward the hillside. 
 
 "Ay. Explain." 
 
 "Sparks went into the bushes, ma'am, and I 
 thought to 'tice him out to play and then catch his 
 collar." Ah God! if only she dare to look to see if 
 the man was still there!
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 1 25 
 
 "You lie!" panted Mrs. Bradley, and struck the 
 girl across the shoulders with the stick in her right 
 hand. 
 
 Dorothy shrieked, and out from the bushes darted 
 the little brown dog, barking, snapping, threatening 
 Mrs. Bradley with gleaming teeth and every hair 
 upon his back a-bristle with rage. 
 
 Mrs. Bradley grunted with surprise and disgust, 
 aimed a blow at Sparks and staggered backward 
 beneath the unexpected fury of his attack. He 
 leapt at the scarlet shawl, seized a mouthful of 
 thick fringe and tugged, snarling viciously. Help- 
 less, floundering, unable to keep her balance, Mrs. 
 Bradley toppled over and lay, an unseemly welter 
 of tossing petticoats and thick ankles, struggling 
 to rise. 
 
 Dorothy glanced upward to the hill. The horse- 
 man was nowhere to be seen. Maddened with dis- 
 appointment the girl caught Sparks by the collar, 
 pulled him away, tucked him beneath her arm and 
 stood regarding the wallowings of Mrs. Bradley 
 with a feeling akin to satisfaction. The old woman 
 rolled into a kneeling posture, and gasping, dis- 
 hevelled, held out trembling hands for Dorothy to 
 help her up. 
 
 "If I loose Sparks he'll be at you again, ma'am," 
 says Miss Forrest coolly. 
 
 Mrs. Bradley found breath enough to curse. 
 
 Dorothy shrugged. "I'll put him in his kennel, 
 ma'am, and return," said she, and walked away hug- 
 ging Sparks who grinned and licked her chin.
 
 126 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Before the girl came back with Keren-happuch, 
 iMrs. Bradley had had time to cool down, and suf- 
 fered herself to be hauled to her feet with nothing 
 worse than discordant grunts. 
 
 The negress helped her into the house, and 
 Dorothy returned to the kitchen in a fever of 
 suspense. 
 
 Had the watcher upon the hilltop seen? Would 
 he wait? Was it could it be Mr. Carew? Dare 
 she implore his aid? A fortnight under Mrs. Brad- 
 ley's roof had taught her the dangers of her po- 
 sition. Her appeal might be misconstrued, laughed 
 at. 
 
 In her distraction she broke two plates and the 
 cook boxed her ears, but at length her work was 
 over. She soothed her sore hands in cold well- 
 water, and drying them on her apron went out into 
 the yard to give Sparks his supper. 
 
 The little dog, suffering from an attack of con- 
 science, had taken up a strategic position at the back 
 of his kennel, and no amount of flattery would 
 coax him out; so Dorothy left him a platter of 
 bones, and keeping in the shadow of the tall box 
 hedges, reached the kitchen gardens. Here she 
 crept to the back of the cabbage beds where a row 
 of old currant bushes stood close to the boundary 
 wall, and hidden behind these she made the best 
 of her way to the brook side, breathless, eager, 
 smothering a dread that he might not be there. 
 
 The glow of the setting sun still lingered in the 
 west ; a faintly green sky flecked with golden clouds
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 127 
 
 shone behind the hilltop: but beneath the beeches 
 a dim twilight hid everything and any one who 
 might be lurking in their shade. 
 
 For a long moment the girl peered upward into 
 the woodland, her breath catching in a little, audible 
 sob of disappointment: and then from the guelder 
 bushes where Sparks had hidden, a man rose and 
 strode toward her. 
 
 She knew him before he was near enough for her 
 to see his face in the green dusk. 
 
 "You !" said she, backing, her hands at her throat. 
 
 The twilight of the trees turned her gold hair to 
 silver, her face glimmered pale as a pearl : he caught 
 both her hands in one of his and held her close. 
 
 "Did that beldame hurt you?" said young Carew, 
 and bent his head to kiss her. 
 
 Dorothy hid her face in the lace of his cravat, 
 trembling, relaxing in the blessed sense of protection. 
 
 "Gad, had I been within range I'd have shot the 
 old hag, but my pistols don't carry so far." 
 
 "Were you watching, then?" murmured the girl. 
 
 "O lud! I turned my eyes away when she fell 
 over! 'Twas no spectacle for a modest bachelor! 
 Did the dog bite her, sweetheart? I prayed for it. 
 Come smile, or I shall think you're not glad to 
 see me." 
 
 He coaxed her into some degree of calm, spread 
 his cloak upon the log and sat beside her, talking 
 until she had recovered command of herself. 
 
 Then : "How did you find me ?" asked Dorothy. 
 
 "Oh, 'tis a long story too long for to-night.
 
 128 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 I've been riding out in search of you for days past, 
 and then, from the top of the bank yonder I saw 
 you wave your apron." 
 
 "You knew me?" said the girl happily, and waited 
 for no assent, so sure was she of his reply. "But 
 I, I dared not hope 'twas you!" 
 
 Laughing, he reached for her, 'but she rose 
 suddenly. 
 
 "I I'd forgot. I must explain my my pres- 
 ence here in this house. I O, Mr. Carew 
 you must believe I implore you to believe that I 
 came innocently. Ah God, had I known I " 
 
 "You distress yourself needlessly," began Ralph, 
 getting to his feet in some dismay. He had not 
 thought that she would weep: it was deranging his 
 carefully considered plans. Gad, there was no tell- 
 ing what a woman would do. He had taken for 
 granted that she would be overjoyed to see him: 
 their meeting was to have been all laughter and 
 pretty fooling, and here she was, putting him out. 
 
 "O heaven ! You do believe me ?" She clutched 
 him by the shoulders and stared up into his eyes, 
 stammering in an incoherent torrent of words. "I 
 swear to you I knew nothing of this house noth- 
 ing! But for the negress I should she tried to 
 keep me from entering, she thought Oh, don't 
 laugh at me ! She thought I was a saint. My hair 
 she loved my hair she explained afterward, in 
 dumb show. She has no tongue. The others 
 are afraid of her but she she loves me, and she 
 saved O lud, how can I tell you ? I I became
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 129 
 
 scullery-maid. The the alternative that Mrs. 
 Bradley offered was unthinkable. I O God, 
 you do believe me? Say that you do! Say it 
 say it !" She tried to shake him, beside herself with 
 terror lest he misjudge her. 
 
 "Dear," said Ralph, soothing her. "If I did not, 
 should I be here?" 
 
 With a stifled cry Dorothy abandoned herself 
 to his embrace. "Keren has the key of the door 
 in the wall," she sobbed. "There is no other. If 
 I'd escape that way, she would have suffered, and 
 I couldn't climb the wall. And even even had I 
 got out, where was I to go coming from such a 
 place?" 
 
 "Hush, hush! I understand," murmured young 
 Carew. 
 
 She lay in his arms passively, submitting, but 
 not responding to his lips, and when after a while 
 she released herself he let her go unwillingly. She 
 stood smiling faintly at his ardor, her hands busy 
 with her tumbled hair. 
 
 "I shall bring a chaise and pair to-night," de- 
 clared young Carew, carried away by his own elo- 
 quence, almost persuaded that he meant honorably, 
 forgetting Cavanagh's conspiracy in the intoxica- 
 tion of her consent. "Is there a ladder here?" 
 
 "The gardener keeps one yonder in the tool-shed. 
 But 'tis locked up," she told him. "Where will you 
 take me?" 
 
 "Where you will, sweetheart!" Locked doors 
 were nothing to a determined lover.
 
 i 3 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "To Winterbourne, then. To my cousin's," 
 whispered Dorothy, and slid her arms about his neck. 
 "Until until we are wed." 
 
 The word brought Ralph to earth. It was one 
 thing to rescue a young girl from the clutches of 
 an ogress such as the Bradley, but quite another 
 to present her to a curious world as his wife. He 
 remembered his suspicions of the morning; Cava- 
 nagh's covert glances with the gypsy. Gad, it was 
 all of a piece. The little hussy was acting. The 
 very fact that she could laugh at him with the tears 
 still shining on her cheeks convinced him that she 
 did play a part. 
 
 He must keep his head: kisses made his senses 
 swim : he must be cool. Yet it seemed folly not to 
 kiss her while she still believed in him. 
 
 He tore himself away at last, vowing to return 
 within two hours, and Dorothy stole up to her 
 room and packed her few possessions with trem- 
 bling fingers, wondering how he had discovered her, 
 and yet too happy to harass herself with definite 
 questions. There would be time and to spare dur- 
 ing their journey into Sussex. He had promised 
 to ride with her in the chaise and set all her vague 
 doubts at rest. 
 
 She waited until the weary cook had passed her 
 door on the way to her room, and then carrying 
 valise and shoes, crept softly down to the hall. The 
 tinkle of a spinet and a girl's voice singing was 
 almost drowned by the clatter of glass and china 
 which came from the oak room.
 
 THE WATCHER ON THE HILL 131 
 
 Mrs. Bradley entertained. 
 
 Dreading lest she should come suddenly upon her, 
 Dorothy paused in the porch, where, a lantern at 
 her feet, the negress sat dozing. 
 
 "My betrothed is coming for me, Keren," whis- 
 pered the girl, her arms around the woman's neck, 
 her lips against the dusky ear. "No blame can 
 fall on you, for he's reared the ladder against the 
 wall by the brook. I shall go that way. God bless 
 you, Keren! Good-by!" She slipped one of her 
 few precious coins into Keren's palm. 
 
 The negress hugged her joyously, kissed her 
 hands, and watched until she vanished in the moon- 
 lit garden. 
 
 Young Carew was waiting at the foot of the lad- 
 der.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 LURCHED 
 
 TO Mr. Cavanagh, expectant at the rendez- 
 vous, came Merodach, footsore, breathless, 
 splashed with mud from hair to heel. 
 
 "Good ged !" Larry leaned forward to peer into 
 the gypsy's face. "What ails ye, man? What's 
 happened?" 
 
 For an instant Merodach clung to the saddle- 
 bow and rested his head against Colleen's satin 
 shoulder, fighting for breath. 
 
 "Young Carew's run off wi' her " he panted 
 at length. "Come to my camp. I must have wa- 
 ter." 
 
 Cavanagh insisted that Merodach should ride, and 
 the gypsy clambered to the saddle and sat propping 
 himself with his hands upon the mare's withers, his 
 chin upon his breast, dead-beat, dejected. 
 
 They turned from the road across a patch of turf 
 dotted with gorse bushes, and halted at length in 
 a copse of lady birches beside a trickling brook. A 
 pale radiance stole into the eastern sky, a thrush 
 began to chirp drowsily from the thicket, and from 
 the earth arose that faint murmur as of a sleeper 
 awakening, that always heralds the dawn. 
 
 132
 
 LURCHED 133 
 
 Racked with anxiety, Cavanagh tethered the mare; 
 lifted a square of turf from the smoldering fire, 
 and putting on some dry wood, spread his cloak 
 upon a heap of cut heather and sat waiting silently 
 until Merodach was able to talk. 
 
 The gypsy drank and washed his hands and feet, 
 and presently dropped full length upon the turf, 
 turning his face from the glow of the fire. 
 
 "I mistrusted young Carew," he said, as Cava- 
 nagh began a string of questions. "Did you mark 
 how he fell silent when I told him of Mrs. Brad- 
 ley? He thinks us in league with her. O lud> sir, 
 I know the type! He conceives himself a man o' 
 the world, a shrewd fellow. Always suspicious of 
 being fooled, he fools himself. He discovers insult 
 where no offense is meant. He scents intrigue 
 where nothing is further from the truth. Gad, I 
 can read Ralph Carew!" 
 
 "But what the devil's happened?" cried Larry. 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 "She's gone off with him in a chaise and pair. 
 You see, sir, I'd an idea Mr. Carew meant to play 
 us false, and if he did 'twould be before dawn. I 
 slept here until nightfall and then hid in some bushes 
 half-way down a bank that overlooks the Bradley's 
 garden. He must have seen Miss Forrest,, some- 
 how, during the day, for the chaise hadn't been wait- 
 ing five minutes when she came down the lawn. He 
 climbed from the chaise roof to the top o' the wall 
 and a ladder was ready on t'other side." Merodach 
 smiled bitterly at the dejected Irishman. "We're
 
 i 3 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 lurched, sir, sure enough. Carew knew we'd not 
 move before the dawn." 
 
 Cavanagh swore. Merodach bit into a hunk of 
 bread and cheese. 
 
 In the east the sky flushed rosily and a lark shot 
 up from the wet grass, singing his way into the 
 blue. 
 
 "They took the road to Devizes," said the gypsy, 
 pondering. "I followed the chaise for a matter of 
 five miles, to make sure." 
 
 "Devizes? Good ged, and don't the lad mean to 
 take her to Winterbourne?" cried Cavanagh, sud- 
 denly jubilant. "Faith, 'tis but a boy's love of he- 
 roics. He'll carry off the imprisoned princess while 
 we sit discussin' the way we'd be doin' it! Sure, 
 he'll be back crowin' over us before he's had time 
 to get there, the rascal !" 
 
 "You may be right, sir," admitted Merodach. 
 "But Devizes might mean London. I'll keep an 
 eye on 'em, I think." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 The gypsy nodded. "I know every inch o' the 
 country. I can borrow a horse no, not Colleen, 
 thank'ee, sir. Mr. Carew'd remember her. I'll go 
 disguised, and catch 'em before nightfall. I'll write 
 you " He broke off, laughing at the Irishman's 
 astonished face. "O lud, yes. I can write. You 
 shall have news of me within the week." 
 
 " 'Tis hankerin' I am to come with ye," said 
 Larry wistfully. 
 
 "I know, sir. But she'll be safe with me. And
 
 LURCHED 135 
 
 you'd be recognized the minute you opened your 
 mouth." 
 
 "Good ged!" laughed Larry. "I suppose that's 
 the truth. But -why not follow openly?" 
 
 "Because we're more like to learn Mr. Ralph's 
 intentions if he don't suspect he's watched." 
 
 Cavanagh nodded soberly. "An' I trusted the 
 lad! Well, I'll kick me heels in Bath awhile, an' 
 keep an ear cocked for news. And Merodach, ye'll 
 need money." 
 
 "Thanks, sir. No," said Merodach. He got to 
 his feet, trampled out the fire, poured water on 
 the ashes and hid a frying-pan and some dried wood 
 beneath a heap of last year's bracken. 
 
 Cavanagh watched him intently. "Ye're an 
 enigma, Merodach, me boy," said he at length. 
 "I'm wonderin' who the devil ye are." 
 
 The gypsy laughed. "Gad, one who can keep his 
 own counsel is a rarity in this gossip-market!" 
 
 "I confess I'm curious!" 
 
 "In that you're with the majority," returned 
 'Merodach, twinkling. "Some day, sir, like the he- 
 roes of the novels, I will sit down and tell you 
 the story of my life. But to-night" he glanced 
 at the brightening sky "to-day, time presses."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AT THE SIGN OF THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 
 
 IT falls to few of us to have our dreams come 
 true, and even our dearest wishes, realized, 
 never approach the glory of imagination. 
 
 Probably Eve's apple was a crab, or she would 
 have finished it herself and gathered another for 
 Adam. 
 
 At nineteen an elopement with a declared adorer 
 seems the summit of desire. Merely to elope: to 
 scurry, trembling, down a moonlit garden: to be 
 caught in strong young arms and kissed breath- 
 less: to climb a ladder and be lifted in delicious 
 peril from the roof of a waiting chaise: to lie 
 against a warm shoulder and listen to divinely 
 preposterous vows: merely to elope! 
 
 Dorothy had dreamed of it since she was old 
 enough to read, but dreaming youth never looks 
 far ahead. Sufficient unto the hour is the bliss 
 thereof. 
 
 The very act of eloping was a delirious joy: the 
 one thing lacking was a furious parent in pursuit. 
 They had escaped almost too easily. Dorothy 
 sighed and wriggled into a more comfortable posi- 
 tion: Ralph wedged himself with foot and elbow 
 to resist the capricious joltings of the chaise; and 
 
 136
 
 THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 137 
 
 glanced at the sky above the tree-tops, dark, in- 
 tensely blue, powdered with a myriad stars. 
 
 Gad, what a night! He thought of Cavanagh 
 and Merodach awaiting him at the rendezvous, and 
 chuckled. 
 
 "What is it?" murmured Dorothy. "I was al- 
 most asleep." 
 
 Instead of replying he kissed her, sublimely un- 
 conscious of a footsore gypsy, watching their flight 
 from the top of a rise. 
 
 So did Dorothy elope, content to live from one 
 heartbeat to the next; supremely happy; never 
 doubting the gallant who sat beside her, whispering 
 extravagant professions of affection, fugitive vows, 
 that for the moment convinced them both. And 
 for both the moment was all that mattered. There 
 was no past, no future, nothing but the dark chaise 
 and the stars, and the ineffable wonder of young 
 love. 
 
 The moon set, the stars faded one by one, a bird 
 fluffed out his feathers, chirped a tentative note or 
 two, and gaining no reply tucked head under wing 
 again for another nap. 
 
 Slowly the east brightened : a rosy glow heralded 
 the sun: gold, green, and crimson flared across the 
 sky like welcoming banners in the path of a con- 
 queror. Drowsily the earth cast off her misty veils 
 of gray and purple, and with a faint sound of wings 
 awoke at the bidding of another day. The heavens 
 were all a-thrill with soaring larks before the sun 
 rose above the dim horizon.
 
 I 3 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Breathless with delight Dorothy sat forward and 
 watched the sky, the long shadows on the dew-gray 
 fields, the color that crept into tree and hedgerow 
 until all the world glowed vivid green. Never in 
 all her life had she seen anything so glorious as the 
 dawn. 
 
 The sight of the postilion, hunched in his saddle, 
 sagging wearily to the movement of his horse, 
 brought her to earth. The fellow was dog-tired. 
 
 "Ralph," said she, laying a hand on his inert 
 shoulder, "Ralph, we must rest somewhere. The 
 boy's exhausted." 
 
 "Wha'?" muttered young Carew, smothering a 
 yawn. "Demmit, was I asleep? What now?" 
 
 "The postilion," urged Dorothy. "Look, he's 
 tired out. Tell him to stop and rest a while, there's 
 no such haste." 
 
 "Gad, he must make shift until we come to an 
 inn." Carew leaned from the window. "Where's 
 the next post-house, boy ?" 
 
 The lad jerked upright and turned dazed eyes 
 upon his employer. "Anon, sir?" 
 
 Ralph repeated his question and the postilion 
 stood in his stirrups to look over the hedge. 
 
 " 'Cod, sir, I don't rightly know where we be. I 
 must ha' dozed off, your honor, an 'took a wrong 
 turn. That'll be Wedhampton yonder. We can 
 take a by-road. Only a quarter-hour's ride, sir." 
 He touched his horses with his whip and they 
 moved off again, while Carew threw himself back 
 into his seat in a most unromantic temper.
 
 THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 139 
 
 "Young fool!" said he. "He should have kept 
 awake. What's he paid for? Now heaven only 
 knows when we'll breakfast." 
 
 Sighing a little as her dreams faded, Dorothy 
 reached for her valise and unpacked a flask of wine 
 and some cake. The glamorous night was over : in 
 the cold light of day her lover looked sulky and a 
 little dishevelled: his wig askew, his lace cravat 
 under one ear. He laughed at her idea of a meal, 
 not appreciating the difficulty she had had to secure 
 even so much as wine and cake: but he ate raven- 
 ously and was unaware that they drank from the 
 same flask. 
 
 Dorothy had sense enough to hide her disap- 
 pointment, and denied that she was hungry; but 
 when half an hour later they drew up at a quiet inn 
 she retired above-stairs, drank a dish of tea, and 
 lying down fully dressed slept until noon; leaving 
 young Carew to lounge and yawn on the settle 
 before the tap-room fire. 
 
 Dinner over, they started again with fresh horses, 
 the post-boy surreptitiously picking straws from his 
 clothing as he rode : and so by easy stages came 
 at nightfall to a straggling village; and jogging 
 through a herd of sleepy cows, halted under the 
 sign of the Goat and Compasses, Benjamin Foster, 
 Entertainment for Man and Beast. 
 
 Foster himself bustled out and held the chaise door 
 as young Carew descended. 
 
 "You have rooms?" inquired Ralph. 
 
 "Certainly, sir."
 
 i 4 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Then serve supper as soon as maybe." 
 
 "Certainly, sir. What would her ladyship be 
 pleased to fancy? Stewed carp with fried smelts. 
 A green goose, or lamb roasted with " 
 
 "O lud! Country fare, with a vengeance!" 
 
 "I adore country fare!" said Miss Forrest, smil- 
 ing upon the landlord to that old fellow's instant 
 subjection. "Sir, your arm." 
 
 Young Carew offered his wrist : an ostler ran up 
 and dragged out the baggage, and the host led the 
 way indoors, pausing in the hall to call a chamber- 
 maid. 
 
 "Show the White Roe, Bess," said he. "Madam, 
 will you walk upstairs? Sir, the coffee-room " 
 He threw open the door. "Can I fetch your honor 
 anything? A glass of canary?" 
 
 Young Carew entered, discovered a gentleman in 
 black dozing upon two chairs, and turned irrita- 
 bly. 
 
 "I prefer a private room," he began. 
 
 The landlord was apologetic. There was no other 
 room. "Sure, sir, the Spanish gentleman " 
 
 The figure upon the hearth yawned, sat upright, 
 and scowled over his shoulder. "Dios me guarde!" 
 said he. "I desired to be alone, fellow." 
 
 The landlord craved their honors' pardons. 
 There was no other room. He trusted 
 
 The Spaniard flicked impatient fingers. "Enough. 
 Give him fresh horses. The next inn will suit him 
 better than this."
 
 <f O sir, there's a lady," stammered Foster, con- 
 cerned at the prospect of losing custom. 
 
 At that the man in black rose and bowed with a 
 magnificence young Carew strove in vain to imitate. 
 
 "Senor," said he with grave courtesy, "we have 
 a proverb in Spain 'The best right is the oldest 
 possession.' This room is mine, but you will honor 
 me by becoming my guests. Sirrah, serve the sup- 
 per I ordered, and lay covers for three." 
 
 "Sir, you overwhelm me," began Ralph, a little 
 awed by the assurance of the other's manner. Here 
 doubtless was some great man, accustomed to un- 
 questioning obedience. 
 
 "El diablo! 'Tis nought. Will you sit, senor? 
 And landlord, a bottle of Oporto." 
 
 Relieved and beaming, Foster hurried out; and 
 young Carew, throwing hat and cloak aside, crossed 
 to the wide hearth and took the chair the Spaniard 
 offered. 
 
 "I fear to discommode you sir," he began, rest- 
 less under the other's flow of compliment. 
 
 "Por dios, senor, no! I expected rustics, clod- 
 hoppers. Egad, senor, wine loses half its flavor 
 when drunk alone and without a toast. You and 
 your wife are more than welcome!" He rose with 
 lithe grace as a maid carried in glasses and a cob- 
 webbed bottle. "You've not shaken it, my dear?" 
 
 "O la, sir, no !" she giggled. 
 
 "The corkscrew? Ha! A mala cama es bueno 
 colchon de vino!"^,H.e glanced at young Carew.
 
 i 4 2 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "You speak my language, seiior? No? Ah, then 
 must I translate. Your glass. Sir, to you ! Heaven 
 knows how we shall sleep to-night and 'wine 
 makes a good cover for a bad bed !' ' He threw 
 back his head and laughed, refilling Ralph's glass. 
 "Gad, this cursed English climate chills my very 
 bones!" 
 
 "Yet 'tis said 'tis the climate makes us what we 
 are," quoth young Carew complacently. 
 
 "Indeed, senor? You have my sympathies!" 
 He shivered and held out brown, heavily ringed 
 hands to the blaze. 
 
 "You travel alone, sir?" said Ralph, wondering 
 if he should venture to warn this stranger that so 
 much jewelry invited attack. 
 
 "At present, yes. 'Tis my whim. English flunk- 
 ies bore me, and my own man had the audacity to 
 fall sick in el diablo what was the name of the 
 place? Chick shist ah, Chickchester." 
 
 "Unfortunate!" agreed young Carew. "And 
 what of the roads, sir?" 
 
 The Spaniard shrugged. "Roads? You call 
 them roads? Bad enough for a horseman. Al- 
 most impossible for a chaise." 
 
 "Demmit," says Ralph, savoring his wine. "And 
 I'm in haste." 
 
 "You are for Chickchester, senor? Then 
 avoid " 
 
 "No. We travel to London." 
 
 "Ah! Madam goes to court, doubtless. Senor, 
 the bottle's with you."
 
 THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 143 
 
 The maid knocked and entered to superintend the 
 laying of supper, and young Carew excused him- 
 self and went above-stairs to make a toilet. He 
 found Miss Forrest at the dresser, brushing her 
 hair. 
 
 "Who's there?" she cried as the door opened ; and 
 catching sight of Carew in the mirror, turned, 
 blushing rosily. "Oh, 'tis you, Ralph. Did you 
 miss your way?" 
 
 "There's a stranger below," said he, ignoring 
 her question. "A Spaniard. I distrust these for- 
 eigners. D'you mind supping alone?" 
 
 "Here?" said she, astonished. 
 
 "Yes. I'm sorry, but there's no private room, 
 and the fellow's drinking like a fish. 'Twill be 
 more comfortable for you, Doll. 'Tis disappoint- 
 ing but d'ye mind?" He pulled her up to him 
 and kissed her. "I'll come up later. Gad, what 
 hair ! -D'ye know you're a beauty, Doll ?" 
 
 She dimpled. "O lud, what woman considers 
 herself plain? Loose me, Ralph some one " 
 
 "Oh, I told the landlord to send up your sup- 
 per," said he, and as the chambermaid entered with 
 a tray, he strolled over to the window. 
 
 "Hello? A gallery?" 
 
 Miss Forrest nodded a dismissal to the servant. 
 
 "Yes. The other rooms along this wing open on 
 to it. Bess the maid told me they've been adding 
 to the house. That's the courtyard below. The 
 stables are on t'other side, and that archway leads 
 into the road."
 
 144 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Ralph looked at her curiously. "You've been 
 making inquiries. Why?" 
 
 "O la!" cried Dorothy, laughing a little shame- 
 facedly. " Tis more more romantic. Look! If 
 we were pursued if we had to escape from the 
 house 'twere easy to climb through this window on 
 to the gallery and run down the stair into the court 
 and so to the stables. Oh, I know we are safe 
 but an elopement " 
 
 "Gad, what a little fantastic it is!" laughed 
 Ralph, an arm about her. "Safe? Of course 
 you're safe! Who's to pursue us?" 
 
 Sudden loneliness whelmed her : she clung to him 
 and bit her lip. "No one, Ralph. None cares 
 two straws what becomes of me. None but you. 
 I almost could wish I'd a curmudgeon of a 
 guardian." 
 
 "Take my word for it, sweet, 'tis vastly more 
 comfortable lacking one ! Interfering old creatures, 
 for ever urging a man to to do this or that. Well, 
 supper waits. Lend me your comb." 
 
 " 'Tis monstrous indelicate before we are wed," 
 faltered the girl as he took off his wig to smooth 
 it, and flicked the dust from his shoulders with her 
 brush. 
 
 "Nonsense !" laughed Ralph. "Don't be squeam- 
 ish! Have I to ask permission of the church to 
 kiss you?" He glanced in the mirror, shot his 
 ruffles, and hurried off. 
 
 Dorothy sighed. He had not kissed her. Had 
 her prudery rebuffed him? A Spaniard below-
 
 THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 145 
 
 stairs? It would have been prodigious intriguing 
 to meet a Spaniard. Dark as a gypsy, doubtless: 
 mysterious, fascinating. She wished Ralph had let 
 her eat with them. Was he jealous? Was he 
 ashamed of her? It was annoying to be shut up 
 here like a child in a nursery. Almost she resolved 
 to brave his displeasure and go down. 
 
 She went to the table and lifted the covers: a 
 plateful of roast goose and greens. She loathed 
 greens. Stewed fish, rapidly cooling. They had 
 not even the decency to keep one plate until she 
 had eaten the first course. Flushing angrily she 
 looked about her for a bell ; and found none. It was 
 humiliating to be so treated. She should have been 
 offered a choice of food: attended while she ate. 
 Carew was altogether too domineering. She must 
 teach him his manners. 
 
 A flushed, imperious maid confronted her in the 
 oval mirror; she touched her hair, pulled out the 
 crushed laces at her breast, her heart quickening 
 with excitement and indignation. 
 
 She swept to the door. Just so would she sail 
 down to sup with the Spaniard. Lud, she might 
 even flirt a little to punish Carew, the presumptuous 
 popinjay. She would 
 
 Her hand fell on the latch. The door was locked 
 from the outside. 
 
 Don Carlos received Ralph's apologies with an 
 amazed hauteur that rather alarmed the younger 
 man. Madam refused his invitation? Impossible! 
 She must have misunderstood.
 
 i 4 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Carew was desolated, but in fact, Madam was 
 excessively tired and in no state to meet so dis- 
 tinguished a traveler as the gentleman from Spain. 
 
 Supper began in an atmosphere of frigid polite- 
 ness, but with the wine and walnuts Don Carlos 
 relaxed a little; eyeing young Carew from the 
 shadows of his black wig; leaning languidly in his 
 tilted chair; his hand continually reaching for the 
 bottle. But though he drank little he saw that his 
 guest's glass was never empty. 
 
 Ralph considered him a very good fellow and re- 
 called some of his European adventures that made 
 the Spaniard chuckle and slap his knee. 
 
 "There was a little girl in Berlin," says Ralph 
 fatuously. "A sweet jade, but too plump and 
 silent! Faith, she kept her mouth that shut you'd 
 be sworn her teeth fitted ill. But no! I made her 
 show me one day. All her own and white as milk." 
 
 "In a silent woman," returned the Spaniard sen- 
 tentiously. "In a silent woman there is either in- 
 effable goodness, or the devil's own wiles !" 
 
 "Gad, that's true!" Young Carew found his 
 glass brimming and drank carefully. The wine was 
 too good to spill, a heady wine, full flavored. He 
 hardly remembered to have tasted such before. Odd, 
 to find a vintage in an out o' the way spot like this ! 
 He finished his glass. "That's true," he repeated 
 owlishly. "They're deep, deuced deep!" 
 
 "A man of your experience should be ha 
 safe." Don Carlos heaved a sigh. "Now I was 
 brought up rustically."
 
 THE GOAT AND COMPASSES 147 
 
 "You astound me, sir!" exclaims Ralph. 
 
 " 'Tis true. A boyhood passed among our vine- 
 yards, tied as you say to a woman's apron-string 
 oh, 'tis the damnedest dull dog's life! Me, I fall 
 victim to every single woman I meet, and some 
 helas! who are not single. Senor, you drink 
 nothing." He refilled Ralph's glass. "You did 
 well to keep your wife above-stairs! Well for me, 
 that is!" He laughed tipsily. "I make no doubt 
 she's a paragon of all the virtues, hey? O la, laf 
 These English women, all ice!" 
 
 Young Carew chuckled. "Oh, as to that, sir, you 
 mistake. We are, in fact, eloping. Miss an't wed 
 yet, though she thinks to be, to-morrow." 
 
 "Ah! Manana, manana! Es eterna duration la 
 de aquesta tu manana! So you're for London, 
 senor? A three days' journey " 
 
 " 'Twill serve my turn," said young Carew 
 thickly, made to rise, and subsided again into his 
 seat. "Rat me!" he hiccoughed. "This wine o* 
 yours, sir, m monstrous heady!" 
 
 "You find it so?" Don Carlos rose in some con- 
 cern. "Let me give you an arm, senor." He 
 pulled the young fellow to his feet and steadied him 
 a moment. "Now, shall we advance? Where lies 
 your room?" 
 
 "The the Whi' Roe," chuckled Ralph, lurch- 
 ing forward. "Mos' 'propriate. Upstairs, first 
 on righ'. Got key somewhere, he, he! Made sure 
 of her!" He halted at the head of the stair to 
 fumble in a waistcoat pocket, and the key dropped
 
 i 4 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 from his shaking fingers to the polished floor. 
 
 Don Carlos swooped upon it, and rising, shot 
 out his left fist and caught young Carew beneath 
 the ear. The lad went down like an ox and lay 
 as one dead. 
 
 Don Carlos bent above him for an instant, lis- 
 tened at the head of the stairs; and then fitting the 
 key into the painted door of the White Roe, opened 
 it, entered swiftly, and locked it behind him.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ALARUMS 
 
 MISS FORREST was in tears upon the bed 
 and sat up startled, clutching at her dis- 
 ordered dress. 
 
 The candles on the dresser showed her, motion- 
 less against the door, a tall figure all in black : black 
 cloak, black riding boots buckled with steel, straight 
 black brows, black curls falling closely about a 
 swarthy face. 
 
 A shriek died in her throat; she stared, marvel- 
 ing that his eyes were shut. 
 
 "Child," said the Spaniard, smiling, "are ye 
 abed?" 
 
 "N-no!" gasped Dorothy. 
 
 He opened laughing dark eyes and swept the 
 heavy wig from his head. 
 
 "Merodach!" she cried, and slid to the floor, 
 pattering over to him in silk-clad feet. "Merodach ? 
 I thought you " 
 
 "So did Mr. Carew !" said Merodach. "My dis- 
 guise is a good one. Quick, on with your cloak 
 your shoes " He strode to the window. 
 "We've no time to spare. Carew'll recover con- 
 sciousness, and " 
 
 "You've fought?" 
 
 149
 
 i 5 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Gad, no, child," he soothed her. "I floored 
 him as I floored Barty Griggs as I'd floor any 
 man who meant you ill " 
 
 "111 ?" she cried. "Mr. Carew means no ill, what 
 d'you ?" 
 
 "Zoons, there's no time for explanation." 
 
 "You must explain," insisted the girl. "I eloped 
 with him. Why should I leave him now?" 
 
 For an instant Merodach hesitated. "Where was 
 he taking you?" he said at length. 
 
 "Where ? To Winterbourne, to my cousin's, un- 
 til we could be wed." 
 
 "He lied," said Merodach, and as she cried out 
 indignantly, "Child, you must trust me. 'Fore 
 God I'll tell you all when we're safe out o' this. 
 He may recover at any minute, and I'd not will- 
 ingly fight him. Come, your cloak O lud, you 
 will have it? I tell you he boasted to me that he 
 was taking you to London, and he laughed at the 
 idea of marriage, and he had the key of your 
 door." 
 
 "O God!" sobbed Dorothy, dry-eyed, swaying 
 under the blow. "Is this true ?" 
 
 "I swear it. I stunned him as he tried to fit 
 the key in the lock. He lies just outside shall 
 I show you?" 
 
 "No!" cried the girl, distractedly fumbling with 
 her shoes. "No, I'll believe you, Merodach. What 
 shall I do?" 
 
 "Come with me to Winterbourne." 
 
 Sobbing, trembling, she suffered herself to be
 
 ALARUMS 151 
 
 lifted to the window-sill, and huddled upon the 
 broad ledge, waited while the gypsy dropped her 
 bag on to the gallery and climbed out. It was all 
 he could do to squeeze through the square opening. 
 She followed; was set upon her feet and led down 
 the outer stair into the courtyard. The chaise was 
 standing beneath the dark archway. 
 
 Merodach hurried into it, made her sit upon the 
 floor and covered her with the traveling rugs. Then 
 he crossed to the stables and knocked upon the 
 half -open door. 
 
 An ostler sat up among a litter of straw, rubbing 
 dazed eyes. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Carew's post-boy?" asked Mero- 
 dach, leaning forward into the dark stable. 
 
 "Asleep in the loft, sir. He's dead beat." 
 
 "Don't waken him. Put fresh horses into the 
 chaise. A guinea if you're quick and quiet." 
 
 Accustomed to the vagaries of carriage-folk, the 
 lad obeyed without question. 
 
 Merodach went back to Dorothy. "Give me one 
 of your slippers," said he. "Have you an old one 
 you can spare? Good. Can you find it?" He 
 opened her valise upon the seat, and kneeling, she 
 dug out a pink satin slipper, high-heeled, dainty. 
 
 He stood regarding it for an instant with a whim- 
 sical smile. "This is the oldest you have, child?" 
 
 "Indeed, yes. 'Tis near worn through. I'll not 
 need it." 
 
 "No," said he a little grimly. "You'll not need 
 it." He went out under the archway and em-
 
 i 5 2 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 bedded it in the mud of the road. Then, hidden 
 in the shadows, he stripped off cloak, coat and 
 breeches, and stood clad in the shabby brown clothes 
 he habitually wore. Rolling the wig in the dis- 
 guise he tossed the bundle into the hay-mow above 
 the arch, hid his jewels in a belt beneath his shirt, 
 and from the roof of the chaise took the postilion's 
 whip and cap. 
 
 The ostler ran out leading a horse in either hand. 
 
 "Have you a good memory, boy?" asked Mero- 
 dach, buckling the off traces. 
 
 Tom Ostler caught the clink of coins. "That's 
 as mebbe, sir," said he, grinning. 
 
 "Then let this drown it! You've been asleep in 
 your stable since supper-time." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 "You saw nothing and heard nothing." 
 
 "Not me, y'r honor! Thank'ee sir. Yes, I do 
 sleep uncommon heavy, to be sure." He led the 
 chaise out into the highway; watched with profes- 
 sional appreciation as Merodach looked his horses 
 over and got to saddle; and stood for a moment 
 polishing the gold in his hand before he buttoned 
 it into a pocket. Then, the road being empty, he 
 stooped to examine something in the mud, swore 
 beneath his breath, and returned chuckling to his 
 bed in the straw. 
 
 "Ecod," said he. "Here's a pretty go !" 
 
 The chambermaid, remembering madam's supper 
 tray, ran upstairs to fetch it, and discovered Mr.
 
 ALARUMS 153 
 
 Carew prone upon the door-sill of the White Roe, 
 and bleeding from a scratch upon the temple. 
 
 Her cries brought the landlord, and between them 
 they revived the unconscious gallant and helped him 
 into an unoccupied bedroom across the landing. 
 
 "Wha wha's happened?" said he, fingering his 
 jaw; staring at a spot of blood upon his coat. 
 
 "Why, sir, Bess found ye a-layin' full length as 
 it might be dead. It scared her proper." Foster 
 handed a sponge. "I take it the wine got into your 
 head, sir, an' ye fell an' cut yersel' agen the door- 
 frame like." 
 
 Ralph grunted, feeling meanwhile in his pocket. 
 "Where the deuce is that where's my wife?" 
 
 Bess offered to fetch her ; went to the White Roe, 
 found the door fast; bent to call through the key- 
 hole and saw that the key was in the lock. 
 
 "Madam's locked her door," says she, return- 
 ing. 
 
 "Demme!" muttered Ralph. "That's odd! I 
 could ha' sworn I had the key." He got to his feet 
 and pulled himself together. This must be looked 
 into. He perfectly remembered locking Doll's door 
 before he went to sup with the Spaniard. Vaguely 
 he remembered that affable stranger had armed him 
 up the stair. What followed ? 
 
 "Well," said he, ruminating. "She must be 
 asleep. I can get into the room from the gallery." 
 
 Dogged by the innkeeper and the intrigued maid 
 he went below into the court, and up the outer stair-
 
 i 5 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 case to the gallery. The end window gaped blackly. 
 
 "This should be the room," he said, peering. 
 " 'Tis devilish awkward. My shoulders " 
 
 Foster touched him. "Let me climb in, sir. I'm 
 smaller nor you. Madam won't hear me, an' I'll un- 
 lock the door. Bess, take his honor by way o' the 
 Lion. 'Tis empty to-night, an't it?" He disap- 
 peared, wriggling through the aperture, and Carew, 
 waiting while the girl unlocked the Lion, fancied 
 he heard some vehicle drive off along the road, and 
 hesitated, vaguely uneasy. 
 
 "This way, sir," said Bess, plucking at his sleeve. 
 
 He turned, still a little dazed, unable to collect 
 his thoughts; and went through the empty bed- 
 chamber to the landing, to find Foster in the door- 
 way of the White Roe. 
 
 "My lady an't here, seemin'ly," said he, displac- 
 ing a bob wig to scratch his pate. 
 
 "What?" cried young Carew, breaking past him 
 into the room. "Not here?" 
 
 "De-camped!" chuckled Foster, scenting mys- 
 tery. 
 
 "Fled?" shrieked Bess, all of a flutter. "Fled! 
 Lawks, where's she gone?" She ran about the 
 room searching the tumbled bed, the empty 
 closets, commenting aloud: "Not been slep' in, 
 though she lay down. I'll wager she ne'er un- 
 dressed, no, not she! A hairpin powder why, 
 look, she eat next to nothing." 
 
 "Dear, dear, what waste o' good vittles," de- 
 plored the host, examining the neglected supper tray.
 
 ALARUMS 155 
 
 "The pillow's wet!" cried Bess. "Lud, what'd 
 she to do, weeping?" She glared across the four- 
 poster at young Carew, disconsolate in the midst 
 of the room. "Feel that! She must ha' sobbed 
 for hours!" 
 
 The indignant girl thrust into his hands the pil- 
 low, still warm, fragrant with lavender, wet with 
 Dorothy's tears. 
 
 "Gad," said young Carew. "What a brute I've 
 been!" 
 
 A lump rose in his throat. So she had lain there 
 weeping while he drank with the Spaniard. He 
 touched the damp linen, laid the pillow on the bed 
 and went out with never a word. 
 
 Foster and the chambermaid gaped at one an- 
 other. 
 
 "Where's mossoo?" said the girl suddenly. 
 
 "Which? The Spanish lord? He ain't no mos- 
 soo, Bess, 'tis a French word, for sure. He be set 
 in the coffee-room, a-drinkin' that wine he brought 
 hisself, as if my best Oporto weren't good enough 
 for him. Where else should a be?" 
 
 "Go see !" cried Bess. "I'll lay he's at the bottom 
 o' this, the black-a-vised furriner!" 
 
 Alarmed, Foster trotted downstairs, searched the 
 coffee-room, the tap, the kitchens; hurried out into 
 the court. "Tom? Tom! Where be that whelp? 
 Tom, I say!" 
 
 A snore from the stables. 
 
 "Thomas Ostler! Hi, waken up, ye lout! 
 Where be the furriner?"
 
 i 5 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Tom Ostler woke artistically, yawned, and blinked 
 up at his master. 
 
 "Where be the Spanisher?" reiterated Foster. 
 
 "Lor' lumme," gasped the lad. "What's to do?" 
 
 "He an't in the house," bellowed the landlord. 
 "Where be he?" 
 
 "Good lack, master, I dunno. I an't set eyes 
 on un since he come. What's he stole?" 
 
 "Stole? Stole yer gran'mother! He's de- 
 camped, seemin'ly, an' his score not paid. Dang 
 me, no more's my lady's!" Foster whirled about, 
 counted the horses in the stalls and thrust his head 
 into the yard. "Plague take it, the shay be gone!" 
 he cried. 
 
 The lad retreated hurriedly beneath Grey Drake's 
 manger. "Lumme, guv'nor, 'tan't no manner o' use 
 a-kickin' o' me," he urged. "I bin asleep this hour 
 an' more. 'Ware Drake's heels, sir! He an't safe 
 if he's scart!" Grinning, he watched Foster scut- 
 tle across the court and out into the road. " 'Cod/' 
 muttered Tom. "Now let un find the slipper!" 
 
 But young Carew had already found it, and was 
 standing in the highway turning it about in the dim 
 light of the moon, his eyes thick with tears. 
 
 "What now, sir?" panted the host, coming to a 
 halt and staring. 
 
 "Her shoe," says poor Ralph with a gulp. "She 
 went this way, landlord. I must after her. She 
 can't have gone far, lacking a shoe." 
 
 "But what o' my bill? I'm like to be ruinated, 
 I am! The Spanisher's gone wi'out "
 
 ALARUMS 157 
 
 "What?" cried young Carew and sprang at the 
 startled host. "For God's sake, man, speak! Don 
 Carlos?" 
 
 "Leggo my windpipe," gasped Foster, stagger- 
 ing. "How can I speak when ye Don Carlos 
 an't in the house, an' what's more, your shay be gone, 
 an'" 
 
 "A horse, then, you dotard !" cried Ralph. "Why 
 couldn't you tell me at once? A horse!" He 
 darted to the stables, shouting, and Grey Drake 
 lashed out from the nearest stall. 
 
 "Mind, sir! Mind his heels!" Tom Ostler 
 pushed young Carew out of danger. "Ye startled 
 him. He's as nervous as a kitten; he'll brain any 
 as ventures in, sir. Wait a bit. Soho, boy soho, 
 lad ! Gently then." 
 
 Grey Drake looked sideways, lowered his v/icked 
 head and let fly again, and Ralph turned and ran 
 from the yard, hardly knowing what he did, con- 
 scious only that Dolly was gone from him out into 
 the night with the sinister Spaniard. 
 
 Was she afoot? The slipper seemed to suggest 
 it. Was she driving? The absence of his chaise 
 was significant. Dulled by the wine he had drunk 
 and the blow he had received his brain refused to 
 work. He had no plan, no definite design. He 
 could think of nothing but Dolly, her golden hair, 
 her trust in him, her tear-soaked pillow. 
 
 Sobbing, he ran on, dazed, crestfallen, the pink 
 satin slipper in his pocket bumping against his thigh. 
 
 Gad, if only he might find her and make amends !
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 EXCURSIONS 
 
 MERODACH drove rapidly until the road, 
 climbing through a pine wood, split in 
 two and wandered away across a waste 
 of heather-clad turf. Here he turned aside and, dis- 
 mounting, led the chaise into the shadows of the 
 trees and halted it back to the road, so that a chance 
 movement of the horses would not betray their hid- 
 ing-place. 
 
 He put his head in at the open window, prepared 
 for tears, hysterics, frenzy : a gentle breathing came 
 from the muffled figure on the floor : cuddled among 
 the rugs Dorothy slept like a child worn out with 
 weeping; her hair glimmered in the darkness, one 
 pale hand pressed the rough woolen away from 
 her cheek. 
 
 The gypsy drew back a pace or two, hesitated, 
 and at length walked to the edge of the wood and 
 dropped upon the dry needles in the shelter of a 
 stunted fir. There would be time enough for dis- 
 cussion. Let the child have her sleep out. 
 
 He lay upon his face, chin propped on one palm, 
 listening, watching, alert for a movement on the 
 dim road, a sound from the waiting chaise. 
 
 158
 
 EXCURSIONS 159 
 
 Nothing stirred for half an hour; then from a 
 distance came the thud of running feet drawing 
 rapidly nearer : a man stumbled through the chequer 
 of moonlight and shadow, and sobbing, panting, 
 was gone. 
 
 Merodach stood up to see which way he took, 
 and satisfied upon that point, returned to the chaise 
 and opened the door. 
 
 A sleepy murmur reached him. "Ralph? What 
 was it? I was almost Oh!" 
 
 "We must talk, Miss Forrest," said Merodach. 
 "Will you come sit in the wood, or shall I climb 
 in?" 
 
 "I'll get out. Oh, how delicious it smells! 
 You've not put the steps " 
 
 He waited for no steps but lifted her to earth, 
 reached for a rug and led the way to a moonlit 
 patch of turf. Here he tucked her up securely, and 
 sitting down at arm's length started with his en- 
 counter with Celia and the paper dolls, and told her 
 everything that had occurred. 
 
 Silent, wondering, Dorothy listened: she asked 
 no questions, she expressed no disbelief; it was im- 
 possible to doubt the gypsy's sober truth. 
 
 Then at his desire she told her side of the story; 
 but coming to their arrival at the Goat and Com- 
 passes, broke off and hid her face in trembling 
 hands. 
 
 "And now?" said Merodach gently, his eyes on 
 Jier bent head. 
 
 She looked up. "What now? It is for you to
 
 160 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 say. I trust you, Merodach. Ah, dear God I 
 trusted him!" 
 
 "Mr. Carew passed us in search of you half an 
 hour ago. Judging from his pace he can't last long. 
 We shall overtake him within two miles." 
 
 She sat upright, staring through the green gloom. 
 "You mean to overtake him? What then? I 
 thought you you " 
 
 "I've a mind to discover Mr. Ralph's intentions." 
 
 "Intentions? You told me he " 
 
 "Ah, but he's had a lesson since then!" Mero- 
 dach smiled into her bewildered eyes. "He was sob- 
 bing as he ran up the road." 
 
 "Poor Ralph!" said she, and wrung her hands. 
 "Poor lad! He thinks he's lost me." 
 
 "You'd forgive him? You'd offer him another 
 chance?" exclaimed Merodach. 
 
 "Lud, yes ! I love him." And truly she thought 
 she did. 
 
 The gypsy fell silent, plucking at the turf, pon- 
 dering woman's amazing capacity for forgiveness, 
 heartsick at the inevitable result. He could read 
 young Carew. 
 
 Forgive him, and the mercurial rascal would dry 
 his tears, forget all his good resolutions and be- 
 come more selfish and domineering than before. 
 Part them, and Dorothy would nurse her broken 
 heart, would remember all Ralph's engaging ways 
 and forget all his shortcomings. Nothing remained 
 but propinquity and disillusion.
 
 EXCURSIONS 161 
 
 He sighed and got to his feet. 
 
 "You have a plan?" said Dorothy, casting off her 
 rug. 
 
 "Half a one. Life's but an unrehearsed play, 
 and if your fellow-actor gives a wrong cue you're 
 out unless you're quick to gag. I never elaborate 
 a plot. Set your scene and trust to luck! 'Tis 
 the only way." 
 
 "And what part have I?" said she, laughing. 
 He lifted her back into the chaise. "For the present, 
 child, you're merely an interested spectator." 
 
 She protested at that, but he shook his head, smil- 
 ing at her eagerness. "How can I tell you what 
 will happen when I don't know myself? Lie hid, 
 until your cue comes. I'll knock on the door when 
 you may appear." 
 
 He led the chaise back to the road, mounted, 
 and pushed on, following the way young Carew had 
 taken; until a couple of miles farther a disconsolate 
 figure trudging with hands in breeches pockets, 
 hailed Merodach as he jogged by. 
 
 "Hi !" shouted young Carew. 
 
 "Hallo?" returned the gypsy, reining in. 
 
 "Can you tell me where we are, fellow?" 
 
 "Shotover Heath?" suggested Merodach glibly. 
 If young Carew were lost one name was as good as 
 another. 
 
 "How far is't to the next village?" 
 
 Merodach appeared to ponder. "Best part o' five 
 mile, sir," said he at length.
 
 1 62 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Ralph swore. "Can you give me a lift?" 
 
 "Well, ye can ride on the perch behind if ye 
 please. The shay be occipied, like." 
 
 "Who's within?" 
 
 The gypsy lowered his voice. " 'Tis a body, sir," 
 said he solemnly. 
 
 Young Carew recoiled. "W-what?" 
 
 "A body. The body of a female, sir. Ye'll 
 not care to ride inside, I know, but ye' re welcome 
 to perch " 
 
 "Good lord, are you an undertaker," 
 
 "Hardly that, sir," deprecated Merodach, touch- 
 ing his cap. "I took on this job to obleege a lady. 
 Tell'ee what, sir, ye can ride my horse an' I'll make 
 shift on t'other un. There's no manner o' haste." 
 
 "But there is! I'm in the deuce of a hurry!" 
 
 "Ye warn't makin' more'n two an' a half mile 
 an hour when we came up," said the gypsy, sliding 
 to earth. "We'll double that, an' go easy. Gi' 
 us yer foot, master. Up ye go!" 
 
 Carew found himself astride the near horse before 
 he could expostulate. 
 
 "Stick yer foot on the pole, sir. Ye an't got 
 no leg-iron, an' these two hosses be that lovin' they 
 fair prop theirsel's up agen each other." 
 
 Merodach pulled his cap over his eyes and 
 mounted the off horse, sitting sideways, his shoul- 
 der turned to young Carew. He reached for the 
 reins, clucked to his beasts and they moved off 
 at a jog-trot.
 
 EXCURSIONS 163 
 
 "Travelin* late, sir," began Merodach amiably. 
 " Tis a bit risky, like." 
 
 "Why?" asked young Carew. 
 
 "Footpads, sir. Thick as rabbits hereabout. 
 Toby-men, too. One stopped a coach las' week, 
 very gentleman-like, an' returned all the passengers' 
 coppers. Come up, Dandy, you lazy oaf!" 
 
 "Then I'm lucky to have fallen in with you," said 
 Ralph. "You're armed, of course?" 
 
 "Well as to that, sir, I be an' I bain't, as 
 you might say. I've pistols in they holsters, but 
 dang me if they'll go off. What's the odds? 
 There be nought of valoo to steal, an' if we're 
 stopped they'll let us pass, seein' we carry a 
 body." 
 
 "O demmit, I'd forgot the corpse!" muttered 
 Carew with a furtive glance over his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, ye needn't worrit, sir," says Merodach 
 coolly. " 'Twarn't a case of infection. A broken 
 heart, sir. That's it. Just a broken heart. Plaguy 
 sad, sir. Come up, Dapple!" 
 
 "Did did she drown herself?" stammered 
 Ralph, struck with sudden compunction. 
 
 "Lord no, sir! Just a broken heart. Dozens 
 on 'em go that way. They doctors like to put long 
 words to it, but ye can take it from me 'tis nought 
 but plain broken heart. Lovesick, sir. Pined 
 away. That's it. Come up, Dapple!" 
 
 Young Carew moved uneasily in his saddle but 
 said nothing. 
 
 Merodach, sitting slackly, rolled to the motion
 
 1 64 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 of his horse and continued to moralize, conscious 
 of his passenger's acute discomfort. 
 
 "Love's a queer thing, sir, an't it? Nine times 
 out o' ten 'tis all misplaced. The lass wastes her- 
 sel' on a lad as don't care two straws for her or 
 t'other way up. An' the tenth time if so be they're 
 both fond, you can bet your boots it'll all go wrong. 
 Summat seems to have a spite agen lovers. If 
 they don't wed they pines away, an' if they do wed 
 well, it don't seem to turn out all they'd hoped 
 for, like. Nine times out o' ten they forget all 
 their courtin' days, an' fratch like cat an' dog, an' 
 the tenth time you can bet your boots " 
 
 "O damn you, hold your tongue !" snarled young 
 Carew. 
 
 "Very good, sir," returned Merodach, and fell to 
 humming a mournful ballad of a maid in "Bedlam" 
 wailing her banished lover. 
 
 They plodded on a while, until of a sudden Carew 
 destirred himself. 
 
 "Demmit, what a fool I am!" he cried. "Pull 
 up! She can't have come so far I've missed her!" 
 
 "Anon, sir?" said Merodach, yawning. 
 
 "Pull up. I must go back. "I've missed her " 
 
 "Mebbe you was searchin' for some one?" sug- 
 gested Merodach brilliantly. 
 
 "Yes. A in fact a young lady. Pull up, you 
 dolt, and let me dismount." 
 
 "Was it by any chance the young 'ooman as van- 
 ished from the Goat an' Compasses?"
 
 EXCURSIONS 165 
 
 "Yes, yes!" cried Ralph. "How d'ye know? 
 Have ye news of her?" 
 
 "I come that way myself," pondered Merodach. 
 "Old Ben were in the devil of a fantigue, losin' 
 two customers an' ne'er a sixpence in payment." 
 
 "Two? What of the Spaniard? I thought he'd 
 run off with my chaise I thought good gad, I 
 don't know what to think I believe I'm going mad 
 I found her slipper " 
 
 "Spaniard, sir?" said Merodach, interrupting 
 Carew's incoherent exclamations. "Spaniard? 
 Oh, he don't come into the tale at all. Ye see, the 
 young couple druv up as it might be my lord an' 
 lady journeyin' home from Bath. But it seems they 
 warn't wed, sir, an' the young man got a bit hasty, 
 as young men will, an' the young 'ooman smelt a 
 rat, d'ye see, an' bolted. Small blame to her, poor 
 thing. Ben's a good fellow in his way. Soft as 
 butter where a petticoat's concerned. Swears he'll 
 horsewhip the young rake-hell as caused all the up- 
 set O lumme, sir! You'll be him!" 
 
 "Horsewhip?" shouted Carew, beside himself with 
 anger and impatience. "What the hell are you driv- 
 ing at?" 
 
 "Driving, sir? We be bound for Nether Wallop, 
 to be sure. Come up, Dapple! Ah, sir. You do 
 oathe like a guardsman. A fair eddication to 
 hearken to you, sir, that it be! Most instructive. 
 Now what I says is, a new curse or two allus comes 
 in handy Oh, no offense, yer honor, no offense !"
 
 166 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 He listened critically until Carew's breath gave out, 
 and then: 
 
 "So old Ben were wrong for once," he pondered, 
 and continued with a quick glance at Ralph's humped 
 shoulders, "Old Ben can't abide to be nay-said. 
 Swore you was a-wrongin' of the young 'ooman. 
 Called you every bad name under the sun, sir. Gay 
 deceiver, ah, an' worse nor that! Fair laid his 
 tongue to it, he did. An' here ye be a-huntin' for 
 the poor lass, that put about! Come up, Dandy!" 
 
 The clop-clop of the horses' feet punctuated a 
 strained silence. 
 
 "The question is," said Ralph at last, "did Miss 
 Forrest is she afoot or driving?" 
 
 "Ah!" returned Merodach profoundly. "That's 
 the question. Was it to be Gretna Green, sir?" 
 
 "No, we were for London." 
 
 "Anon, sir?" queried Merodach, wondering if 
 Dorothy could hear. 
 
 "London !" shouted Ralph. 
 
 "Ah. A powerful wicked place, they tell me, but 
 more convenient nor Gretna, by a mile or two. An' 
 if so be as ye come across the young lady, sir, I'll 
 be proud to drive ye to church, once I've disposed of 
 the body." 
 
 "There'll be time enough to talk of weddings 
 when I've found her," said Carew sulkily. "Pull 
 up, I tell you. I must go back." 
 
 Merodach drew rein at the crest of a little hill 
 where a flood of pale light shone through a gap
 
 EXCURSIONS 167 
 
 in the trees that bordered the road. The moon was 
 at the full: the horses' breath swirled past them in 
 misty wreaths : from a distant village came the slow 
 tolling of a bell. 
 
 "Eleven," said Merodach, glancing at the sky. 
 "Whoa, lad!" He dismounted, passed the chaise 
 door, slapped it with the flat of his hand and went 
 round to young Carew, who with his right leg across 
 the saddle-bow was rubbing cramped muscles into 
 use. 
 
 For the first time the two men were face to face. 
 Merodach laughed, lifted his head, took off his cap. 
 
 "So we meet again, Mr. Carew !" 
 
 Ralph sat as if turned to stone. "Gad!" he 
 said at length. " 'Twas you ! I fancied I knew 
 your voice, but what the devil brings you here?" 
 
 "Business," returned Merodach airily. "I've a 
 living to get, one way or t'other." 
 
 "Pho ! Carting dead bodies !" sneered Carew. 
 
 Merodach shrugged. 
 
 "But you came past the inn? You've news of 
 her?" 
 
 "Of Miss Forrest? Maybe. I'll tell you noth- 
 ing until I know your intentions." 
 
 "Gad's life, what's the girl to you?" 
 
 "A woman to be protected," said Merodach 
 grimly. 
 
 Young Carew slithered from his saddle, settled 
 his cravat and shook his coat skirts into place. 
 "Now," said he. "You'll tell me where she is."
 
 i68 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 He set his jaw obstinately. The night air and his 
 unwonted exertions had sobered him completely. 
 Here was no blubbering boy, disappointed in his 
 love-chase, but a man of affairs, arrogant, very cer- 
 tain of himself. 
 
 "You intend to wed her, sir?" insisted Mero- 
 dach. 
 
 " Tis no business of yours what I intend. She's 
 mine. I took her out of the Bradley house while 
 you and Cavanagh sat biting your nails and won- 
 dering how to do it ! I " 
 
 "You promised to carry her to Winterbourne." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Yet this very night you boasted that you were 
 bound for London you scoffed at the idea of mar- 
 riage you had the key of her door !" 
 
 Young Carew sprang at the gypsy, but Merodach 
 caught him by the shoulders, shook him to and fro 
 and flung him off. 
 
 "Gad!" panted Ralph. "Were you a gentleman 
 I'd kill you!" 
 
 Merodach laughed. "You have my permission to 
 try, your sword against my bare fists. You young 
 whelp! Come, take your whipping!" 
 
 Carew swore, reached for his sword, discovered 
 an empty slit in his coat skirts and remembered 
 that before sitting down to supper he had hung 
 the weapon upon the back of his chair. Impotent, 
 fuming, he stood watching the gypsy rolling back 
 his cuffs.
 
 EXCURSIONS 169 
 
 "You cad!" said he at length. "You knew I 
 was unarmed." 
 
 "Then we fight equally," smiled Merodach, ad- 
 vancing. 
 
 But this was more than Miss Forrest could sup- 
 port in silence. 
 
 "You are not to fight!" she cried, suddenly ap- 
 pearing at the chaise window. "I forbid it!" 
 
 "Doll?" gasped Carew, and made toward her. 
 
 She put out an arresting hand. "Keep your dis- 
 tance, sir. I think you owe me an apology." 
 
 "Gad, 'tis you are in the wrong!" cried Ralph 
 hotly. "You elope with me one night, and the next 
 you run off with a " 
 
 Merodach slapped him across the mouth. "Hold 
 your foul tongue, Carew !" said he. 
 
 A sudden mad jealousy seized the lad. He had 
 rescued Dolly from the Bradley house, she was his. 
 What right had this vagabond to interfere? He 
 struck out rather wildly, and as the gypsy side- 
 stepped he overreached himself and stumbled for- 
 ward. 
 
 Merodach gripped -him, lifted him, and tossed him 
 into the tangled hedgerow. 
 
 From her post of vantage at the chaise window 
 Dorothy watched the whole undignified fracas, and 
 frowned to hide an insurgent smile as Ralph extri- 
 cated himself from a blackthorn bush. No one was 
 hurt, and it was vastly romantic to be fought over, 
 even if one champion were no more than a gypsy.
 
 1 70 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 She watched, bright-eyed, breathing rapidly, eager to 
 lose no fleeting thrill of emotion. 
 
 Back to the chaise, Merodach stood guard over 
 her. Shin deep in the dry ditch young Carew es- 
 caped from the embraces of a too friendly bramble; 
 and none noticed a couple of masked men who had 
 crept upon them from the opposite hedge. 
 
 A curt "Stand and deliver!" startled all three. 
 
 Merodach, looking down the black barrel of a pis- 
 tol, threw up his hands. Dorothy squealed. Ralph, 
 rooted in his ditch, gave a shout of triumph. 
 
 "Rescued!" he bawled. "Good lads! A guinea 
 each if you put the fellow out o' the way. We've 
 been held up by him you saw him throw me in the 
 hedge, I" 
 
 "O fie !" cried Dorothy. "Shame on you, Ralph, 
 shame!" She wrenched open the door and leaped 
 to the ground, pressing Merodach back against the 
 chaise; her body, her outstretched arms shielding 
 him. For an instant her shoulders were against 
 his breast, her hair brushed his lips. Instinctively 
 Merodach shrank away; put her from him; 
 his heart pounding, his throat dry, every pulse 
 in his body leaping with a strange and fearful 
 exultation. 
 
 "Child," he whispered, "let be. I'm safe enough." 
 
 "Little fool!" muttered young Carew. "You've 
 ruined our one chance." 
 
 The two footpads stood bewildered, staring from 
 the dishevelled gallant to the supposed postilion and 
 the panting, terror-stricken lady.
 
 EXCURSIONS 171 
 
 "What's to do?" said one, approaching the fel- 
 low who still covered Merodach with his pistol. 
 "What d'ye make o' this, Greg?" 
 
 "Make? Od rot ye for a brainless swab! Leave 
 'em to fight it out an' get aboard. The nags are 
 fresh. We'll show the preventives a clean pair o' 
 heels an' make Southhampton 'fore mornin'. Aloft 
 wi' ye, lubber, an' I'll in the cuddy!" 
 
 The one clambered awkwardly to saddle, the other 
 leaped into the chaise, stumbled on the heap of rugs 
 and fell cursing. His pistol exploded harmlessly. 
 Merodach held him down with one hand while with 
 the other he dragged Dorothy's valise from the 
 seat and flung a wrap after it. Then with a yell 
 he slapped the astonished Dapple on the flank and 
 sprang backward as the chaise lurched away: the 
 lumbering vehicle rounded a bend in the road and 
 disappeared, one door banging, the footpad bumping 
 in his saddle. 
 
 Aghast at this unexpected turn of events, young 
 Carew stood staring, anger swamped for the mo- 
 ment in amazement. 
 
 "What the deuce d'ye mean by that?" he cried. 
 "You've let 'em go !' " 
 
 Merodach picked up the valise, swung it and threw 
 it over the hedge. The rug went after it. Then 
 climbing up the bank he found a gap between two 
 hazel stubs and called to Dorothy to follow. 
 
 "What in the devil's name are ye at?" demanded 
 Ralph irritably. 
 
 "Those men are flying from justice," Merodach
 
 172 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 told him. "I've no wish to be caught by their 
 pursuers. They're smugglers, likely. We'll get out 
 o' the road. Come!" He leaned down from the 
 hedge, caught the girl's outstretched hands and pulled 
 her after him through the opening. A rip of cash- 
 mere told of a torn skirt. Dorothy never heeded. 
 Breathless with excitement and anticipation she 
 clung to Merodach's hand. This was adventure in- 
 deed! 
 
 Grumbling, Ralph followed, and found himself in 
 a ploughed field veiled with the fine, blue-green 
 growth of young wheat. Shouldering the bag the 
 gypsy turned along the hedge, reached the corner 
 and followed a little track that ran beside the edge 
 of the furrows. Dorothy stumbled after him. 
 Young Carew, told off to carry the rug, floundered 
 behind. 
 
 In silence they traversed the field, crossed a pas- 
 ture, and came through a ragged coppice to common 
 land dotted with yew and juniper, gray beneath 
 the moon. 
 
 Merodach paused for an instant to look about, and 
 then set out again, halting at last in a little hollow 
 sheltered by a ring of trees. Here he dropped his 
 burden, took the rug from young Carew, who was 
 preparing to use it himself, and spreading it, mo- 
 tioned to Dorothy that she should rest. She sank 
 down readily enough, her back against the bag, her 
 fingers linked about her knees, watching eagerly as 
 Merodach gathered an armful of dry twigs and small 
 sticks and nicked away with flint and steel.
 
 EXCURSIONS 173 
 
 The glowing sulphur match lit up his brown face, 
 clean-cut, serene, quietly amused. He knelt over 
 the fire until it was burning merrily, and then, sit- 
 ting back on his heels, unbuckled Dorothy's shoes 
 and held them to dry. 
 
 "Mud's colder than water," said he coolly, al- 
 though the touch of her silken ankles had set his 
 heart racing again. 
 
 "Demmed officious in you," objected young Ca- 
 rew. 
 
 "O Ralph!" cried Dorothy. "How can you be 
 so my feet might have gone cold for all you 
 cared!" 
 
 "Mine are like ice!" retorted Ralph petulantly. 
 
 "Then for heaven's sake come dry them and be 
 civil !" 
 
 "Civil ? Gad's life ! Civil ! 'Tis all I can do to 
 command myself!" burst out young Carew. "Here 
 are we, miles from anywhere, without means of 
 conveyance, without food, without shelter all 
 through this cursed interfering gypsy ! And you ask 
 me to be civil ! 'Tis more than can be expected " 
 
 "From you," said Dorothy. 
 
 "From any!" he cried. "You're a sweet butter- 
 tongued miss, an't ye?" 
 
 Dorothy bit her lip ; choked back her rising tears ; 
 turned to the fire and Merodach. He looked up and 
 held her glance and a sense of shame, of gratitude, 
 of peace and utter security stole over her with the 
 gaze of his steady eyes. 
 
 Young Carew squatted beside the fire, took off his
 
 * 7 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 shoes, propped them to dry and let his damp stock- 
 ings steam. It was monstrous uncomfortable, but 
 he would have died sooner than go barefoot before 
 a lady. A three-cornered tear in one revealed the 
 white skin beneath. He noticed it and swore, and 
 taking a kerchief from his pocket solicitously 
 dabbed at a small red scratch. 
 
 None offered sympathy, and the silence remained 
 unbroken save for the crackle of the fire. 
 
 Warmed, rested, intrigued by her extraordinary 
 predicament, Dorothy watched Merodach, cross- 
 legged beside the fire ; and something in his pose re- 
 minded her of that night of terror in the gaming 
 house at Bath when he had made a fire and sat be- 
 side it, talking to give her time to recover her com- 
 posure. 
 
 He had taken command of that situation with an 
 ease that was comforting: she looked to him now 
 for guidance, confident that all was well. 
 
 They smiled at each other across the leaping 
 flames, and somehow it suddenly seemed the most 
 natural thing in the world to be there with Mero- 
 dach, shut away from the blue darkness by that 
 ring of orange light. 
 
 "Zounds, what a night!" groaned Carew, squeez- 
 ing a microscopic splinter from one finger. 
 
 Dorothy tilted back her head to see the stars. 
 "Heavenly!" she breathed, adrift in the pale glory 
 of the Milky Way. 
 
 "We're in luck," added Merodach. "It might 
 have rained."
 
 EXCURSIONS 175 
 
 "It may yet," grunted Carew. "Let's push on 
 for shelter." 
 
 "There's no village within miles," Merodach told 
 him. "We can as well spend the rest o' the night 
 here as anywhere. Miss Forrest's in no case for 
 walking far." 
 
 "Gad, your shoes !" cried Ralph, staring. "How's 
 this? You lost one, and here you are with two!" 
 He dragged the pink slipper from his pocket and 
 slammed it on the ground vehemently. "I demand 
 an explanation, miss ! Let's get to the bottom o' 
 this coil once and for all." 
 
 Dorothy caught Merodach's eye. "I think, Mr. 
 Carew, 'tis you who should be offering apologies, 
 said she, with pretty dignity. "'Tis you who 
 should be humbly craving pardon. O lud, wait 
 you unmannerly boy wait and let me speak! 
 I consent to to allow you to rescue me, be- 
 lieving that you meant to take me down to Winter- 
 bourne, trusting in your integrity, your honor. 
 It seems I was deceived. You were for London. 
 You had no intention of making me your wife " 
 Her voice broke. "O Ralph, 'twas shameless in 
 you 'twas cruel! Had I deserved that?" 
 
 "Gad's life, Doll, you're glib! Who told ye that 
 tale?" began Carew, staring uneasily. 
 
 "Merodach!" sobbed Dolly, abandoning herself 
 to sudden grief. 
 
 "And you take his word for it before mine? 
 What d'ye know of him? You've seen him but 
 once "
 
 176 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "I know him better than I do you," cried the 
 girl. "Merodach's helped me before. I eloped with 
 you the second day of our acquaintance!" 
 
 "What d'ye know of him?" repeated Ralph, ig- 
 noring her interuption. "He's a common bully 
 a prize fighter. What's he told you about me ? He 
 knows nothing. For anything you can tell he's de- 
 ceiving you. To-morrow I'll " 
 
 "Ah, senorl" drawled Merodach, rolling big eyes. 
 "Manana, manana! This to-morrow of yours lasts 
 for ever !" 
 
 An oath died upon Ralph's lips: he sat rigid, 
 frozen with surprise, his comely young face a 
 ghastly mask in the yellow light of the fire. 
 "You!" he whispered. "God!" Dazed, he stag- 
 gered to his feet, glared from one to the other, 
 mouthed something incoherent and plunged away 
 into the thick darkness of the encircling trees. 
 
 "Oh!" moaned Dorothy. "He's gone!" 
 
 "Faith," said Merodach, "he'll not go far, child. 
 See, he's forgot his shoes." He turned round to 
 face her, propped himself on one elbow and poked 
 the fire with a forked stick. "Let him alone a while 
 to nurse his wounded vanity. O lud, d'ye think he's 
 heart-broke? Not he!" He laughed and stretched 
 one hand to pat her knee. "Let him alone, child. 
 The poor fellow's vastly mortified to find he's been 
 triciked. 'Tis no more than that. He'll appear 
 again with the dawn, never fear." 
 
 Strangely comforted by the touch of that brown 
 hand, Dorothy mopped her eyes, discovered her ker-
 
 EXCURSIONS 177 
 
 chief too damp to be of further service, and naively 
 spread it to dry. 
 
 "W-what are we going to do?" said she. 
 
 "Do? Make for Winterbourne." 
 
 "Walk?" 
 
 He nodded. "How else? What money have 
 you?" 
 
 She emptied her purse into her lap. "Four shil- 
 lings and a crooked sixpence." 
 
 "And Mr. Carew?" 
 
 "I doubt he's left the most of his valuables in his 
 baggage at the inn. And you?" 
 
 Merodach grinned and threw out an expressive 
 hand. "So! We walk. You go with me, for 
 safety. I go with you, as duenna. Mr. Carew ac- 
 companies us because he'll be too monstrous jealous 
 to lose sight of you. At dawn we breakfast. You'll 
 pack your clothing into three bundles for easier 
 carriage. I make two dozen clothes pegs and we 
 set out." 
 
 He prayed that she would not inquire why they 
 did not go straight back to the Goat and Compasses 
 to recover Ralph's luggage and hire another vehicle. 
 He required more time, more intimacy than ordi- 
 nary circumstance would allow. Were he acting as 
 postilion with Ralph and Dorothy tete-a-tete within 
 the chaise, he could exercise no influence upon 
 events, and young Carew would reinstate himself 
 with nothing more palpable than promises. Mero- 
 dach intended to elicit deeds. Hence the reference 
 to clothes pegs.
 
 i 7 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Dorothy followed this red herring. "Clothes 
 pegs?" echoed she, mystified. 
 
 "Why not? 'Tis a means of livelihood not to be 
 despised." He drew a clasp knife and demonstrated 
 with a piece of stick. " "Tisn't the right wood, but 
 'twill serve to show you." 
 
 She watched, fascinated with the play of his deft 
 hands, until the finished peg lay in her lap. 
 
 "I've enough wire for to-day," said he, repocket- 
 ing the coil. "We can buy more, to-morrow. 
 You're sleepy, child. Lie here, back to the blaze." 
 'He made a pillow of her valise, tucked the rug 
 about her and piling on more wood, stretched him- 
 self on the farther side of the fire, listening for any 
 sound from the thicket into which young Carew had 
 disappeared. 
 
 But nothing stirred in the shadows. 
 
 Ralph had flung himself down just out of ear- 
 shot, and lay motionless, gripping the earth with 
 fingers that for a time were unconscious of what 
 they held. Then, when the first paroxysm of rage 
 and dismay had passed, he became aware that twigs 
 and small stones were crushed into his palms. He 
 rolled over, shook his hands free of rubbish, and 
 sitting propped against a trunk, clasped his ankles 
 and ruminated sulkily, cursing his stupidity. 
 
 If he had kept sober, none of these unpleasant- 
 nessess had occurred. It was incredible that mere 
 Oporto could have so bowled him over : Merodach 
 must have put brandy in it, the swine. Who would 
 have dreamed that he that the Spaniard medi-
 
 EXCURSIONS 179 
 
 tation merged into malediction. It was insufferable 
 that a gentleman could not amuse himself without 
 the intervention of a demmed pugilist. And Dolly? 
 Gad, what did % she expect, coming from such a 
 place as Mother Bradley's? Pshaw! Oh, damn 
 the women ! 
 
 Feeling himself to have been abominably used, he 
 slid into an easier posture, yawned, cuddled down 
 among the packed dead leaves and dozed, rousing 
 some hours later, racked with cramps and in the 
 very devil of a temper. 
 
 Was ever heir to a baronetcy in such monstrous 
 plight? Hatless, shoeless, supperless no, by gad, 
 he'd supped ahem ! Well, breakfastless, then. 
 'Twas not to be meekly borne. 
 
 He got cautiously to his feet, tripped over some 
 obstruction and all but fell; then, stooping to see 
 what had caught his toe, discovered a three-foot 
 stick, heavy, knotted, damp but sound. For an 
 instant he stood poising it in his hand, wavered, 
 and crept stealthily from the shelter of the trees, 
 treading softly in his stocking-feet across the little 
 glade to the fire. 
 
 Dorothy, curled up like a sleepy kitten, lay hud- 
 dled in the rug. Merodach sprawled on the other 
 side of the fire, and between them a heap of embers 
 still glowed, surrounded by a ring of flaky white 
 woodash. 
 
 Still smarting under a sense of unmerited per- 
 secution, blinded with anger, childishly spiteful, 
 young Carew paused above the motionless figure of
 
 i8o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 the gypsy, heaved up his club and swung it down- 
 ward with all his force. But even as it fell Mero- 
 dach flung himself to one side, grabbed his assail- 
 ant's ankles and brought him toppling to earth. 
 
 The thud awoke Dorothy, who sat up blinking, 
 peering through the dim light of earliest dawn, her 
 eyes still heavy with sleep, her hands pushing back 
 strands of her loosened hair. She discovered young 
 Carew on his knees nursing a strained wrist, and 
 Merodach breathing a little unevenly, tending the 
 scattered fire. 
 
 "W-what was it ?" she faltered, frightened at their 
 silence. 
 
 "Nothing," returned Merodach. "Mr. Carew 
 brought in a log for the fire, and fell over me. 
 There's no harm done." He blew the embers into 
 a blaze, arranged some dry sticks across them, os- 
 tentatiously laid Ralph's cudgel on the top, and 
 glancing at the sky, suggested that it was almost 
 time for breakfast. 
 
 Carew took no sort of notice. Dorothy looked 
 up, expectant. 
 
 "Wait here for me," Merodach said to her, and 
 went off whistling. 
 
 Carew took out his handkerchief and bound it 
 round his wrist, endeavoring with his teeth and his 
 free hand to tie the ends. 
 
 "Oh, let me!" said the girl and knelt beside him, 
 knotting the improvised bandage into place. "Was 
 it burned, Ralph? I've an ointment '* 
 
 "No. I twisted it when I fell."
 
 EXCURSIONS 181 
 
 She remained looking at him ; slid her arms about 
 his neck; laid a smooth, cool cheek against his. 
 "Dear Ralph," she whispered. "Dear lad come r 
 kiss and make friends!" 
 
 He caught at her, kissed her, buried his face 
 against her shoulder. "O Doll," he said. "Doll, 
 can you forgive me?" 
 
 She smiled, touching his cropped hair "Dear 
 heart, how little you know of women ! Come, your 
 face is all smeared with tears and woodash. Let 
 me wipe it. There ! I vow I should have been your 
 mother, Ralph now, let me go Merodach " 
 
 "Damn Merodach !" cried young Carew savagely. 
 "Don't talk to me of him. Doll, come with me 
 come away now, while he's gone. We'll go back 
 to the inn and hire another chaise and post to Win- 
 terbourne. I swear it ! 'Pon honor, I'll marry you, 
 Doll, spite of everything! I'll " 
 
 The chill of her eyes, her lips' imperious curve 
 halted him suddenly. He stammered, floundering. 
 "Gad, I I didn't mean that! I I'm half crazed, 
 Doll. Think what I've suffered in the last few 
 hours! I swear I " 
 
 "You think too much of your own feelings, and 
 too little of mine," said the girl, drawing away from 
 him. "Wait! I've forgiven you once. It remains 
 for you to prove my forgiveness merited. We go 
 to Winterbourne, but with Merodach. 'Tis all ar- 
 ranged " 
 
 "O Gad!" sneered young Carew, nettled that he 
 had not been consulted. " 'Tis the first time ever
 
 182 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 I heard of a girl eloping with two men at once!" 
 She stared and turned her back at him, fighting 
 
 down her anger, her indignation, her tears. 
 
 "You are insolent, sir!" said she. "Tend the 
 
 fire while I go wash my hands. I can hear a brook, 
 
 somewhere."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 YOUNG CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 
 
 GRAY-GREEN, blue, amethyst, and purple, 
 the hills lay half revealed in the dawn; 
 ridge after ridge clothed with silent trees 
 stretched away to the faint horizon, a land of dream 
 melting into eternity. 
 
 Primroses starred the turf ; below the sapling oaks 
 wild hyacinths spread their misty veil; and wind- 
 flowers, pink and white, hid among their leaves like 
 shy children behind spread fingers. 
 
 Dorothy climbed out of the hollow and stood for 
 a long moment sticken dumb with the beauty of 
 the world. Gorse blazed upon the open hillsides, 
 wind-racked blackthorn bushes showered their snow 
 upon the brilliant turf. It was a morning of blue 
 and gold : of hope, of glad certainty that all was 
 well. 
 
 She went downhill to a chalk stream fringed with 
 springing rushes, and kneeling, bathed her hands 
 and face; her apron did duty as a towel, and re- 
 freshed, she went back to the copse to unpack her 
 comb and a clean kerchief for her neck. Young 
 Carew was not to be seen, and thankful for a mo- 
 ment's privacy she opened her valise and contrived 
 to do up her hair and mend a rent in her skirt. 
 
 183
 
 1 84 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Then, remembering Merodach's instructions she 
 sorted her clothing into three piles : one of dainty 
 things that she would not need upon the journey; 
 one for present use; one for emergency. Choos- 
 ing a stout petticoat and a shawl, she made two 
 bundles, pinned and knotted them securely and 
 packed the remainder into her bag, singing happily 
 to herself, falling silent to listen to the ecstatic 
 birds; wondering where Ralph was gone and plain- 
 tively wishing that he were a little more of a man 
 and less of a spoilt and rather foolish boy. 
 
 Perhaps when they were wed he would improve. 
 
 Having finished her preparations she sat beside 
 the fire, adding a stick here and there, dropping 
 dead fir cones into the red heart of the blaze and 
 sniffing the sweet-scented smoke, conscious that she 
 was hungry. It was an experience; never before 
 had she gone without a meal, and last night she had 
 eaten nothing but a little bread and wine. 
 
 As Merodach returned whistling through the 
 bushes she rose and ran to him, childishly eager 
 to see what he had brought. He untied his blue 
 kerchief and spread it out, laughing at her curiosity, 
 refusing to explain how he came by the batchcake, 
 the butter in a cracked cup, six warm eggs, and 
 a bottle of milk. 
 
 "You've forgot the salt," she teased him. 
 
 He grinned and pulled a screw of paper from one 
 pocket. "We'll roast the eggs," said he, raking at 
 the fire. "Later on I'll get a frying pan. Where's 
 Mr. Carew?"
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 185 
 
 "I don't know," replied Dolly wistfully. "I went 
 down to the brook and when I came back he was 
 gone." She wavered for an instant and met his eyes. 
 "He asked me to go back with him to the inn and 
 hire another chaise and post to Winterbourne. You 
 never thought of that, did you?" 
 
 "And you refused?" The gypsy looked at her 
 curiously. 
 
 "Of course! I told him 'twas arranged that we 
 went with you, and he was angry." 
 
 Merodach motioned her to follow him to the 
 fringe of the copse. "Look!" said he. "Which 
 way did we come last night? Where lies the inn?" 
 
 Lonely, tree-clad country stretched away on all 
 sides; in the distance the faint blue of the Wilt- 
 shire Downs faded into the sky. 
 
 "I don't know," confessed the girl. 
 
 "Then, believe me, neither does Mr. Carew. He'll 
 be back again 'fore we've done breakfast. I'll make 
 a smoke to guide him, he's no forester." 
 
 And sure enough he returned, crestfallen, sulky, 
 fearful of being teased. 
 
 But Merodach made no remark upon his absence. 
 He cut a thick slice of bread and butter, and passed 
 over an egg and the remaining milk. Subdued, 
 Ralph ate and drank and was coldly civil ; but when 
 Merodach trampled out the fire and buckled 
 the half -empty valise upon his shoulders, Carew 
 roused. 
 
 "Look ye," he began. "All this folly of walking 
 to Winterbourne positively, I forbid it. It's sui-
 
 1 86 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 cide! Guide us back to the inn and I'll pay you 
 anything in reason to drive us down to Sussex." 
 
 "You failed to find the road we took last night?" 
 said Merodach. 
 
 Young Carew bitterly acknowledged that he had, 
 and anathematized the God-forsaken country. 
 
 Dorothy winced. "O Ralph! It's beautiful 
 it's" 
 
 "Demmed romantic, an't it?" quoth he, eyeing 
 her. "Wait until you've walked ten mile, miss! 
 You'll sing another tune!" 
 
 "I'll sing, anyway!" cried she. 
 
 Merodach laughed, and young Carew turned upon 
 him savagely. "You you damned prize fighter! 
 You're a warlock you've bewitched her! What 
 woman reared as she has been could walk an hun- 
 dred miles?" 
 
 "Tis not so far," demurred Merodach, twin- 
 kling. "Miss Forrest's capable of it, I'll swear. 
 I'm not so sure of you, sir." 
 
 "Rat me!" cried Ralph, piqued. "What she can 
 do, I can!" 
 
 "I'll challenge you!" cried Dolly, afire with sud- 
 den exhilaration. "I'll walk to Winterbourne and 
 I'll not sleep in a house on the way. I dare you, 
 Ralph Carew ! I dare you !" Bright-eyed, she 
 faced him, a-thrill with the knowledge that Mero- 
 dach approved her spirit. 
 
 "Gad," said Ralph, " 'tis sheerest lunacy !" 
 
 "What if it is? I'll dare you to it!" Bubbling 
 with laughter and mischief she snatched a hanker
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 187 
 
 from her bosom and threw it at his feet. "My 
 gage, sir. Dare you take it up?" 
 
 "Zoons, Doll! You're maddening!" Young 
 Carew stooped for the square of cambric. I'll wa- 
 ger five guineas you repent 'fore nightfall !" 
 
 "Not I!" 
 
 "You'll not bet?" 
 
 "No. I've no money." 
 
 "Then five to nothing five to this handkerchief 
 > you repent before to-night!" 
 
 "Done!" said she. "Five guineas will be prodi- 
 gious acceptable, sir." 
 
 They picked up the bundles and set out, laugh- 
 ing, friendly, following Merodach who strode ahead, 
 whistling. 
 
 Half -blown cowslips nodded on the breezy hill- 
 top; here and there wild orchis lifted frail, fairy- 
 like petals to the sun; larks trilled in the blue, and 
 the fickle winds of April drove light clouds over 
 the heavens, patching the countryside with gold 
 gleams and indigo shadows. 
 
 Merodach paused in a hazel bottom to cut three 
 sticks, and trudged on whittling a smooth handle for 
 Dorothy, an ear cocked for possible bickerings in 
 his rear. But having accepted the challenge young 
 Carew braced himself to his trial gallantly. Some- 
 thing of Dorothy's gay assurance infected him: he 
 was merry, tender, thoughtful for her comfort. By 
 noon he was carrying her bundle as well as his own 
 slung from the stick across his shoulders; and he 
 made no mention of a blister upon each heel.
 
 1 88 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Merodach regarded him with approval as they 
 sat down in the shade of gigantic beeches that 
 swung their boughs across the chuckling waters of 
 a brook. Carew was sweating, was palpably tired, 
 yet he made no complaint. He was a little out of 
 condition, but a fortnight of hard work and plain 
 fare at Mrs. Bradley's had done Miss Forrest good. 
 She stretched herself like a sleepy cat, sighing 
 contentedly, prone upon her back with her head in 
 her arms. 
 
 "You've ointment in your bundle?" said Mero- 
 dach, rising from the brookside with the milk bottle 
 brimming over. Dolly nodded. "Then grease 
 your feet, and give some to Mr. Carew. He's 
 galled his heels." Ralph looked up, surprised. 
 "Your stockings are rubbed though," added the 
 gypsy. 
 
 They ate cold eggs and bread with a relish that 
 astonished Carew. Demmit, there was something 
 to be said for walking. It gave one an appetite that 
 recalled schooldays. He limped off to the brook to 
 bathe his feet, and Dorothy looked demurely at 
 Merodach, who smiled in answer. 
 
 "Yes, the lad's gold at bottom," said he, watching 
 Ralph's departure. "Blood tells." 
 
 "Then must you be gently born!" flashed Dolly, 
 warm-hearted, impulsive by nature, her little affec- 
 tations blown away by the clean winds of spring, 
 finding herself among the fresh woods and the 
 steadfast, comforting hills of this most beautiful 
 downland.
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 189 
 
 Merodach met her eyes and heaved the ghost of a 
 sigh. "Oh, I'm a vagrant all through!" said he, 
 rising. "Come, we must on. I'll wait yonder with 
 Carew until you're ready." 
 
 Rubbing salve into her feet, Dorothy pondered. 
 
 If Ralph had been Merodach, and Merodach 
 Ralph? What then? Would she have hesitated, 
 as secretly she did now? Would she have won- 
 dered a little tremulously if her marriage with 
 young Carew would be the dream of bliss she had 
 imagined? She shook herself free of the thought. 
 She was plighted but no, Ralph had never for- 
 mally asked her to wed him. He had this morning 
 announced his intention of doing so, but had not 
 waited for her consent, had appeared to take it for 
 granted. 
 
 Merodach was right. Things never turned out 
 as one supposed they would. Life was an unre- 
 hearsed play; it was better not to arrange details, 
 but to trust to chance, to fate, to Providence. 
 
 For an instant she relaxed, lying back to stare 
 upward at the towering silver-gray trunks above 
 her, conscious for the first time in her life that a 
 greater power, a vaster knowledge than her own 
 ruled events. No service in Bath Abbey had stirred 
 her as did those moments in which she lay gazing 
 into the depths of opening leaves that spread in 
 a green canopy between earth and sky. 
 
 A squirrel ran down a branch, leaped a miracle 
 of a leap to another : raced along to the swinging 
 tip and launched itself into space with the ease and
 
 1 9 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 certainty of a bird alighting. A second followed 
 hot-foot, busy tail trailing, and the love-chase contin- 
 ued until she lost sight of flying lady and pursuing 
 lord. 
 
 Flushing, she sat upright and pulled on her shoes. 
 It would be well to fly love, to hold him at a dis- 
 tance until she knew her mind. She had been too 
 ready to trust young Carew. At the end of their 
 journey they would be more familiar with each oth- 
 er's thoughts, likes, dislikes. It was monstrous ven- 
 turesome in her to have eloped with him on so 
 slight an acquaintance, and yet what else could 
 she have done? 
 
 Sobered, a little forlorn, she rejoined the two men 
 and they set forth again, keeping to grass tracks 
 and by-lanes, avoiding scattered farms and isolated 
 villages tucked away among the folds of the Downs, 
 until with the early twilight they came to a highroad, 
 dipping and climbing to drop at last into the green 
 vale of the Test; and here in a bay of sheep-cropped 
 turf wailed with flaming gorse, Merodach slipped 
 the pack from his shoulders and stretched, easing 
 weary muscles. Dorothy plumped down upon the 
 bag, tired, but laughing. Young Carew spread the 
 rug upon the grass and himself upon the rug. 
 
 "Come now," he wheedled. "Confess, Doll! 
 You do repent!" 
 
 "No!" she cried. "A thousand times no! But 
 I'm hungry." 
 
 Ralph pulled out a silk purse and tossed five
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 191 
 
 guineas into her lap, a little astonished that she in- 
 stantly handed them to the gypsy. 
 
 "What now?" said he. " Tis yours." 
 
 "O tally!" returned Dorothy. "We're two meals 
 in Merodach's debt already. How d'ye suppose he 
 got breakfast and dinner ? He must have paid some 
 farmer's wife. And now we need a saucepan and a 
 kettle and three mugs and a basket to carry 'em in 
 besides food and drink. Take the money, Mero- 
 dach, and go buy. We'll wait here for you." 
 
 They spent that night in a tiled barn standing 
 in the corner of a wheat-field. A loft at one end 
 was Dorothy's chamber, and snuggling down in her 
 sweet-scented bed, she slept dreamlessly until the 
 twitter of swallows in the high-pitched roof awoke 
 her. 
 
 She knelt upright to peer into the barn, half -filled 
 with last year's straw, wrapped in a brown twi- 
 light shot with floating golden motes where the 
 sun struck redly through a square window. Mero- 
 dach and Ralph lay below : the newly acquired cook- 
 ing-pots were spread upon the threshing-floor, be- 
 side two oddly shaped bundles which she had been 
 too tired to examine overnight. 
 
 She crept down the ladder and stole across to 
 open them. A red-brown shawl ; strong, low-heeled 
 shoes of thick leather; a couple of colored kerchiefs, 
 and a man's felt hat and gray worsted stockings 
 were in one: the other held a medley of ribbons, 
 and laces, buttons, tape; ballads printed on long
 
 1 92 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 strips of yellowish paper, and a dozen other odds 
 and ends to be found in every peddler's pack. 
 
 Wondering, she turned them over, and looked up 
 to find the gypsy's black eyes upon her. 
 
 "Gad!" said he, stifling a yawn. "How I've 
 slept!" 
 
 "Your fingers are all inkstained," said she, staring. 
 
 "I had occasion to write a letter last night, and 
 'twas a vile quill," he returned coolly. 
 
 She held up a string of red beads. "Buy a neck- 
 lace for your sweetheart, sir ? Any tape, mistress ? 
 Needles pins ?" 
 
 Merodach laughed. "That's the game, child. 
 You're to the manner born." 
 
 "And are these for me?" said she, weighing the 
 shoes in her hand. "They're monstrous thick." 
 
 "They'll be more comfortable than your own." 
 
 "But how did you know my size?" 
 
 To her amazement the man blushed furiously, but 
 he would not look away. "Faith, haven't I held 
 your foot in my hand?" said he. "They'll fit. 
 Try 'em!" He went out and she could hear him 
 savagely breaking sticks for the fire. 
 
 The shoes fitted, the shawl went well with her 
 work-worn peacock blue gown. She tied a kerchief 
 over her hair and examined the effect in the little 
 mirror she carried in her bundle. A glowing face 
 laughed back at her: she could hardly believe she 
 was the same girl who had been taken to the Rooms 
 in a sedan that night less than a month ago. 
 
 "Zoons !" said young Carew, propping himself on
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 193 
 
 his hands and staring. "What under the sun have 
 you done to yourself ?" 
 
 She held up a ballad. "Buy a song, sir? Only a 
 penny. Listen, 'tis a sweet air, and passing sad 
 
 ' The water is wide, I can not get o'er 
 
 And neither have I wings to fly. 
 Give me a boat that will carry two, 
 And both shall row, my love and I.' " 
 
 "Demmit," growled Ralph. "There's no need to 
 make a fool of yourself. You might be a tinker's 
 wife!" 
 
 "Better that than a gentleman's mistress !" 
 
 He winced, but Dorothy was laughing. "I'm 
 dressing to the part," said she, arranging her wares 
 in the big basket. "Merodach, Mr. Carew dis- 
 approves my costume." 
 
 The gypsy leaned against the open door and looked 
 from one to the other. "Faith, 'tis safer, sir. To- 
 morrow's May Day and the villages'll be full of riff- 
 raff. Miss Forrest would excite remark, tramping 
 the roads in her own person. But as my sister " 
 
 "But what of me?" cried Ralph. "I'll not dress 
 as a vagrant to pleasure you !" 
 
 Merodach twinkled at Dorothy, who threw back 
 her head and laughed whole-heartedly. 
 
 "O lud !" sobbed she, wiping her eyes and rocking 
 to and fro. "O Ralph ! If you could but see your- 
 self here!" She caught up the little mirror and 
 tossed it toward him, shrieking with delight at his 
 fallen face.
 
 i 9 4 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Gad !" He caressed a chin on which the downy 
 growth showed black. "I'd forgot I'd not shaved." 
 
 "Shaved !" gurgled Dolly. "O me ! Your hair's 
 full of dust, your cravat's torn, your coat O 
 Ralph! your coat!" 
 
 He took it off, shook it out and regarded it with 
 a wry smile. "Sure, Merodach, you'd no need to go 
 buy me a disguise," he admitted. "I must appear a 
 very scarecrow !" 
 
 "I got a neckerchief for you," returned Merodach, 
 smothering a desire to smite the lad jovially upon the 
 back. "And some stockings and a hat. You miss 
 your wig, sir, I imagine." 
 
 "Yes. I lost it somewhere on the road. I've the 
 deuce of a cold." 
 
 Ralph stepped free of the straw and followed them 
 out into the barnyard where a fire glowed and the 
 sound and smell of frying bacon suggested breakfast. 
 And when the meal was over they went soberly 
 through the glowing red and brown houses of Stock- 
 bridge, still half awake and peopled solely by yawn- 
 ing apprentices staggering beneath shutters, and be- 
 capped maidservants twirling dripping mops between 
 their arms. 
 
 One or two gave them good morning as they 
 trudged by, but Merodach merely nodded and 
 pushed on; unwilling to anger young Carew by 
 needlessly subjecting Dorothy to the indignity of 
 chaffering. 
 
 So, down the wide, irregular street that spans the 
 valley; across the blue, "green-haired" waters of the
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 195 
 
 Test, they came by downland and common, by lane 
 and by-road to the lush water-meadows and the 
 flower-strewn marshlands of the Itchen. 
 
 Snipe drummed in the swamps; sedge warblers 
 chattered briskly over their nest building; and moor 
 hens, convoying fleets of fluffy black chicks, swam 
 with their quaint bobbing motion in and out the 
 clumps of reeds and springing flags. 
 
 A farmer's wife, pausing at her garden gate, 
 hailed Dorothy as she passed ; and the girl turned and 
 swung her basket forward to show her wares, shy 
 now that the time had come to play her part. 
 
 Ralph humped his shoulders and went on out of 
 sight: Merodach lingered, watching solicitously: 
 and the farmer's wife, choosing needles and thread 
 looked up in surprise at the girl's faltering answers. 
 
 "Ye're new to this game, my dear," said she, 
 shaking her head. "Tape be worth more'n that. 
 Ye'll never grow rich at this rate." 
 
 Dorothy smiled a little wistfully. "I've a lot to 
 learn," she admitted. 
 
 "Bad luck, havin' to take to the road," suggested 
 Mrs. Butterwick. "Troubles come to all on us, but 
 I thank the dear Lord I've a roof over my head." 
 She looked from Merodach, hung about with the pots 
 and pans, to the tired figure of the girl. "Coin* 
 far?" 
 
 "To my cousin's at Winterbourne," said Dolly. 
 
 "To Winterbourne in Sussex? Well now, that's 
 my native! Mebbe ye know Mistus Coulter thai 
 kep' the Magpie? She were an aunt o' mine."
 
 i 9 6 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "I knew her well," said Dolly. "She died a year 
 ago." 
 
 "Well, think o' that, now, you comin' from 
 Winterbourne ! My master han't no gurt likin' for 
 pikers, but if ye're Sussex borned he'll say naun. I 
 rackon ye'd like to come in an' set a bit. There's 
 brencheese an' a bit o' cold pie. Come yer ways." 
 She held the gate open invitingly. "Yer brother 
 went on? Go pick him up, lad. I'll mother her." 
 
 Merodach nodded, dropped his pack over the 
 fence and hurried after Ralph; while Dorothy fol- 
 lowed her hostess up the gray flower-garden to a 
 timbered, red brick house, built in intricate herring- 
 bone patterns as though the workman had loved his 
 trade. 
 
 Chatting amiably, Mrs. Butterwick laid supper at 
 one end of a long table ; showed Dorothy where the 
 pump stood, and was making up the fire when 
 Merodach returned with the reluctant Ralph. The 
 gypsy was at ease, merry, grateful; but the unprec- 
 edented experience of receiving charity jarred 
 young Carew. He ate and drank with his eyes upon 
 his plate, and made no attempt at conversation; sit- 
 ting aloof, intensely uncomfortable and out of his 
 element, while Merodach and Dolly helped their 
 hostess to clear away the dishes. 
 
 Presently in came the farmer, red-faced, jovial, 
 clad in earth-stained coat and breeches round which 
 clung the reek of wood smoke and the pungent 
 odor of horses. 
 
 "Hey, mistus!" he called, holding up a handful
 
 CAREW ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 197 
 
 of white wool and dangling legs. "Warm some 
 milk, will'ee? Here's a hob-lamb to be fed." 
 And broke off, with a shrewd glance at the stran- 
 gers. "Company?" said he, catching his wife's eye. 
 
 "Coin' home to Winterbourne," she told him. 
 
 "Well, ye're kindly welcome, whoever ye be! 
 Larmentable purty weather we do be having', 
 though the roads be middlin' slubby." 
 
 Dorothy reached for the lamb, her eyes wet. 
 
 "Give him to me, she murmured, and sat fond- 
 ling the little creature until its meal was ready. 
 Then, kneeling on the hearth, she fed it, uncon- 
 scious of the picture she made against the black cav- 
 ern of the great chimney: her shawl tucked about 
 the lamb, her hair tumbling in shining masses to 
 her neck, her hands busy with the bowl of milk 
 and a sopped rag. 
 
 Merodach, answering Farmer Butterwick's ques- 
 tions, became aware that the man was watching, 
 puzzled, curious, 
 
 "Well," said he, stretching wearily. "We must 
 on and find shelter. Up wi' ye, Dolly." 
 
 "Nay now, said the farmer, there's maun to 
 hurry ye. Leave the maid be, she be nigh flogged. 
 Ye can sleep in my barn as well as other where. 
 'Tis May Day to-morrow, an' ye'd do a fine trade 
 on the green at merrymaking by gum! I'd near 
 disremembered. W T hat d'ye think, old 'ooman? 
 Old Sam Isted were naun the better for what he'd 
 took, an' he were drivin' that there camsteery horse 
 Nightowl, an' canted out o' the wagon up along the
 
 1 9 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 hill an' broke his arm, an' let-be-how-'twill, he can't 
 fiddle for us. I promised Squire I'd rout round for 
 another fiddler, an' now what wi' the old ewe so 
 mortacious bad, 'tis too late to go into Stockbridge 
 for Dick Lee. Dang me for a fool! There'll be 
 a hem set-out-to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll play for you," said Merodach. "What'll 
 they want? Country dances?" 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes. So be as ye can borrow a fiddle." 
 
 "Oh ay, ye can have the loanst of old Sam's 
 tnusic, an' welcome! Fegs, an't this a bit o' luck? 
 D'ye know any Morris toons ? Squire's fair set on 
 the Morris. He had a man down from Oxford- 
 shire to learn some o' the village chaps. My wag- 
 oner's Captain this year. He'll run over the toons 
 wi' ye in the mornin'. Fegs, an't this a bit o' luck J 
 Squire'd never forgive me if I'd failed him. He 
 do think a heap o' May Day, bless his heart ! Ye'll 
 stop, then? What a bit o' luck! Old 'ooman, can 
 ye find a blanket for the lass, an' she can sleep in 
 the hay-mow as snug as snug. Fegs, an't this a 
 bit o' luck!"
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NEWS 
 
 KICKING his heels in Bath, Larry Cava- 
 nagh waited impatiently for word from 
 Merodach. None came. The Irishman 
 told himself that it was hopeless to expect a letter 
 so soon, and looked about for something of interest 
 that would keep him occupied until he could hear. 
 
 Bath danced and gambled; flirted, drank the 
 waters; attended service in the Abbey, and paced 
 delicately in Spring Gardens or King's Mead 
 Fields. Nothing remarkable occurred to break the 
 monotonous circle of daily existence. 
 
 The excitement arising from Lady Forrest's 
 elopement with Mr. Cassillis soon subsided; none 
 was seriously affected; here and there one would 
 wonder where the daughter had hid herself, and 
 gaining no reply, would wonder at something else. 
 
 Sir Julian might have been in his grave for ten 
 years, for all the rumor of foul play. He was 
 gone. All would go, soon or late. As gnats danc- 
 ing in the sunlight continue their crazy whirl 
 though half their number be of a sudden swept 
 into eternity by the swish of a cow's tail, so Bath 
 danced on, heedless. 
 
 Cavanagh grew bored, became petulant, sulked, 
 199
 
 200 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 loathed Bath and yet could not leave it : determined 
 to ride out each day in search of distraction and 
 return only at nightfall in the hope of finding a 
 letter. And it was during one of these aimless 
 wanderings that he came upon Mrs. Janet, late tire- 
 woman to my lady Lavinia. 
 
 Cavanagh drew rein at a wayside tavern and 
 called for a stirrup-cup. Janet carried it out and 
 waited, tray in hand, gossiping while he sipped. It 
 was monstrous dull in the country, she averred, 
 tossing cherry ribbons on a spotless cap. Give her 
 town for seeing life. Bath for choice. 
 
 " 'Tis monstrous dull in Bath just now, child," 
 said Larry, and looked down at her with something 
 of recollection puckering his brow. "Ged, han't 
 I seen ye in Bath, my dear ?" 
 
 "Lud, yes!" cried Janet. "An't ye Mr. Cava- 
 nagh? I was maid to Lady Forrest. What's new, 
 sir, if I an't making too bold?" 
 
 "New, child? Nothing's new. There's been 
 no excitement since Sir Julian Carew was mur- 
 dered." 
 
 "Lawks, sir! Murdered? I han't heard of 
 that." Janet looked up, eager for detail. "Last 
 time I saw the old gentleman he seemed hale 
 enough. A chin cough, but 'tis nothing. He was 
 spry enough the night of his eightieth birthday, en- 
 tertaining his two nevvies and laying down the law 
 that strampageous ! Ho, I couldn't hear what was 
 said, but I saw everything after the major-domo 
 drew the curtains back."
 
 NEWS 201 
 
 "The night of his eightieth birthday?" shouted 
 Cavanagh staring at her. "Is it sure ye are, 
 Jenny?" 
 
 "Sure? Why shouldn't I be sure? Faith, I've 
 enough to remember it by. 'Twas the night my 
 lady left Bath, and I left her service and went to 
 Laverton's to my aunt's. A widow woman, sir. I 
 found her ill a-bed, and looked after her till she got 
 about again. And then she wanted me to live with 
 her and help with the market-garden, but the stoop- 
 ing do try my back, sir, something cruel. So when 
 my savings were spent" Janet's euphuism for the 
 money raised on the clothing she had appropri- 
 ated "I came here as barmaid. But 'tis mon- 
 strous dull, sir, serving country clodhoppers, and 
 never a gentleman among 'em to give me a tip." 
 
 "But Sir Julian?" cried Cavanagh. "Tell me of 
 Sir Julian. 'Tis a matter of life or death!" 
 
 "Lud, sir, there's little to tell. Mr. Ralph Carew 
 dined with him that night. They had out the gilt 
 plate, and covers was laid for three, but Mr. Vale- 
 rius didn't come till they'd done dinner." She medi- 
 tated, plaiting her apron. "Mr. Harris pulled the 
 curtains over the windows directly they sat down, 
 so I couldn't see what they ate." 
 
 "See ? Where the deuce were ye, child ?" 
 
 "Me, sir ? Oh, I was in our gaming rooms, pre- 
 paring for the night's play. You can see every- 
 thing that goes on in Sir Julian's dining-room, but 
 the old gentleman caught me peeping once, and ever 
 since then he's had candles lit and the curtains
 
 202 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 drawn while he dines, no matter how light it is. 
 Selfish, I call it!" 
 
 "I'll give you a guinea if ye'll tell me a straight- 
 forward tale of all you saw that night," said Cava- 
 nagh, chafing at her circumlocution. He dis- 
 mounted, and tying Colleen to the ring, sat down 
 upon a bench against the sun-warmed wall of the 
 tavern. "Come, take your time." 
 
 "They must ha' dined about four," mused Janet, 
 frowning thoughtfully. "We don't didn't open 
 our doors till eight and I'd nothing to do. I sat be- 
 side the window and watched the passers-by, for 
 company. At five or thereabout, Mr. Valerius 
 comes up in a chair and crawls out and pays the 
 men and goes into the house. Nothing happened 
 after that for half an hour or so. Then out comes 
 Mr. Ralph very red in the face, and hurried down 
 to town, bound for the Rooms, belike. In fact, I 
 remember hearing Mrs. Darbey say he was to be 
 there. After a bit I see Mr. Harris tear the cur- 
 tains back. He flung up the sash, too, which I won- 
 dered at, seeing Sir Julian was troubled with the chin 
 cough. He were took in a kind of fit, sir, gasping 
 and clawing at his cravat. I could see Mr. Vale- 
 rius held him round the shoulders while the butler 
 give him a drink. Then Mr. Harris hurried out o' 
 the room, and Sir Julian come to and seemed quite 
 hisself. He were monstrous angered over some- 
 thing, thumped the arms of his chair and pointed to 
 the door. Mr. Valerius, being a tired kind o' party, 
 spoke soothing and patted him on the shoulder.
 
 NEWS 203 
 
 That made Sir Julian mad. He got up and threw 
 an orange at Mr. Valerius, and Mr. Valerius draws 
 hisself up very haughty and bows and leaps out o' 
 window and stalks off down the street without his 
 hat. Monstrous hurt, sir, as any one could see 
 with half an eye." 
 
 "But Sir Julian?" insisted Larry excitedly. 
 "What of him?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, sir. He went over to his desk, 
 walking slow but quite able, and took a key off of 
 his fob, and unlocked it and began to hunt for some- 
 thing. I was waiting for him to pull out a secret 
 drawer, but as ill luck would have it my lady called 
 me just then, so I went above-stairs to dress her 
 head, and she kept me running up and down nigh 
 two hours so that " 
 
 "Then you didn't know that Mr. Valerius was 
 thought to have murdered Sir Julian?" 
 
 "Lud, no, sir! Murdered? What nonsense! I 
 can prove he didn't, anyway, seeing the old gentle- 
 man alive at his desk after his nevvy left." 
 
 "Valerius jumped though the window, ye said?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. One hand on the sill, as easy as a cat. 
 It did seem a bit odd, and him being such a tired 
 kind o' party, but I could see he were terribly put 
 about. He went off that rapid." 
 
 "Ye'd swear to all this before a magistrate, 
 wouldn't ye now, Janet?" 
 
 "Lud sir, yes! Before any one," said she stoutly. 
 "Write it all out fair, sir, and I'll put my mark to 
 it. I'm not much of a dab with a pen."
 
 204 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Cavanagh threw her a guinea and spurred home 
 to draw up the document that was to prove Valerius 
 Carew innocent. 
 
 A letter awaited him. 
 
 "It come by the coach from Stockbridge, sir," 
 said his landlady, thrusting her mutch round the 
 crack of his door. "A shilling to pay, Mr. Cava- 
 nagh." 
 
 He nodded, tearing open the folded paper. 
 "Faith, ye can put it on next week's bill in place o' 
 them immortal candles which I never burn," said 
 he, and read: 
 
 "HONRD. SIR, All safe. We walk to W n as 
 quick as may be, ten miles or so a day." (A rough 
 sketch map outlined the route.) "If necessary, ad- 
 dress me care of Joseph Marsh, butler, Ash Holt 
 Grange, near Hazelhurst. We should be there by 
 Wednesday. 
 
 "Yr. obdt. hmble. servant to comd. 
 
 "MERODACH." 
 
 Mr. Cavanagh read this missive through several 
 times; staring thoughtfully out of the dusty win- 
 dow, and suddenly casting his hat upon the floor, 
 danced round it, whistling.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 
 
 MERODACH was shaving at the stable 
 door, having borrowed a razor, soap 
 and mirror from Farmer Butterwick. 
 Young Carew came out and regarded him with 
 some envy. 
 
 "After you !" said he. 
 
 Merodach grinned through the lather. "I'm 
 af eared ye'll look too much the gentleman, shaved." 
 
 "Then demmit, I'll not stop!" declared Ralph. 
 "Come now, Merodach, don't be jealous!" 
 
 "Deuced subtle!" murmured Merodach, scraping 
 away. "O lud, I take you. You infer, sir, that 
 even shaven I could not look a gentleman." He 
 made a leg, flourishing his razor. "Sounds devil- 
 ish crude, but 'tis true, I suppose." 
 
 "You're a strange creature," quoth young Carew, 
 swinging his feet as he perched upon the horse- 
 trough. "Rat me if I know what to make of you! 
 For a tramp you're " 
 
 "Lord, Lord, we're all tramps!" said the gypsy, 
 and plunged his face into the bucket of water. 
 
 From the road beyond the farmhouse came the 
 laughter and song of children bearing garlands of 
 flowers and green branches. The dairymaids, rus- 
 
 205
 
 206 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 tling in clean dresses, each had a posy tucked into 
 her bosom: new straw hats hung ready behind the 
 kitchen door. A wagoner, seated upon the bench 
 where shining milk pails were set to dry, was plait- 
 ing fresh ribbons to tie around his elbows for the 
 Morris : and three lanky youths hung about the yard 
 waiting a chance to present tight round nosegays of 
 garden flowers, which they endeavored to conceal 
 behind them; jealously scowling at one another; 
 tongue-tied and shy whenever one of the maids 
 tripped, smiling consciously, past the open door. 
 
 Before noon the village green was thronged with 
 country-folk clad in their best for the most joyous 
 holiday of all the year. On a seat that circled one 
 of the giant oaks the Parson gossiped with half a 
 dozen aged worthies, who, hand behind ear and stick 
 between knees, were prepared to sit day-long and 
 criticise their more agile neighbors. 
 
 Grandmothers ambled sedately between couples 
 of toddling youngsters, followed by proud mothers 
 carrying the very youngest. Children of all ages 
 romped and shrieked, or crowded round a green 
 booth to gaze in awe at Robin Hood and Maid Mar- 
 ian, and a fat jester struggling into his hobby-horse. 
 
 The Squire had had bowers of wattle hurdles and 
 leafy branches erected on one side of the green, 
 where the gray wall of the Manor grounds bounded 
 the expanse of turf and here cakes and ale, cold 
 meat and pastry were to be had for the asking. 
 
 A Maypole, gay with hoops and garlands of flow- 
 ers, towered above everything, and at its foot an
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 207 
 
 upturned hogshead, covered with a scarlet cloth, 
 was ready for the fiddler. 
 
 Farmer Butterwick, in green broadcloth and brass 
 buttons that winked in the sun, shepherded his party 
 from the farm: Mrs. Butterwick, a son and his 
 wife, a daughter and her husband and four scamper- 
 ing children; the wagoners, the dairymaids, a herd 
 boy, and the still dangling, nosegay-carrying beaux, 
 who had not yet plucked up sufficient courage to ad- 
 vance with their offerings. Merodach and his bor- 
 rowed fiddle, and Dolly with her basket, brought up 
 the rear. 
 
 Young Carew, shaven but still shamefaced, re- 
 fused to join them, saying he would follow later, 
 when he could slip in among the crowd unobserved. 
 
 "Poor lad !" said Merodach as they set out. "He 
 labors under the delusion that the whole of crea- 
 tion can look at nothing else. Tis but a malady 
 of youth. 'Twill pass." 
 
 Dorothy laughed. "I suffered the complaint my- 
 self, years ago, at my first ball." 
 
 "Ah," returned Merodach with something 
 vaguely resembling a bow. "But in your case 'twas 
 true." He flung out his hand toward a mag- 
 nificent bird that spread his tail from the wall of the 
 Manor. "Look ! Even the peacock is all eyes for 
 you!" 
 
 "Merodach," said the girl gently, "don't spoil 
 our friendship with empty compliments." She slid 
 her hand into his. "I I'm prodigious lonely, 
 Merodach. I need a friend more than you can
 
 208 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 know." Her voice died in her throat, she turned 
 wet eyes away. 
 
 The gypsy said nothing but gripped her fingers, 
 and hand in hand they followed the farmer to the 
 foot of the Maypole where Squire Hazelhurst and 
 his lady and a dozen guests awaited them. 
 
 "Morning, Squire," called Butterwick, touching 
 his hat. "A merry May to 'ee, sir, an' many of 
 'em! I've brought 'ee a fiddler, Squire." He 
 jerked a thumb in the direction of Merodach, who 
 smiled and nodded a bare head. 
 
 "O la!" whispered one of the girls from the 
 Manor. "Ljook, Lucy! An't he a handsome fel- 
 low!" Fans fluttered, dainty hats bobbed together 
 as their wearers stood a-tiptoe to catch a glimpse 
 of the gypsy; but the men of the party had eyes 
 only for Dorothy. 
 
 "Sink me!" said Colin Carmichael, poising a 
 quizzing glass. "A country beauty! A hedge- 
 rose! Burn my soul!" And pressed nearer, star- 
 ing. 
 
 Dorothy found herself the center of a laughing, 
 ogling crowd of men, but this was nothing new. 
 She backed against the wall of a booth, and 
 ensconced behind her basket, held them off and 
 had a retort for every sally. 
 
 Quick to take her measure, the gentlemen con- 
 tented themselves with choosing ribbons to offer 
 as fairings to the ladies. One or two farm lads 
 bought up the rest, and Dorothy was soon left 
 swinging an empty basket and watching rather
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 209 
 
 wistfully the impressive ceremony of crowning the 
 Queen of May. A pretty, red-haired lass was en- 
 circled with a green garland; crowned with a 
 wreath of primroses, solemnly embraced by the 
 Squire and amid cheers and the waving of berib- 
 boned hats, escorted to her throne beneath the oak. 
 Then lines formed for the first dance, in which, 
 following the time-honored custom of the village, 
 the Squire and his lady took part. 
 
 "My Lady Cullen!" shouted the Squire, bus- 
 tling from group to group. "Longways for as 
 many as will, but make it twelve couple or we'll be 
 at it till dinner-time. A dozen couple. Butter- 
 wick, line 'em up! Come, Parson, you're dancing, 
 Mrs. Butterwick lacks a partner. Hi, Doctor! 
 No sneaking off to smoke, now. Find a maid, sir, 
 find a maid ! Now, Carmichael Wallace a dozen 
 couple. This set full? No, ye want two. Lucy, 
 my dear, bring your Philip. Are we ready? 
 Strike up, fiddler! My Lady Cullen!" 
 
 Seizing his wife's hand the worthy Squire led his 
 set, "up a double atnd back, all that again, set and 
 turn single " his face radiating smiles, his wig 
 askew, his lace ruffles fluttering: the surliest cur- 
 mudgeon could not have resisted his overflowing 
 good-nature. 
 
 My Lady Cullen ending in bobs and bows, the 
 Squire's party retired to the booth set apart for 
 their use, and sat waving fans and kerchiefs, and 
 declaring that it was prodigious hot for the time of 
 year : watching with varying degrees of interest the
 
 210 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Morris men processing across the green, led by the 
 prancing hobby-horse, Robin Hood winding his 
 horn, and a lanky Maid Marian, a little sheepish 
 in his girl's attire. 
 
 With a rhythmical sweep of white handkerchiefs 
 and flutter of ribbons at waist and knee, the Morris 
 men, solemn, yet expressing a restrained exhilara- 
 tion, went through the figures of Step Back, the 
 bells upon their legs ringing lustily in time to the 
 stamp of feet and the swinging, inspiriting music of 
 the fiddle. The Squire sat intent, critical as only 
 one can be who has had practical experience of this 
 ancient form of art. The Rose followed : Farmer 
 Butterwick's wagoner danced the Princess Royal 
 jig; and then the Squire called them all into his 
 booth to drink the inevitable healths. The King, 
 God bless him! The Queen of May. The Squire, 
 deafening cheers. Mrs. Hazelhurst and family, 
 more cheers. The gentry from the Manor, and so 
 on a d infinitum. 
 
 Merodach, sitting on his hogshead, mopped his 
 face and smiled across at Dorothy, who presently 
 made her way through the moving crowd and leaned 
 against the Maypole, absently plucking at the 
 strings of the violin. 
 
 "I didn't know you played, Merodach," said she. 
 
 For an instant he was off his guard. "Faith, I 
 keep it dark. 'Tis considered monstrous vulgar. 
 The flute's your only genteel instrument." 
 
 She looked up, recognizing that here spoke an 
 equal. "Who are you, Merodach?"
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 211 
 
 He shrugged. "What's in a name? My soul's 
 my own, were my father lord or lackey. Give me 
 the fiddle, child, and get ye a partner. Here comes 
 the Squire." 
 
 He came, nodding cheerily at Merodach, beckon- 
 ing to Dorothy. "D'ye know Gathering Peascods, 
 fiddler? Just for the youngers. Come, child, you 
 must dance. My son'll jump at the chance. Robin 
 Robin, here's a partner for ye!" 
 
 A rosy-cheeked lad of eighteen ran up, offered 
 Dorothy his wrist and led her off. 
 
 "Now then!" cried the Squire, waving his hat. 
 "Gathering Peascods!" 
 
 A great circle of children ringed the Maypole, 
 hand in hand, jumping with excitement. Here and 
 there a stripling shot up above the smaller fry, or 
 a long-legged girl stooped for the hands of two 
 seven-year-olds. As the fiddle shrilled out the 
 Squire retired, dreaming, and sat himself down to 
 watch; and at this moment young Carew lounged 
 along the sun-flecked road in search of Dorothy. 
 
 Up bounced the Squire to accost him. "Hi 
 there, my man !" 
 
 Startled, Ralph stopped and stared, neglecting to 
 touch his hat. A farm hand knocked it off for him. 
 
 "Dang'ee, cap Squire!" he bawled truculently. 
 
 "You're a stranger?" said the Squire, advancing. 
 "You're welcome. We're merrymaking to-day. 
 First of May, ye know. Must keep up old 
 customs. Sit down, man, and why what's this? 
 What's this?"
 
 212 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 A girl left the Manor party and came toward 
 them smiling, flushing, a dainty hand outstretched. 
 
 "O me!" cried she gayly. " Tis Ralph Carevv! 
 Lud, how strange! We part in Paris to meet 
 again in Hazelhurst. Sure, you've not been so un- 
 gallant as to forget me? 
 
 Thunderstruck, poor Ralph stood staring, scarlet 
 to the ears, fingering that absurd felt hat. "Miss 
 Carmichael?" he stammered. 
 
 "Who else ? But in Paris it was Julie, wasn't it ? 
 Fickle creature, you vowed you'd write, but no 
 never a line. Uncle, you must know Ralph Carew. 
 You remember his uncle, Sir Julian. Dear old 
 man ! How does he, Ralph ? I seem to know him 
 so well, from all your talk of him." 
 
 Suppressing his astonishment with an effort, the 
 Squire shook hands with this tatterdemalion and 
 patted his niece upon the arm. 
 
 "Lud, Julie," said he. "Your friends crop up 
 in unexpected quarters, on my soul !. Carew, you're 
 very welcome, if only for your uncle's sake. We 
 were at school together, though he must ha' been 
 years older than I. I owe him thanks for many a 
 kindness to a homesick youngster, bullied out of his 
 five wits. Hallo, the dance is over. Carew, I'll 
 leave you to Julie's tender mercies! Excuse me." 
 He bustled away and young Carew remained miser- 
 ably gazing at the turf. 
 
 "What ails the man?" said Miss Carmichael, 
 glancing demurely from beneath long lashes. 
 
 "Why why, 'tis devilish distressing, meeting
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 213 
 
 you like this," floundered Ralph, conscious of her 
 amusement. 
 
 "You're not glad to see me. Helas, these 
 ephemeral vows!" 
 
 "Gad, I don't mean that, Julie!" he cried. "But 
 I this dress I'm not fit company I " 
 
 She screwed her hand into an imaginary spyglass 
 and regarded him quizzically, to his intense dis- 
 comfort. 
 
 "Lud, I find you improved, Ralph. You've 
 grown. I protest you've quite a color. Dear 
 heart, how the child blushes! La, what's a shabby 
 coat? I dare swear you're doing this for a wager." 
 
 "I I am," faltered Ralph. " Tis secret. I'm 
 I'm vowed not to disclose " 
 
 "How intriguing! Come, sit with me and re- 
 count all your desperate adventures. How long is't 
 since we parted and you rushed off to pay your 
 devoirs to Sir Julian? A month! And you've 
 not writ to me. 'Twas monstrous cruel in you, 
 sir, and I at the window each morn, languishing 
 for a letter. Come, you may bring me a glass of 
 cider and a cake a large one, Ralph, with candied 
 peel atop. And we'll sit here and I'll listen 
 leniently to your apologies." 
 
 "O lud!" thought young Carew. "Here's 
 another woman demanding apologies!" He 
 pulled his hat over his eyes and brought refresh- 
 ment, dropping beside Miss Carmichael's chair, 
 his face afire, his ears tingling; unable to reply to 
 her rallying; conscious that from a distance Mero-
 
 214 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 -iach was regarding him with amusement and 
 Dorothy with surprise ;i hot with shame at the 
 smothered titters from the ladies of the Manor, who 
 behind painted fans whispered together and laughed 
 maliciously. 
 
 Devoutly hoping that Dorothy would have the 
 good sense to keep away, he turned his back upon 
 the green and endeavored to answer Miss Car- 
 michael's questions without implicating himself 
 with Miss Forrest. The girl beside him was piqued 
 but ready to listen to explanations, and he was tell- 
 ing her of his uncle's sudden death when the fiddle 
 began again and squares formed for Saint Martin's, 
 
 Miss Carmichael sprang to her feet. "DancS 
 with me, Ralph. I adore country dances, and on 
 such turf! Uncle, Uncle! Have you a partner? 
 Come face us." She caught Carew by the cuff and 
 pulled him forward, and the wretched fellow found 
 himself opposite Dorothy; Dorothy with set lips 
 and dangerously cool eyes. He got through the 
 dance somehow, tingling as she turned her shoulder 
 to him in the honor; and led Miss Carmichael back 
 to her seat. 
 
 "An't my uncle deliciously sans faqon, dancing 
 with that peddler girl?" said she, snapping open her 
 fan and handing it to him to wield. "A pretty 
 wench. The tenants adore him, and can you won- 
 der ? Shall you make such a squire when you come 
 into your own, Ralph?" 
 
 He shrugged. "There's my cousin Valerius to
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 215 
 
 be reckoned with. He's heir. We've to prove his 
 death 'fore I can inherit." 
 
 "His death?" shrieked Julie, horror-struck. 
 
 "Lud, yes. He's disappeared. Everything goes 
 to him if he's alive. Ash Holt, the London house, 
 everything!" 
 
 "Ash Holt is somewhere hereabout, is't not?" 
 
 "Five miles or so from here, I suppose. 'Tis 
 years since I was there." 
 
 "La, how I would love to see it !" exclaimed Miss 
 Carmichael, clasping her hands. "We could ride 
 over and picnic. Delicious ! Uncle Uncle ! Mr. 
 Carew has a house near. Elizabethan, you said, 
 Ralph ? I dote upon old houses. Can we ride over 
 to-morrow and send a groom with dinner ? It's oc- 
 cupied, Ralph?" 
 
 "There's a housekeeper, I believe," returned poor 
 Carew, dazed with the young lady's impetuosity, 
 sublimely blind to the fact that Julie was perfectly 
 aware of his unhappiness and was endeavoring to 
 punish him for his neglect of her. "But I tell you, 
 Julie 'tis my cousin's place, I've no " 
 
 "Oh, Sir Valerius won't know, and if he did he'd 
 never be so churlish, as to object. Uncle, you'll 
 mount Ralph? Ladybird would be up to his 
 weight." 
 
 "Just as you please, my dear," said the Squire 
 absently, watching The Phoenix with the nearest 
 approach to a frown that ever ruffled his benign 
 forehead. "Gad, 'tis degenerating to a romp!
 
 216 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Too bad too bad! Shocking, Robin, shocking! 
 Positively most distressing! Country dances an't 
 a game of catch-as-catch-can, lad !" 
 
 "'Tis difficult to get round in time, on turf, sir," 
 laughed the boy, rubbing damp temples. "What 
 now, Julie?" 
 
 "Come be presented to Ralph Carew," she called. 
 "He's to take us over to-morrow to Ash Holt 
 Grange. Well then, if not to-morrow, next day! 
 Lud, what a popinjay it is ! We can send a groom 
 for your baggage, sir. Harry, you'll ride with us? 
 And Colin and Robin and Philip and Lucy. And 
 my uncle, of course. We'll picnic in the park be- 
 neath the haunted oak. Who is it walks there, 
 Ralph?" 
 
 Poor Carew muttered something inaudible and 
 endeavored to edge away, but Miss Carmichael 
 laid a compelling hand upon his arm. "Wait 
 you'll come stay at the Manor and we'll send for 
 your clothes. Where did you say? An inn at 
 lud, sir! No excuses! My uncle will never for- 
 give me if you refuse his hospitality. One might 
 think from your 'havior that you wished to quarrel 
 you don't? Then be persuaded." 
 
 "I'll come when after my baggage arrives," he 
 stammered. "I'm not prepared faith, Miss Car- 
 michael you must see that 'tis impossible for me 
 to visit in these rags. Wait until the day after to- 
 morrow, and I'll make the necessary arrangements. 
 Gad, Julie, don't be unreasonable." 
 
 Miss Carmichael pouted. "Oh, very well, sir.
 
 MAY DAY AT HAZELHURST 217 
 
 But I shall expect you o' Thursday, clothed and in 
 your right mind!" 
 
 She gave him her hand to kiss; and he contrived 
 to laugh and make his adieux, and slunk back to 
 the Butterwick's barn, where sprawling on the 
 straw he worried over the situation, revolving every 
 possible expedient, rejecting one plan after another 
 until the dusk melted into night and he lay staring 
 into the darkness of the timbered roof, utterly miser- 
 able, unable to see a way out of the tangle into 
 which his too susceptible heart had led him.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 
 
 THE merrymaking continued on the green 
 with increasing intervals for refreshment, 
 until twilight fell. 
 
 Robin Hood and Maid Marian danced and drank 
 and ate until they could no more, but lay, replete 
 and somnolent, in the lengthening shadows of the 
 trees. Maid Marian, misliking his unaccustomed 
 skirt, wriggled out of it and appeared in laced 
 bodice, chip hat and breeches, to the huge delight 
 of the children, who clamored for rides on the 
 hobby-horse until the jester, who provided the legs 
 of his steed, was thoroughly worn out. 
 
 The Queen of May, a little tired of lonely state 
 upon her throne, cast off her garlands and came 
 down to join in the dances, to the distraction of 
 half a dozen young fellows who considered they 
 held a monopoly on her hand. 
 
 Merodach and Dolly, side by side upon the turf, 
 watched the foot races, the sack races, the young 
 girls racing for a new smock. The Squire and the 
 gentlemen of his party made up a purse for an 
 impromptu wrestling match : young folk played 
 Drop Handkerchief, and Oats and Beans; and an 
 ancient in a round frock, pipe in one hand, mug in 
 
 218
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 219 
 
 t'other, leaned against the wall of a booth, shut his 
 eyes, and sang folk songs; his immediate neigh- 
 bors joining lustily in the refrains. 
 
 All day long the sun shone and the breeze kept 
 one from growing too hot. The Squire, reveling 
 in the customs of his forefathers, smiled largely 
 upon the scene, forgot the curious incident of 
 the young man in rags, and was completely happy. 
 
 But Dorothy did not forget. She sat silent, dis- 
 trait, threading daisies into a chain, replying 
 absently to Merodach's attempts at conversation; 
 and thinking that she would be better alone for a 
 while he excused himself, crossed to one of the 
 booths and ate a belated dinner. 
 
 The girl wound her flower-chain about her neck, 
 clasped her hands over her knees and sat brooding, 
 unconscious of the romping children, deaf to thf 
 shouted encouragement of the ring that watched th'e 
 wrestlers; and not until a flushed gallant dropped 
 beside her did she look up. 
 
 "Fair maid," simpered Colin Carmichael, laying 
 a white hand on his tambour vest. "Behold me at 
 your hie! your feet, an' doocid pretty feet, I'll 
 swear, in spite of your ahem! clogs!" He 
 giggled; an engaging if rather foolish young man, 
 in whom there seemed nothing to fear. 
 
 Dorothy thought it wise to fall in with his 
 humor. 
 
 "Fair sir," said she. "Leave me, I would be 
 alone." 
 
 "Ah, cruel one! You stab me with your doocid
 
 220 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 pretty eyes!" He edged nearer, languishing. 
 "Behold me, Colin Carmichael, at your doocid 
 pretty feet!" 
 
 "Carmichael?" echoed Dorothy, roused. 
 
 "Carmichael. Colin, son of Robert the Devil. 
 I'm a bit of a devil myself, an't I?" 
 
 " 'Tis evident, sir," agreed Dorothy. "And 
 the young lady in lilac silk? Is she your sister?" 
 
 "Julie? Gad, yes. Bless her soft heart. D'ye 
 recognize the family likeness?" 
 
 "She's betrothed?" suggested the girl, ignoring 
 an arm about her waist. 
 
 "Lud, what do I know! She's half a dozen gal- 
 lants dangling. Her last flame is hie! Ralph 
 C-carew, doocid good fellow but woundily ill 
 dressed. However" he squeezed nearer "we'll 
 none of him. What's Ralph Carew to us, or we 
 to Ralph Carew? Phutt! less than nothing. I'll 
 kiss you, sweet hedge-rose, and you'll forget Ralph 
 C-carew an' all his works, so " . 
 
 Hot breath tainted with the fumes of wine smote 
 upon her cheek. She scrambled to her feet, 
 tripped, recovered, and was off apace, pursued by 
 the impressionable Colin. 
 
 Such a chase was merely one of many a May Day 
 frolic: none dreamed of spoiling sport, but laughed 
 and cheered them forward with hunting cries and 
 deep-throated guffaws. The flying gypsy girl and 
 the galloping gallant caused much amusement; but 
 Dorothy lost her head. 
 
 It would have been easy to submit to a kiss and
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 221 
 
 escape, if she had not begun to run. Once started, 
 panic seized her and she dare not stop. Breath- 
 less, frightened, she raced across the green, caught 
 sight of the fiddler emerging from the eating-booth, 
 and with a gasping, "Merodach! Save me!" 
 flung herself into his arms. 
 
 Taken utterly by surprise Merodach instinctively 
 clutched her, kissed her, and became aware that 
 they were the center of attraction. 
 
 "What the plague!" panted Colin Carmichael, 
 catching at the Parson for support. "Wha what 
 did she call him? Merodach?" 
 
 "Merodach?" shouted the Squire, the Parson, 
 Farmer Butterwick and the gentlemen from the 
 Manor. 
 
 "Merodach? Gad burn my soul!" 
 
 "The Champion? Merodach? Rabbit me, what 
 a wasted day!" 
 
 "Merodach? Good heaven, sirs, who can we 
 match him with?" 
 
 " 'Tis Merodach, riddling for a parcel of clowns 
 to dance! Oh, butter my wig!" 
 
 Circling Dorothy with one arm, Merodach found 
 himself pounded upon the back, shaken by the hand, 
 deafened with cheers, apologies, explanations. Had 
 they known, these gentlemen vociferated, had they 
 dreamed who he was they'd have been condemned 
 'fore they'd have allowed him to riddle! A match! 
 A match ! Hal the wheelwright was a glutton for 
 punishment, he'd be good for dozen rounds, at least. 
 A match a match!
 
 222 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Merodach smiled and shook his head. "I've a 
 job on hand that bars fighting, sirs," said he, when 
 the hubbub had somewhat subsided. "When I'm 
 free, mebbe I might obleege ye." No amount of 
 persuasion could move him. He picked up his 
 fiddle and turned to the Squire. "Ye'll not be 
 needing more music to-night, sir? Then we'll jog. 
 My wife's tired." 
 
 "Here, wait a bit, Merodach," cried the Squire, 
 suddenly diffident. " Tis our custom to give the 
 fiddler tuppence a head, but demme, we can hardly 
 offer you that. If you'll accept " 
 
 "Thank'ee, Squire. Tuppence a head let it be. 
 I've done no more for you than old Sam would." 
 
 The Squire beamed. Here was a man after his 
 own heart. He whipped off his Kevenhuller and 
 held it out. 
 
 "Tuppence a head, lads, for the fiddler. Come, 
 Carmichael you've had your money's worth! 
 Robin! Doctor, where's yours? Oh, no change 
 given. Ye'll get no change from Merodach! Tup- 
 pence a head. Good night to you, Mrs. Butterwick, 
 ma-am. I shall call to-morrow to take a look at that 
 ailing ewe. Good night, Tom. Keep away from 
 the tavern, you rascal, you've had all you can carry. 
 Good night, Betsy. Is it three times you've been 
 church-called? Then come up to the Manor and 
 bring your Harry, and my wife'll see what she can 
 find for ye. Good night! Good night!" 
 
 Coppers clanked into the hat as the country folk
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 223 
 
 trailed past with bobs and pulled forelocks: until 
 the Squire turned and emptied his load upon the 
 ale-slopped table behind him. 
 
 "You'll not be able to carry this," said he, "I'll 
 give you gold." 
 
 "Thank'ee, Squire. I'll take a crown, and will 
 ye send the rest on't to old Sam? He'll be laid up 
 a while." Merodach looked down into the kindly 
 blue eyes beneath their scanty brows, and smiled. 
 "This'd be a sad loss to old Sam, sir. And I've 
 plenty. Good night, and good-by. We'll be off 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 The Squire shook hands, nodded to Dorothy, 
 abruptly turned on his heel and shovelled the cop- 
 pers into his capacious pockets. "Good-by," said 
 he gruffly. "You're a damned fine fellow, Mero- 
 dach. If ever I can do aught for you there, be 
 off wi' ye!" 
 
 The chestnut bordered road was full of slowly 
 sauntering couples, arm in arm, hand in hand: 
 children lagged wearily behind their mothers : 
 fathers carried sleepy toddlers: old folk hobbled 
 bedward, silent, dim-eyed, remembering long-past 
 May Days when they too had wandered home by 
 way of Owl Copse and the kissing gate. 
 
 Merodach slid an arm about Dorothy's waist and 
 sauntered with the rest, thrilled by the consciousness 
 that the girl leaned against him. They said nothing, 
 until pausing at the Butterwick's gate a passing 
 couple called, "Good night!"
 
 224 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Good night!" returned Merodach, and waited, 
 swinging back the green wicket as Dorothy passed 
 him. 
 
 A deep arch of yew blotted out the stars, and 
 stumbling in the darkness the girl caught at Mero- 
 dach's shoulder. 
 
 In an instant he had her in his arms. 
 
 Breathless, tingling from head to foot, Dorothy 
 lay dazed, stunned by the sudden passion of his 
 embrace. Beside the gypsy's kisses, young Carew's 
 were the mere awkward pecks of a diffident lad. 
 She was too utterly overwhelmed to repulse him 
 and remained motionless, until as suddenly as he 
 had taken her, he let her go. 
 
 "Gad!" he whispered, panting a little. "I'm a 
 fool I faith, child, I couldn't help it. Forgive 
 me" 
 
 She could not have spoken to save her life: she 
 passed him, a hand to her burning face, and dis- 
 appeared round the corner of the house. When 
 after a moment he followed, she was not to be seen. 
 
 Young Carew came yawning from the barn and 
 perched upon the pump trough, kicking his heels. 
 
 "Hallo," said he. "A word with you, Mero- 
 dach. I'm in the devil of a hole." 
 
 For once his egotism was a blessing. 
 
 The gypsy sat down upon a hen-coop, thankful 
 that the twilight hid his face, and that, as usual, 
 Mr. Carew was solely concerned with himself. 
 
 "At your service, sir," says he, breathing deep
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 225 
 
 to check his galloping heart. Heavens! he had 
 kissed her and she was not angry. She had lain pas- 
 sive, unresisting, almost he could have sworn she 
 responded her lips 
 
 "I'm in the deuce of a mess!" moaned young 
 Carew. 
 
 "Are ye, sir? What's the trouble? From all 
 I saw of you down on the green you seemed to be 
 making the most of your time!" Merodach 
 laughed. 
 
 "Oh, devil take the women!" cried Carew. 
 "They're for ever at me. I seem to draw 'em as 
 a honey-pot draws wasps. 'Tis my cursed attrac- 
 tiveness, Merodach. You can thank your stars 
 you an't alluring!" 
 
 "O lud, I do I do!" said the gypsy solemnly. 
 *Who's after ye now, sir? Was it the young 
 'ooman in the laylock gown? A neat figure, on 
 my soul!" 
 
 "Faith, I should name no names, being as I hope 
 a gentleman. But deuce take it, I'm at my wits' 
 end, and 'tis not as though you were that is 
 demme, 'tis Miss Carmichael's head over ears in 
 love with me. I met her in Paris, and we we 
 saw a good deal of each other, but I swear I never 
 gave her the least encouragement I never offered 
 myself ! And now she chooses to conduct as if we 
 were affianced upbraids me for not having written 
 presents me to her uncle with all the airs of a 
 wife good gad, Merodach! What am I to do?"
 
 226 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Mr. Carmichael'll be her brother?" suggested 
 Merodach, chewing a grass straw to keep his lips 
 from twitching to a smile. 
 
 "Lud, yes. But what's he?" 
 
 "A woundily fine swordsman, so I've heard." 
 
 "Demme, d'ye think he'll call me out?" quavered 
 poor Ralph. 
 
 "What other course has he, if ye jilt Miss?" 
 
 "But I tell you we're not betrothed!" 
 
 "She'll say ye are, and he'll believe her." Mero- 
 dach pushed his fingers through his thick hair. 
 "Lord, Lord ! what a plague is love !" he moralized, 
 shaking with suppressed merriment. From his seat 
 upon the empty hen-coop he could see the square 
 window of the loft where Dorothy slept above the 
 cow-house. In the gloom a golden head shone mis- 
 tily like a full moon behind thin cloud. She could 
 not move without betraying her presence to young 
 Carew, and it was certain that she could hear every 
 word. 
 
 "Well?" pleaded Ralph. "What d'ye think? 
 What would you do?" 
 
 "Ecod, I've ne'er been plighted to two females at 
 once." 
 
 "I tell you I'm not! I" 
 
 "You've promised to wed Miss Forrest?" 
 
 "Gad, yes. I said I would, spite of everything." 
 
 "Did she accept of ye, sir?" 
 
 "Accept? Demme, wouldn't she jump at the 
 chance? Coming from "
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 227 
 
 "Well, but did she?" persisted the gypsy. 
 "Look'ee, Mr. Carew, this is a serious affair." 
 
 "Oh, an't I aware of that?" 
 
 "Well, see now. Here's you here's the two 
 young ladies. You're plighted to one and t'other 
 claims ye. Ergo, you'll have to break with one or 
 t'other, this not being Turkey." 
 
 "Oh, od rot ye for a fool!" cried the lad, his voice 
 catching in a sob. "Of course I shall! The ques- 
 tion is, which one?" 
 
 "D'ye love 'em both, sir?" pondered the gypsy. 
 
 "O Lord! I'm damned if I love either! I wish 
 'em at Jericho scheming hussies ! I'm sick o' 
 women I wish I were dead! I wish " 
 
 "O come, pluck up heart, sir! Things are never 
 as bad as they might be." 
 
 "I'm demmed if I can see how they could well 
 be worse!" 
 
 "While there's life there's hope," said Merodach. 
 "If I were you, sir, I'd toss." 
 
 "W-what?" 
 
 "Toss, sir. Let fate decide. Spin a coin. 
 Heads, Miss Carmichael gets ye. Tails, Miss " 
 
 "Look ye, my man. I've not sunk quite so low 
 as that !" declared Carew, sliding from his perch and 
 standing rigid. 
 
 "Oh, no offense," returned Merodach cheerfully. 
 "You asked my advice, sir. What I says is let fate 
 decide. If you object, well" he shrugged "ye'll 
 ha' to wriggle out o' the mess another way."
 
 228 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Lud, what odious expressions you do use, to be 
 sure !" Carew turned, dug his hands into his pockets 
 and began to ramp to and fro in the restricted space 
 between the hen-coop and the cow-house wall, unable 
 to go farther without falling over Merodach's long 
 legs. 
 
 "If I can be of service ye can count on me," said 
 Merodach heartily. 
 
 "Thank'ee. I think not. But gad! I'd forgot. 
 Miss Carmichael's planned a picnic. I've had to per- 
 mit her to send a groom to the Goat and Compasses 
 for my baggage : he'll be back to-morrow night and 
 then I shall be constrained to stay at the Manor a day 
 or two and ride to Ash Holt Grange o' Thursday, 
 and I" 
 
 "That'll be Sir Valerius Carew's country place, 
 now his uncle's dead?" 
 
 "To be sure. I want to warn the servants to open 
 the house and light fires and prepare a meal. Er 
 being in a way host I feel it my duty to arrange 
 for the comfort of my guests, d'ye see?" 
 
 "Quite so, sir," agreed Merodach. "No news of 
 the missing heir, sir?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "Warrant still out, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 Merodach rose slowly to his lithe height. "Well, 
 to obleege ye, Mr. Carew, I'll go to Ash Holt Grange 
 and tell 'em you're coming. 'Tis but a couple o' mile 
 out of our road." 
 
 "Your road?"
 
 YOUNG CAREW SEEKS ADVICE 229 
 
 "To Winterbourne, sir. Miss Forrest's eager to 
 be at her cousin's." 
 
 "Why, I'd thought she'd wait for me," said young 
 Carew. "Mrs. Butterwick'd let you stay on here 
 another day or two. I've no doubt you could make 
 yourself useful. You can't take Miss Forrest on 
 alone." 
 
 "She'd be as safe with me as with you !" retorted 
 Merodach heatedly. 
 
 "I tell you I'll not have it!" 
 
 "And what would Miss Carmichael say to that ?" 
 
 "Oh, damn Miss Carmichael!" exclaimed Ralph 
 bitterly. "Here we are back at the same point after 
 all this discussion." 
 
 " Tis the way of discussions, sir. Like toad- 
 stools, they grow in circles and 'tis waste o' time to 
 pick 'em. Best sleep on it, sir. I'll start for Ash 
 Holt bright an' early, so ye can set your heart at 
 rest on that count. I'll arrange for a warm recep- 
 tion, never fear!" 
 
 Young Carew stared, concluded that the fellow 
 meant well, and lounged dejectedly toward the barn. 
 "I'll give you my commands in the morning," said 
 he over his shoulder. 
 
 Merodach waited until he was out of sight and 
 threw a pebble into the loft. 
 
 A pale face lifted above the window-sill. 
 
 "You heard, child?" 
 
 "I I couldn't help but hear. Why didn't you 
 take him away?" 
 
 "Trust me, 'tis all for the best. To-morrow,
 
 2 3 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 agree to everything I suggest. I have a plan. 
 There's a way out o' this coil, if you'll follow me." 
 
 She nodded, choking back her tears, gazing down 
 at him from the dusty darkness of the haymow. 
 "I promise. Good night." 
 
 "Good night." Merodach hesitated, kicking at a 
 stray turnip. 
 
 "You want to tell me now?" breathed Miss 
 Forrest, leaning out. 
 
 "I gad, no, child. Wait until to-morrow." 
 He strode rapidly away; but the girl remained at 
 the window, her cheek against the gray, weathered 
 oak of the frame, her lips faintly smiling. 
 
 "Until to-morrow?" said she, and caught her 
 breath in a sigh. "Merodach, I think you've told 
 me already."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 
 
 WITH the flat feeling that inevitably fol- 
 lows festivity, the village of Hazel- 
 hurst set about its tasks next morning. 
 Rain had fallen during the night and the roads were 
 slippery with mud: garlands tossed aside and for- 
 gotten lay withering in odd corners : the very May- 
 pole wore a dejected air, as though it were unwill- 
 ing to stand neglected for another year. 
 
 The wattle bowers were being carried away as 
 Merodach and Dorothy crossed the green, and a 
 couple of carters nodded and stared after them, 
 pausing in their work of loading the hurdles on to 
 a wagon. 
 
 "Merodach," grunted one. 
 
 "Ay," responded the other. 
 
 "Squire made a terrible gurt fuss over him, 
 surely. What's he done?" queried the boy at the 
 horse's head. 
 
 "Done? Lumme, not to know Merodach!" 
 
 "Nubbody knowed him till his wife squealed out 
 his name," retorted the lad, nettled. 
 
 "What I mean is, heard on him. He be a 
 larmentable sprackish fighter, Merodach. Come up 
 on top, as it were, all on a sudden like. Never 
 heard tell on him one day, an' nexdy 'twere all over 
 
 231
 
 232 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 the parish. Doctor were norating over it to Mus 
 Pagden, as how Merodach beat his trainer Jack 
 Broughton an' adunnamany other champions within 
 a month. That were a year ago, mebbe. Then, 
 look'ee, what's he do but disappear, an' naun to show 
 where he'd gone. Then, ecod, up he pops some- 
 wheres, wins a match, an' disappears agen, like to 
 a Punch an' Judy show. Fegs ! he's a fair wonner ! 
 We can count oursel's in luck to ha' set eyes on 
 him. 'Tain't many as can say that!" 
 
 "Why, don't he show to every one?" said the lad 
 in a scared whisper. 
 
 "Show?" 
 
 "Ay. Mebbe he's a farisee." 
 
 The carters stared at one another. "What the 
 rabbits ! Mebbe he is !" said they. 
 
 Silent with a new shyness, Dorothy followed the 
 gypsy beneath the dripping oaks to a by-lane, wind- 
 ing capriciously through thickets of hazel and birch 
 copses to a stretch of heathery common and so to the 
 forest that clothes the country-side about Ash Holt. 
 
 She could not have analyzed her feelings: a 
 vague unrest ; a longing to know beyond all possible 
 doubt; a dread that he would speak; a dread that he 
 would not; wonder at herself, and bubbling laughter 
 when she thought of poor Carew all these and a 
 dozen other emotions rioted within her as she 
 trudged ankle-deep in wet leaves and sparkling 
 grass, carrying her bundle on her hip. 
 
 It is to be assumed that Merodach was in much 
 the same state of ferment. He strode ahead whis-
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 233 
 
 tling spasmodically ; twirling a ground ash ; pausing 
 to watch the antics of a squirrel or a pair of bicker- 
 ing jays. From time to time he turned to glance at 
 the girl, and went on without a word; until as the 
 forest closed about them he came to a sudden halt 
 and stood, breathing quickly, staring down at her. 
 
 The bundle dropped from Dorothy's fingers as 
 their eyes met, the hot blood surged into her face 
 beneath his glance. He stepped nearer and she did 
 not move, but like a frightened bird remained mo- 
 tionless, palpitating. 
 
 He said nothing, but took her; and the world 
 swam about them in a dizzy silence. 
 
 When after an eternity she opened her eyes there 
 was nothing to be seen but brown cheek and ruffled 
 black hair. 
 
 "Merodach !" she murmured, sighing in vast con- 
 tent, and slid both arms about his neck. 
 
 After another eternity she looked up again; and 
 held him off a little ; and tried to laugh and sobbed 
 instead : 
 
 "Merodach" 
 
 "Child!" he whispered shakily. "You're cry< 
 ing!" 
 
 "I'm not I am! Mayn't I cry for joy? O 
 lud, Merodach I'm not made of wood!" 
 
 "Faith, no, dear heart." He touched her ten- 
 derly. "You're all sweet curves. Did I crush you ? 
 I'm mad, I think." 
 
 "We're both mad, hopelessly lunatic. And I 
 I like it "
 
 234 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Whereupon there was no more to be said. 
 
 They went on after a time, very close together. 
 
 "You called me 'wife' last night," she reminded 
 him shyly. 
 
 "I did! 'Twas shameless in me, but I wanted 
 to hear how it sounded. Wife! A tinker's wife, 
 as Mr. Carew put it." 
 
 "Ah, poor Ralph!" 
 
 "O lud, he'll survive it. The wretched youth's 
 half crazed with terror. 'Apollo flies and Daphne 
 holds the chase.' Miss Carmichael will teach him 
 his manage. Look, here's a throne for you, Queen 
 of May. They should have crowned you yesterday, 
 instead of that little red-head !" 
 
 "She was pretty," said Dorothy, pausing beside 
 the fallen trunk of a beech. "La, this tree's 
 soaking." 
 
 "It won't soak through my breeches," said he, 
 slipping the pack from his back. "Come !" 
 
 They lingered there, still wrapped up in the mys- 
 terious wonder of each other; still groping in a 
 world that was a little unreal, insecure, liable to 
 melt at a breath, as the land of dream melts upon 
 awakening into the stable, rather dreary world of 
 every day. 
 
 The sun broke through rapidly thinning clouds 
 and struck down into the heart of the green wood- 
 land, turning every raindrop to a twinkling jewel; 
 shining through translucent beech leaves; caught 
 and imprisoned in Dorothy's tumbled hair.
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 235 
 
 Wood sorrel, growing in the rotting stump of the 
 beech, expanded in the warmth, opening its frail 
 trefoil leaves to the sun. The girl leaned forward 
 to pluck a bit and nibbled it, gazing dim-eyed at 
 nothing. 
 
 Merodach looked at her. 
 
 "D'you think you can stand it?" he asked at 
 length, touching her slim hands. 
 
 "W-what?" 
 
 "Tramping?" 
 
 "I can try," said she. "But later on, when winter 
 comes, it would be nice to have a little house." 
 
 "Nice? Inadequate woman! 'Twould be elys- 
 ium. But " 
 
 "Then perhaps one of those black tents, or a cara- 
 van," pondered Dorothy. "Anywhere " 
 
 "Well ?" he teased her as she faltered. 
 
 "Anywhere with you!" She relaxed, obeying 
 the pressure of his arm. "I'm a headlong creature, 
 an't I? Vastly imprudent! I eloped with Mr. 
 Carew the second the third time ever I saw 
 him." 
 
 "My parents were as headlong," he said. "My 
 father was but two-and-twenty, traveling with his 
 tutor, when at a carnival in Madrid he picked up 
 a rose intended for another man. It had a message 
 on a strip of paper round the stem. He gave his 
 tutor the slip, followed the girl who had thrown the 
 flower, discovered where she lived and kept the tryst 
 that night. They were wed next day."
 
 236 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "La," sighed Dorothy. "How deliciously ro- 
 mantic !" 
 
 Merodach grinned. "The tutor didn't find it 
 so! He was half out of his mind, and fled back to 
 England and took a living in the wilds of York- 
 shire to escape my grandad's wrath. He'd never 
 have got another pupil, after losing one in that 
 fashion!" 
 
 "And what of your parents ?" 
 
 "Oh, they wandered about Spain. My mother 
 hid herself from pursuit. There was a wealthy 
 old rake after her, whom she loathed, and 'twas to 
 escape marriage with him that she flung a rose to 
 a mask at the carnival. They lived as gypsies 
 live wind- free. I was born in a ditch, and please 
 God I'll die in one, under the stars!" 
 
 Instinctively her arms tightened about his neck. 
 "I don't want to speak of death," she whispered, 
 and hid her face. "Tell me of your mother." 
 
 Merodach shook his head. "Words are poor 
 things. She was the merriest creature. I've seen 
 her fall into a stream and come up drenched, and 
 crawl to land and sit laughing, wringing the 
 water from her clothes. If it rained, she laughed. 
 If it shone, she laughed. If the wind tore at her 
 she went frantic with delight. But she died 
 when I was twelve. After that my father and I 
 wandered half over Europe the sunny half. I 
 know France, Spain, Italy, better than many of 
 the natives who lived out their days in one village. 
 Then my father died, and wandering seemed to
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 237 
 
 lose its charm, and I came home to England < 
 lonely " He stopped, frowning a little. 
 
 "And then, beloved?" urged the girl, and 
 smoothed out the wrinkle between his eyes with a 
 finger-tip. 
 
 "The rest of the story must wait," he said 
 decisively. "You shall know it all, one day. 
 We must on to Ash Holt, and remember, you've 
 promised to agree to everything I suggest." 
 
 She nodded. "I promised." 
 
 "Even if it seems churlish in me, even if you 
 can't understand?" 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 "You'll trust me?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "I'll try to 
 I'll do as you say. But don't don't make it 
 too hard for me, Merodach." 
 
 He bent his head to kiss her. 
 
 They ate of the food Mrs. Butterwick had given 
 them, drank from a chalk stream and wandered 
 on; until the red-brown walls of Ash Holt 
 Grange appeared, and Merodach halted, a delay- 
 ing hand upon her arm. 
 
 "Here we part. Faith, child, only for half an 
 hour. I must go tell the servants of the impend- 
 ing descent of Ralph and his guests. There's a 
 summer-house somewhere near, where you can 
 wait." 
 
 "You know the place?" cried she, bewildered. 
 
 "I have been here before. The butler's an old 
 friend of mine." He lifted her to the top of the
 
 2 3 8 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 wall, threw the bundles over and climbed after, 
 dropping to mossed turf beneath a great chestnut, 
 alight with its candles of spiked bloom. 
 
 Radiant, laughing, she slid out of his arms, and 
 he led her across the park to a thatched arbor on 
 the borders of a pool. 
 
 Here he left her, and went through rose garden 
 and pleached alley to the kitchen gardens, and so 
 to the stable-yard where, ramping behind bars, a 
 dozen couple of hounds belled a welcome, sterns 
 waving, brown eyes wistful for caresses. 
 
 "Now then!" shouted a groom, emerging from 
 the coach-house, cloth in one hand, a bridle half 
 polished dangling from the other. "Now then, take 
 yerself out o' this !" 
 
 "Is Mr. Marsh within?" asked Merodach. 
 
 "What's that to you?" 
 
 "Go tell him a gypsy wants to see him." 
 
 "I'll be shot if I do!" cried the lad, and swung 
 about as a man came out of the back porch and 
 stood blinking in the sunshine. 
 
 "What's all this?" said he. "Ecod, I've been 
 looking for you. Come your ways in. Mike, go 
 trot into the harness room, my lad, an' get the rust 
 off that bridle, 'less you want your nose rubbed 
 on't! 'Tis in a shockin' state!" 
 
 Dumb with disgust, the young groom stared at 
 the speckless bridle, scratched his head, stared at 
 the gypsy, stared at the butler, and retired, 
 growling.
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 239 
 
 Merodach followed the old fellow into the 
 buttery. 
 
 "Well, Marsh," said he, "how fares it with you? 
 Sit down, man, and let me have all the news." 
 
 Coughing apologetically, Marsh subsided on to a 
 bench, and told his tale. 
 
 This one was dismissed for laziness ; this one was 
 put into his place. One of the maids had lately 
 wed a carter. Such and such a horse was lame. 
 These fields were down for pasture, these were 
 sown. So many lambs; so many pups; five young 
 calves and half a hundred chicks and ducklings. 
 
 "Everything flourishes?" said Merodach com- 
 fortably. " 'Tis very well. Mr. Ralph sent me 
 to warn you that 'tis his intent to come to-morrow 
 with ten or a dozen guests. Rooms are to be 
 opened, fires lit, meals prepared. He wishes to 
 impress a certain young lady with his er heri- 
 tage. Gad, Joseph, you'll do yourself a hurt if 
 you laugh so!" 
 
 ''Heritage? Damme!" The butler wiped merry 
 eyes, choking, spluttering, lying back against the 
 wall to hold his sides. 
 
 Merodach prodded him with an impressive fore- 
 finger. 
 
 "You'll treat Mr. Ralph as though he were 
 already your master. Understand that Mr. Valerius 
 still hides. Mr. Ralph confidently expects never to 
 see him more, and will conduct according. Why 
 what's that?"
 
 2 4 o MY LADY APRIL 
 
 A bell rang somewhere in the house above them. 
 The butler's face regained its normal serenity. 
 
 "Ecod," said he. "I'd forgot. 'Tis a Mr. 
 Cavanagh come a-seeking ye. It seems he has 
 news, though what it is I can't discover. He 
 arrived last night, all of a lather with impatience, 
 and could hardly wait till I'd got into my breeches 
 to let him in. Had you come, had I heard from 
 you, had I this and had I t'other, until blest if I 
 knew whether I stood on my head or my heels. A 
 most hurryful gent, on my soul!" 
 
 "Let be," said the gypsy, rising. "I'll go to him. 
 Which room, Joseph?" 
 
 "The oak parlor, sir," responded Marsh. "Will 
 ye dine?" 
 
 "Faith, yes. Later, when I've seen Cavanagh." 
 Merodach swung off to the oak parlor, and enter- 
 ing, found the Irishman at ease, his chair tilted on 
 to its back legs, his feet propped against the 
 chimney-breast, basking in the warmth of a wood 
 fire with his wig upon the table. 
 
 "Oh," says he without looking round. "And 
 hasn't that lazy rascal Merodach arrived yet, 
 Marsh?" 
 
 "Apparently," returned Merodach, coming for- 
 ward, utterly unprepared for the wild yell with 
 which Cavanagh leapt to his feet. The chair 
 crashed over backward, but Merodach caught it 
 before it reached the floor. 
 
 "Good ged damned neat!" cried Larry, tugging 
 at something in his coat pocket. "What d'ye think ?
 
 THE ROAD TO ASH HOLT 241 
 
 Carew's cleared!" He slapped a folded paper on 
 to the table and laughed triumphantly. 
 
 Merodach shot a glance at him, bent forward and 
 picked up the documenct f* Janet Robinson, her 
 mark?" said he, staring at the signature. "What 
 the deuce is this?" 
 
 "Read!" cried Cavanagh, capering. "Read!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ASH HOLT GRANGE 
 
 ALONE in the thatched arbor Dorothy 
 waited, watching swallows skimming the 
 surface of the pond, flycatchers feeding as 
 they hovered, blue tits building in a flowery bush, 
 thrushes patrolling a patch of turf for the unwary 
 worm. Relaxing, she curled up on the seat, laid her 
 head on her bundle and drifted into slumber, dream- 
 ing that she was the Princess Beauty and that Mero- 
 dach was the Beast, imploring her to wed him. A 
 shadow fell across the doorway, and she awoke to 
 find Larry Cavanagh bending over her. 
 
 "Merodach sent me," said he. "I'm to be taken' 
 ye up to the house." 
 
 Amazed, she stared at him. 
 
 "You find it strange to see me here?" he added, 
 and stooped to lift the baggage. 
 
 "I yes, I hardly expected it." She rose, smiling 
 a little uncertainly. "Merodach ?" 
 
 "Faith, Merodach's had news that'll keep him 
 busy for a day or two. The butler and his wife 
 and myself will be lookin' after ye. This way 
 
 He led her through the gardens; along the 
 pleasance, divided into square closes where the pink 
 
 242
 
 ASH HOLT GRANGE 243 
 
 of apple blossoms shone above the clipped yew 
 hedges; up to the terraced walk, gay with nodding 
 daffodils and early gillyflowers; and so to the great 
 porch, where Marsh and the gray-haired woman 
 waited at the head of the steps to welcome her. 
 
 "Miss Forrest'll be wishful to see her room," 
 suggested Cavanagh, depositing his load upon a 
 seat in the hall. "Follow Mrs. Marsh, me dear. 
 Sure, 'tis a big house, but if ye get lost ye can yell!" 
 
 The butler took her valise, Mrs. Marsh, scanda- 
 lized but calm, carried the bundles; and the girl 
 moved as in a dream up the wide oak staircase with 
 its carved balustrade and leisurely, shallow steps, 
 to the branching gallery above. 
 
 "The west wing, ma'am," says Mrs. Marsh, turn- 
 ing down a corridor. "Here Sir Julian would have 
 lodged his lady, had he married. 'Tis years since 
 he was here, preferring town, ma'am, and the Bath. 
 Mr. Valerius, being heir, had the run of the place. 
 He uses these rooms when he's here, which ain't 
 often, ma'am, an' when he does come he's that soli- 
 tary he might a'most as well be an eremite, shutting 
 hisself up an' seeing no one but Marsh. They say 
 he hates all women since his mother died. No, she 
 were never here, ma'am. Old Sir Antony refused 
 to meet her, and Mr. Raymond being a proud man 
 an' desp'rate hot-blooded, he refused to come with- 
 out her. And so his father never saw him again, 
 ma'am. Not since he married." She opened a door 
 and stepped aside for Dorothy to enter. "The 
 boudoir, ma'am. The bedchamber lies yonder. I
 
 244 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 trust you'll be comfortable, ma'am. There's the bell 
 rope. I'll bring some bow-pots. Mebbe ye'll like 
 to fill 'em with flowers yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you," murmured Dorothy, lost in 
 wonder, recognizing Merodach's thought behind the 
 housekeeper's words. 
 
 Alone in the big room she wandered from hearth 
 to window, from window to settee, her eyes roving 
 for some token, some message. 
 
 She found nothing in the boudoir, but in the 
 bedroom a tiny bunch of sweet violets, still wet with 
 rain, lay on her dressing-table. She set them in 
 water and unpacked, shaking out her creased cloth- 
 ing, smoothing muslins, hanging a flowered gown 
 before the fire. 
 
 An hour later, Mr. Cavanagh, feigning to read 
 in the hall, became aware that a lady descended; 
 and rose, book in hand, bowing to the skins that 
 strewed the polished floor. 
 
 "Good ged," he declared, laughing. "I protest, 
 ma'am, I didn't know you !" 
 
 Dorothy smiled and spread her skirts, preening 
 herself, demurely content to be clad daintily once 
 more. "There was no need to go in rags, was 
 there? Merodach wouldn't mind?" 
 
 "Mind? Good ged, not if he could see you!" 
 
 "And have you permission to show me the house 
 and gardens?" 
 
 "The whole blessed Ark-load!" 
 
 "Ark?" 
 
 "Oh, 'tis a farm we inhabit, me dear! Cows,
 
 ASH HOLT GRANGE 245 
 
 sheep, ducks, geese, foxhounds, horses, dogs well 
 now, an' will ye look at that?" 
 
 A grave setter walked sedately in, gazed inquir- 
 ingly from Cavanagh to Dorothy, and slowly waved 
 a plumy flag. 
 
 "Dear boy !" said she, holding out her hand. 
 
 He came, sniffed, regarded her with liquid eyes 
 and laid his beautiful head upon her knee. Dorothy 
 took his face between her hands, smoothed the silky 
 hair, kissed him, and from that moment he never 
 left her. While they dined he lay beside her chair : 
 when they walked he paced at her side, pausing 
 tolerantly to give her time to admire the broods of 
 chickens ; the lambs in the flowery orchard ; the fox- 
 hounds, indignant and jealous, pawing at their 
 bars. 
 
 She seemed content to wander about the gardens 
 with Cavanagh, and if she ached to ask a thousand 
 questions, she did not show it. 
 
 The Irishman was evidently laboring under 
 some concealed emotion. At times he laughed for 
 no apparent reason. At times he gave absurd 
 replies to her most innocent remarks, and when she 
 looked amazed, confessed that he did not know 
 what he had said. 
 
 At ten she took her candle, went above-stairs, fol- 
 lowed by the setter, and coming into her boudoir 
 beheld Merodach, cross-legged before the hearth. 
 
 "You?" she cried. "They told me you had 
 gone!" 
 
 "They believed it," he said, fondling the ecstatic
 
 246 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 dog. "Down, Ranger, down! Mrs. Marsh saw to 
 your comfort, child?" 
 
 She made a little gesture toward the glowing fire, 
 the flowers that stood in bowls about the place; 
 and smiled. 
 
 "I came back because I remembered that you'd 
 vowed not to sleep in a house until you reached 
 Winterbourne." He put the leaping setter aside 
 and went to Dorothy. "Vows, even foolish vows, 
 are not to be lightly broke, sweetheart." He bent 
 to kiss her fingers as she hesitated. "Remember, 
 you promised." 
 
 "I promised. What am I to do?" she said 
 simply. 
 
 "Go dress in your gypsy things, and bring a 
 shawl and a blanket from your bed." 
 
 She went obediently as a child; returned, and he 
 led her from the boudoir to a tiny chamber in the 
 wall, opening on a stair: the night closed, cool and 
 fresh about them as they came out into the gardens, 
 Ranger close at their heels. 
 
 "I've made a nest for you," said Merodach 
 presently, coming to a halt in one of the square 
 closes of the ancient pleasance, where walled about 
 with thick yew hedges a lawn lay shadowed by a 
 gnarled apple tree. He knelt to arrange a bed of 
 dried fern, covered with a couple of carriage rugs. 
 
 "Ranger'll stay with you," he added, tucking her 
 in. 
 
 She looked up. "And you?" 
 
 "I shall be within call."
 
 ASH HOLT GRANGE 247 
 
 "I had rather you were within reach," she 
 whispered. 
 
 "Had you? Are you nervous? You've slept 
 out before." 
 
 "Only once, and then you were on the other 
 side o' the fire," she reminded him, and slid her 
 hands behind his head to draw it lower. "The 
 night's so so very big, Merodach." 
 
 Silent, awed by her faith in him, he fetched his 
 bed from the next close and settled down so that 
 at arm's length their hands could touch. 
 
 Above them the stars shone pale in the deeps of 
 the sky. A nightingale, shyly, as though he knew 
 the time was not yet come, was trying one note 
 after another, practicing the love song he would sing 
 as May blossomed into June. 
 
 Ranger scratched loose some fern, circled twice, 
 curled up, and slept between them until morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 "T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" 
 
 MRS. MARSH, appearing with a tray 
 of chocolate and buttered rolls, found 
 Dorothy flushed and dewy-eyed, huddling 
 into her cold bed. She drew the curtains, remark- 
 ing that it had been a fine night. 
 
 Dorothy supposed so. 
 
 "Mr. Ralph is to ride over with a party," said the 
 housekeeper, letting spring sunshine flood the room. 
 "But Marsh'll not show 'em this wing. If you 
 keep this side o' the house, ma'am, you'll not be dis- 
 turbed." 
 
 Sipping hot chocolate, Dorothy nodded, wonder- 
 ing what Mrs. Marsh thought of her presence there. 
 
 "Marsh has his orders," said the old woman, 
 folding her hands beneath her elbows and con- 
 templating Dorothy from the foot of the bed. 
 "Dear knows what they be, he's as mum as a tad- 
 pole! But being Mr. Raymond's body-servant 
 afore Mr. Valerius were born, an' after he grew up, 
 his man, 'tis but natural he should cling to the 
 family. We were wed late in life, ma'am. We've 
 no children, so I mother Joseph. He's nought but 
 a child some men never do grow up an' a child 
 with a secret, well, there's no holding 'em!" 
 
 248
 
 "T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" 249 
 
 "A secret?" echoed Dorothy, not liking to snub 
 the good woman, and yet fearful of prying. "Has 
 he a secret?" 
 
 "La, yes, ma'am. For years an' years he's been 
 a-hidin' something, ever since Mr. Valerius come 
 home from furren parts. Dear knows what it is, 
 an' I can't find out. It gets on my nerves a bit, 
 ma'am, but I don't complain. Marsh is a good 
 husband, as husbands go. And I thank heaven 
 there ain't no one to be jealous of !" 
 
 The idea of suspecting Marsh guilty of even the 
 mildest flirtation was too much for Miss Forrest, 
 and she collapsed gurgling in the depths of her pil- 
 lows. 
 
 Resigned to the eccentricities of quality, Mrs. 
 Marsh collected the chocolate service and padded 
 out. Dorothy lingered over a luxurious toilet: it 
 was a change to use fine towels and dainty china 
 after kneeling on the damp turf beside a brook. 
 
 Toward noon a cavalcade appeared, tittuping 
 along the chestnut drive: young Carew, debonair, 
 clad in his best and mounted on the Squire's pet 
 hunter, Ladybird: Miss Carmichael, swaying on 
 her mare like a titmouse on a twig: the Squire, 
 jogging on his piebald, Marigold ; Robin, and Lucy 
 Hazelhurst attended by three adoring gallants. 
 
 They trotted up and dismounted at the porch 
 where Marsh awaited them, and a stable-lad came 
 forward to take the horses. 
 
 "Ah, Marsh," says Ralph, handing Miss Car-
 
 250 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 michael up the steps. "How are ye? Wife and 
 family well? We must have a talk before I leave, 
 and I'll cast a glance over your books." 
 
 "Thank ye, Mr. Ralph," returned the old servant 
 sedately. "Will you dine now, or see the house 
 first?" 
 
 Ralph consulted Miss Carmichael. 
 
 "Oh, the gardens!" cried she. Let's explore the 
 gardens. 'Tis too early yet for dinner, and we can 
 see the house later." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Marsh, and hurried in- 
 doors. 
 
 The Squire watched in some disgust as Carew 
 and the other young men vanished down the terrace 
 in the wake of fluttering habits: and with a bridle 
 in each hand, led his favorites to the stable-yard, 
 discoursing meanwhile on the heinous practice of 
 leaving the care of one's horse to hirelings. 
 
 Following with his dapplegray and Lucy's roan, 
 Robin listened respectfully, although he knew the 
 little homily by heart. 
 
 "One day your life may depend upon your steed," 
 cries the Squire, unsaddling briskly. "(Boy, get 
 me a handful of hay. Steady, Marigold, you 
 demmed kitten !) If you an't able to call your horse 
 to hand (whoa, there!) to hand, I say, and 
 mount, d'ye see, Robin? gad, you may be left 
 wounded on the field " 
 
 "And lose the fox, sir," added the boy mischiev- 
 ously. 
 
 "Fox? Demme, sir, the field of battle! Who's 
 talking of hunting? Now train your animal to
 
 "T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" 251 
 
 stand, to answer to his name (hold up, Marigold, 
 what the devil ails the beast?) and where, I say, 
 where are you er there you are!" 
 
 "There indeed, sir!" agreed Robin dutifully. 
 
 They saw their horses watered and fed, and satis- 
 fied that they were comfortable, wandered from the 
 stable to kennels and so on to the gardens; where 
 they discovered Lucy enthroned upon a seat, miracu- 
 lously contriving to keep her three adorers in ami- 
 able converse with each other. 
 
 "Hallo?' said her father, coming up. "Where's 
 Julie?" 
 
 "La, sir. Mr. Carew carried her off to see a fish 
 pond, I believe." 
 
 "Sacred to the memory of his youth," added 
 Colin. 
 
 "He fished?" said the Squire, interested at once. 
 
 "Lud, no, sir ! He fell in." 
 
 Miss Hazelhurst rose and gathered up her trailing 
 habit. "Mr. Carmichael, have you my whip? My 
 gloves? Oh, Mr. Wallace has them. Shall we 
 walk ? There are buds in the rose garden as big as 
 filberts, father. Come see." 
 
 Strolling down the shady pleasance young Carew 
 had leisure to observe Miss Carmichael's ear; the 
 curls that escaped from beneath her beaver ; and the 
 slim neck, rising white above her laced cravat. She 
 resolutely kept her shoulder to him. 
 
 "Lud, I believe you've not forgiven me yet, Julie," 
 said he, aggrieved. 
 
 "For which fault, sir ? For neglecting me shame-
 
 252 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 lessly? For not writing? Or for refusing to dis- 
 close the reason of your intriguing pilgrimage in 
 rags?" 
 
 "I've explained that was a secret," expostulated 
 Ralph. "Julie, don't spoil my day by being cruel." 
 
 " 'Tis news that cruelty of mine can hurt you, sir !" 
 
 "I'm devilish miserable !" said he, and in truth he 
 thought he was. 
 
 She turned large eyes upon him and laid her hand 
 on his sleeve. "Poor lad, did I plague you ? Well, 
 for this one day, I'll be kind, nay more ! I'll be in- 
 discreet. You shall imagine me your wife, and 
 show me all our domain. We are but just home 
 from our honeymoon, Ralph, and I lud, sir ! Don't 
 impose on my generosity! I gave you my hand!" 
 
 He took her waist. "If you'll wed me, Julie, I 
 swear I'll " 
 
 "O la, sir, we are wed a full month!" 
 
 "Gad, I'm in earnest !" 
 
 She pouted. "You ask too much, i' faith. I 
 give you a day and you demand a life-time. Lud, 
 sir, can't you play?" 
 
 "No! I'm damned if I will!" 
 
 "Then if you won't, baby, go sulk by yourself!" 
 She laughed and fled, impeded by her habit, intend- 
 ing him to overtake her. 
 
 He caught her just within the entrance to an 
 apple-shaded close: caught her, kissed her, and be- 
 came aware of Miss Forrest, wide-eyed upon a heap 
 of dead fern.
 
 "T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" 253 
 
 She rose, outraged dignity personified; a book of 
 verse in one hand, the other restraining a growling 
 setter. 
 
 "Ralph!" said she, coached to her part by Mero- 
 dach before they parted in the dawn. 
 
 "Good gad Dolly!" gasped young Carew, and 
 dropped Miss Carmichael as she had been a hot coal. 
 
 "Explain your conduct, sir," says Miss Forrest, 
 biting twitching lips. 
 
 " 'Dolly'?" cried Miss Carmichael in the same 
 breath. "What's this, Ralph? Tis the peddler 
 wench!" 
 
 Between the cross-fire of their eyes poor Carew 
 stood stammering; scarlet to the ears; leaving a 
 dozen sentences half spoken; wishing the green earth 
 would yawn and swallow him up. 
 
 "Lud, the creature's stricken dumb," said Miss 
 Carmichael, when at length he fell silent and turned 
 to Dorothy. "Perhaps you'll be good enough to en- 
 lighten me, ma'am?" 
 
 "With pleasure, ma'am," replied Miss Forrest. 
 "Mr. Carew eloped with me less than a week ago, 
 but meeting with you at Hazelhurst he sends me on 
 here to await his leisure." Her cool voice carried 
 conviction to the flaming Julie. 
 
 "Are you wed, ma'am?" she asked, utterly ignor- 
 ing the miserable Ralph. 
 
 "No, ma'am. Mr. Carew promised to carry me 
 to Sussex, and the wedding was to take place from 
 my cousin's, Jillian Tyrell of Winterbourne Chase. 
 You may have heard of her."
 
 254 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Tyrell ? I thought you" 
 
 "O la, 'twas but a disguise," said Dorothy, 
 shrugging. 
 
 Miss Carmichael looked at Carevv, but there was 
 no need of affirmation other than his scarlet face. 
 "O Ralph, how have you deceived me!" said she, 
 smothering a desire to shriek with laughter. 
 "Ma'am, I give you my word he offered marriage, 
 swore a hundred tender vows, plagued me to death 
 well! I believe you must have seen him kiss me, 
 but now?" 
 
 "I did, ma'am," responded Dolly, divining with 
 feminine intuition what the other girl would be at. 
 "That is, I believe he calls it kissing. 'Tis mon- 
 strous like a boy at bob-apple!" She glanced de- 
 murely at the writhing Ralph. 
 
 "O ma'am, how can we punish him?" cried Julie, 
 running to Dorothy and catching her hands. " 'Tis 
 the most false-hearted knave, the most perfid- 
 ious popinjay! Trust me, he needs a lesson!" 
 
 "Lud, we can wed another!" suggested Dolly. 
 "Two others, ma'am!" 
 
 Their dancing eyes met and they broke into peals 
 of merry laughter, while Carew, feeling like a 
 drowning man who suddenly touches solid ground, 
 lifted his shamed head to stare, unable to believe 
 that he was free. 
 
 "Sir!" Dolly curtsied to the petal-strewn turf, 
 gurgling with laughter. "I have the honor to re- 
 fuse your hand. Your heart, I think, was never 
 in question!"
 
 "T'OTHER DEAR CHARMER" 255 
 
 "Sir !" giggled Julie, recovering. "I grieve to de- 
 cline your honorable proposal. Doubtless time 
 alone will heal your shattered heart. Come, dear, 
 let us leave him for five minutes!" 
 
 Arm in arm they swept out through the arch of 
 yew, flushed faces turned in dainty malice to catch 
 a last glimpse of their rejected cavalier. Their 
 laughter floated back to him over the hedge, 
 mingled with a scrap of song : 
 
 "How happy could I be with either, 
 Were t'other dear charmer away " 
 
 Young Carew picked up his hat, shook a fallen 
 petal out of the crown and glanced upward into the 
 flowering apple tree. 
 
 "Good gad!" said he piously, and mopped his 
 brow.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IN THE WEST WING 
 
 FROM the depths of depression Ralph swung 
 naturally enough to the other extreme. If 
 by no exertions of his own he was out of the 
 wood, still he was out. He hallooed, mentally he 
 slapped himself upon the back. He was a mon- 
 strous clever fellow. Gad, 'twas good to be alive, 
 and young. But he would have a care how he con- 
 ducted with women in future. Sly creatures, for 
 ever making long eyes at men, and yet who could 
 blame 'em, after all ! 
 
 He clapped on his hat, settled his cravat, shot his 
 ruffles, and marching out of the close came face to 
 face with Cavanagh. 
 
 "What the deuce!" exclaimed young Carew, re- 
 coiling. 
 
 Larry grinned. "Faith, 'tis not a pretty welcome 
 at all, but sure, I startled ye. You've seen Miss 
 Forrest?" 
 
 "I have," returned Carew, and in spite of himself 
 his ears began to burn afresh. 
 
 The Irishman grew rigid. "In the position I 
 hold as friend o' the family what there is left 
 on't ! an' her father bein' abroad the way he can't 
 
 256
 
 IN THE WEST WING 257 
 
 look after her, I've a notion I should call ye out," 
 said he grimly. 
 
 "Zoons! She's formally refused me!" cried 
 Ralph. 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, faith! But now." 
 
 "Well, I always said Dolly was no fool!" Cava- 
 nagh relaxed and held out his hand. "I congratu- 
 late ye, on me soul I do ! Ye were in the deuce of a 
 cleft stick, by all accounts. Oh, I know more than 
 you've told me, for all your pink ears! Well now, 
 there's just one point faith, I might almost be 
 callin' it a condition of me silence. This tale would 
 be meat an' drink to Bath, an' it thirstin' for a fresh 
 scandal!" Lazily his hand fell on the hilt of his 
 sword, and angry as Carew was he thought better 
 of it, and held his tongue. " 'Tis this," went on 
 Cavanagh persuasively. "To preserve friendly re- 
 lations an' to prevent any misfortunate understand- 
 ings that might otherwise occur, you'll present me 
 an' Miss Forrest to your guests yonder, as friends 
 of yours or mere acquaintances, if it likes ye better 
 met here by a lucky chance as we was travelling 
 into Sussex. We dine with you, me boy, an' view 
 the house after." 
 
 "Is that all?" cried Ralph, mightily relieved. 
 "Pho, sir, a bagatelle! 'Tis granted, But gad, 
 'tis a delicate matter. Miss Forrest we must have 
 a care for her good name, you " 
 
 "O lud, I'm her doting uncle!" said Larry, and 
 forthwith was led to the group upon the terrace.
 
 258 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 Throughout dinner Ralph was the soul of deli- 
 cacy, endeavoring to hide his jubilation for fear of 
 wounding the two ladies' feelings : though, truth to 
 tell, they seemed as rejoiced as he at their escape 
 from the toils of matrimony. 
 
 Seated upon his either hand they laughed together 
 behind his back ; bent across him to exchange trivi- 
 alities, white shoulders brushing his sleeve, curls 
 dangling against his very cravat, gay, provoking, al- 
 together irresistible. Robin Hazelhurst made boy- 
 ish love to Dorothy, elated that she had entrusted 
 him with the secret of her gypsying. Philip Lash- 
 mar ogled Julie; while Lucy and Colin Carmichael 
 had eyes only for each other, what time Lucy was 
 not flirting with Harry Wallace. 
 
 At the foot of the table the Squire and Cavanagh 
 discoursed heatedly on fox-hunting, cocking, the 
 breeding of game birds and a dozen other topics of 
 mutual interest: and if the Squire's eyes wandered 
 for an instant in the direction of Miss Forrest, 
 Cavanagh would state something so abjectedly ab- 
 surd as to arouse all Hazelhurst's sporting instincts, 
 and they were at it again, hammer and tongs; so 
 that there arose no opportunity of comparing Doro- 
 thy with a certain pretty peddler wench. 
 
 Dinner ended, Ralph must conduct his guests 
 over the house. 
 
 Marsh held the door. "You'll find it all open, 
 Mr. Ralph," said he dejectedly. " 'Tis parlous 
 damp, sir, through not being lived in regular. It's 
 all open, sir, all but the west wing."
 
 IN THE WEST WING 259 
 
 "And why not the west wing?" asked Miss Car- 
 michael, Eve-like desiring only that which was for- 
 bidden. "Is it haunted?" 
 
 'Tis never thrown open to inspection, ma'am," 
 mourned the butler. "'Tis one o' the rules. Sir 
 Julian liked it kep' private." 
 
 "But rat me, my good man! Now Sir Julian's 
 dead we're not bound by his wishes!" cried Ralph. 
 "Of course we must see the west wing. I particu- 
 larly desire it. 'Tis there the heir always lives," 
 he added, turning to Julie. 
 
 ' 'Twas one o' the rules, sir," deprecated Marsh, 
 leading the little procession to the great drawing- 
 room. "Are ye wishful that I should come, sir, to 
 tell about the pictures?" 
 
 Knowing next to nothing of them himself, young 
 Carew agreed, and the butler pottered slowly 
 round one paneled room after another, recounting 
 the glorious deeds of long-dead Carews until 
 Julie yawned behind her fan and the gentlemen 
 ceased to raise their quizzing glasses at every por- 
 trait. 
 
 Having succeeded in boring them below-stairs, 
 Marsh climbed to the gallery. "The west wing," 
 said he, and made to pass the head of the wide 
 corridor. 
 
 "We'll see it," insisted Ralph. "Come, Marsh, 
 don't be an old fool. I'm master here, an't I?" 
 
 Subdued, snuffling like a chidden dog, the servant 
 produced keys from a casket on a window-sill, 
 ostentatiously blew the dust from them and opened
 
 260 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 one door after another, revealing shuttered, sheeted 
 rooms, dank and lonely. 
 
 Coming into Dorothy's boudoir Miss Carmichael 
 sniffed audibly, tilting back her pretty head. "Lud, 
 I could swear I smell violets !" 
 
 Since all Dolly's posies were hid beneath the bed, 
 this was scarcely wonderful. 
 
 "Can ye, ma'am?" sighed Marsh. "Ay, ay. 
 Some can, an' some can't, not if they sniffs ever so. 
 Can ye, indeed, ma'am? Mebbe ye can see some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "La, no!" gasped Julie, clutching at young Lash- 
 mar for protection. " Tis too dark." 
 
 Shutters and curtains obscured the windows, but 
 in the half-light the white-draped furniture loomed, 
 ghostly. 
 
 "Shall I open a window, ma'am?" suggested the 
 butler. 
 
 "Heavens, no! There's nothing, I'm convinced 
 there's nothing !" Julie fluttered out and the rest of 
 the party trailed after; and blinking in the light of 
 the corridor, moved on. 
 
 "The library," says Marsh, coming to a reverent 
 halt before a door. "This room, ladies and gentle- 
 men, this very room was, as you might say, sacred 
 to the owner of the house. A sanctum, they call it. 
 Here Sir Rudolf wrote his famous history of the 
 Civil Wars in nine wollums bound in calf on the 
 third shelf to the left as you enter. Here Sir Julian 
 IJked to doze of an afternoon, and here "
 
 IN THE WEST WING 261 
 
 "Well, open the door and let us see," ordered 
 Ralph with very natural impatience. 
 
 "I reelly coulldn't take upon meself " began 
 Marsh, and was shouldered aside by young Carew. 
 
 "This is intolerable!" he cried. "Am I to be 
 bearded in my own house? Let me pass, you dod- 
 dering old imbecile !" He flung open the door and 
 beckoned the others. "Come in ! Come in ! This 
 is the library. Some of our finest portraits are 
 Good gad!"' 
 
 From the desk before the oriel a languid figure 
 rose, a tall exquisite in creamy brocade, fair curls 
 falling about a powdered face. Back to the light, 
 he stood, regarding the intruders with half -closed, 
 indolent eyes. 
 
 "Valerius, by gad!" shouted Ralph and leaped for- 
 ward. "So 'tis here you've been hiding all the time, 
 you skulker ! I arrest you on suspicion of murder. 
 Your sword, you hound your sword !" 
 
 None but Cavanagh, Dorothy and the butler was 
 aware that a warrant was out for the arrest of Va- 
 lerius, and dumb with amazement the guests stood 
 huddled around the doorway, standing a-tiptoe, 
 craning their necks to get an uninterrupted view of 
 this extraordinary scene. 
 
 "Pray come in," drawled Valerius without mov- 
 ing. "Come in and shut the door. There's a pro- 
 digious draught, and my papers thank you, 
 Marsh." 
 
 Somewhat at a loss, Ralph hesitated, annoyed that
 
 262 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 a dramatic moment should end thus tamely. It oc- 
 curred to him that cold scorn would now be more 
 impressive than bluster. He proceeded to cold 
 scorn. 
 
 "You damned villain," said he, advancing. 
 "What of my uncle's death?" 
 
 "What indeed?" countered Valerius. "Is it true, 
 coz?" 
 
 "True? You killed him!" 
 
 "You amaze me." Valerius glanced at the in- 
 trigued spectators. "Your guests are standing, coz. 
 Ladies, your most devoted. Be seated, I beg. 
 Gentlemen, yours to command." He bowed, com- 
 pletely master of himself and the situation. "Marsh, 
 set chairs. Ralph, be good enough to present me." 
 
 Followed introductions, bows, curtsies ; the men 
 excited and eager for trouble ; the girls a-flutter with 
 surprise and apprehension. 
 
 "Now," said Valerius, swinging his chair round 
 and seating himself back to the desk and the win- 
 dow. "Now let us hear more of this astounding 
 accusation. In a retired life, coz, any mild sensa- 
 tion is veritably a god-send." He disposed a cush- 
 ion more conveniently in the small of his back and 
 crossed his legs, smoothing a crease from ooe silk 
 ankle. 
 
 "Gad, your airs'll not save you!" cried Ralph, 
 fuming. "Consider yourself under arrest, sir!" 
 
 "Possibly you have a warrant?" murmured his 
 cousin. 
 
 A much-creased paper was snatched from Ralph's
 
 IN THE WEST WING 263 
 
 pocket and brandished beneath Valerius' pale nose. 
 He took it, opened it, read it with interest. 
 
 "Lud, very curious!" said he; and ignoring 
 Ralph turned toward the Squire who, blue eyes 
 snapping with amazement, was leaning fonvard in 
 his chair. "Mr. Hazelhurst, I believe you are a 
 magistrate ?" 
 
 "I have that honor," replied the Squire. 
 
 "Then, sir, if 'twould not be disagreeable to 
 you, might I suggest that you conduct this 
 inquiry?" 
 
 "With pleasure, Sir Valerius, with pleasure!" 
 The Squire bounced up, seized a small table and 
 planted it in front of his seat. "Informal, deuced 
 informal. But at your request, sir, I'm willing to 
 obleege. A little elbow room, Lucy, my dear. 
 Now, pens? Ink? Paper ah, thank'ee, Marsh, 
 thank'ee. Now let's see this warrant." He read 
 it through, frowning, puckering his mild lips in 
 deliberation. "Hum, this seems in order. Carew, 
 let's hear your statement." 
 
 Ralph, on his feet with alacrity, shot his ruffles, 
 snuffed, and wished the room were lighter. 
 
 "I was not present at Sir Julian's death, sir," 
 he began. "I left the house before my cousin in 
 order to attend the Rooms " 
 
 "Which house? What rooms?" snapped the 
 Squire. "Demme, Carew, have the goodness to 
 be explicit." 
 
 "Gad, sir, I forgot you know nothing of it," 
 said Ralph.
 
 264 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Not a word, sir. Not a word. My mind's a 
 perfect blank, as all good judges' should be." 
 
 "Sure, they are!" interposed Cavanagh, and the 
 court had to be called to order. 
 
 Then, concisely as he could, Ralph told the story 
 of the night of his uncle's eightieth birthday : of the 
 old man's angry disgust at Valerius and his foppish 
 ways : of the coming of Valerius, and of how he had 
 left them together. Then of the major-domo seek- 
 ing him at the Rooms, and telling him how he had 
 found Sir Julian dead upon the floor and Valerius 
 fled. 
 
 "You've no direct evidence of foul play," said 
 the Squire at length. 
 
 "Harris overheard " 
 
 "That's not direct evidence." 
 
 "No, sir. But Harris overheard Sir Julian 
 swear he'd break the entail in my favor," returned 
 Ralph. "He did not live to do it. If Valerius 
 were innocent, why did he fly?" 
 
 A movement of spurred interest fluttered over the 
 little assembly. 
 
 The Squire turned to Valerius. "Now, sir, if 
 you'll favor us with your side of the story, we may 
 learn why ye fled." 
 
 " 'Tis little I have to tell, sir," responded the 
 baronet, rising to lean wearily upon the back of 
 his chair. " 'Tis true I arrived too late to dine with 
 my uncle. 'Tis true I refused to drink with him, 
 but that, I assure you, was not because I wished him 
 ill, but because I in fact wished myself well."
 
 IN THE WEST WING 265 
 
 "That proves " began Ralph. 
 
 "Good lack, coz, it proves nothing! If I'd 
 offered to drink Sir Julian's health in water, he 
 might have found cause for offense, but am I to 
 make myself a sewer for fear of wounding another's 
 convention?" 
 
 "Demmed unusual!" said Carmichael in an 
 audible aside to Harry Wallace. "Sounds devilish 
 as if the fellow were in training!" 
 
 Valerius appeared to lean even more heavily upon 
 the carved chair. "I thank you, sir, for that word," 
 he drawled. "!' faith, 'tis true. I was in training." 
 With one abnormally white hand he flicked a 
 speck of dust from his cuff and gazed with half- 
 shut, lazy eyes at the astonished Colin. 
 
 Ralph shouted with laughter. "O lud, in train- 
 ing! Valerius in training? Pho, nonsense! 'Tis 
 absurd ! If you knew him as " 
 
 "And what followed?" quoth the Squire, flapping 
 his hand at Ralph for silence. 
 
 Valerius considered. "Oh, we talked. My uncle 
 was pleased to be invidious. He called me if my 
 memory serves a brainless ass, a booby, a let 
 me see a flaccid nonentity, with other things I'll 
 refrain from repeating in company. But what 
 though? He was an old man, and my relative. I 
 let it pass. My calm appeared to infuriate Sir 
 Julian. He foamed, sir, positively foamed, and 
 fell into what can only be described as a frenzy. 
 I rang for his butler who gave him some draught 
 he kept in readiness for such attacks. Harris
 
 266 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 opened the windows, and as Sir Julian began to 
 revive, I sent the servant away to give the necessary 
 orders." 
 
 "What orders?" growled Ralph suspiciously. 
 
 "Why to be sure, to have his bed warmed and 
 the doctor summoned. While Harris was gone my 
 uncle recovered amazingly, sat up, knew me, and 
 again began to rage and fume. I attempted to 
 soothe him, but my efforts seemed to augment his 
 choler. He threw an orange at my head and 
 ordered me out of the house. Fearful for his 
 health if I persisted to remain I left." 
 
 "What was Sir Julian doing at that moment?" 
 asked the Squire. 
 
 "He stood by the table, holding on by one hand 
 and shaking the other in my face. 'Twas my last 
 sight of him." 
 
 "None saw you leave?" 
 
 "I believe not, sir." 
 
 The Squire hesitated, twirling a quill between 
 finger and thumb. "Yet had you passed through 
 the hall, surely a footman, some servant " 
 
 "I did not, sir. Gad, I was so monstrous upset, 
 I forgot myself so far as to leap out of the win- 
 dow." 
 
 "But (Carew, have the goodness to hold your 
 tongue! I'm conducting this inquiry.) But tell 
 me, Sir Valerius, if you were innocent, why did 
 you hide?" 
 
 For a long time Valerius remained motionless, 
 his head bent, his fingers clutching the back of his
 
 IN THE WEST WING 267 
 
 chair as though some precious thing were about to 
 slip from his grasp. He appeared to be consider- 
 ing, weighing one momentous alternative against 
 another. 
 
 At length, sighing, he looked up, his wide eyes 
 cavernous in the pallor of his face. 
 
 "Gad, sir, 'tis a long story," he said wearily. 
 
 "Yet must we hear." 
 
 " 'Twould tax your belief to " 
 
 "Yet, tell us." 
 
 "I did not hide !" he said in a ringing voice. "I 
 went to my lodging and changed my dress and was 
 present at a supper given by his patrons to the gypsy 
 boxer, Merodach!" 
 
 "Faith, I can bear witness to that!" cried 
 Cavanagh. 
 
 "I heard nothing of Sir Julian's death until next 
 morning, when Mr. Cavanagh himself brought the 
 news." For the fraction of a second Valerius' 
 glance rested on Dorothy. 
 
 " Tis true, sir," affirmed Cavanagh. 
 
 But from her seat beside Julie Carmichael, Miss 
 Forrest rose, white, gasping from the shock of 
 sudden enlightenment. "You you are Mero- 
 dach!" she cried, swaying, her hands at her throat. 
 "You are Merodach !" 
 
 "I am Merodach!" said Valerius Carew. 
 
 "What what's this?" spluttered the Squire, 
 staring. 
 
 "Good ged, Merodach?" shouted Colin Carmi- 
 chael.
 
 268 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 With one accord the men sprang to their feet 
 vociferating, "Prove it! Prove it!" 
 
 "If the ladies permit," drawled Valerius, smiling. 
 
 "Prove it, Merodach," cried Dorothy. 
 
 Like a lightning flash he straightened up, whipped 
 off coat and waistcoat, pulled his ruffled shirt over 
 his head and stood, naked to the waist, rubbing his 
 powdered face clean upon the yellow curls of his 
 great wig. Laughing, he tossed the mass of hair in- 
 to the corner and stretched his mighty arms; and 
 threw back his dark head like a colt released from 
 the halter. 
 
 Modest squeaks from the girls, who nevertheless 
 gazed admiringly at him from behind spread fans : 
 shouts and laughter from the men, who crowded 
 round to shake his hand: tears of joy from old 
 Marsh: disgusted grunts from Ralph: the library 
 was a pandemonium for five palpitating minutes. 
 
 "But even now," shouted Ralph as soon as he 
 could make himself heard above the hubbub. 
 "Even now, you han't proved you had no hand 
 in hastening Sir Julian's end!" In the face of 
 this lithe fighter he hesitated to use the word "kill." 
 
 "You're right, coz," laughed Valerius or 
 Merodach, which you will dressing with the aid 
 of Robin. "No, not that damned wig, lad. Never 
 again! Here, Marsh, use this for a foster-mother 
 when that broody hen hatches out!" He flung the 
 flaxen wig in the butler's grinning face, and turned 
 to Ralph. "Mr. Cavanagh has a document will 
 interest you. Cavanagh?"
 
 IN THE WEST WING 269 
 
 The Irishman spread Janet's statement before the 
 Squire, who pored over it intently. 
 
 "The woman would appear before a magistrate 
 and swear to this?" said he, looking up. 
 
 "She will, sir. But I've proved the truth of her 
 story. I went to the house and looked from the 
 window of the gaming room. Faith, ye can see 
 everything that goes on in Sir Julian's dining-room, 
 just as she says." 
 
 "Then, if you'll listen to advice, Carew," said 
 the Squire, rising with an air of finality, "you'll pop 
 your ridiculous warrant behind the fire, and say 
 no more about it." 
 
 Ralph hesitated, screwed the paper into a ball 
 and threw it upon the hearth, his handsome young 
 face clearing. "Gad," said he, thrusting a hand 
 toward his cousin, "I owe you an apology, Val. I 
 was mad to doubt you, but you'll admit I'd cause." 
 
 Valerius laughed and clapped him on the back. 
 "I'll forgive your suspicions, Ralph, if you'll for- 
 give my deception. But you know my boyhood 
 was spent abroad. Can't you realize how tedious 
 was life in such a place as Bath after gypsying half 
 over Europe? I came to England ready to live as 
 other men of my station. But two months in Lon- 
 don two weeks in Bath and Tunbridge ! Faugh, 
 I was bored, nauseated! I longed for the clean 
 wind in my face and the open sky above my bed. 
 I returned to my gypsyhood." 
 
 "But your disguise your fair wig?" said Ralph, 
 puzzled. "Didn't Sir Julian?"
 
 270 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "Oh, I was a month in England before I saw my 
 uncle. Even in so short a time I knew I never 
 could endure such an existence, and 'twas simpler 
 to act a part for a day or two now and again, than 
 for months together. Sir Julian would never have 
 forgiven me had I gone wandering in my own 
 person, hence Merodach." 
 
 "And nobody knew?" cried Julie Carmichael. 
 
 "None would have understood. None but old 
 Marsh, and he could sympathize, having loved and 
 served my father. I got him installed here as but- 
 ler, and used to walk over when Bath palled." 
 
 "But sure, someone must have suspected?" in- 
 sisted the Squire. 
 
 "Oh, I'd two lodgings in Bath. One for Valerius 
 Carew in Gay Street, one for Merodach up an alley 
 behind the meat market. I kept no valet, and I took 
 enormous pains that none should see me come and 
 go. 'Twas tiresome, but 'twas worth it." 
 
 "But you needn't have turned prize fighter! 
 Demme, Val, han't you any self-respect?" com- 
 plained Ralph, never at ease when the conventions 
 were disregarded. 
 
 Valerius stared at him, shrugged, and broke into 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Faith, lad, you've a lot to learn," said he and 
 turned to the others, his eyes wandering until they 
 rested upon Dorothy. "Truly, friends, Merodach 
 is the real man. Valerius Carew the fop who 
 han't enough energy to kill a fly aha, that rankles,
 
 IN THE WEST WING 271 
 
 my lady! he was the disguise. The boredom 
 wasn't assumed, I can assure you. Gad, how I 
 loathed Bath ! But for my uncle's sake 'twas neces- 
 sary, now and again, to endure it. Bath got more 
 amusement out of Valerius than I did!" Again he 
 looked across the little assembly to Dorothy 
 Dorothy wide-eyed, flushed like a cottage rose, 
 trembling under his glance. "Shall we tell them, 
 sweet?" he said, and went to her with such a light 
 of happiness in his face that none waited to be told. 
 
 Cavanagh shouted: the Squire, remembering a 
 spring night thirty years ago, trumpeted into his 
 hanker and stammered incoherent congratulations. 
 The two girls and Dorothy clasped and kissed in 
 a laughing triangle, and the men were so evidently 
 thirsting to drink healths that Marsh, unbidden, 
 brought up the last of old Sir Antony's pott. 
 
 "Miss Forrest!" cried Ralph, bowing above his 
 glass. "Let me be the first to wish you joy, you 
 you maddening creature ! Gad, I've a mind to take 
 a leaf out o' your book, ma'am, and demand an ex- 
 planation!" 
 
 Dorothy gave him her hand. "Thank you, coz," 
 said she demurely, her eyes dancing behind their 
 lashes in a way that he remembered. "And by the 
 bye, touching a certain challenge which you 
 accepted 'tis withdrawn." 
 
 "You broke your vow?" he cried, teasing her. 
 
 She shook her head. "But I dare swear you 
 slept within a house last night." 
 
 "At the Manor," he admitted. "But you?"
 
 272 MY LADY APRIL 
 
 "I had an apple-tree for roof. 'Twas heaven to 
 look up and see the stars behind the blossom." 
 
 "Demme, you're well matched!" cried the 
 Squire. "Shall you turn gypsy, my dear, and tramp 
 your honeymoon?" 
 
 Dorothy looked up: Valerius looked down, and 
 smiled as their eyes met. "Yes, sir. We intend 
 to finish our interrupted journey into Sussex," said 
 he, and twinkled. "To-morrow !" 
 
 "To-morrow?" whispered Dorothy, flushing, 
 hesitating, as maids will, on the brink of wifehood. 
 
 "To-morrow?" shouted the Squire, young Carew, 
 and Miss Hazelhurst's three adorers. 
 
 "Why not?" said Valerius. "Why should we 
 wait ? Here are bride and groom and guests assem- 
 bled. As soon as I knew from Larry that I was 
 cleared I packed a lad off for my old friend " he 
 broke off as the door opened. 
 
 "His Reverence Father Ignatius, sir," said Marsh. 
 
 THE END
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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