CHAPTER XIX
A FATAL LEAP
Ulick heard him, and, turning round, saw the grey galloping at a great pace straight for the churchyard wall. He did not accept the challenge; it would have been madness to do so. He called at the top of his voice to Warren to stop.
"He'll never clear it! Pull up!" shouted Ulick, excitedly.
For answer, Warren merely looked in his direction, and smiled grimly.
"Come on!" he shouted again. "Are you afraid?"
Ulick was not afraid, but he had no desire to break his neck, and that was probably what Warren would do if the grey failed to top the wall. There was no chance of stopping him, and Ulick determined to see the result of the dare-devil leap.
"He's mad to attempt it!" he said. "The horse is a good one, but he'll never get over it. I would not risk it on Random for a fortune!"
There was no one else near; the four or five horsemen had skirted round the wall, and were riding hard after the hounds, who had by this time cleared the churchyard.
Ulick waited for Warren's rash leap, and his heart almost stopped beating in his intense anxiety to see him safely over.
The presentiment of the morning flashed across his mind, and he wondered if this was to be the result.
Warren knew what lay before him; but his blood was up, and so was the grey's. The horse pricked his ears as he saw the formidable obstacle in front of him, but he did not shirk his work. On the contrary, he regulated his stride, and prepared for the desperate leap.
As Warren drew near to the wall Ulick rode forward, in order to render assistance should it be required, for he feared the result, and wished to do all in his power to help him.
Up the incline galloped the grey. Had the wall stood on the level he might have jumped it, although that was doubtful. The horse took off well, rose at the wall, and would have cleared it safely but for the fact that a huge raised gravestone, over a vault in the churchyard, stood close beneath it.
The horse saw it, tried to avoid it as he leaped, caught his hind legs on the wall, fell heavily forward, and threw Warren with terrific force head first on to the slab.
Ulick heard the crash and shuddered. Horse and rider failed to rise. He rode quickly to the spot, flung Random's bridle over a big coping stone, and scrambled over the wall, almost falling over the horse as he landed on the other side. He merely cast a rapid glance at the grey, and saw he was fatally injured, and rushed forward to Warren Courtly, who lay stretched out on the top of the slab where he had fallen.
Ulick stooped over him, and said, in an agitated voice —
"Warren! Warren! are you alive? Speak to me!"
There was no answer, no movement in the body, which lay dangerously still and inanimate.
Ulick tore open his vest and collar, and lifted him up. As he did so the head fell back, resting on his chest, and for a moment the eyes opened with the shock, but quickly closed again.
Ulick shuddered. That limp movement of the head, he knew what it meant. There was no hope. Warren's neck was broken. He had pitched on to his head, and the fall was bound to be fatal. He supported the dead man for a considerable time, hoping against hope that he would show some sign of life. His thoughts wandered to Irene, and he wondered how she would bear the shock. He must break it to her as gently as possible. She must hear it from no one but himself. He was of no use here. Warren was beyond human aid. He laid the body gently down, and covered the face with a handkerchief; it looked weird and uncanny, resting there in the scarlet coat on the top of a vault, in the picturesque old churchyard.
Getting over the wall, he remounted Random and rode away for assistance.
There was no one in sight. Then he espied two figures in the distance walking towards him; one was his father, the other Irene. They saw him, and his father waved his stick. There was no excuse; he had to pull up and meet them.
He was bewildered, at a loss what to do, what to say; and as he thought of Warren lying still in the churchyard he shuddered, and was almost tempted to make a bolt.
"You are not often out of the hunt," said the Squire. "Irene let the cat out of the bag, and told me you were here, and that Eli had borrowed Random for you. I am glad to see you out with the hounds again, but you ought to have come to breakfast."
"Have you had a fall, or missed the hounds?" asked Irene. "I am afraid I have taught Random bad manners. Have you seen Warren?"
He made no answer, but looked vacantly before him, and she said, anxiously, as she noticed the green moss from the stone on his coat —
"Have you hurt yourself? You look as though you have had a fall."
"I have not had a fall," he said, in a voice strangely unlike his own.
The Squire was quick at reading faces, and knew something had happened. Did it concern Irene? Had Warren been injured? He took her by the arm and said —
"Come, let us go home; and, as Ulick has missed the hounds, he can come with us."
Irene hesitated. She felt Ulick was concealing something, either from her or his father. What was it? Had anything happened to her husband?
She stepped forward before he dismounted, placing her hand on Random's neck, and, looking up into his face, said, quickly —
"Something has happened; I can see it in your face. There has been an accident. Is it Warren?"
He avoided her gaze. How could he tell her, and the churchyard where he lay quite close by?
The Squire saw there was serious news, and said, as cheerfully as possible —
"Has Warren had a spill? I hope it is not serious."
"Yes, he had a bad fall. I have just left him. I was riding for assistance when I met you."
Irene turned white, and the Squire supported her.
"Where is he?" she said. "Let me go to him."
Ulick dismounted and said —
"You must be brave, Irene! Warren has had a very bad fall."
"Where is he?" she asked again.
"He attempted to leap the churchyard wall and follow the hounds. It is a dangerous jump, and the horse fell, throwing him heavily."
"Then why do you delay? Ride for assistance at once! We will go to him," she said, and started off at a rapid pace in the direction of Glen church.
This was Ulick's opportunity. He stepped up to his father, and said —
"Do what you can to comfort her. He's in the churchyard, lying on Harewood's vault. I am better away."
"He is not – ?" asked the Squire, and paused.
Ulick nodded. "He fell on his head on the slab and broke his neck. Now go after her."
"Call out to her to stop; I can hardly limp along," said the Squire.
"Irene!" called Ulick.
She turned round, and he pointed to his father.
She came hurriedly back, and said —
"Take my arm – we will go together."
Ulick mounted Random and rode rapidly away to Hazelwell, where he ordered a carriage and the requisite necessaries to be sent to the church, and dispatched a man for the doctor.
Meanwhile the Squire and Irene were nearing Glen church.
"Irene," he said, in a low voice, "Ulick has told me Warren is very badly injured; you must be prepared for the worst."
She looked at him with frightened eyes.
"Prepared for the worst!" she muttered. "Is his life in danger?"
"I am afraid so."
She gave a little sharp cry, and hurried forward again.
"You had better remain with me," he called, and she obeyed him without a murmur.
They reached the churchyard, and passed under the porch through the gateway, and at the far side, near the wall, the Squire saw a red coat on a tombstone; then he distinguished the form of a man. Irene had not seen it, and he led her down a side path.
"Be brave, Irene!" he said. "If he is in danger you will have to summon up all your courage to help him."
"I will," she said; "indeed I will."
Then she saw the red coat, and started back, her hand pressed against her heart, her eyes filled with horror.
"He is lying on the stone on the top of a vault," she said, in a hollow voice. "How did he get there?"
She stumbled forward over the graves, leaving the Squire to follow. She grazed her ankles, but heeded not, and at last she reached him.
Snatching the handkerchief away, she stood looking at his face, with the closed eyes and the black mark on the neck. She stood perfectly still; no cry came from her; but her look of horror told she knew he was dead.
The Squire reached her just as she fell forward, insensible, on her husband's body. He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and sat down on the slab. With one hand he drew the handkerchief over Warren's face again.
"This is a sad blow," he thought. "It is a blessing she is insensible. It may be all for the best."
He allowed her to remain in this state for some minutes, and then tried to rouse her. His foot pained him, but he scarcely felt it.
Irene opened her eyes and shuddered. At first she did not realise where she was, but, as she caught sight of the gravestones, they recalled all.
"He is dead!" she said, slowly. "Poor Warren! he is dead!"
The tears came to her relief, and the Squire remained silent, with his arm supporting her.
Suddenly she flung herself on Warren's body and moaned bitterly.
The Squire placed his hand on her shoulder, and said —
"Irene, bear up; there is much to be done. We must take him home – to Hazelwell first, if you wish; it is nearer."
"No, no!" she said. "To the Manor. I want to be there with him alone!"
The carriage came, and was closely followed by Ulick and Dr. Harding, who examined Warren, and found his neck broken.
Tenderly they placed him in the carriage. Irene insisted upon getting in, and the Squire followed her, saying to Ulick —
"You and Dr. Harding had better follow us to the Manor."
Warren Courtly was taken back to his home, which he had left in the morning full of health and spirits, if not happiness. He little thought, when he mounted the fiery grey, how he was to return.
The news of the fatal accident soon spread, but it had not reached Anselm Manor, and there was consternation when they arrived.
Mrs. Dixon did all in her power for her mistress, and managed to calm and soothe her.
"It is dreadful!" moaned Irene.
She did not love Warren, but the shock of his death affected her terribly. It was so sudden, so unlooked for; and he was so young. She could hardly believe it. Dixon remained with her during the night, and towards early morning she sank into a troubled slumber.
"I cannot remain here," said Ulick, soon after their arrival. "It would not be right for me to do so. You will remain, father?"
"Yes; but you must go to Hazelwell," was the reply.
Warren was dead, and Irene knew nothing of his connection with Janet. He was glad of that; he had no hesitation in going to Hazelwell now.
"I will," he replied, and the Squire gave a sigh of relief.
"Home again, at last!" he thought. "Warren's death has brought us together again; once at Hazelwell he will not leave it."
Warren Courtly was buried in Anselm church, in the vault where several of his ancestors reposed; and Irene was a widow, having been only a very short time a wife, and that only in name.
It was a shock to the county, and the members of the Rushshire Hunt in particular, and it was generally acknowledged Warren's rashness at attempting such a leap caused his early death.
Ulick and the Squire examined the wall where the grey and his rider were killed, and the latter said —
"I wonder what made him attempt it? As a rule he was not rash."
Ulick explained what had happened, and how Warren had dared him to follow him.
"I wonder sometimes if he was angry because Irene lent me Random to ride, and that caused him to act as he did."
"I should not be disposed to look at it in that light," answered his father. "He may have been surprised to see you out, more especially on Random; but there was no harm in your riding him. There was something else at the bottom of the challenge he threw out to you. Did you ever doubt his courage?"
"If I did, he was unaware of it," was the answer.
"Then it must have been in a sudden fit of rashness he did it," said the Squire.
Janet Todd read the account of the fatal accident to Warren Courtly in the paper, but she did not grieve much over his death, although she felt sorry it had taken place. There was nothing now to hinder her returning to her father, and it was the only thing she could do, as she had very little money.
She wrote to Eli begging his forgiveness, and asking if he would take her back. Needless to say, his reply was loving and fatherly, and he implored her to come home without delay.
Janet returned, and Eli – good, large-hearted man that he was – received her with open arms, and she was grateful for his kindness.
Some weeks after her return he said to her one night —
"Janet, I had made up my mind never to allude to the past, but I will ask you one question and have done with it."
She knew what the question was, and decided there could be no harm in answering it now, more especially as Irene knew the whole circumstances.
"I will answer any question you care to ask me," she said.
"Who induced you to run away and leave me?" he asked.
"Warren Courtly."
"I thought as much," was his reply.
CHAPTER XX
PERFECT HARMONY
It was over twelve months since Warren Courtly came to an untimely end, and the Squire and his son were in the morning-room, where he had kept vigil on the anniversary of Ulick's departure. There was no snow on this occasion, as they looked out of the window at the familiar scene; but the ground was held in the grip of a hard frost, and the white crystals had not yet vanished from the trees.
"Irene is coming for dinner to-night," said the Squire, as he looked at him.
"And who else is coming?"
"Only Dr. Harding and the Vicar and his wife," replied his father.
Ulick did not immediately reply, but stood at the window while the Squire sat down.
Bersak, who was lying on the hearthrug, went to him and licked his hand. He patted the dog's head, but, as he made no movement to go away, Bersak went and laid down at the Squire's feet.
During the months that had elapsed since Warren's death he had seen very little of Irene, had, in fact, avoided her as much as possible, and absented himself a good deal from Hazelwell, his excuse being that he liked to see his horses run, especially the Saint.
The "curiosity" had won some good handicaps, and, at the Squire's request, he had been sent down to Hazelwell at the end of his four-year-old career, much to Fred May's chagrin, as he wished to keep him in work, and said it was throwing money away to send him to the stud at that age. Ulick, however, wished to please his father, so the Saint was now an important member of the Hazelwell stud, and Eli Todd was as proud of him as the trainer had been.
The Squire knew it was not altogether racing that caused his son to vanish from home for weeks at a time. He appreciated the delicacy of feeling which actuated him and took him away from Irene's presence in the early months of her widowhood. He saw in his conduct a sure sign that he was in love with her, and he gleaned from Irene's look of disappointment, when she saw Ulick was absent, that she returned his affection.
It had always been a thorn in the Squire's side that he had induced Irene to marry Warren Courtly, who was unsuited to her, and had thus placed an insurmountable barrier in Ulick's way.
By an accident that obstacle had been removed, and he did not intend his cherished idea should again come to nothing.
The Squire did not mourn for Warren Courtly. He was no hypocrite, and, although sorry for his early death, he argued that it was all for the best, more especially when he came to examine into his affairs, and afterwards when he had made Janet tell him who had run away with her. This she did on giving his word he would keep her secret.
Warren, who had left the Squire joint executor with Irene, had involved the Anselm estate heavily, and it would take some years to wipe off the debt that had accumulated. Irene had a considerable income, but not more than half she had a right to have expected. There was a mortgage on the Manor itself, but the Squire quickly took that up on his own account.
As Ulick looked out of the window, his thoughts were busy with memories of the past, and in them Irene was a conspicuous figure. He had waited more than twelve months, and held his peace, although he was impatient to pour out his love to her now she was free. He was thinking whether he would have an opportunity of doing so to-night, and, if it occurred, whether he would take it. What would her answer be? He did not wish to be over-confident, but he looked forward to a favourable reply, and his heart beat fast in expectation.
He was not aware Irene knew who ran away with Janet, and he was pleased to think she had no knowledge of Warren's conduct.
His father watched him with a smile on his face, and thought —
"He means to ask her to-night. He is making up his mind, and I will see he has the chance."
"Is there anything particularly striking to look at out there?" asked the Squire. "If so, I will join you."
Ulick laughed as he replied, "I was taking very little notice of the view. I was thinking over old times."
"Pleasant thoughts?"
"Yes, most of them."
"We were a couple of fools to remain separated for such a long time," said the Squire.
"We appreciate being together again the more now," replied Ulick.
"Eli is precious glad to have that girl of his back again," said the Squire. "I hope the lesson she has had will teach her to behave better in the future."
"There is no fear about that," replied Ulick. "It has been severe."
"Not nearly so severe as she deserved," was the reply.
It was a merry dinner party, and they were all in high spirits. Later on in the evening the Squire and the Vicar's wife challenged the Vicar and the Doctor to a quiet rubber, which was eagerly accepted.
"You two young people can look after yourselves," said the Squire to Irene and his son, and she flushed slightly at his words.
Whist was an interesting game to the players, but Ulick and Irene evidently found it slow as spectators, and quietly left the room.
A bright fire was blazing in the drawing-room, and Irene sat down at the piano and idly ran her hands over the keys. The lamps shed a soft, yellow light over the room, and the effect was soothing and tranquil.
Presently Irene sang a simple song, and, when it was ended, went on with another. She was fond of music; so was Ulick, and he listened to her sweet, low notes, and watched her face as she sang, half unconscious of his presence.
When she stopped and looked up she found him standing near her. Their eyes met, and, taking her hand, he said —
"Irene, I have something to say to you."
She knew what he meant, and knew what her answer must be.
He pleaded his cause well, and she listened, smiling encouragement when he faltered.
He asked her to be his wife, and she consented without any false hesitation.
They were very happy, and Ulick felt that somehow the world was a very good place to live in, and that the ways of life were not quite so crooked as some people were desirous of making out.
He could not realise that Irene had ever been Warren Courtly's wife. He seemed to have possessed her ever since she came to Hazelwell on the death of her father. She was his Irene, always had been, and always would be for ever more.
And Irene was very happy. She knew her brief life with Warren had been all a mistake. She regretted his death, and the manner of it, but it had not blighted her life. She had known of people who had mourned distractedly the loss of a dear one, and in a few months had changed the garments of widowhood for those of marriage.
In a few years Warren would be merely a memory, nothing more, and it had been his own fault. Having neglected her during life, it was not reasonable to expect he would be reverenced when dead.
She knew she had always loved Ulick, although she had been unaware of it, and now the realisation of her happiness was at hand.
She was to remain at Hazelwell for the night, and when the other guests departed the Squire was told what had happened.
"I knew it was coming," he said, joyfully. "I saw it in your faces. Come and kiss me, Irene; you are not jealous, are you, Ulick?"
"Not at all," he replied, laughing; "but I envy you."
"What!" he exclaimed. "Not had one yet?"
"Dozens," whispered Irene, in his ear, and the Squire laughed heartily.
"You recollect this room when I sat up all night waiting for Ulick to return?" said the Squire.
"Yes," replied Irene; and then she added, "it is the very day."
"So it is, my child," he replied, "and I take it as a happy omen for your married life."
In the summer, when the trees were full of leaf, and the birds carolled their sweetest and best, Ulick and Irene were married. It was a quiet wedding, and they went abroad for some considerable time. On their return they resided at Anselm Manor, and the Squire divided his time between Hazelwell and their home.
Ulick had learned from his wife that she knew all about Janet and Warren, and it was not long before they found out that the Squire was in possession of the facts. As for Janet, she accepted the position of lady's maid to Irene when Mary Marley and Bob Heather were married. This bold move on Irene's part effectually silenced the gossips, who clung to the belief that Ulick was the cause of Janet's trouble, and that they had run away together. It was acknowledged that Mrs. Maynard would never have had Janet in her service had such been the case.
Happiness reigned supreme at Anselm Manor, and when the Squire heard of the arrival of a son, and that he was a grandfather, he gave a whoop of joy that startled the decorous quietude of Hazelwell.
"And if it isn't on the very day, the same day that Ulick left me, and the day on which Irene consented to be his wife."
The new arrival made the Squire feel young again, and no signs were wanting that the little one would be a prime favourite with him.
Years soon roll by and time never stands still. The child grew into a fine boy, and there were others to keep him company. There was every sign that Anselm Manor would be the home of many happy children. The laughter of youth rang through the old rooms, and echoed down the passages and along the walls, where monks and friars had revelled and prayed and told their beads hundreds of years before. Anselm Manor had taken on a new lease of life; a new spirit was infused into it – the buoyant spirit of youth.
Ulick and his wife were often seen in the hunting field, and occasionally at some of the principal race meetings; and there was much rejoicing at Hazelwell when Fred May pulled off the Jockey Club Stakes with the colt out of Honeysuckle, that had only just escaped being born nearly "a year old."
The Saint was making a name at the stud, and his early foals were promising, but none of them were the colour of their sire.
Ulick, however, wanted a grey by him, and in due time got his wish, and a promising youngster he looked.
Janet did not forget Mrs. Hoffman. The woman had been kind to her in her way, and she often received a present from the Manor. As for Felix Hoffman, he got into trouble with the police, and had to leave the country in a hurry, only just escaping the meshes of the law, in which he thoroughly deserved to be entangled.
Squire Maynard, so everyone said, had grown young since his son's marriage with Irene, and a fine, noble country gentleman he looked as he walked or rode, with his grandson on a cob at his side.
Young Ulick was very like the Squire, who saw his own youth reflected in him, and indulged him accordingly.
Irene, as a mother, was far more attractive than she had ever been before, and her husband and children adored her. They were proud of her good looks and of the admiration she invariably excited.
Ulick sometimes thought of that fatal leap Warren Courtly took when he passed Glen church, and saw again the red-coated figure on the cold slab near the wall, but the melancholy remembrance quickly vanished. There is too much sunshine in his life to be hidden by passing clouds, and happiness leaves no room for discord. Everything is in harmony; there are no jarring notes; and long may it be so with them all.