Chapter 21

THE DAYS PASS BY.

Summer was giving place to autumn, and still Lord Ardleigh lingered at Farbis. A constant succession of fine days enabled him to continue his outdoor life; and so many weeks had he dwelt in the dell, that he quite looked on it in the light of a home. Instructed and guided by Meg, who was proficient in woodcraft, he soon became conversant with moors and valleys, and pine woods and adjacent hamlets. For miles round he explored the country, and learned the fascination exercised on the thoughtful mind by the barren hills. Those summer days were henceforth to rank among the pleasant memories of his life; and with reason, for were they not the days of his wooing? Who forgets the time when Cupid was king?

It may be questioned whether he would have professed such ardent admiration of Bohemianism, had not Meg been with him daily from morn till sunset. She was his companion in all excursions, and treated him in a sisterly fashion. Such chilly affection he was far from relishing, being deeply in love, but the time was not yet ripe for him to speak. Meg had still to learn the pains and sweetness of love, but such knowledge had not yet come to her. In vain did Dan, by looks and words, endeavour to touch her heart. She could not understand, and though she professed to like him greatly, gave no sign of experiencing any deeper feeling. Her namesake Diana were scarce colder than this rustic maiden.

"She is like Undine," complained Dan to his friend the vicar; "she has no soul."

"No heart, you mean," replied Jarner, dryly; "there you are wrong. She has a warm and loving heart. Never a tale of poverty but----"

"I know all that, sir; but I want her heart to melt to my tale, not to the whining of a sturdy mendicant."

"I am afraid I cannot instruct you how to gain her affection, my lord; I have never felt the tender passion myself. Ho! ho! You come to a bad adviser when you seek my opinion on such points."

This was but cold comfort, and Dan went away in despair. He likened his case to that of Pygmalion, and then took courage from such comparison, remembering that even the marble statue turned to warm flesh and blood in the end. Meanwhile, he followed his divinity about the hills, and hoped that he would gain her heart in the days to come. His wish was gratified, but in a most unexpected fashion. It was the jealous tongue of Miss Linisfarne, that first opened the eyes of Meg, and changed her from girl to woman.

Dan was not offensively conceited. He entertained a reasonably good opinion of his looks and capabilities, but did not deem himself an Apollo with whom every woman was bound to fall in love. Yet, resolutely as he strove to thrust the notion from him, he became aware in more ways than one that Miss Linisfarne looked on him with great favour. Whether it was his appearance or his conversation he was unable to determine, but the pale lady of Farbis Court showed him plainly that he had taken her heart by storm. In place of lying for hours on her couch or limiting her walk to terrace and picture-gallery, she became almost as great a pedestrian as Meg. She invited Dan to the Court on every possible occasion, she followed him to the dell on the pretext of wishing to see his caravan, and frequently formed an undesirable third in those excursions on the moorlands. And, to put the matter beyond all doubt, she showed by her altered demeanour that she was wildly jealous of Meg.

Dan began to find his life anything but pleasant. He did not love Miss Linisfarne, whom he looked on as quite an old woman, and objected strongly to her incessant attentions. She never left him alone for a single moment, and was always finding pretexts to be in his company. At first he laughed at such madness, but soon began to weary of his elderly admirer, the more so as she took to treating Meg in a very unpleasant fashion. With the instinct of a jealous woman she saw that Dan was in love with Meg, and since she could not revenge herself on the man, took every opportunity of doing so on the girl. She subjected her to all kinds of petty spite, sneered at her masculine habits, and always sent her out of the room when Dan happened to be at the Court. Meg resented this behaviour, though she was far from guessing the cause, and so went but seldom to see her benefactress. On his part Dan, learning from experience that Meg was not to be found as formerly at the Court, kept away also, and thus inflamed Miss Linisfarne's heart with rage and envy. So far had her unrequited passion carried her that she was rapidly approaching a stage when she might be expected to be dangerous. Dan noted this fact, and kept as much as possible from intruding on her privacy. The remedy was worse than the disease.

Like the ostrich which thinks itself unseen because its head is thrust into the sand, Miss Linisfarne never deemed that her passion was patent to all Farbis. The villagers saw it, and made remarks on her age and folly; Mr. Jarner noticed it and frowned, and a rumour even reached Dr. Merle in the seclusion of his house. Only Meg was ignorant, for no one dared to say a word about Miss Linisfarne in her hearing. She was too mindful of former benefits to hear her benefactress blamed in the smallest degree.

The last to hear of it was Mother Jericho, and she mentioned it to Tinker Tim as a good joke. Instead of looking on it as such, the gipsy scowled and swore, and finally went to the dell in search of Dan. Why he should trouble himself about Miss Linisfarne and her follies it is impossible to say; but he certainly spoke freely to Dan on the subject.

"Morning, rye," said he, striding into the dell like Hercules. "What's all this about the old woman?"

Ardleigh looked up in surprise. He was astonished to hear the tone in which Tim spoke, and resented the scowl with which the gipsy greeted him.

"What do you mean, Tim?" he asked coldly.

"She told me," said the Tinker, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "that the old lady at the Court wants t' marry ye."

"That is news to me! And how did she, by whom you no doubt mean Mother Jericho, learn this?"

"It's all over the place. Miss Linisfarne wants to become your wife."

Dan did not know whether to laugh or to frown. Although he was aware that there was some truth in the rumour, he was by no means inclined to admit as much to Tim; the more so as the attitude of the gipsy was distinctly hostile, and he eyed Dan in a gloomy and threatening manner.

"Is it true, rye?" he demanded savagely.

"What business is it of yours, even if it is true?" said Dan, wrathfully, springing to his feet.

"It's every business," retorted the tinker, scowling; "it is--it is---- By Heaven!" he cried, his passion breaking loose, "I'll twist her neck!"

"Twist Miss Linisfarne's neck?"

"Ay! That I shall!"

Dan advanced, and, laying his hand on the giant's shoulder, looked at him curiously. The man was strongly moved, though by what Dan could not conjecture. Such an unexpected display of anger was all of a piece with the other mysteries connected with Miss Linisfarne.

"See here, my man," said Dan, deliberately; "we had better understand one another. I allow no man to speak to me as you have done. You are keeping something from me."

"It's a lie!" said Tim, hoarsely.

Dan, in nowise moved by the insult, persisted in his questioning. "It's the truth. How did you know my name?"

"That's my business."

"And mine also. I was directed to Farbis by your kinsfolk. I was met here by Mother Jericho, and a few weeks ago you called me by my name. Now you are angry because my name is connected with Miss Linisfarne's by lying gossip."

"Is it lying gossip?" asked Tim, eagerly ignoring the rest of the speech.

"Of course it is. I am in love with Meg. Do you think I want to marry Miss Linisfarne, who is old enough to be my mother?"

Tim drew his hand across his brow, and heaved a sigh of relief. The declaration was evidently a great relief to him. He tried to evade an answer to the other questions by talking about Meg.

"It was for the girl's sake, rye," said he, hurriedly. "I know you love her, and that she loves you, so I didn't want ye to love the old woman."

"That is untrue, Tim. I love Meg, but she does not love me."

"She will some day, rye."

"Mind your own business, my man," said Dan, sharply. "Meg has nothing to do with you, or you with her. What I wish to know is, why you threaten ill to Miss Linisfarne?"

"I can't tell ye--I can't tell ye."

"You must; and also how you came to know my name."

"Ho! ho! rye! That's easy. A pal o' mine had a cart made at the place where your caravan was built. He saw it there, and asked whose it was, so, when they said Lord Ardleigh, he passed the word round our people that a rye was on the wing."

"So you knew who I was from the first?" said Dan, in a vexed tone.

"Ay, that I did, my lord, and Mother Jericho also."

"Had such knowledge anything to do with her prophecy?"

"No."

In spite of this denial, Tim looked so uneasy that Dan felt sure he was not speaking the truth. Determined to know it at any cost, he was about to ask a leading question, when Tim caught his hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't ask me any questions, rye. When the time comes, I'll tell ye all."

"All what?"

"All these things ye wish to know--about the old lady and Dr. Merle and the prophecy."

"When will the time come?"

"On the day ye take Meg to church," said Tim, and with a significant nod marched away.

Dan did not attempt to stay him, but stood reflectively looking at the ground.

"I'll speak to Jarner again," he said, thoughtfully; "in spite of what he says, there is some mystery about Meg. If Jarner doesn't know it, Dr. Merle does. I'll see him."

He lifted up his eyes, and saw the very man of whom he spoke coming down the path.