Episode 8

CHAPTER I

Whoever had perceived the yeoman standing on Squire Everard's lawn in the dusk of that October evening fifty years ago,might have said at first sight that he was loitering there from idle curiosity.For a large five-light window of the manor-house in front of him was unshuttered and uncurtained,so that the illuminated room within could be scanned almost to its four corners.Obviously nobody was ever expected to be in this part of the grounds after nightfall.

The apartment thus swept by an eye from without was occupied by two persons;they were sitting over dessert,the tablecloth having been removed in the old-fashioned way.The fruits were local,consisting of apples,pears,nuts,and such other products of the summer as might be presumed to grow on the estate.There was strong ale and rum on the table,and but little wine.Moreover,the appointments of the dining-room were simple and homely even for the date,betokening a countrified household of the smaller gentry,without much wealth or ambition--formerly a numerous class,but now in great part ousted by the territorial landlords.

One of the two sitters was a young lady in white muslin,who listened somewhat impatiently to the remarks of her companion,an elderly,rubicund personage,whom the merest stranger could have pronounced to be her father.The watcher evinced no signs of moving,and it became evident that affairs were not so simple as they first had seemed.

The tall farmer was in fact no accidental spectator,and he stood by premeditation close to the trunk of a tree,so that had any traveller passed along the road without the park gate,or even round the lawn to the door,that person would scarce have noticed the other,notwithstanding that the gate was quite near at hand,and the park little larger than a paddock.There was still light enough in the western heaven to brighten faintly one side of the man's face,and to show against the trunk of the tree behind the admirable cut of his profile;also to reveal that the front of the manor-house,small though it seemed,was solidly built of stone in that never-to-be-surpassed style for the English country residence--the mullioned and transomed Elizabethan.

The lawn,although neglected,was still as level as a bowling-green--which indeed it might once have served for;and the blades of grass before the window were raked by the candle-shine,which stretched over them so far as to touch the yeoman's face in front.

Within the dining-room there were also,with one of the twain,the same signs of a hidden purpose that marked the farmer.The young lady's mind was straying as clearly into the shadows as that of the loiterer was fixed upon the room--nay,it could be said that she was quite conscious of his presence outside.Impatience caused her foot to beat silently on the carpet,and she more than once rose to leave the table.This proceeding was checked by her father,who would put his hand upon her shoulder and unceremoniously press her down into her chair,till he should have concluded his observations.Her replies were brief enough,and there was factitiousness in her smiles of assent to his views.A small iron casement between two of the mullions was open,and some occasional words of the dialogue were audible without.

'As for drains--how can I put in drains?The pipes don't cost much,that's true;but the labour in sinking the trenches is ruination.

And then the gates--they should be hung to stone posts,otherwise there's no keeping them up through harvest.'The Squire's voice was strongly toned with the local accent,so that he said 'drains'and 'geats'like the rustics on his estate.

The landscape without grew darker,and the young man's figure seemed to be absorbed into the trunk of the tree.The small stars filled in between the larger,the nebulae between the small stars,the trees quite lost their voice;and if there was still a sound,it was from the cascade of a stream which stretched along under the trees that bounded the lawn on its northern side.

At last the young girl did get to her feet and secure her retreat.

'I have something to do,papa,'she said.'I shall not be in the drawing-room just yet.'

'Very well,'replied he.'Then I won't hurry.'And closing the door behind her,he drew his decanters together and settled down in his chair.

Three minutes after that a woman's shape emerged from the drawing-room window,and passing through a wall-door to the entrance front,came across the grass.She kept well clear of the dining-room window,but enough of its light fell on her to show,escaping from the dark-hooded cloak that she wore,stray verges of the same light dress which had figured but recently at the dinner-table.The hood was contracted tight about her face with a drawing-string,making her countenance small and baby-like,and lovelier even than before.

Without hesitation she brushed across the grass to the tree under which the young man stood concealed.The moment she had reached him he enclosed her form with his arm.The meeting and embrace,though by no means formal,were yet not passionate;the whole proceeding was that of persons who had repeated the act so often as to be unconscious of its performance.She turned within his arm,and faced in the same direction with himself,which was towards the window;and thus they stood without speaking,the back of her head leaning against his shoulder.For a while each seemed to be thinking his and her diverse thoughts.