The Runaways: A New and Original Story

"I must have a look at him," he replied; then, glancing out of the window, went on: "There is nothing more miserable than a thaw; I shall be glad when all the snow is gone, and there is a chance of hunting again."

"It will be a treat to be in the saddle after such a long spell," she replied. Then, changing the subject, she said, "I had a peculiar letter when you were away. I showed it to the Squire, and he thought it was written by a clever rogue. My impression was that the man was genuinely in want of a small loan, but how he came to write to me I do not know. Here is the letter and his reply to my note."

Warren Courtly took it carelessly, but no sooner did he see the handwriting than he hastily turned to look at the signature, and when he saw "Felix Hoffman" the letter fell upon the table and he sank back into his chair, his face white and drawn.

Irene was surprised and alarmed at the effect it produced, and said —

"What is the matter, Warren? Is it the letter causes you anxiety? Do you know the man?"

He made no answer, but took the letter and read it, wondering how it came about that Felix Hoffman should have discovered who he was and have the audacity to write to his wife. Janet must have confided in him, that was the only solution he arrived at, and he vowed she should suffer for her betrayal. These brief minutes, when his wife's eyes were upon him, noting every change and movement, were the worst he had ever spent in his life.

"Do you know the man?" she asked, again.

"Yes, I know him."

"Who is he?"

"A racecourse sharper, a scoundrel, an unprincipled blackguard," said Warren, savagely.

"Then how is it you know him?" she asked.

"We meet many undesirable people on racecourses; he is one of the most undesirable."

"But you have no necessity to associate with such men."

"They are useful sometimes; even the man Hoffman has given me good information."

"If he is such a man as you describe, I should be ashamed to be seen with him. How dare he write to me?" she said, angrily.

"It was a gross piece of impertinence," replied Warren, "for which he shall pay dearly. Leave me to deal with him, Irene."

"He ought to be thrashed," she said.

"He shall be, and he will not forget it as long as he lives. You were very foolish to send the money."

"The Squire said the letter ought to have been handed over to the police."

"It was a blessing it was not," thought Warren.

It was a rapid thaw, and at the end of the week not a vestige of snow was to be seen, except in some shaded corner where the sunlight never crept in, and where the overhanging cavern kept off the dripping water.

Warren Courtly rode over to Hazelwell, and did not receive a very hearty greeting from Redmond Maynard.

They looked at Honeysuckle's foal, and Warren pronounced it one of the best she had had. Eli Todd, he fancied, treated him in a somewhat off-hand manner. Surely he did not suspect anything, he could not unless Janet had written to him.

Everything jarred upon him, his nerves were disordered, and he felt irritable and out of sorts. He dreaded an exposure, and felt it was gradually coming. He knew what the Squire's wrath would be when he found out Ulick had been unjustly suspected, as he must do sooner or later.

"Tell him all and get rid of the burden," whispered conscience. He dare not, and yet it would have been the best way out of the sea of trouble into which he was floundering.

In the Squire's study hung the painting of Random, and he pointed it out to Warren with pride, and said —

"Irene has done it splendidly; it is lifelike. I never saw a picture of a horse more natural. You ought to be proud of your wife, she does many things, and does them all well."

"I am proud of her," said Warren, in a half-hearted tone that irritated the Squire, who of late had been constantly blaming himself for being the cause of Irene throwing herself away upon Warren Courtly.

"She is the best woman I know, and her heart is in the right place. Confound it, Warren, you have no right to leave her alone as you do, it is not fair to her. Why don't you take her up to London, if you really have to go to town so often?"

"I will next time," said Warren, lamely. He seemed at a loss for words, and the Squire thought he had a shame-faced look.

"He's been up to some devilment, I'm sure of it," he thought. "By Jupiter, if he's done anything to trouble Irene's peace of mind he'll find he has me to reckon with."

"Your journey to London does not seem to have benefited you much," said the Squire.

"I hate town," grumbled Warren.

"Then why go there?"

"Because it is so deuced dull at the Manor when there is no hunting on."

"The selfish beggar," thought the Squire, as he said aloud, "And do you not think it is dull for Irene when you are away?"

"She is generally at Hazelwell, and you are excellent company, Squire."

"Am I? Much you know about it. Let me tell you if it had not been for Irene I should have had a fit of the blues that would have got the best of me a few nights back. Perhaps you can imagine what night it was?" said the Squire.

"No, I cannot; but, anyway, I am glad she was here to cheer you up. I told her to ride over and see you."

"Have you forgotten what happened over two years ago?"

He could not pretend to misunderstand, although they were getting on rather dangerous ground.

"You mean the night Ulick left home?"

"Yes, and I sat up all that night, and I shall sit up every night when it comes round, year by year, until he returns home again."

"Then you have changed your mind?" said Warren.

"I have forgiven him, but he must prove his innocence, and I am beginning to believe he will. Something tells me he will," he said, as he looked at Warren in a way that made him feel very uncomfortable, and yet he knew nothing had been found out – at present.

"Ulick was hardly the sort of man one would have expected to get into such a mess," said Warren.

"You are right; that is what I cannot understand," replied the Squire, thinking at the same time Warren Courtly was a much more likely man to do so.

"Irene told me you thought I was foolish to accept ten thousand for the Holme Farm," said Warren.

"And I still think so. Why did you sell it?"

"I had to, I owed a lot of money."