The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

trade, a Beater: profession, a Scamp.

      Two maids came out together now; one with the milk and a roll, the other with a letter. Catherine drank the milk but could not eat. Then says the other maid, "If so be you are Mistress Peyton, why this letter is for you: Master left it on his table in his bedroom."

      Kate took the letter and opened it, all in a flutter. It ran thus:—

      "Sweet Mistress,—When this reaches you, I shall be no more here to trouble you with my jealousy. This Neville set it abroad that you had changed horses with him, as much as to say you had plighted troth with him. He is a liar, and I told him so to his teeth. We are to meet at noon this day: and one must die. Methinks I shall be the one. But, come what may, I have taken care of thee; ask Jack Houseman else. But, oh dear Kate, think of all that hath passed between us, and do not wed this Neville, or I could not rest in my grave. Sweetheart, many a letter have I written thee, but none so sad as this. Let the grave hide my faults from thy memory; think only that I loved thee well. I leave thee my substance; would it were ten times more; and the last thought of my heart.

      "So no more in this world,

      "From him that is thy true lover

      "And humble servant till death,

      Griffith Gaunt."

      There seems to be room in the mind for only one violent emotion at one instant of time. This touching letter did not just then draw a tear from her who now received it some hours sooner than the writer intended. Its first effect was to paralyze her. She sat white and trembling, and her great eyes filled with horror. Then she began to scream wildly for help. The men and women came round her.

      "Murder! Murder!" she shrieked. "Tell me where to find him, ye wretches, or may his blood be on your heads!"

      The scamp bounded from his lounging position and stood before her straight as an arrow. "FOLLOW ME," he shouted. Her grey eyes and the scamp's black ones, flashed into one another directly. He dashed out of the yard without another word.

      And she spurred her horse, and clattered out after him.

      He ran as fast as her horse could canter, and soon took her all round the house: and, while he ran, his black, gipsy eyes were glancing in every direction.

      When they got to the lawn at the back of the house, he halted a moment, and said quietly, "Here they be." He pointed to some enormous footsteps in the snow, and bade her notice that they commenced at a certain glass door belonging to the house, and that they all pointed outwards. The lawn was covered with such marks, but the scamp followed those his intelligence had selected, and they took him through a gate, and down a long walk, and into the park. Here no other feet had trodden that morning except those Tom Leicester was following. "This is our game," said he. "See, there be six footsteps; and, now I look, this here track is Squire Gaunt's. I know his foot in the snow among a hundred. Bless your heart, I've often been out shooting with Squire Gaunt, and lost him in the woods, and found him again by tracking him on dead leaves, let alone snow. I say, wasn't they useless idiots? couldn't tell ye how to run into a man, and snow on the ground! Why you can track a hare to her form and a rat to his hole—let alone such big game as this, with a hoof like a frying-pan—in the snow."

      "Oh, do not talk; let us make haste," panted Kate.

      "Canter away," replied the scamp.

      She cantered on, and he ran by her side. "Shall I not tire you?" said she.

      The mauvais sujet laughed at her. "Tire me! not over this ground. Why, I run with the hounds, and mostly always in at the death: but that is not altogether speed; ye see I know Pug's mind. What, don't you knowme? I'm Tom Leicester. Why, I know you: I say, you're a good-hearted one, you are."

      "Oh no! no!" sighed Kate.

      "Nay, but you are," said Tom. "I saw you take Harrowden brook that day, when the rest turned tail; and that is what I call having a good heart: gently, mistress, here, this is full of rabbit holes; I seen Sir Ralph's sorrel mare break her leg in a moment in one of these. Shot her dead that afternoon, a did, and then billed her for the hounds. She'd often followed at their tails: next hunting day she ran inside their bellies. Ha! ha! ha!"

      "Oh, don't laugh. I am in agony."

      "Why, what is up, mistress?" asked the young savage, lowering his voice. "'Murder,' says you; but that means nought. The lasses they cry murder if you do but kiss 'em."

      "Oh, Tom Leicester, it is murder. It's a duel, a fight to the death, unless we are in time to prevent them."

      "A jewel!" cried Master Leicester, his eyes glittering with delight. "I never saw a jewel. Don't you hold him in for me, mistress: gallop down this slope as hard as you can pelt: it is grass under foot, and ye can't lose the tracks, and I shall be sure to catch ye in the next field."

      The young savage was now as anxious to be in at the death, as Kate was to save life. As he spoke he gave her horse a whack on the quarter with his stick, and away she went full gallop, and soon put a hundred yards between her and Tom.

      The next field was a deep fallow; and the hard furrows reduced her to a trot; and before she got out of it, Tom was by her side: "Didn't I tell you?" said he. "I'd run you to Peyton Hall for a pot o' beer."

      "Oh you good, brave, clever boy," said Kate: "how fortunate I am to have you. I think we shall be in time."

      Tom was flattered. "Why you see I am none of Daddy Leicester's breed," said he. "I'm a gentleman's by-blow, if you know what that is."

      "I can't say I do," said Kate; "but I know you are very bold and handsome and swift of foot, and I know my patron saint has sent you to me in my misery, and oh, my lad, if we are in time—what can I do for you?—Are you fond of money, Tom?"

      "That I be: when I can get it."

      "Then you shall have all I have got in the world, if you get me there in time to hinder mischief."

      "Come on!" shouted Tom, excited in his turn; and took the lead, and not a word more passed till they came to the foot of a long hill. Then said Tom, "Once we are at top of this, they can't fight without our seeing 'em. That is Scutchemsee Nob: you can see ten miles all round from there."

      At this information Kate uttered an ejaculation and urged her horse forward.

      The first part of this hill, which stood between her and those whoso tracks she followed, was grass; then came a strip of turnips; then on the bleak top a broad piece of heather. She soon cantered over the grass; and left Tom so far behind he could not quite catch her in the turnips. She entered the heather, but here she was much retarded by the snow drifts, and the ups and downs of the rough place. But she struggled on bravely, still leading.

      She fixed her eyes earnestly on the ridge, whence she could cry to the combatants, however distant, and stop the combat.

      Now as she straggled on, and Tom came after, panting a little for the first time, suddenly there rose from the crest of the hill two columns of smoke, and the next moment two sharp reports rang through the frosty air.

      Kate stopped; and looked round to Tom with a scared, inquiring air.

      "Pistols!" yelled Tom behind her.

      At that the woman overpowered the heroine, and Kate hid her face and fell to trembling and wailing. Her wearied horse came down to a walk.

      Presently up comes Tom. "Don't lose your stomach for that," he panted out. "Gentlefolks do pop at one another all day sometimes, and no harm done."

      "Oh, bless you!" cried Kate; "I may yet be in time." She spurred her horse on. He did his best, but ere he had gone twenty yards, he plunged into a cavity hidden by the snow.

      While he was floundering there crack went a single pistol, and the smoke rose and drifted over the hill top.

      "Who—op!" muttered Tom, with horrible sang-froid. "There's one done for this time. Couldn't shoot back, ye see."

      At this horrible explanation, Kate sank forward on her horse's mane as if she