"Look here," said Scarfe, calling him back, "I want to say one word. I am sufficiently interested in Percy Rimbolt to dislike the influence you use upon him. Your influence upon young boys is not to be trusted, and I warn you to let Percy alone. You are doing him no good as it is."

"Is that all you want to say?" said Jeffreys. "No. I have my own reason for choosing that you cease to offend Miss Atherton by your attentions. You are no fit companion for her; and she and I--"

Jeffreys turned on his heel, and did not hear the end of the sentence.

He marvelled at himself that he had not struck the fellow contemptuously to the ground; and he absolutely smiled in the midst of his misery at the idea of Scarfe taking upon himself the moral upbringing of Percy and the protector-ship of Raby! In the midst of these reflections he became aware of the presence of Raby in the walk in front of him.

The rencontre was unexpected on both sides, and promised to be embarra.s.sing for Jeffreys. Raby, however, came to the rescue.

"Mr Jeffreys," said she, holding out her hand, "I do hope you are none the worse for yesterday. I was greatly afraid you would catch cold."

"You took the kindest possible way of preventing it," said Jeffreys. "I never enjoyed a meal as much as the one Walker brought me yesterday, and I thank the kind sender."

Raby blushed.

"It was a shame no one else thought of it. But, Mr Jeffreys, you are thanking me, when it is I who ought to thank you for risking your life for me."

"That is a new version of the story," said Jeffreys. "It was somebody else who risked his life for me, and I know you despise me for appearing so churlish about it."

"I was very sorry indeed for you in the drawing-room last night."

"I deserved no sympathy."

"I fancied you might have gushed a little when you saw how much auntie's heart and Mrs Scarfe's were set on it. It would not have hurt you."

"I cannot gush, Miss Atherton; but I can value your kindness to me, and I do."

Raby smiled one of her pleasantest smiles.

"I wish I had half your honesty, Mr Jeffreys. I am always pretending to be something here which I am not, and I get sick of it. I wish I were a man."

"Why? Is honesty confined to the male s.e.x?"

"No; I suppose we can be honest too. But if I was a man I could go and be of some use somewhere; I'm no good to anybody here."

Jeffreys coloured up furiously, and looked as if he would run from the spot. Then, apparently thinking better of it, he looked down at her and said--

"Excuse me, you are."

They walked on a little in silence, then Raby said--

"I am so glad, Mr Jeffreys, you managed Percy so well about that smoking yesterday; and how well he took it!"

"Of course; he's a gentleman and a fine fellow."

"He forgets how much older Mr Scarfe is than he, and he imagines it is a fine thing to do whatever others do. But I think it is such a pity he should waste so much time as he does now in the billiard-room and over the fire. Don't you think it is bad for him?"

"I do. The day on the ice yesterday made a new man of him."

"Do try to coax him out, Mr Jeffreys, you always do him good; and you may be able to pull him up now before he becomes an idler."

"I promise you I will do what I can."

"He ought to be my brother, and not my cousin," said Raby, "I feel so jealous on his account."

"He is fortunate--may I say so?--in his cousin. Here is Mr Rimbolt."

Mr Rimbolt had papers in his hand, and looked rather anxious.

Raby, with a daughter's instinct, rushed to him.

"Uncle, have you news from the war? Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," said her uncle rea.s.suringly; "I brought you this paper to see. It reports that there has been an encounter with the Afghans near Kandahar, with complete success on the British side and comparatively trifling loss. Particulars are expected almost immediately. I telegraphed to town to get the earliest possible details. Meanwhile, Raby, don't alarm yourself unduly."

"I won't, uncle; but where exactly was the battle?"

"You will see the names mentioned in the telegram. Jeffreys can show you the exact spot in the atlas; we were looking at it the other evening."

Jeffreys thankfully accepted the task. He and Raby spent an hour over the map, talking of the absent soldier, and trying, the one to conceal, the other to allay, the anxiety which the incomplete telegram had aroused.

At the end of the hour Scarfe walked into the library. His face darkened as he saw the two who sat there.

"Miss Atherton," said he, looking not at her, but at Jeffreys, "have you forgotten we were to have a ride this morning?"

"I am so sorry, Mr Scarfe, but I have a headache, and don't feel as if I could ride to-day. You will excuse me, won't you?"

"Oh, certainly," replied Scarfe; "don't you think a turn in the park will do you good? May I have the pleasure of escorting you?"

Raby said, "Thank you." She was very sorry to disappoint any one, and had no valid excuse against a walk.

"Miss Atherton," said Scarfe, when they had gone some distance, chatting on indifferent topics, "I am anxious just to say a word to you, not in my own interest at all, but your own. Will you forgive me if I do?"

"What is it?" said Raby, mystified.

"I wish to put you on your guard against Jeffreys, who, I see, presumes on his position here to annoy you. You may not perhaps know, Miss Atherton, that not two years ago--"

"Excuse me, Mr Scarfe," said Raby quietly, stopping in her walk, "I hate talking of people behind their backs. Mr Jeffreys has never annoyed me; he has been kind to me. Shall we talk of something else?"

"Certainly," said Scarfe, startled at her decided tone. He had laid his plan for a little revelation, and it disconcerted him to see it knocked on the head like this.

However, just then he was not in the humour for making himself obnoxious to Miss Atherton, of whom, being a susceptible youth, he was decidedly enamoured. It was a deprivation, certainly, to find his tongue thus unexpectedly tied with regard to Jeffreys, of whose stay at Wildtree he had calculated on making very short work.

The one comfort was, that there was little enough danger of her seeing in the ill-favoured Bolsover cad anything which need make him--Scarfe-- jealous. Doubtless she took a romantic interest in this librarian; many girls have whims of that sort. But the idea of her preferring him to the smart Oxford hero was preposterous.

Jeffreys would still believe in the sword of Damocles which hung above him, and the time might come when Raby would cease to stand between him and his Nemesis.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.