CHAPTER VIII

High up in the woods of Buckinghamshire stood Barminster Castle, so old that one-half of its pile dated back to Norman times; while the whole, with the wings and parts added by the successive generations of Leroys, might have pa.s.sed for a royal palace by reason of its splendour and magnificence.

Needless to say, the Leroys were proud of their ancestral home, for there had been Leroys since William the Conqueror had calmly annexed the land on which it now stood, and had given it to his faithful baron, Philip Le Roi. But they valued still more the love and respect of their people, who in hamlet and village surrounded the castle as naturally as did the woods.

Yet the present Lord Barminster had done little to keep the flame of loyalty alight in the hearts of his tenants. He was an old man, nearing seventy, tall, white-headed and haughty--every feature clear-cut, as if carved from marble. Few people had ever seen the stern lines of that face relax in light-hearted laughter since the death of his young wife, which had occurred a few years after the birth of Adrien. None, outside his immediate family circle, had ever known the curtness of his speech to be softened unless in sarcasm; and his habitual expression was one of haughty tolerance.

His friends feared him, even as they respected him, for if he had the faults of his race, he also possessed its great virtue--justice. No man, prince or peasant, friend or foe, ever appealed to Lord Barminster for that in vain.

Now, in the clear brightness of the spring morning he paced to and fro on the south terrace.

Behind him glittered the long French windows of the morning-room, one of which stood open, revealing the luxury of the room beyond; the table with its silver and delicate china service, and the purple hangings of the walls.

Presently he stopped in his stroll and turned his stern eyes towards the landscape stretching beneath him. Through the confusion of the dark woods there lay a long line of turf, cut here and there by formidable hedges, and divided by a streak of glittering silver, which was in reality a dangerous stream--indeed, higher up it became a torrent--forming the final obstacle of the Barminster steeple-course.

All the Leroys had been fond of horses. The Barminster stables had sent many a satin-coated colt to carry off the gold cup; and this race-course had been carefully kept and preserved by the family for many generations.

While he stood gazing on it a light footstep sounded behind him, and a slender hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned slowly, and with a kind of kingly courtesy kissed the long white fingers.

"You are early as usual, Constance," he said approvingly.

Lady Constance Tremaine smiled as she turned with him and walked along the mosaic pavement of the terrace. She was little more than a girl, with a slim, graceful figure, and clad in a simple white morning gown, which served to enhance her youthful beauty. Her face was a pure oval, with clear-cut features and an exquisitely curved, sensitive mouth, while her grey-blue eyes gazed from beneath their thick lashes with a calm serenity that bred faith and confidence in those who looked upon them. Crowned with a wealth of pale golden hair, together with her delicate complexion, she looked as if she had stepped from one of the old Florentine pictures of the saints.

As the two so typical of youth and age stood side by side in the clear morning light, the resemblance between them was marked. Indeed, they were related, for the Tremaines were a distant branch of the Leroy family, and the same proud blood ran in their veins. Lady Constance had been brought up in the Barminster household, and Adrien had grown to regard her in the light of a loved and trusted sister; but, as yet, nothing more.

"Won't you come in to breakfast?" she said, as they reached the end of the terrace. "Aunt Penelope is not coming down; her nerves are bad this morning."

Miss Penelope Leroy, Lord Barminster's only sister, was not strictly speaking Constance's aunt, merely a distant cousin; but as a child Constance had been accustomed to call her so, and the habit had grown up with her.

Lord Barminster smiled grimly.

"I advised her to let the cuc.u.mber alone last night," was his only comment as he turned towards the breakfast room.

Constance smiled too, for she knew that when Miss Penelope complained of her nerves, it was in reality nothing but a case of indigestion.

"How bright the course looks this morning!" she said, with a charitable wish to change the subject, for Lord Barminster was apt at times to wax caustic over his sister's small weaknesses.

"Yes," he said grimly; "like all things dangerous, it is pleasant to the eye. I hate that strip of green--it is the grave of many a Leroys' best hope. The turf has always been a fatal snare to our race. But, come," he broke off, "let us go in. Thank goodness, Adrien arrives to-day."

"To-day?" repeated Lady Constance, a delicate flush rising to her sweet face. "I thought he was not going to arrive until the morning of the race."

"The race is to-morrow, but he comes to-day," answered Lord Barminster.

"I had a note from him last night saying he would be here by lunch time, and was bringing a few friends down with him."

"And Mr. Vermont, too?" inquired Lady Constance almost timidly.

The old man's face darkened and his thin lips set in a hard line.

"Yes," he said fiercely, "I suppose so. Adrien is as much in love with him as a young fellow with his first sweetheart. I know that he's a scoundrel and a rogue--but there, what would you? Times have changed since my day; we have replaced horses by motors, to spoil our roads and ruin our lands, and gentleman friends by base-born, scheming adventurers."

"Oh, but, uncle," Lady Constance timidly remonstrated, "surely Mr.

Vermont is a gentleman?"

"Yes, by Act of Parliament!" snapped the old man, in whose aristocratic eyes a lawyer was but little removed from the criminal whose case he defended.

"Certainly it is strange that Adrien should be so attached to him," the girl said musingly; she, herself, had little liking for the gentleman in question, though her sense of justice had made her speak a good word for him. "But he is a clever steward, at least."

"A rogue's only virtue," said Lord Barminster dryly.

"Amusing, too," she suggested.

"We've no longer need of a court jester," returned her companion, with sarcasm. "But never mind, Adrien will find out his mistake for himself one day. Certainly, I am not going to attempt to strip the mask off his friend's face. Give him rope enough, and he will hang himself.

Meanwhile, give me some more coffee, and leave the fellow's name alone; I hate even the thought of him."

Lady Constance refilled his cup and brought it to the end of the table, for she loved to wait on the old man. As she did so, his sharp eyes caught the glitter of a piece of needlework across the back of her chair, and with a curt gesture towards it, he said:

"What is that?"

She blushed, almost deeply, then took it up, and opened it out for him to see. It was a silk riding jacket, in the scarlet and white racing colours of the Leroys, and their coat of arms, worked in silver, upon the breast.

"For the Grand National," said Lady Constance, as she refolded the jacket.

"You worked it yourself?" questioned the old man abruptly.

"Yes," she replied, blushing again. Then, as he was silent for some minutes, she said almost timidly: "You do not mind, uncle, do you?"

He started. "Mind! Good Heavens, child, why should I? You know the wish of my heart only too well. What better favour could he wear than yours?

As far as I am concerned, you were plighted in your cradles. Leroy and Tremaine are no unequal match. No--no--my dear, make his jacket, and win his heart--if you can!"

Some few hours later, panting and throbbing, the Daimler motor drew up in the Castle courtyard--Adrien and his friends had arrived for the great steeplechase.

Attracted by the sound of the barking dogs, who apparently disliked the unaccustomed monster--Lord Barminster himself invariably using horses--Lady Constance stepped from her room on to the balcony which looked down upon the courtyard beneath. The gentlemen's hats flew off in greeting, and, as Adrien looked up, an unusual thrill ran through him as he noted the simple beauty of the girl above him.

"We thought we'd left the sun behind us, Constance, but evidently 'she'

is still overhead," he said, smiling.

She looked down with mock reproof, playfully shaking at him a flower which she held in her hand.

"I thought compliments were out of date, Adrien. Have you enjoyed your drive?"

"Not half so much as the welcome," was the courteous reply, as he caught the rose which she had let fall.

She laughed, and blushed a little, then turned to the other members of the party, who had now alighted from the car.

"Ah, Lord Standon, I did not know you were coming." Then, as that young man's face lengthened, she added quickly: "Unexpected pleasures are always welcome. I am glad to see you, Mr. Paxhorn."