"Isn't your mare very tiresome, Cynthia?" said Julia.

"Only fresh, dear; I don't mind," was the reply. "I can manage her."

They were now in one of the winding, hilly lanes running through a series of the shaws or little woods common in that part of the country, and intersected by narrow rides for the convenience of the shooting parties and those who hunt. Everything looked very beautiful, and with her troubled breast feeling more at rest than it had for weeks, Julia was really enjoying her ride.

"Why, this is what we ought often to do," thought Cynthia. "Quiet, mare! Julia seems to feel safe from the ogre now she is well mounted.

How pretty she looks!"

Julia certainly did look very beautiful just then, though she might have reciprocated the compliment. Her dark blue habit fitted her to perfection, her little glossy riding-hat was daintily poised upon her well-shaped head, and she rode her mare gracefully and well.

"Shall I take up a link or two of her curb, ma'am?" said the groom, cantering up, as Mad Sal seemed to be growing excited.

"Oh no, Thomas; she'll quiet down. It would only make her more fidgety.

I'll give her a gallop."

If she had not decided to give it, Mad Sal would have taken it; for as she spoke and loosened her rein, the graceful creature sprang off at a gallop, and after a few strides began to go like the wind.

"Oh, Thomas, Thomas," cried Julia; "gallop!"

"Don't you be frightened, Miss," said the groom, smiling. "Miss Cynthia won't hurt. I never see a lady as could go like her. Shall I gallop after her, miss?"

"Yes, yes, quickly," cried Julia, excitedly; and, knowing the country, the groom turned his horse's head, put him at and leaped a low hedge into a field between two patches of coppice, and went off hunting fashion, to cut off a long corner round which he knew his young charge would go.

Julia hesitated about following, and then kept on at an easy canter along the road, following her sister's steps, till suddenly she turned ghastly pale, as, about fifty yards in front, she saw a man force his way through the low hedge, and then, evidently hot and panting with a long run, come towards her.

She had but to lash her mare and dash by him. She could have turned and cantered off with ease. But she did neither, merely sitting paralysed, as it were, with her eyes fixed upon the great dark-bearded fellow, who came boldly up, laid his hand upon the rein, and the mare stopped short.

"Why, my beauty," he said, in a low deep voice, as he pa.s.sed his arm through the rein, and placed his great hands upon the trembling girl's waist, "I thought I was never going to see you again."

Julia did not answer, though her lips parted as if to utter a cry.

"There," he said, "don't look frightened. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I've got you safe, and the mare too. I don't know which is the prettiest. There, you're all right; they won't be back this half-hour.

I've got you safe; jump?"

As he spoke he lifted her out of the saddle, and the next moment she was clasped tight in the fellow's arms--the dove quite at the mercy of the hawk.

PART TWO, CHAPTER TEN.

AT KILBY.

Winter came in early that year, but none the less fiercely. Cyril and his young wife stayed on, Sage eagerly agreeing to her aunt's proposal that the visit should be prolonged, and consequently the rabbits on the farm had a very hard time, especially when the snow came, and their footprints could be tracked with ease.

John Berry brought his young wife and children, to the great delight of the Churchwarden, of whom they made a perfect slave, for he was never weary of petting them.

Lord Artingale came over once, and won golden opinions of Mrs Portlock by what she called his condescension; and as to his nominee at the next election, the Churchwarden was ready to support him through thick and thin for the interest he took in Rue Berry's little children.

Harry Artingale was not the only gentleman visitor who found his way to the farm, for Frank Mallow came one evening soon after the Berrys had arrived, and that night, when Sage had gone up with her sister to her room, Rue suddenly burst into a hysterical fit of weeping.

"Why, Rue, darling," exclaimed her sister, "what is it?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," she cried hastily, wiping her eyes and cheering up. "Only one of my foolish fits, Sagey. There, there, good night."

"But you are ill," said Sage, anxiously.

"Ill, dear? No; it is only a little hysterical feeling that I have sometimes," and wishing her sister good night in the most affectionate manner, Sage left her bending over the little bedstead where her children slept, and as Sage closed the door she saw Rue sinking down upon her knees.

It was not a pleasant time, for Cyril had grown short and sulky whenever Frank came, and seeing this, Frank laughed, and became unpleasantly attentive to his brother's young wife.

"If he won't be polite to you, Sage, I will," he cried. "I want you to have pleasant memories of me when I am gone."

"But are you going soon?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, I shall go soon," he replied; "I'm tired of this narrow country. Ah, Portlock, you should come with me."

"No, no," exclaimed Mrs Portlock, excitedly. "My husband could not think of such a thing."

The Churchwarden, who was puffing away at his pipe when this was said, gave Frank Mallow a peculiar look, to which that gentleman nodded and stroked his dark beard.

"Well, I don't know, mother," he said; "farming's getting very bad here, and those who emigrate seem to do very well."

"Oh, no, Joseph; I don't believe they do," cried Mrs Portlock, plaiting away at her ap.r.o.n, so as to produce the effect since become fashionable under the name of kilting.

"Why, look at young Luke Ross," said the Churchwarden; "he's emigrated to London, and they say getting on wonderful."

"Home's quite good enough for me, Joseph," said Mrs Portlock, "and I wouldn't go on any consideration."

Frank Mallow took up the ball here, but the Churchwarden saw that Sage had turned pale and was bending over her work, so he stopped, and Frank went on painting the pictures of Australian life in the most highly-coloured style.

This visit became an extremely painful one to Sage, for, to Cyril's great annoyance, Frank came more and more, bantering his brother on his ill-humour, taking not the slightest notice of Mrs Berry, who had turned very cold and reserved to him now, and evidently trying to pique her by his attentions to Sage.

The latter began to look upon him with horror, and dreaded Cyril's absences, which were very frequent, there always being something to shoot over at Gatley, or a trip to make somewhere; and at last it became almost a matter of course, as soon as Cyril had gone, for Frank to come sauntering in to have a chat with the Churchwarden upon sheep.

As a rule the Churchwarden would be absent, and Mrs Portlock would begin to exert herself to make the visitor's stay comfortable, always contriving a little whispered conversation with him in the course of his visit, and begging him not to induce Portlock to emigrate. For it would be such a pity at his age, she whispered. And then, as soon as he got free, he would begin chatting to Sage, who sat there afraid to seem cold, but all the time being ill at ease, for a horrible suspicion had come over her, and fight against it how she would, she could not drive it away.

A great change had come over Rue, and it seemed to Sage so horrible, that she reproached herself for harbouring the idea that her sister's affection had come back for her old lover; that he was trying all he could to win her from her duty as a wife and mother; and that she, Sage, was being used as a blind to hide the real state of the case from her aunt and uncle. As for John Berry, there was no need to try and blind him, for in his simple, honest fashion he had the fondest trust in his wife; and if any one had hinted that she was falling away from him, if it had been a man, he would have struck him down.

A fortnight pa.s.sed, and the frost still lasted. The Churchwarden, in his genial hospitality, said that it was a glorious time, but to Sage it was one of intense mental pain. Cyril had gone back to London, but was to come back and fetch her; but even if he had been there, Sage would have shrunk from speaking to him, seeing what a horrible accusation she would be making against her own sister and his brother; and she shrank from it the more from a dread of saying or doing anything to estrange Cyril, who had certainly been of late colder than his wont.

"Should she tell Julia?"

No, she seemed ill, and to avoid her now, and Sage was too proud to attempt to force herself upon her sister-in-law if she wished to keep away.

It was a terrible time for her, as she realised more and more, from various little things she saw, that Frank Mallow had, from old a.s.sociations, regained his old power over Rue, and to her horror she felt certain that they had had stolen interviews.

"What should she do?" she asked herself; and now she wished that Cyril was back, for suddenly, just as Sage was praying that John Berry would make up his mind to go home, he announced his intention of going alone.

"It's bitter cold there after the place has been shut up, Churchwarden, and if thou does not mind I'll leave Rue and the little ones, and come over and fetch them in about a week's time."