"Yes, I've heard of them," he said. "May I have another cup of tea, Mrs.

Lorton? Thanks, very much. The sail this morning has made me ravenous."

"I am so delighted," murmured Mrs. Lorton. "What name did you say, Richard? Turfleigh! Surely I have heard or seen that name----"

"I beg your pardon," said Drake, "but if d.i.c.k has quite finished his tea, I think I'll stroll down to the stables and look at the horses."

"Oh, right you are! Come on!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, with alacrity.

Mrs. Lorton looked after the tall figure as it went out beside the boy's.

"Mr. Vernon must be very well off, Eleanor," she said musingly, and with a little, satisfied smile at the corners of her mouth. "Three horses.

And have you noticed that pearl stud? It is a black one, and must have cost a great deal; and there is a certain look, air, about him, which you, my dear Eleanor, are not likely to notice or understand, but which, to one of my experience of the world, is significant. Did he seem to enjoy his sail this morning?"

"Yes, I think so," absently replied Nell, who was watching the tall figure as it went down the hill.

Mrs. Lorton coughed in a genteel fashion, and her smile grew still more self-satisfied.

"He could not be in a better place," she said; "could not possibly, and I do trust he will not think of leaving us until he is quite restored to health. I must really impress upon him how glad we are to have him, and how his presence cheers our dull and lonely lives."

Nell laughed softly.

"Mr. Vernon does not strike me as being particularly cheerful," she remarked; "at least, not generally," she qualified, as she remembered the unwonted brightness which he had displayed in the _Annie Laurie_.

"In-deed! You are quite wrong, Eleanor," said Mrs. Lorton stiffly. "I consider Mr. Vernon a most entertaining and brilliant companion; and I, for one, should very deeply deplore his departure. I trust, therefore, you will do all you can to make his stay pleasant and to induce him to prolong it. Three horses; ahem!"--she coughed behind her mittened hand--"has he--er--hinted, given you any idea of his position and--er--income, Eleanor?"

Nell flushed and shook her head.

"No, mamma," she said reluctantly. "Why should he? We are not curious----"

"Certainly not!" a.s.sented Mrs. Lorton, bridling. "I may have my faults, but curiosity is certainly not one of them. I merely thought that he might have dropped a word or two about himself, or his people, and the--ahem!--extent of his fortune."

Nell shook her head again.

"Nary a word--I mean, not a word!" she corrected herself hastily; "and, like yourself, mamma, I am not curious. What does it matter what and who he is, or who his people are? He will be gone in a day or two, and we shall probably never see him again."

She moved away from the window as she made the response, and began to sing, and Mrs. Lorton looked after her, and listened to the sweet young voice, with a smile on her weakly shrewd face.

"Eleanor has grown a great deal lately," she murmured to herself; "and I suppose some men would consider her not altogether bad-looking. I am quite certain he is a single man--he would have mentioned his wife; he couldn't have avoided it the first night I was talking to him. Three horses--yes; I suppose Eleanor really is good-looking. No one is more opposed than I am to the vulgar practice of matchmaking, which some women indulge in, but it really would be a mercy to get the girl settled. Yes; he must not think of leaving us until he is quite strong; and that won't be for some weeks, for some time, yet."

Drake went down to the stables with d.i.c.k and "looked at" the horses, every now and then casting a glance through the open door at the _Seagull_ as it sailed across the bay.

Did he regret the woman who had jilted him? Did he wish that he were on board his yacht with his friends, with the badinage, the scandal of the women, the jests and the doubtful stories of the men? He scarcely knew; he thought that he was sorrowing for the fair woman who had deserted him; but--he was not sure. From the meadows above there came the tinkle of a sheep bell, a lowing of a cow calling to her calf; the scent of the tar from a kettle on the beach rose with sharp pungency; the haze of the summer evening was blurring the hills which half ringed the sapphire sea. There was peace at Shorne Mills--a peace which fell upon the weary man of the world. He forgot his troubles for a moment; his lost inheritance, his debts, and difficulties; forgot even Woman and all she had cost him.

Then suddenly, faintly, there came floating down to him the clear, sweet voice of Nell. What was it she was singing?

"Though years have pa.s.sed, I love you yet; Do you still remember, or do you forget?"

A great wave of bitterness swept over him, and, between his teeth, he muttered:

"They are all alike--with the face and the voice of an angel, and the heart of the Man with the Muck-rake. G.o.d save me from them from this time henceforth!"

CHAPTER VIII.

The weeks glided by, Drake's arm got mended, but he still lingered on at Shorne Mills.

There was something in the beauty, the repose, of the place which fascinated and held him. He was so weary of the world, sore with disappointment, and shrinking from the pity of his friends who were, as he knew, dying to commiserate with him over his altered prospects.

The weather was lovely, the air balmy, and for amus.e.m.e.nt--well, there was sailing in the _Annie Laurie_, lounging with a pipe on the jetty, listening, and sometimes talking, to the fishermen and sailors, and teaching Miss Nell Lorton to ride.

"Not that you need much teaching," he said on the first day they rode together--that was before his arm was quite right, and Mrs. Lorton filled the air with her fears and anxieties for his safety. "But you have 'picked it up,' as they say, and there are one or two hints I may be able to give you which will make you as perfect a horsewoman as one would wish to see."

"Isn't 'perfect' rather a big word?" said Nell.

She turned her face to him, and the glory of its young beauty was heightened by the radiance of the smile which was enthroned on her lips and shone in her eyes.

He looked at her with unconscious admiration and in silence for a moment.

"There is no reason why you shouldn't be perfect," he said. "You've everything in your favor--youth, health, strength, and no end of pluck."

"I ought to curtsy," said Nell, laughing softly. "But one can't curtsy on a horse, alas! Please let me off with a bow," and she bent low in the saddle, with all a girl's pretty irony. "But don't be sparing of those same hints, please. I really want to learn, and I will be very humble and meek."

He laughed, as if amused by something.

"I can scarcely fancy you either humble or meek, Miss Nell," he said.

"Hold the reins a little nearer her neck. Like this. See? Then you've room to pull her if she stumbles; which, by the way, isn't likely. And you might sit a little closer at the canter. Don't trouble; leave the pace to the horse."

Nell nodded.

"I know!" she said. "How just being told a thing helps one! I should like to ride as well as you do. You and the horse seem one."

He was not embarra.s.sed by the compliment.

"Oh, I've ridden all my life," he said, "and under all sorts of circ.u.mstances, on all sorts of horses, and one gets au fait in time.

Now, let her have her head and we'll try a gallop. Don't bear too hard on her if she pulls--as she may--but ride her on the snaffle as much as possible."

They had climbed the hill, and were riding along a road on the edge of one of the small moors, and after a moment or two of inspection of the graceful figure beside him, he motioned with his hand, and they turned on to the moor itself.

As they cantered and galloped over the springy turf and heather, Drake grew thoughtful and absent-minded.

The beauty of the scene, the azure sky, the clear, thin air, all soothed him; but he found himself asking himself why he was still lingering in this out-of-the-way spot in North Devon, and why he was content with the simple amus.e.m.e.nt of teaching a young girl to sit her horse and hold her reins properly.

Why was he not on board the _Seagull_, which Lord Turfleigh had left in Southampton waters, or in Scotland shooting grouse, with one of the innumerable house parties to which he had been invited, and at which he would have been a welcome guest, or climbing the Alps with fellow members of the Alpine Club?

So they were silent as they rode over this green-and-violet moor, over which the curlew flew wailingly, as if complaining of this breach of their solitude.