'Pray forgive me, I am covered with shame; but—but it was strangely like some one—some one long dead,' said Miles, hoarsely—and slowly, with the exception of the last four words, which were low and hurried. And with that he went from the room, and cannoned in the passage against Dick Edmonstone, who was late for breakfast.
That day, the champion from Australia shot execrably, which was inexplicable; and he kept for ever casting sudden glances over his shoulders, and on all sides of him, which was absurd.
XXIV
THE EFFECT OF A SONG
Late that afternoon, in Robert Rutter's meadow at the back of the inn, a man and a woman stood in close conversation. The man was Jem Pound, the woman Elizabeth Ryan.
'Then you have not seen him yet?'
'No, not yet; I have had no chance.'
'You mean that you have been drunk, Jem Pound!'
'Not to say drunk, missis. But I've been over to a town called Melmerbridge, and I went a long way round so as not to cross the moor. They're shooting up there all day. It'd be no sort o' use tackling him there.'
'But surely they are back by now?' exclaimed Mrs. Ryan, impatiently. 'I tell you he must be seen to-day—this evening—now.'
'Ay, ay; I'm just going. Straight along this path it is, across a few fields, and there you are—opposite the house; and you may trust me——'
'I know; I have seen it for myself. But I am going too.'
This was precisely what Pound did not want. He was treating the woman with unwonted civility, not to say respect, with a view to the more easily dissuading her from dangerous projects. And this was a dangerous project from Pound's point of view; but Mrs. Ryan had set her soul upon it. Argue as Jem would, she was bent upon seeing her husband with her own eyes, and at once. And there, with that thin white face of hers she might go and get him actually to pity her, and spoil everything—for Jem Pound.
'After finding him again, do you think I will endure this a moment longer?' asked Elizabeth scornfully.
Pound's reply was in the reflective manner.
'Well,' said he, with slow deliberation, 'I'm not sure but what it mightn't, after all, do good for you to see him.'
'Good—do good! To whom? What do you mean? What have you to do with it?'
Pound ground his teeth; he had everything to do with it. It was the old story over again: this woman was using him as the guide to her own ends, yet would cut him adrift the very moment those ends were in sight. How he hated her! With his lips he cringed to her, in his heart he ground her to powder; but if he was not in the position to bully her to-day, he had lost few opportunities when he was; and he was at least forearmed against her.
He affected a bluff kindliness of manner that would not have deceived her had Mrs. Ryan been a little more composed.
'Look here, missis, you and me, we've been bound up in a ticklish job together. I don't say as I've always done by you as I should, but there is allowances to be made for a man that carries, as they say, his life in his hand, and that's staked his life on this here job. I don't say, either, as we're both on the exact same tack, but one thing's certain; we must work together now, and if you can't work my way, why, I must work yours. Now, missis, you ain't fit for the strain of seeing him. If you could see your own face you'd know it, ma'am.'
Her eyes had opened wide at his tone; she sighed deeply at his last words.
'No,' she said sadly, 'I know I'm not fit for much. But I must go—I must go.'
'Then if you must, ma'am, take a teaspoonful of this first. It'll help you through, and anyway keep you from fainting, as you did last time. I got it in Melmerbridge this afternoon, after I see you look so sick.'
He uncorked a small flask and held it to her lips.
'What is it?'
'Brandy—the best.'
'And water?'
'Half and half. Remember that other night!'
'He is right,' muttered the woman: 'there must be no fainting this time.'
She sipped from the bottle and felt revived.
'Now we will go,' she said, sternly.
They crossed the meadow, and so over the stile into the potato-field that came next. Then Pound began to lag behind and watch his companion. When they reached the gate she was reeling; she clung to the gate-post, and waited for him to come up.
'You fiend!' she screamed, glaring impotently upon him. 'Poisoner and fiend! You have—you—'
She fell senseless at his feet without finishing the sentence. Pound surveyed the helpless heap of clothes with complete satisfaction.
'Drugged you, eh? Is that what you'd say? Nay, hardly, my lass: p'r'aps the brandy was risky for a fool of a woman that won't eat—p'r'aps it was very near neat—p'r'aps there was more in it than that; anyway you took it beautiful—lovely, you devil in petticoats!'
He raised her easily enough in his strong arms, carried her through the gate into the next field, and dropped her upon a late heap of hay some distance from the track.
'Playing at triangles,' said Pound, 'it must be two to one, or all against all: one thing it sha'n't be—two to one,
