The horse knowing his master’s humour, and knowing also—which is so vitally important—the nature of his master’s courage, jumped at the bank, without pausing. As I have said, no time had been given him to steady himself—not a moment to see where his feet should go, to understand and make the most of the ground that he was to use. He jumped and jumped well, but only half gained the top of the bank. The poor brute, urged beyond his power, could not get his hind feet up so near the surface as to give him a fulcrum for a second spring. For a moment he strove to make good his footing, still clinging with his fore feet, and then slowly came down backwards into the ditch, then regained his feet, and dragging himself with an effort from the mud, made his way back into the field. Peregrine Orme had kept his seat throughout. His legs were accustomed to the saddle and knew how to cling to it, while there was a hope that he might struggle through. And now that he was again in the field he wheeled his horse to a greater distance, striking him with his whip, and once more pushed him at the fence. The gallant beast went at it bravely, slightly swerving from the fatal spot to which Peregrine had endeavoured once more to guide him, leaped with a full spring from the unworn turf, and, barely touching the bank, landed himself and his master lightly within the precincts of the wood.
“Ah‑h!” said Peregrine, shouting angrily at the horse, as though the brute had done badly instead of well. And then he rode down slowly through the wood, and out by Monkton Grange farm, round the moat, and down the avenue, and before long he was standing at Noningsby gate.
He had not made up his mind to any plan of action, nor indeed had he determined that he would ask to see any of the family or even enter the place. The woman at the lodge opened the gate, and he rode in mechanically, asking if any of them were at home. The judge and Mr. Augustus were gone up to London, but my lady and the other ladies were in the house. Mr. Graham had not gone, the woman said in answer to his question; nor did she know when he was going. And then, armed with this information, Peregrine Orme rode round to the stables, and gave up his horse to a groom.
“Yes, Lady Staveley was at home,” the servant said at the door. “Would Mr. Orme walk into the drawing-room, where he would find the young ladies?” But Mr. Orme would not do this. He would go into a small book-room with which he was well acquainted, and have his name taken up to Lady Staveley. “He did not,” he said, “mean to stay very long; but particularly wished to see Lady Staveley.” In a few minutes Lady Staveley came to him, radiant with her sweetest smile, and with both her hands held out to greet him.
“My dear Mr. Orme,” she said, “I am delighted to see you; but what made you run away from us so suddenly?” She had considered her words in that moment as she came across the hall, and had thought that in this way she might best enable him to speak.
“Lady Staveley,” he said, “I have come here on purpose to tell you. Has your daughter told you anything?”
“Who—Madeline?”
“Yes, Madeline. I mean Miss Staveley. Has she said anything to you about me?”
“Well; yes, she has. Will you not sit down, Mr. Orme, and then we shall be more comfortable.” Hitherto he had stood up, and had blurted out his words with a sudden, determined, and almost ferocious air—as though he were going to demand the girl’s hand, and challenge all the household if it were refused him. But Lady Staveley understood his manner and his nature, and liked him almost the better for his abruptness.
“She has spoken to me, Mr. Orme; she has told me of what passed between you on the last day that you were with us.”
“And yet you are surprised that I should have gone! I wonder at that, Lady Staveley. You must have known—”
“Well; perhaps I did know; but sit down, Mr. Orme. I won’t let you get up in that restless way, if we are to talk together. Tell me frankly; what is it you think that I can do for you?”
“I don’t suppose you can do anything;—but I thought I would come over and speak to you. I don’t suppose I’ve any chance?” He had seated himself far back on a sofa, and was holding his hat between his knees, with his eyes fixed on the ground; but as he spoke the last words he looked round into her face with an anxious inquiring glance which went direct to her heart.
“What can I say, Mr. Orme?”
“Ah, no. Of course nothing. Goodbye, Lady Staveley. I might as well go. I know that I was a fool for coming here. I knew it as I was coming. Indeed I hardly meant to come in when I found myself at the gate.”
“But you must not go from us like that.”
“I must though. Do you think that I could go in and see her? If I did I should make such a fool of myself that I could never again hold up my head. And
