CHAPTER XII AT DEVEREUX COURT

At six o'clock on the following morning I was up and in the park. I had prepared myself for much, but what I saw exceeded everything. It is not part of my rôle as story-teller to attempt long descriptions. I am not an artist or a descriptive writer, and were I to attempt to play the part of either I should most certainly fail. But the park and mansion of Devereux were one day bound to be mine, even though they brought me pauperdom, and despite the sorrow and bitter grief which were bound up in this recollection, a curious thrill, in which there was something of pleasure, passed through me as I looked upon them for the first time by daylight.

The cottage—such a term was surely a misnomer, for it was three times as large as the habitable part of our Devonshire home—stood at the extremity of the park nearest the house. Only a wire ring-fence separated the gardens from the soft springy turf of the park, which, studded with giant oak-trees, a revelation to me after the comparatively stunted growths of Devonshire, stretched away in one direction as far as I could see. Bordering it on one side, close behind the cottage, and curving round as though to form a fitting background for Devereux Court, was a low range of hills, some crowned with thick plantations of black fir, and others purple with the declining glory of the autumn heather. But the house was the grandest sight of all. A great architect might have learnedly protested against its want of any distinct style and its general want of outline, but he would have admired it all the same. It was one of those houses which no one can describe, save by making use of such adjectives as picturesque, romantic, majestic. It was all these and more. The style of every age seemed represented by the successive enlargements of every century. Every Devereux of Devereux had added something to it, until a century ago, and every one seemed to have had different notions of architecture. There was something in it of the castle, something of the mediæval abbey, something of the Italian villa, and something of the Venetian palace. It was a magnificent medley, a striking mass of architectural incongruity—altogether the finest building that I had ever seen. It excited me to look upon it, and at the same time it depressed me. Its frowning battlements and gloomily majestic weather-beaten towers seemed to breathe out and help me to better understand the spirit which had fired the words of the stern, proud, old soldier, who had bidden my father leave his home for ever, and bear another name than the name of Devereux. For the first time I began to look forward to the inevitable interview with my grandfather with something akin to apprehension.

At breakfast time Marian's lively chatter drove all such thoughts out of my head. And before they had had time to crowd in on me again, a man from the stables was announced, with whom I went to examine the two horses placed at my disposal.

I loved horses, and it seemed as though Sir Francis Devereux was determined to do everything au prince. Besides a stout useful cob, there was an animal with which I fell in love the moment I saw it. The man uncovered him gingerly, and took particular care to keep out of reach of his heels.

"I was to tell you, sir," he said, confidentially, as he came out of the box, "that if you wished to change this 'ere animal—the Black Prince they call un—for one a wee bit less spirity, that you was to come up to the stables and choose for yourself. There ain't no vice about 'im, but he's got a mouth like iron and the devil's own temper."

"I think I shall manage him," I answered confidently. "Who's been in the habit of riding him?"

"Well, sir, Miss Maud rode him for a bit, but he used to pull her arms out very near, and he gave her one nasty fall, so Sir Francis he's made her leave off."

"I should think so," I answered.

The Black Prince, fine animal though he was, was certainly not a lady's mount.

"Well, she's a rare plucky 'un is Miss Maud, and a fine seat, too," remarked the man, leisurely chewing a wisp of straw. "You think he'll do for you, sir, then?"

"I think so," I answered.

Then, glancing at my watch, and seeing that it was but nine o'clock, it struck me that I might as well give him a trial at once, and in half-an-hour's time I was careering across the park, my spirits rising at every bound the Black Prince made, and my cheeks glowing with the rapid progress through the sharp morning air, and with the strain of keeping him in hand. What pleasure is there within the reach of man so great as a gallop across an open country, with the fresh morning breeze blowing strong in your teeth, and your mount a perfect one? When I got back to the cottage, just before eleven, and after seeing Marian start off for a walk, set out for Devereux Court, all my apprehensions had vanished, and I was only eager to stand face to face with its master.

I had not far to go. Up a steep ascent, across a bridge, through some more iron gates, and I stood upon the open stretch of gravel in front of the main entrance, which was supported by four massive white stone pillars. A man-servant was waiting within the glass doors, which were promptly opened before me, and on telling him my name, I was led across the vast hall, which seemed to me, from its great height, the stained windows, and its size, like the interior of a richly decorated church, into the library. I had never been in such a room before, nor have I ever since, but the man gave me little time to admire it, for, opening the door of a small ante-room at its furthest extremity, which had a far more habitable appearance, he bade me wait whilst he informed Sir Francis of my arrival.

The room seemed to open upon the gardens, for, though the Venetian blinds were drawn, I could hear distinctly the voices of two girls playing tennis just outside.

"Love, love 15, love 30, love 40. Maud, you're a great deal too lazy for tennis this morning!"

The girl's triumphant voice floated into the room so clearly that at first I was surprised. Then, by the gentle swaying to and fro of the blind, I saw that the window was open.

The charge seemed not to be made without foundation, to judge from the languid drawl of the answering voice.

"I believe I am, Olive. It really is too exhausting without some men to look after the balls. Suppose we have a rest for a minute or two."

There was a laughing assent, and then I heard light footsteps coming towards the window. I thought at first that they were going to enter; but just outside they halted and seemed to subside into a seat.

There was a moment's silence, during which I withdrew as far as possible from the window. But I was still within easy reach of their voices, as I very soon learnt, not a little to my discomfort.

"I wonder what the new young man's like at the cottage. Have you seen him, Maud?"

I started, and drew further back into my corner.

"I really don't know," was the very uninterested reply. "By the bye, though, I did see a stranger in the park, yesterday. Perhaps it was he."

"What was he like? Fancy not telling me, when you knew I was dying to hear. Is he tall or short, dark or fair?"

A scornful inflection had crept into the languid drawl of the answering voice. But it was far from an unpleasant voice to listen to:—"I only saw him for a moment, but I remember that he was short, and had red hair, and wore glasses. I don't think even you would flirt with him, Olive."

This was dreadful. I was six foot four, and my eyesight was keener than most men's. She must have mistaken some one else for me! But what was I to do? I tried a nervous little cough, but they took no notice.

"Oh! I'm so disappointed. I had made up my mind that he was good-looking, and would do to flirt with, at any rate, until the shooting brings some men down. Goodness gracious, what was that?"

Rendered desperate by the mention of my name, I had essayed a more determined cough. Now that it had been heard my best course was to reveal myself at once. So I walked to the window and drew up the blind.

Two girls started to their feet at once, and stood looking at me in startled postures, one dark, of medium height, decidedly pretty, and with a gleam of mischief in her large eyes; the other tall and slim, fair, and stately as a young princess, with a cold, questioning look in her blue eyes, and a slight frown on her proud, delicate face. Something told me that this was Rupert Devereux's daughter. And the thought checked the smile which I had found some difficulty in repressing.

"I am afraid I startled you?" I said. "I am waiting in here to see Colonel Devereux, and as I heard my name mentioned I thought it as well to let you know that I was here."

For the life of me I could not meet the laughing gaze of those mischievous black eyes without a smile. They seemed to be looking me over from head to foot, with an air of decided interest, and finally they looked up into mine, as though satisfied with their inspection.

"Did you hear what we were saying, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she asked eagerly, with a bewitching little smile.

"How could I help it? I coughed once before, but you did not hear me."

I glanced for the first time at Maud Devereux, and she inclined her head slightly, as though to intimate that she accepted my explanation.

"It is of no consequence," she said, a little coldly; "we were to blame for talking nonsense. I'm ready for another set now, Olive."

She turned and moved slowly away to the tennis-court without another look at me; but the other girl lingered for a moment.

"I'm so sorry for what I said, Mr. Arbuthnot," she remarked. "Of course I didn't mean it, but it is so dull here that one is bound to talk nonsense sometimes."

I bowed, and I am afraid that there was a decided twinkle in my eyes as I answered, "Pray, don't apologise. You can't imagine how grateful I am for the red hair and other etceteras which are to save me from a broken heart."

She had the grace to blush a little at last, and it made her look uncommonly pretty.

"You're too bad, Mr. Arbuthnot. Good-bye."

And, with a parting glance and smile, she picked up her racket and moved away across the lawn towards Maud Devereux, who had never once looked round.

I let the blind fall again, and turned back towards my chair. I had hardly reached it before the door opened, and I stood face to face with my grandfather, Colonel Sir Francis Devereux.