Part 7 (2/2)
”A likely story,” said George, ”that I was to disinherit myself for her. However, she shan't want at present, or we shall have her back again. And that won't do, you know.”
”George,” said Madge, ”you promise to be as great a rascal as your father.”
The old man had, as Madge prophesied, come home very drunk the night before, and had lain in bed later than usual, so that, when he came to breakfast, he found George, gun in hand, ready to go out.
”Going shooting, my lad?” said the father. ”Where be going?”
”Down through the hollies for a woodc.o.c.k. I'll get one this morning, it's near full moon.”
All the morning they heard him firing in the bottom below the house, and at one o'clock he came home, empty-handed.
”Why, George!” said his father, ”what hast thee been shooting at? I thought 'ee was getting good sport.”
”I've been shooting at a mark,” he replied.
”Who be going to shoot now, eh, George?” asked the old man.
”No one as I know of,” he replied.
”Going over to Eggesford, eh, Georgey? This nice full moon is about the right thing for thee. They Fellowes be good fellows to keep a fat haunch for their neighbours.”
George laughed, as he admitted the soft impeachment of deer-stealing, but soon after grew sullen, and all the afternoon sat over the fire brooding and drinking. He went to bed early, and had just got off his boots, when the door opened, and Madge came in.
”What's up to now, old girl?” said George.
”What are you going to be up to, eh?” she asked, ”with your gun?”
”Only going to get an outlying deer,” said he.
”That's folly enough, but there's a worse folly than that. It's worse folly to wipe out money-scores in blood. It's a worse folly if you are in a difficulty to put yourself in a harder one to get out of the first. Its a worse--”
”Why, you're mad,” broke in George. ”Do you think I am fool enough to make away with one of the keepers?”
”I don't know what you are fool enough to do. Only mind my words before it's too late.”
She went out, and left him sitting moodily on the bed. ”What a clever woman she is,” he mused. ”How she hits a thing off. She's been a good friend to me. I've a good mind to ask her advice. I'll think about it to-morrow morning.”
But on the morrow they quarrelled about something or another, and her advice was never asked. George was moody and captious all day; and at evening, having drank hard, he slipped off, and, gun in hand, rode away through the darkening woods towards the moor.
It was dark before he had got clear of the labyrinth of lanes through which he took his way. His horse he turned out in a small croft close to where the heather began; and, having hid the saddle and bridle in a hedge, strode away over the moor with his gun on his shoulder.
He would not think; he would sooner whistle; distance seemed like nothing to him; and he was surprised and frightened to find himself already looking over the deep black gulf through which the river ran before he thought he was half-way there.
He paused to look before he began to descend. A faint light still lingered in the frosty sky to the southwest, and majestic Yestor rose bold and black against it. Down far, far beneath his feet was the river, dimly heard, but not seen; and, as he looked to where it should be, he saw a little flickering star, which arrested his attention. That must be Lee's fire--there he began to descend.
Boldly at first, but afterwards more stealthily, and now more silently still, for the fire is close by, and it were well to give him no notice. It is in the old place, and he can see it now, not ten yards before him, between two rocks.
Nearer yet a little, with cat-like tread. There is Lee, close to the fire, sitting on the ground, dimly visible, yet clearly enough for his purpose. He rests the gun on a rock, and takes his aim.
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