Part 16 (1/2)

”For their sakes I hope, at all events, they may be on friendly terms with their relatives,” said May. ”However, Miss Mary has no wish to leave home even for a day, and I always enjoy being in her company alone, and attending to her. I can never feel weary in trying to repay the kindness she has shown me. She has taught me much of what I know, even more than her sister has, and her memory is so retentive that she can talk over the books we have read together, and remind me often of portions which I have forgotten.”

”Ah, she is a dear lady; it's a wonder she knows so much, and no eyes to see with,” observed the dame. ”She may not be so wonderful a woman as her sister is, who can talk every bit as cleverly, if not better, than Mr Simms, the apothecary, and it's my belief she could bleed as well if she thought fit, though she says she sees no reason to take honest blood out of people's bodies, but that a little sulphur and milk in the spring and the fall will answer the purpose as well.”

The dame was enlarging still further on Miss Jane's medical knowledge, when May, turning her head, saw Jacob, who had entered, and was standing watching her at a distance, and unwilling, it seemed, to be observed. A blush rose to his cheeks when he found that he had been discovered.

”I promised not to be long away, and I ought to be on my road back again,” she said. ”So good-bye, mother; good-bye, father.”

May put out her hand to Jacob, who pressed it in his own rough palm, casting a look at her, in which reverence was mingled with affection.

Not noticing his glance she tripped lightly away.

He followed from the cottage, keeping, however, at some distance behind, till he had seen her enter the gate of Downside Cottage.

”What can have come over our Jacob,” said the dame, after he had gone.

”He looks of late as if he was afraid of our Maiden May, instead of being friendly with her, as he used to be. I suppose, as she seems a fine young lady, that it would not become him, a poor fisher-lad, to be talking to her as he did when she was a little girl,” observed Adam.

”To be sure he does sometimes look curious, and often forgets things I tell him; however, he is as good a lad as ever, so I will say nothing agen him.”

Neither his father or mother knew the true cause of poor Jacob's changed manner.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE NEW SQUIRE.

Mr Reginald's funeral took place, and was conducted with the pomp usual in those days when a county magnate was carried to his final resting-place. Sir Ralph and his eldest son attended as chief mourners, and the heads of all the county families, from far and near, either came in person or sent representatives to pay their last tokens of respect to one who had been held in honour among them. The tenantry of the Texford property followed on horseback or foot.

For many years so large a gathering had not been seen in that part of the country. Even the boatmen and fishermen from the neighbouring coast, among whom were Adam Halliburt and his sons, managed to get on sh.o.r.e in time to join the cortege, walking two and two, with the flags of their boats furled round the staff carried at the head of each party.

There were several real mourners in the crowd. One of the most sincere probably was Mr Grooc.o.c.k. He had lost a kind and indulgent master, who had ever placed confidence in his honesty of purpose, and he had reason to doubt whether the new lord of Texford would treat him in the same way.

As the a.s.sembly gathered round the family tomb of the Castletons, Mr Grooc.o.c.k, happening to look up, observed among the crowd, standing directly opposite where the chief mourners were collected, a dark bearded man, whose eye was fixed on Sir Ralph, his countenance exhibiting a peculiarly evil expression.

”That man comes here for no good,” thought the steward. ”He had no love for Sir Reginald, and he is not one who would put himself out of his way for an object which could be of no advantage to him. Still he has not come without an object, of that I am very certain.”

The minister had uttered the last solemn words, ”earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and the burial service was concluded. Those who felt disposed to do so moved down into the vault to take a last look at Sir Reginald's coffin ere the tomb was closed till another occupant might claim admission. Mr Grooc.o.c.k had been among the first to descend, and remained unwilling to quit the spot. As he stood there he saw the man he had observed among the crowd enter the vault just as the last of the other visitors had left. He did not appear to cast a glance even at Sir Reginald's coffin, but he was seen to stop before three others on the opposite side, not aware apparently that anyone else remained in the vault. The steward could not see his features, but the working of his shoulders showed that he was agitated by some strong feeling. A groan escaped his bosom.

”I will have vengeance on your murderer,” he muttered.

Suddenly turning round as if by a powerful effort, he hastened out of the vault.

”This is strange,” thought the steward, ”what can have made him say that.”

He was alone.

”Good-bye, dear master,” he said in a sobbing voice. ”I shall not meet your like on earth, but I hope to see you in heaven when my time comes.”

Before he left the vault he turned to examine the coffins at which the stranger had been gazing. Above one of them was the name of ”Ellen Castleton, aged 18.”

”I cannot make it out,” muttered the worthy steward; ”it's strange, pa.s.sing strange,” and his thoughts thus set to work, went back to years and events he had well-nigh forgotten.

The funeral guests were dispersing with the exception of those of higher position, who had been invited by the young baronet to partake of a breakfast provided at the hall.