A Monk of Cruta Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  "THE PATH THAT LEADS TO MADMEN'S KINGDOMS"

  A north-country storm of rain and wind had suddenly blown up fromthe sea, and the few remaining followers of the De Vaux hounds weredispersed right and left, making for home with all possible speed. Thesky had looked dull and threatening all day long, and with the firstshades of twilight the rain had commenced to fall in a sudden torrent.There had been some little hesitation on the part of the master aboutdrawing this last cover, for the hounds had had a rough day, and thefield was small; and directly the storm broke, the horn was blownwithout hesitation, the pack was re-called, and the huntsman, crackinghis whip, started for home at a long, swinging trot. The day's sportwas over.

  There were only a handful of horsemen waiting outside when the signalwas given, and with collars turned up to their ears, and cigarsalight, they were very soon riding down the hill to the village whoselights were beginning to twinkle out from the darkness in the valleybelow. At the cross-roads, Paul, who had been riding in the midst ofthem, wheeled his horse round and took the road to Vaux Abbey amidst achorus of farewells.

  "Are you going for the Abbey, De Vaux?" Captain Westover asked,reining in his horse. "Better come home with me, and dine! I'll sendyou back to-night, and they'll look after your mare all right in thestables. Come along!"

  Paul shook his head. "I'll get home, thanks!" he answered. "A wettingwon't hurt me, and there's only a mile or two of it."

  Captain Westover shrugged his shoulders. "Just as you like. My peoplewould be very glad to see you! By the bye, you were to have calledlast week, weren't you? Lady May was asking where you were thismorning! Come and dine to-morrow night!"

  "Thanks! Unless I send word over to the contrary, I will, then!Good-night!"

  "Good-night!"

  Captain Westover cantered on after the others, and Paul turned offin the opposite direction, riding slowly, with bent head and loosebridle. In his pocket was Adrea's letter, scarcely a week old; andnow that the physical excitement of the day was over, his thoughts,as usual, were full of it again. It was an uphill battle that hewas fighting! All day long he had been striving to forget it! He hadspared neither himself nor his horses in the desperate attempt toreach such a stage of physical exhaustion as should make his mind ablank--as should free it, at any rate, from those torturing memories,and the fierce restlessness which they begat. He had tried his utmost,and he had failed. His pink hunting-coat and tops, immaculate at thestart, were covered with thick mud, and his horse (his second mount)was scarcely able to put one foot before the other. Yet he had failedutterly. Hunger and fatigue seemed things far away to him. Wherever helooked--out into the grey mists, which came rolling across the moor,soaking him with moisture, or down into the road, fast becoming a bog,or up into the dim sky--he seemed to see the pages of Adrea's letterstanding out before him, word for word, phrase for phrase. Everysentence of it seemed to him as vivid and real as though it had beenspoken in his ears; nay, he could almost fancy that he saw the greattears welling slowly out of those soft, dark eyes, and could hear thepassionate quiver in her faltering tones. Day by day it had been adesperate struggle with him to resist the mad desire which promptedhim to order a dogcart, drive to the nearest town, and catch the mailtrain to London. Beyond that--how she would receive him, what he wouldsay to her--everything was chaos; he dared not trust himself to thinkabout it.

  Yet, whenever he suffered his thoughts to dwell upon this matter atall, the reverse side of it all sooner or later presented itself.Clear and insistent above the emotion which swayed him came ever thatuncompromising question--where lay his duty in this matter? It wasthe true and manly side of his nature, developed by instinct and longtraining, and refusing now to be overborne and swept away by thissurging tide of passion. It rang in his ears, and it demanded ananswer. Away in the distance, on the opposite side of the valley,his vacant eyes rested idly upon the many lights and dim outline ofWestover Castle. What place had Lady May in his heart? Was there roomfor her--and Adrea? Could he see Adrea day by day, and never pass thebarrier which he himself had set up between them? What did he wish?What was right? Just then everything was to him so vague and chaotic.

  He had been riding for nearly an hour, with his reins quite loose uponhis horse's neck, and trusting entirely to her to take the homewardroute. Suddenly his mare came to an abrupt halt, and Paul lookedaround him in surprise. At first he had not the faintest idea as tohis whereabouts; then a dull roar, coming from across a narrowstrip of moorland on his left, gave him a clue, and he saw what hadhappened. Instead of turning inland to Vaux Abbey, his horse had keptstraight on, and had brought him almost to the sea--a good five milesout of his way.

  The situation was not a cheerful one. They were ten miles from home,and Ironsides, completely done up, was trembling ominously at theknees, and looking around at him pitifully. Paul himself was wet tothe skin; and as he dismounted for a moment to ease his stiff limbs,he was conscious of a distinct inclination to shiver. The grey mistswere rolling up all round them; and directly Paul's feet touched theground, he felt himself sink ankle-deep in the wet, soft sand. It wasall horribly uncomfortable, and more than that, it was serious; forimmediately he had passed his hand over his horse's flanks and felther knees, Paul knew that she was not in a condition for him to mounther again. There was no hope of reaching Vaux Abbey without rest andrefreshments, for Ironsides at any rate.

  He looked steadily around him, and began to get some faint idea asto his whereabouts. His mare must have been deceived by followinga private road which led to a cottage belonging to an old half-payofficer, Major Harcourt. They had evidently passed the cottage, andpursued the road almost to its termination, for where they now were itwas little better than a sheep-track, leading through a closed gate afew yards in front of them into a scattered pine plantation and downto the sea. The only thing to do was to retrace their steps until theycame to the cottage, and there beg shelter for a while.

  "We've made a mess of it, old girl!" Paul said soothingly, patting hismare's neck, and passing his arm through the bridle. "Come on, then!We'll see whether we can't find an empty stall for you at MajorHarcourt's."

  They retraced their steps, the mare limping wearily along by Paul'sside, and every now and then stopping to look at him in despair. Paulfound a grim humour in the situation. It was the quagmire into whichthoughts of Adrea had led him; a parable sent to show him the folly ofsuch thoughts, and whither they tended. He laughed a little bitterlyat the thought. Once, when a very young man, he had thought himself afatalist. After all, perhaps it was the best thing to be! Conscienceand duty were wearisome guides; a course of voluntary drifting wouldbe rather a relief.

  Suddenly the mare pricked up her ears, and neighed. Paul lookedsteadily through the mist, and quickened his pace. Scarcely a hundredyards ahead was the dim outline of the cottage, nestled up against apine grove and facing the sea.

  Paul was fairly well acquainted with Major Harcourt; and althoughhe had seen nothing of him for some time, he had not the slightestcompunction in claiming shelter for himself and his horse. He led herup the trim, winding drive to the front door, and rang the bell.

  "Is Major Har----" Paul began, as the door was opened; then he brokeoff abruptly.

  The man-servant who had opened the door, and was standing on the step,peering out into the darkness, was a familiar figure to him. It wasGomez!