Читать книгу Under False Pretences - Sergeant Adeline - Страница 12

"What a splendid gun that is of yours!" said Archie Grant, the younger of the two men. "It is yours, is it not? I saw it in the corner of the hall as I came in. You had it the other day at the Duke's."

"It was not mine. It belongs to Hugo."

"Let me have a look at it again; it's an awfully fine one."

"Are you ready, Grant?" said Richard Luttrell, coming forward. "What are you looking for?"

"Oh, nothing; a gun," said the young fellow. "I see it's gone. I thought it was there when I first came in; it's of no consequence."

"Not your own gun, I suppose?"

"No, no; I have my own. It was Hugo's."

"Yes; rather a fine one," said Richard, indifferently. "You're not coming, then?"—to Brian—"well, perhaps it's as well." And he marched away without deigning to bestow another look or word upon his brother.

Five minutes afterwards, Mrs. Luttrell and Angela encountered each other in a passage leading to one of the upper rooms. No one was near. Mrs. Luttrell—she was a tall, handsome woman, strikingly like Richard, in spite of her snow-white hair—laid her hand gently on Angela's shoulder.

"Why do you look so pale, Angela?" she said. "Your eyes are red, child. Have you been crying because those ill-bred lads of mine could not keep a still tongue in their heads at the luncheon-table, but must needs wrangle together as they used to when they were just babies? Never you mind, my dear; it's not Richard's fault, and Brian was always a troublesome lad. It will be better for us all when he's away at his books in London."

She patted Angela's shoulder and passed on, leaving the girl more vexed than comforted. She was sorry to see Mrs. Luttrell show the partiality for Richard which everyone accused her of feeling. In the mother's eyes, Richard was always right and Brian wrong. Angela was just enough to be troubled at times by this difference in the treatment of the brothers.

Brian went down to the loch ostensibly to get out the boat. In reality he wanted to see whether Hugo was still there. Richard had told him of the punishment to which he had subjected the lad; and Brian had been frankly indignant about it. The two had come to high words; thus there had, indeed, been some foundation for the visitors' suspicions of a previous quarrel.

Hugo had disappeared; only the broken brushwood and the crushed bracken told of the struggle that had taken place, and of the boy's agony of grief and rage. Brian resolved to follow and find him. He did not like the thought of leaving him to bear his shame alone. Besides, he understood Hugo's nature, and he was afraid—though he scarcely knew what he feared.

But he searched in vain. Hugo was not to be found. He did not seem to have quitted the place altogether, for he had given no orders about his luggage, nor been seen on the road to the nearest town, and Brian knew that it would be almost impossible to find him in a short space of time if he did not wish to be discovered. It was possible that he had gone into the woods; he was as fond of them as a wild animal of his lair. Brian took his gun from the rack, as an excuse for an expedition, then sallied forth, scarcely hoping, however, to be successful in his search.

He had not gone very far when he saw a man's form at some little distance from him, amongst the trees. He stopped short and reconnoitered. No, it was not Hugo. That brown shooting-coat and those stalwart limbs belonged rather to Richard Luttrell. Brian looked, shrugged his shoulders to himself, and then turned back. He did not want to meet his brother then.

But Richard had heard the footstep and glanced round. After a moment of evident hesitation, he quitted his position and tramped over the soft, uneven ground to his brother, who, seeing that he had been observed, awaited his brother's coming with some uncertainty of feeling.

Richard's face had wonderfully cleared since the morning, and his voice was almost cordial.

"You've come? That's right," he said.

"Got anything?"

"Nothing much. I never saw young Grant shoot so wild. And my hand's not very steady—after this morning's work." He laughed a little awkwardly and looked away. "That fellow deserved all he got, Brian. But if you choose to see him now and then and be friendly with him, it's your own look out. I don't wish to interfere."

It was a great concession from Richard—almost as much as an apology. Brian involuntarily put out his hand, which Richard grasped heartily if roughly. Neither of them found it necessary to say more. The mutual understanding was complete, and each hastily changed the subject, as though desirous that nothing farther should be said about it.

If only some one had been by to witness that tacit reconciliation!