Читать книгу The Escape of the Notorious Sir William Heans - William Gosse Hay - Страница 13

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On this same Wednesday following the Sailors' Ball, Matilda had gone out into the front to gather some white valerian for a child's burial, and was tragically picking among the blowing bushes, when she heard the distant thumping of a horse in the wood. In some alarm because of the pace, she listened with the valerian in her hand, while it thundered nearer, till—suddenly bellowing into a gallop below the garden—the horseman appeared flashing up along the sea-wall towards the gate. This was near the house-door, and some twenty yards to her right, and through its slats could be seen the greygreen channel flecked with storm-waves. Next instant the rider dismounted between sea and gate, and Sir William Heans came in, with his face much flushed, hurrying behind him his frightened horse. He swiftly latched the gate without looking about him. He then urged his horse along the walk across the house front. The quiet and trembling Matilda he did not see. Pausing beside a hitching-post in some uncertainty, he eventually came to a decision, and continued along the drive to the stables, through the high wooden gate of which he led the animal. He was out again almost as soon as he had entered, but, still blind to Mrs. Shaxton's tearful figure among the flowers, returned at a swift pace to the front. In a few seconds the lowering maid opened the door and let him in.

He had no sooner gone than Mrs. Shaxton ran to the stable gates, pushed the great prison-bolt to, locked the staple and removed the key. Then, still clinging to the flowers, she fluttered after Heans to the front, where she was met by the servant-maid, who held aside the door.

Not five minutes afterwards, a fresh guest appeared behind the sea gate. It was actually. Daunt of the foot police himself. He entered in a leisurely way, though his brown cob glistened with sweat; and with a glance of some intentness about the garden, took the animal to the hitching-post.' Buckling it securely, he did not approach the door, but strode on as if to stretch his legs, past the stable, the entrance to which he stared at, but did not closely approach. The next instant, he took a running leap at the gate, pulled himself up with splendid and finished agility, and sprang over. A few minutes after, he appeared again on the gate, wiping his hands with his handkerchief, and jumped into the garden. Returning along the drive, he seemed hardly flustered by his exertions, but his alert face was stern as death. The same maid—a large brown woman with a sinewy step—let him in. She greeted him with a little, hissing, serene smile—a sort of half-angry familiarity—as if she half-expected he would ask her more than the whereabouts of Mrs. Shaxton.