the trunks of the huge oak trees. There was no sign of life until a hare ran across the lawn into the garden, where there was a plentiful supply of winter vegetables. Presently stealing along with his tail out, head down, and glancing from side to side with a cunning look, came a fox. He, too, crossed the lawn in the track of the hare, and the Squire smiled as he watched him.
"You are having a rest, my friend," he said; "but I think you would prefer the hounds at your heels, and an open country before you, in preference to all the snow. No hunting for weeks, that is what it looks like. Deuce take Warren, I wonder why he always goes to town when there is an excuse handy. Was I right in advising Irene to marry him. I think so, I hope so; but yet I doubt. He is good-looking, has money, a fine estate adjoining mine, bears a good character, as young men go, and yet there is something wanting about him. He must love Irene, no one could help it, but he has no business to leave her alone to her own devices. She is young, has no children yet, nothing to occupy her mind; no, it is not fair to her. In a hunting country like this the free-and-easy intercourse at the meets sometimes leads to danger. Nothing is meant at first, but gradually acquaintance ripens into intimacy, and one cannot well decline to put up a fellow sportsman, even if one's husband be absent. Irene is to be trusted, I know, but she is remarkably handsome, and her good nature is apt to carry her too far in her efforts to please. If only Ulick had – but there, he didn't, so what is the use of thinking about it. Stupid fellow, not to see his way clear, and then to disgrace our name beyond all redemption. I wonder where he is, and where she is?" He stopped soliloquising, and went to the bath-room, from whence, in about half-an-hour, he emerged refreshed and in a more amiable frame of mind. In the breakfast-room he found Irene.
She came forward smiling, and kissed him.
"There, was not that nice? You do not deserve it though, for you sat up all night."
"Who has been telling tales?" he asked.
"Bersak."
He laughed as be said, "And, pray, how is Bersak to be held responsible?"
"He took me into the dining-room, and I followed him to your chair. He stood looking at it so comically that I had to laugh. He said as plainly as though he had spoken, 'That's where he sat all night, and I watched him. No fear of anyone touching him with me on guard.'"
"Wonderful," laughed the Squire. "Irene, with Bersak as your instructor and guide, you would quickly find out all my secrets."
"I did not know you had any."
"They are not very terrible, but I possess a few; I must be in the fashion," he said.
"I have no secrets from Warren. I tell him everything."
"I wonder if he tells you everything," thought Redmond Maynard, and said aloud, "That's right, my dear, never have any secrets from your husband."
She poured out his coffee for him, and handed it herself. She tempted him with a dainty portion of pigeon pie, and then insisted upon some anchovy paste.
"I'll tell you what it is, Irene; I have not made such a good breakfast for many a day. Your presence is appetising."
She was pleased to hear him talk in this strain, more like his old self. Somehow, she did not miss Warren; she hardly gave him a thought. As for Anselm Manor, she much preferred Hazelwell, as it was more like home.
At the Manor she often felt nervous and depressed when alone, peopling the old place with the figures of clean-shaven monks in long brown gowns, pacing up and down the corridors, Bible in hand or telling their beads, and thinking of things earthly while engaged spiritually.
Anselm Manor, in the centuries gone by, had been a monastery, and it was an ancestor of Warren Courtly who founded it. Harry the Eighth upset many monkish arrangements, but, strange to say, he allowed Anselm to exist. The much-married monarch never even visited the place on a monk hunt, although it contained much valuable plate, and the eighth Henry had a penchant for other people's property.
In Anselm Manor Irene had come across an old deed, or she fancied it a deed. It looked dirty and musty, and smelt abominably enough to be such a document, which, after much labour in deciphering, she found was a gift in perpetuity from Henry the Eighth, by the Grace of God, to one Anselm Courtly, of the monastery and all the lands belonging to it.
She thought it highly probable that the King had secured the said Anselm's good offices, at a price, when some of his numerous matrimonial troubles arose.
Irene thought the Manor a fine old place, but she preferred to see its rooms filled with scarlet coats to imaginary monkish habits. It was to get rid of morbid fancies she walked over to Hazelwell when her husband took his departure for London. They got on well together, seldom quarrelled, although there was very little genuine love on her side.
About six months after Ulick Maynard left Hazelwell, Warren Courtly proposed to Irene. She declined the offer, but subsequently, acting mainly on her guardian's advice, she accepted him, and they were married the same year.
Redmond Maynard watched her moving about the room, and noticed how daintily she rearranged the various ornaments and chairs.
"There," she said, "that looks much better."
"I agree with you," he replied. "You have the artistic temperament strongly developed. By the way, have you done much painting during the past few months?"
"Yes, I have painted several pictures, but three out of every four I destroyed."
"They did not come up to your expectations?"
"No, and I do not care to keep inferior work. I think I have painted one that will please you."
"What is it – the subject?"
"A new departure for me. I have painted Random; I mean to give it you if you will accept it."
"That is good of you. I shall be delighted. Random shall have a prominent place in my study."
Random was a bright bay horse Redmond Maynard had given Irene on her marriage. He was a splendid hunter, either for lady or gentleman, and before Ulick left the horse had been his favourite.
Irene had been given the pick of the Hazelwell stable, and she selected Random because he had been Ulick's horse, and she thought, perhaps, his father would sell him now he was gone.
Random was duly sent over to Anselm Manor, and Irene vowed she would not part with him until Ulick came home, when she would hand him back to his rightful owner. She had ridden the horse in many a fast burst across country, and he carried her well. He was a safe, fearless jumper, and Irene was a splendid rider. When she appeared at a meet on Random, Sam Lane, the huntsman, thought, "We're in for it to-day; it will take the best of us all our time to keep up with Mrs. Courtly on Random." His surmise generally turned out correct, and on more than one occasion he and Irene were the only two in at the death. Many attempts had been made by sporting millionaires, American and otherwise, to secure Random, and a big figure would have been given for him, but Irene laughed at their offers, and said a shipload of gold would not buy him.
Random was sometimes the cause of dispute between Irene and her husband. Warren Courtly was ridiculously jealous of the horse. He would have scouted the idea that this feeling was engendered because Random had been Ulick Maynard's favourite horse, and yet Irene knew such to be the case. On more than one occasion he had suggested Random should be sold, or the Squire persuaded to make an exchange for him. His excuse was that the horse was not safe for a lady to ride, too much of a puller, and so on. Irene remained firm, and declined to entertain any ideas suggesting a parting with her favourite.
"You seem to care more for the horse than you do for me," he said, angrily.
She laughed, and said he must have a very poor opinion of himself if he thought she preferred Random.
"Mr. Maynard was kind enough to give him to me, and I mean to keep him. Don't let us quarrel about such a trifle. You would not like it if I asked you to give up your favourite hunter for a mere whim of mine."
"Has Warren become reconciled to Random?" asked the Squire. "I cannot understand his antipathy to the horse. Of course, he is anxious you should not run into danger, but Random is a very safe horse to ride – a more perfect fencer I have seldom seen."
"Warren