both of which were to be traced to the capricious Nell. It had dawned on him that she could not help liking him a little if she saw him take a famous jump over the Dome, known to legend as the 'Robber's Leap.' The robber had lost his life in trying to leap the stream, but the captain practised in the castle grounds until he felt that he could clear it. Then he formally invited Miss Meredith to come and see him do it, and she told him instead that he was wicked. The captain and Will went back silently to the castle, wondering what on earth she would like.
Greybrooke's other disappointment was still more grievous. One evening he and Will returned to the castle late for dinner, an offence the colonel found it hard to overlook, although they were going back to school on the following day. Will reached the dining-room first, and his father frowned on him.
'You are a quarter of an hour late, William,' said the colonel sternly. 'Where have you been?'
Will hesitated.
'Do you remember,' he said at last, 'a man called Angus, who was here reporting on Christmas Eve?'
Mary laid down her knife and fork.
'A painfully powerful-looking man,' said Dowton, 'in hob-nailed boots. I remember him.'
'Well, we have been calling on him,' said Will.
'Calling on him, calling on that impudent newspaper man!' exclaimed the colonel; 'what do you mean?'
'Greybrooke had a row with him some time ago,' said Will; 'I don't know what about, because it was private; but the captain has been looking for the fellow for a fortnight to lick him—I mean punish him. We came upon him two days ago, near the castle gates.'
Here Will paused, as if he would prefer to jump what followed.
'And did your friend "lick" him then?' asked the colonel, at which Will shook his head.
'Why not?' asked Sir Clement.
'Well,' said Will reluctantly, 'the fellow wouldn't let him. He—he lifted Greybrooke up in his arms, and—and dropped him over the hedge.'
Mary could not help laughing.
'The beggar—I mean the fellow—must have muscles like ivy roots,' Will blurted out admiringly.
'I fancy,' said Dowton, 'that I have seen him near the gates several times during the last week.'
'Very likely,' said the colonel shortly. 'I caught him poaching in the Dome some months ago. There is something bad about that man.'
'Papa!' said Mary.
At this moment Greybrooke entered.
'So, Mr. Greybrooke,' said the colonel, 'I hear you have been in Silchester avenging an insult.'
The captain looked at Will, who nodded.
'I went there,' admitted Greybrooke, blushing, 'to horsewhip a reporter fellow, but he had run away.'
'Run away?'
'Yes. Did not Will tell you? We called at the Mirror office, and were told that Angus had bolted to London two days ago.'
'And the worst of it,' interposed Will, 'is that he ran off without paying his landlady's bill.'
'I knew that man was a rascal,' exclaimed the colonel.
Mary flushed.
'I don't believe it,' she said.
'You don't believe it,' repeated her father angrily; 'and why not, pray?'
'Because—because I don't,' said Mary.
Chapter VIII.
In Fleet Street
Mary was wrong. It was quite true that Rob had run away to London without paying his landlady's bill.
The immediate result of his meeting with Miss Abinger had been to make him undertake double work, and not do it. Looking in at shop-windows, where he saw hats that he thought would just suit Mary (he had a good deal to learn yet), it came upon him that he was wasting his time. Then he hurried home, contemptuous of all the rest of Silchester, to write an article for a London paper, and when he next came to himself, half an hour afterwards, he was sitting before a blank sheet of copy paper. He began to review a book, and found himself gazing at a Christmas card. He tried to think out the action of a government, and thought out a ring on Miss Abinger's finger instead. Three nights running he dreamt that he was married, and woke up quaking.
Without much misgiving Rob heard it said in Silchester that there was some one staying at Dome Castle who was to be its mistress's husband. On discovering that they referred to Dowton, and not being versed in the wonderful ways of woman, he told himself that this was impossible. A cynic would have pointed out that Mary had now had several days in which to change her mind. Cynics are persons who make themselves the measure of other people.
The philosopher who remarked that the obvious truths are those which are most often missed, was probably referring to the time it takes a man to discover that he is in love. Women are quicker because they are on the outlook. It took Rob two days, and when it came upon him checked his breathing. After that he bore it like a man. Another discovery he had to make was that, after all, he was nobody in particular. This took him longer.
Although the manner of his going to London was unexpected, Rob had thought out solidly the inducements to go. Ten minutes or so after he knew that he wanted to marry Mary Abinger, he made up his mind to try to do it. The only obstacles he saw in his way were, that she was not in love with him, and lack of income. Feeling that he was an uncommon type of man (if people would only see it), he resolved to remove this second difficulty first. The saw-mill and the castle side by side did not rise up and frighten him, and for the time he succeeded in not thinking about Colonel Abinger. Nothing is hopeless if we want it very much.
Rob calculated that if he remained on the Mirror for another dozen years or so, and Mr. Licquorish continued to think that it would not be cheaper to do without him, he might reach a salary of £200 per annum. As that was not sufficient, he made up his mind to leave Silchester.
There was only one place to go to. Rob thought of London until he felt that it was the guardian from whom he would have to ask Mary Abinger; he pictured her there during the season, until London, which he had never seen, began to assume a homely aspect. It was the place in which he was to win or lose his battle. To whom is London much more? It is the clergyman's name for his church, the lawyer's for his office, the politician's for St. Stephen's, the cabman's for his stand.
There was not a man on the Press in Silchester who did not hunger for Fleet Street, but they were all afraid to beard it. They knew it as a rabbit-warren; as the closest street in a city where the bootblack has his sycophants, and you have to battle for exclusive right to sweep a crossing. The fight forward had been grimmer to Rob, however, than to his fellows, and he had never been quite beaten. He was alone in the world, and poverty was like an old friend. There was only one journalist in London whom he knew even by name, and he wrote to him for advice. This was Mr. John Rorrison, a son of the minister whose assistance had brought Rob to Silchester. Rorrison
