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 has his likes and dislikes, and when he makes up his mind he seldom gives in. Random seems to have been his pet aversion ever since you gave him to me, and I do not think even now he would be at all sorry if he met with an accident, provided I came off scot free," laughed Irene.
"It is ridiculous. I begin to think I urged you to marry a monument of selfishness; I hope you will forgive me."
"You require no forgiveness. You provided me with a suitable husband and a good home. Warren is kind to me, and I have everything my own way. He is not a demonstrative man, but I feel sure he loves me, and he is not responsible for his restless disposition – that is inherited."
"And do you love him, Irene?" he asked.
She momentarily hesitated, and then said —
"Yes, I love him. We seem to understand each other now, although at first there was some restraint between us. I think we are quite as happy as the majority of married couples."
He was only half satisfied with her answer, but did not pursue the subject further.
"Is the painting of Random finished?" he asked.
"Yes, but not framed."
"May I send Bob over for it?"
"I will ride over myself if you will give me a mount," she said.
"The roads are very bad, will it be safe?"
"The horse can be 'roughed,' and I shall enjoy a ride in the keen morning air, it will brace me up."
"Very well, Irene. I will order Rupert to be saddled, he is the safest conveyance you can have in this weather."
CHAPTER IV
IRENE'S PAINTING
Irene mounted Rupert, and the Squire stood on the steps in front of the hall-door admiring the picture. The horse was a dark brown, nearly black, and stood out prominently against the snowy background. It was a sharp, crisp morning, the atmosphere clear, with a touch of frost in the air, and the sun shone brightly, the snow quivering in the light, glittering like myriads of crystals.
Rupert pawed the gravel in his eagerness to be going, and the Squire remarked, as he shook hands with Irene —
"You must come back as soon as you can. If you find the picture too cumbersome to carry leave it and we will send Bob for it."
"I can strap it on my back, I have a case made for the purpose. I often ride out with my sketching materials strapped on. You would take me for a tramp if you saw me walking about in my artist's costume," said Irene, laughing.
"A remarkably pretty tramp," said the Squire.
"Thanks, I will turn that compliment over in my mind as I ride to the Manor; it will be pleasant company for me."
Rupert set off at a brisk trot. He was at all times a sure-footed horse, and being roughed he had no difficulty in keeping his feet.
Irene's colour rose as the sharp breeze fanned her cheeks, and she was thoroughly enjoying her ride.
