But in the midst of this colloquy, one of the maids, curious to see the lady, came out by the kitchen-door, and curtsied to Kate, and told her Mr. Gaunt was gone out walking with two other gentlemen. In the midst of her discourse, she recognized the visitor, and, having somehow imbibed the notion that Miss Peyton was likely to be Mrs. Gaunt, and govern Bolton Hall, decided to curry favor with her; so she called her "My Lady," and was very communicative. She said one of the gentlemen was strange to her; but the other was Doctor Islip, from Stanhope town. She knew him well: he had taken off her own brother's leg in a jiffy.
"But, dear heart, Mistress," said she, "how pale you be! Do come in, and have a morsel of meat and a horn of ale."
"Nay, my good girl," said Kate; "I could not eat; but bring me a mug of new milk, if you will. I have not broken my fast this day."
The maid bustled in, and Catharine asked the groom if there were no means of knowing where Mr. Gaunt was. The groom and the boy scratched their heads, and looked puzzled. The lounging lout looked at their perplexity, and grinned satirically.
This youth was Tom Leicester, born in wedlock, and therefore, in the law's eye, son of old Simon Leicester; but gossips said his true father was the late Captain Gaunt. Tom ran with the hounds for his own sport,—went out shooting with gentlemen, and belabored the briers for them at twopence per day and his dinner,—and abhorred all that sober men call work.
By trade, a Beater; profession, a Scamp.
Two maids came out together now,—one with the milk and a roll, the other with a letter. Catharine drank the milk, but could not eat. Then says the other maid,—
"If so be you are Mistress Peyton, why, this letter is for you. Master left it on his table in his bed-room."
Kate took the letter and opened it, all in a flutter. It ran thus:—
"Sweet Mistress,—When this reaches you, I shall be no more here to trouble you with my jealousy. This Neville set it abroad that you had changed horses with him, as much as to say you had plighted troth with him. He is a liar, and I told him so to his teeth. We are to meet at noon this day, and one must die. Methinks I shall be the one. But come what may, I have taken care of thee; ask Jack Houseman else. But, O dear Kate, think of all that hath passed between us, and do not wed this Neville, or I could not rest in my grave. Sweetheart, many a letter have I written thee, but none so sad as this. Let the grave hide my faults from thy memory; think only that I loved thee well. I leave thee my substance—would it were ten times more!—and the last thought of my heart.
"So no more in this world
"From him that is thy true lover
"And humble servant till death,
"Griffith Gaunt."
There seems to be room in the mind for only one violent emotion at one instant of time. This touching letter did not just then draw a tear from her, who now received it some hours sooner than the writer intended. Its first effect was to paralyze her. She sat white and trembling, and her great eyes filled with horror. Then she began to scream wildly for help. The men and women came round her.
"Murder! murder!" she shrieked. "Tell me where to find him, ye wretches, or may his blood be on your heads!"
The Scamp bounded from his lounging position, and stood before her straight as an arrow.
"Follow me!" he shouted.
Her gray eyes and the Scamp's black ones flashed into one another directly. He dashed out of the yard without another word.
And she spurred her horse, and clattered out after him.
He ran as fast as her horse could canter, and soon took her all round the house; and while he ran, his black
