A MISADVENTURE

SPRING came, and Rhoda revelled in the sweet air and sunshine; she was out in the early morning watching the unfolding buds on the hawthorn bushes, and the numberless tiny flowers and stonecrop covering the great grey boulders of granite that here and there made a break in the monotony of the wild waste of moor above. Her garden was a constant source of interest, coupled with a certain amount of anxiety, as the keen east winds and violent south-westerly gales seemed to destroy everything that was not very hardy. Her vegetables were satisfactory, but her flowers hardly so: the one comfort she had was in her rose trees. Sunk well into the ground, they gave fair promise of prospering.

One afternoon, after a hard morning's work, superintending Jock, and vainly trying to make his movements quicker, Rhoda told Hannah she was going for a long ride.

"Do not be anxious about me if I am a little late. I want to go further across the moor than I have been yet, and I think it will do me good. Oh, Hannah, how this lovely spring weather seems to fill one with gladness and hope! I sometimes wonder if God is going to let me see some results of my winter's work amongst souls, as He is letting me now see it in nature. I wish I could believe I had passed the winter time, and all the ploughing had been done."

"The ploughing and sowing is more important than the reaping, mum, I take it."

The last sight Hannah had of her young mistress was a pleasant one; Rhoda was a good horsewoman, her cheeks were flushed and eyes sparkling with anticipation of an enjoyable time, and she rode off calling out gaily, "I feel fit for a thirty-mile ride!"

It was a bright clear afternoon when she started; Tartar, of course, accompanied her. And in an hour's time, she was far away out on the open moor, noting the golden gorse and broom, and the tender young bracken uncurling in the midst of its bed of dry heather.

About four o'clock, she was descending a rather steep path that led down to a wild rushing stream which she hoped might satisfy Sultana's thirst, when suddenly, without any warning, her steed lost her footing, through entangling one of her feet in a hidden crevice under the heather, and she herself was pitched violently over her mare's head.

Sultana, after a roll over, fortunately not near enough to hurt her mistress, struggled to her feet again, but Rhoda lay unconscious, and Tartar sniffed and whined in a pitiful state of perplexity round her prostrate form. No sign of human habitation or any living creature seemed to be near, only a dreary expanse of moor, not even a group of the shaggy cattle and moor ponies that were often to be seen about.

After a time, she recovered consciousness, and tried to raise herself. A sharp agonizing pain in her right foot prevented her, and she knew she had injured her ankle seriously.

"I must try to mount Sultana at all costs," she said to herself.

Bravely did she attempt it; she crawled to the spot where she was contentedly munching some soft grass, and stretching up her hand to her bridle made a desperate effort to reach the saddle. It was in vain; one of her arms was bruised and sprained, and a faintness seemed to come over her at every movement. She sank back after several trials, and pillowing her head on a moss-covered boulder burst into tears. Then, feeling she must at all costs keep Sultana with her, she managed, with the help of some string in her pocket, to keep a hold of her bridle.

The sun went down, and a grey mist came creeping over the moor. Thoroughly unnerved and exhausted, she felt the utter hopelessness of expecting relief, but her heart went up in prayer that some one might pass along, as she felt a night spent in her present condition would be most dangerous.

"Oh, Tartar, if you could only fetch some one! Bark sir, bark! Let our case be known!"

Poor Tartar hardly understood his mistress's faint tones, but he was a dog of some sagacity, and began to run to and fro, giving vent to his feelings by short quick barks of distress. No other sound was heard, and the silence, combined with the mist shrouding every object around, increased the feeling of desolation.

And then the dusk closed rapidly in, and Rhoda had almost resigned herself to her fate, and lay half unconscious and quite impassive in her strange surroundings, when Tartar set up a furious barking, and through the gloom and mist a figure on horseback appeared.

Instantly Rhoda roused herself, and with all her strength called out, "Help!"

In another moment, to her intense thankfulness and relief, Mr. Wallace appeared by her side.

"Miss Carlton! I am sorry to see you like this! Have you had a fall? Are you hurt?"

"Sultana lost her footing. Can you kindly help me to mount? Yes, I have hurt my foot. Oh, how good of God to send you!"

The feeling of her heart found expression in words as she felt his strong arm round her, but she could not stand, and a sharp cry of pain escaped her when he raised her up gently.

"Trust yourself entirely to me," he said, briefly, "I can place you on your horse, but whether you will be able to ride her is doubtful."

In another moment, she found herself on Sultana's back.

The position proved a painful one, and she set her teeth, determining if possible to hide her sufferings.

"Now, what are we to do?" he said, standing before her with perplexity in his eyes.

"I must get home as fast as I can."

He glanced up at her white face and firmly compressed lips, and shook his head.

"You couldn't possibly do it. Do you know that you are between eight and nine miles away?"

"I can't sit here all night," Rhoda said, trying to laugh, "I must get back!"

"I shall take you on to Rokeby Court. We are only about a mile and a half away."

Mr. Wallace's tone was determined, but Rhoda strongly objected.

"I would rather try to get home. I have no fancy for intruding upon Mr. Rokeby. I must get home, Hannah will be so anxious."

"Miss Carlton, for once you must, I am afraid, bend your will to mine." And Mr. Wallace looked up as he spoke with the sparkle in his eyes that so often came when addressing her: "I am a better judge of what you are fit to do than you are yourself. We will send a messenger over to your place in a very short time. It is as much as you will do to accomplish a mile, I am afraid, in your present condition."

He drew his arm through his horse's bridle, and walking by her side led Sultana gently on, trying to avoid the very rough parts of the track they were passing along.

And Rhoda had no spirit to resist; indeed, when every movement of the horse gave her a fresh shock of pain, she felt how right Mr. Wallace had been in his decision. Their progress was very slow, and for the most part it was made in silence. She became almost stupefied by the pain, and when at length, after an interminable distance, as it seemed to her, they reached some lodge gates, she drew a long breath of relief.

"Now," Mr. Wallace said, "we will rest here. Old Mrs. Foster has a very comfortable couch in her best parlour, and I will send for our doctor. He lives close at hand, if he is in from his rounds."

He lifted her off her horse, and carried her in, laying her gently down, and the old woman fussed about in great perturbation. Then he disappeared, and Rhoda lay still with closed eyes, wondering what poor Hannah would do at her continued absence.

It was about a quarter of an hour after that Mr. Wallace returned with Dr. Bedford.

And after a short examination, she was told that beyond a general bruising and shaking, a fractured ankle was the only serious injury she had sustained. Dr. Bedford took the ankle in hand at once, and after a painful setting, he told her he was afraid it might prove a tiresome business.

"You will have to give it a long rest."

But Rhoda did not hear; she had quietly fainted away.

And Mrs. Foster ran here and there, not knowing in the least what to do. A little brandy and some fresh air soon brought her round, and then Dr. Bedford took his leave, after having made arrangements with Mr. Wallace that she should be carried up to the house as soon as possible, and promising to come the first thing in the morning.

When Mr. Wallace came to her, Rhoda tried to smile,—"What a lot of trouble I am giving! Now I want you to leave me here for the night, just as I am. I dread another move."

"I am sorry, but it is out of the question; you see what old Mrs. Foster is like, and there is no one but her here. She is good for nothing in an emergency. You will have every comfort up at the house, my—Miss Rokeby will be only too pleased to do all she can for you."

"I did not know there was a Miss Rokeby in existence."

"She is getting old, and does not go out much. I thought you would like to know that I have sent a groom off to tell your old servant where you are."

"Thank you, that is kind of you. I must get back as early as possible to-morrow morning."

Her brow contracted with pain as she spoke, and Mr. Wallace said quietly,—

"You will be amenable to reason, I know. We will not discuss to-morrow at present."

And then he left her, but returned a short time after with an impromptu litter, upon which she was placed, and carried up in solemn state to the house. It was a beautiful old Elizabethan structure, and the lights in all the casement windows gave it a cheery aspect as they approached. She was carried straight through the large old-fashioned hall, and up the broad oaken staircase to a comfortable bedroom, where a gentle-faced old lady received her very kindly, and did her utmost to make her feel at home.

When Rhoda began to apologize for the trouble she was giving, she cut her short at once,—

"My dear, do not mention it. I am only thankful you were discovered before night set in, and it is fortunate that you were not far from us. My brother is only too glad to be of any service to you. I have heard him mention you by name before, and if I were able to go about, I should have called. Now lie still, while I see that you have something to eat. You must be nearly starving."

Rhoda could not get up much appetite for the dainty little repast that was brought her; she had a restless, feverish night, and felt so far from well, that she was not surprised when the doctor the next morning absolutely forbade her to be moved at present. And she was content now to lie still; she was almost relieved at his decision.

Later in the day, she felt brighter and more herself, and when Miss Rokeby came in to see her she asked if there had been any message from Hannah.

"Yes, the groom said she seemed very troubled at first, and wanted to come off to you then and there, but my brother had written saying there was no need for that, for he had brought you here for the present, and we would take every care of you."

Rhoda looked up quickly.

"Mr. Wallace brought me," she said; "I have never seen Mr. Rokeby."

Miss Rokeby looked puzzled.

"My brother brought you here, my dear. He found you on the moor. His name is Wallace Rokeby. Do you know him by his Christian name best?"

And then, like a lightning flash, Rhoda saw that Mr. Wallace and Mr. Rokeby were one and the same person; and the discovery nearly took away her breath, making her cheeks burn with shame and vexation.

"I have been under a strange delusion," she said at length, "I suppose it is the consequence of never having been properly introduced to your brother. I was under the impression that his surname was Wallace, and that he was a friend of Mr. Rokeby. He certainly never undeceived me."

And as she remembered all her allusions to the "harsh landlord," telling him to his face what she thought of him, and how completely she had been deceived, a spirit of resentment at the way he had purposely kept her in ignorance of his identity took possession of her. She longed to get up and leave his house, and it was only her good sense and self-control that enabled her to hide her mortification and wounded pride.

Two or three days passed, and she was still a prisoner. Nothing could exceed the kindness shown to her; Miss Rokeby was constantly in and out of the room, but when on the third day her bedroom door opened, and Hannah was ushered in, Rhoda held out her hands to her with the greatest sense of relief, and as she drew near her she laid her head against her shoulder and burst into tears.

"I have wanted you so much. They have been very kind, but I am such a stranger to them. Oh, Hannah, get me home at once, I shall never get well here! I have discovered that Mr. Wallace is a perfect fraud, and it makes me miserable to think of it."

And the next day, the doctor giving the required permission, preparations were made to take her back. Mr. Rokeby placed his brougham at her disposal, and though the distance would be a long way round to drive by road, it was the only way she could be moved.

She was carried downstairs in the morning, and as she lay on a couch in the library awaiting the carriage, Mr. Rokeby came in to see her. It was the first time they had met since the day of her accident. She could not forget her discovery, and there was a little hauteur in her greeting. But as he stood there looking down upon her with kindly interest and sympathy, she kept her wounded feelings out of sight, and looking him full in the face said frankly,—

"This is not the time to reproach you, after you have shown me such kindness, but I should like to know the reason for your concealing your identity from me. Do you think it was fair or kind to take advantage of me so?"

"No," he said, gravely, "I must plead guilty. The first night I came upon you, your old servant provoked me by her curiosity, and I resolved on the impulse of the moment not to gratify it, for I saw she was suspicious of me. I had no intention of deceiving you, but you seemed so satisfied with my personification that I had not the courage to enlighten you, for, from the way you talked of 'Mr. Rokeby,' I feared I would forfeit your friendship at once if you discovered that I was the iniquitous tyrant you were always inveighing against. I must ask your forgiveness. I feel you have a right to be very angry with me. I have to thank you for opening my eyes a little to Crake's harsh method of carrying out my orders, and I think, since I have looked into matters more myself, my tenants have benefited."

Then he added, with a dry smile, "Not but what I still think ladies do not always understand the rights existing between landlord and tenants."

"To witness, the case of the Cobbs," said Rhoda, smiling; "I am afraid you will not forget that. I suppose I must forgive you, but I shall not apologize for my plain speaking about you to your face, for that you deserved. It is the old adage being carried out—'Listeners never hear good of themselves.' You should not have put yourself into such a position."

"I have survived it. In fact, I am afraid I shall rather miss hearing my different acts commented on. I hope you will not cease writing your characteristic notes, if any fresh act of tyranny comes before you."

Rhoda's tone was dignified as she said, "I shall certainly let you know of any wrong existing."

He stood looking down upon her with the amused gleam in his eyes for a moment, but it deepened into something more earnest as he noted how even the few days' confinement and suffering had left their traces in her face.

"I wish I could have prevented that accident of yours," he said, gravely. "I am afraid the being laid aside for a time will prove a great trial to one of your active disposition."

"I dare not think of it," Rhoda responded, the light dying out of her eyes at once, "but I shall have grace given me to bear it. Dr. Bedford said I could not have my foot out of splints under two months. I might be able to get about on a crutch at the end of that time. And I have been looking forward to this spring so much."

She stopped, for tears seemed near the surface, and Mr. Rokeby said cheerily,—

"Do not look on to the future. You may get about sooner than you think, and meanwhile, if I can be of any use to you, do not hesitate to send for me."

"Thank you very much. I can't express my gratitude for all your kindness, but I shall not forget it."