  THE Sea-mew cruised about from one place to another and Hector Woodridge recovered his health and strength; but he was a changed man. Even Picton thought it difficult to recognize him; he would not have done so had he met him in the street. Captain Ben said: "It is quite safe for you to go ashore. You are supposed to be dead; you must take another name." "William Rolfe—how will that do?" said Hector. "As good as any other," said Picton. "We'll test it. You come to Haverton as William Rolfe to look at the horses, and if Sarah Yeoman and Blackett don't recognize you it will be proof positive there is no danger." It was early in August when Hector Woodridge, as William Rolfe, came to Haverton. Mrs. Yeoman did not recognize him, nor did the trainer, although the former thought his face familiar. The change in Hector was extraordinary. Not only was his appearance entirely different, but his voice, manner, everything about him was that of another man. Mrs. Yeoman and Blackett were not enlightened as to his identity. Hector was glad they did not recognize him; he was careful to give them no clue to his identity, although occasionally when off his guard he almost betrayed himself by showing his knowledge of the house and its surroundings. Amos Kidd, the head gardener, as he saw him walking about, thought: "He must have been here before, but I don't recollect seeing him." It was a sore trial to him to come back to the old home as a stranger. Everything revived recollections of the misery he had caused, and of the Admiral's death, and at last these became so vivid and painful that he told Picton he could stand it no longer. "I shall go mad if I stay here," he said. "I must get away." "Where will you go?" asked Picton. "To London for a time; it is a safe place—such a vast crowd—and probably I am forgotten at Dartmoor. There is an advantage in being dead, is there not?" he said, smiling grimly. "Perhaps it will be for the best. In London you will see so many sights, your attention will be "Never; at least not until my innocence is proved." "You think it will be?" "Yes, it must; I mean to prove it." "How?" "Leave that to me. I have a plan which may prove successful, but it will be risky; everything will depend on the first bold step." "Don't rush into danger," said Picton. "Where's the use? You may fail; you may be recognized; and then, think what would follow." "You fear I might be sent back to prison," he said, smiling. "There is no fear of that. I promise you I will never go back to Dartmoor." "You must have all the money you require, Hector," said his brother. "I shall want money; there is plenty for both." "Ample; it costs a lot to keep up Haverton, but half of what I have is yours." "Too generous, Pic; you always were. I shall not want half, nothing like it. Place a few thousands to my credit in a London bank." "That would not be safe. I will draw ten thousand pounds in notes, and you can use it as you think best," said Picton. "Very well. That is a large sum, but I shall probably require it. The scheme I have in my mind will cost money, a lot of it, but I'd sacrifice all I have to prove my innocence," said Hector. "And I will help you. I want to keep up Haverton, but you shall have the rest. I'll tell you what. Hector, I'm going to back Tearaway to win a fortune in the St. Leger. Already money is going on at forty to one; I may get a thousand on at that price, perhaps more," said Picton. "I'd like to see her have a spin before I leave," said Hector. "And you shall. Blackett has obtained permission from Sir Robert Raines to use his famous Cup horse Tristram in a trial gallop. The horse will be here to-morrow, and we can put them together with one or two more the next morning. Sir Robert is coming over to see it. He takes a great interest in her; he owns her sire King Charles." "Sir Robert coming?" said Hector doubtfully. "He'll never recognize you—no one would, not even——" Picton pulled himself up short. He had spoken unthinkingly and stopped just in time; but Hector was not satisfied. "Not even—whom did you mean?" he asked. "Never mind; it was a slip; I forgot." "Lenise Elroy?" asked Hector calmly. "Yes, I thought of her." "And you think she, even that woman, would not recognize me?" "I am certain she would not. She might have done so when you escaped, but not now. Your illness has changed you in a very strange way. I can hardly believe you are Hector sometimes," said Picton. "Then I must be safe," he said, smiling. "Speaking of Mrs. Elroy," he went on, "did I tell you I saw her in Torquay?" "No," said Picton surprised. "Where? Are you sure?" "I was passing a hotel when something prompted me to cross the road and look in at the window. I saw her seated at the supper table, laughing gayly with people, a man beside her, probably her lover, he seemed infatuated with her. She is still very beautiful, the same luring smile, and eyes like stars; you can imagine how I felt. The sight was too much for me, as I contrasted her position with mine. I raised my hands and appealed to God for justice. My prayer was answered, for a little farther on, as I staggered down the road, I came across that great-hearted fellow Brack. You know the rest." "Yes, I know the rest," said Picton. They were in the study and could talk freely. No one ventured in except Captain Ben, and he came "Hector is going away, to London. He can't stand the associations at Haverton. It is not to be wondered at," said Picton. "I'm surprised he stood it so long; I know what it must have cost him. You're brave, Hector, far braver than we are. By God, you're a man if ever there was one!" said Ben in his straight manner. "A man can bear far more than he imagines. Torture of the mind is greater than torture of the body," said Hector. "You're right, no doubt," said Ben. "But why London, why go there?" "I have my reasons; they are powerful. On board the Sea-mew I laid my plans; I think I shall succeed," said Hector. "Would you like Ben to go with you?" asked Picton. "No—he'd be too merciful," said Hector calmly. They looked at him; he spoke quietly, but there was that in his voice and face boded ill for somebody. "When are you going?" asked Ben. "After Tearaway has had her trial with Tristram," said Hector. "That will be worth seeing," said Ben. "And the filly will beat Sir Robert's horse," said Picton. "I doubt it," said Ben. "Think what he's done, and Ascot Cup winner, Doncaster Cup Cesarewitch, Metropolitan, Northumberland Plate—he must be the best stayer in England." "So he is," said Picton, "but Tearaway will beat him for speed at the finish. Blackett says he'll put them together over two miles, with only seven pounds between them. I suggested level weights but he doesn't want to take the heart out of her." "If she can beat Tristram at seven pounds she's the best filly ever seen," said Ben. "And I believe she is," was Picton's enthusiastic comment. Hector Woodridge sat in his room, when everything was still in the house, and thought over his plans. No one recognized him, Picton said even Lenise Elroy would not recognize him; so much the better, for he had dealings with her. How he hated this woman, who had fooled him to the top of his bent and done him so great an injury! She must suffer. Did she suffer now? She must, there was some sort of conscience in her. Her beauty appealed to him once; never would it do so again. She knew he was innocent, the only person who did, and he intended wringing a confession from her. Fortunately he had money. His brother was generous, and offered him more than he had a right to expect; he would make it up to him some day, when he had completed the work he intended. There was a man on Dartmoor, and there was Brack: they must be rewarded for their kindness, for the help they had given him. And there was that gracious lady who assisted him as he tramped to Torquay. He had not forgotten her face, it was engraven on his memory. He was thinking of her now, how she gave him the coat, the boots, food, and spoke kindly to him. When times were changed, and his work done, he would seek her out again and thank her. His heart warmed toward her; he contrasted her purity with that of the other woman, and wondered how he could have been caught in Lenise Elroy's toils. Elroy was a weak-minded, foolish fellow; she married him for his money. He recalled his first meeting with her; they were mutually attracted, and so it went on and on, from bad to worse, until the end, when the fatal shot was fired. And since then? He could not bear to think of it all. He vowed Lenise Elroy should pay the penalty as he had, that her tortures of mind should equal his; then she would know what he had suffered; no, not a tenth part of it; but even that would overwhelm her. |
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