Ida went to the stable-yard and got on to Rupert by the aid of the
stone "mounting block" from which Charles the Second had climbed,
laughingly, to the white horse which figures in so many pictures of the
Merry Monarch, and rode out of the court-yard, watched with pride by
Jason. Before she had gone far he ran after her.
"If you're riding by West Hill, Miss Ida, perhaps you'd look at the
cattle-shed there. Williams says that the roof's falling in."
"Very well," she called back in her clear voice.
"Oh, and, Miss Ida, there's a big stone washed out of the weir; I'm
thinking it ought to be put back or we'll have the meadows above
flooded this winter."
She laughed and nodded and put Rupert to a trot, for she knew that
while she was within hearing Jason would bombard her with similar tales
of woe. Not a slate slid from the old roof of the Hall, or a sheep fell
lame, but the matter was referred to her.
She rode down the road in the sunlight, the big chestnut moving under
her as if he were on springs and she were a feather, and, half
unconsciously, she began to hum an air--not one of those modern ones
one hears in many drawing-rooms, but an old-fashioned melody which she
had found in an ancient music-book in the antique cabinet beside the
grand piano. She left the road where it touched the wild moorland of
the valley, and Rupert broke into a canter, Donald and Bess, settling
into the stride with which they managed to keep up with the big horse.
She had resolved that she would not ride straight to the stream, and
she kept up the hill-side, but her eyes wandered to the road
expectantly now and again; but there was no sign of a horseman, and
after half an hour had passed a sense of disappointment rose within
her. It was quite possible that he had forgotten the engagement;
perhaps on reflection he had seen that she was quite right in her
objections to his strange proposal, and he would not come. A faint
flush rose to her face, and she turned Rupert and rode up and over the
hill where she could not see the road. But she had no sooner got on top
than she remembered that no time had been mentioned, or, if it had,
that she had forgotten it. She turned and rode up the hill again, and
looking down, saw Stafford riding along the valley in desperate haste,
and yet looking about him uncertainly. Her heart beat with a quickened
pulse, sending the delicate colour into her face, and she pulled up,
and, leaning forward with her chin in her hand, watched him dreamily.