"All the same, I'd try to get rid of them," said Heyton, doggedly. "I
saw one or two of them, evil-looking chaps, lurking about the
plantation."
"Looking for wood for their fires, no doubt," said the Marquess. "But
I'll speak to the steward, if you wish it; though, as I say, they are on
common land and it will not be easy to turn them off."
"Well, don't blame me when it's too late," said Percy, with a shrug of
his shoulders.
Departing from his usual custom, he went into the drawing-room with his
father and sat there, listening to Miriam's playing and singing; and it
was he who suggested bed.
"I'm a bit tired; had a long tramp to-day," he said, yawning and
stretching his arms.
"You ought to walk more, Percy," remarked the Marquess. "If you'll allow
me to say so, I don't think you take enough exercise. You ought to ride;
but perhaps you will when the hunting begins."
"Can't afford to hunt," retorted Heyton, with an unpleasant laugh.
"Horses cost money."
"You shall have some hunters," said the Marquess, with a contraction of
his brow. "I had thought of speaking to you about it. We will discuss it
later on."
"All right," said Heyton, ungraciously. "Well, I'm off."
He went upstairs, and Miriam and the Marquess followed him soon after.
Just as she was ready for bed, Heyton opened his dressing-room door and,
looking in, said: "I'm going to sleep in here to-night, Miriam."
He had often occupied the bed in his dressing-room; generally on nights
when, if the truth must be told, he had drunk too much and was ashamed
that Miriam should see him.
"Very well," she said, indifferently.
He closed the door and turned the key softly, took off his things and
put on a thick dressing-gown over his pyjamas; then he sat down in a
chair, with his hands thrust in the dressing-gown pockets, his head sunk
on his breast, his teeth gnawing his lip. He was listening intently.
Presently he got up, went to the bed and disarranged the clothes, giving
them the appearance of having been slept in; then he went back to his
chair and sat and listened again.
The faint noises of a big household retiring to rest grew less by
degrees and then ceased; and presently all was perfectly still. He sat
motionless, still listening, for another hour, two; then he rose and,
opening the outer door stealthily, stopped, with craned head, still
listening. The silence was unbroken, and with noiseless tread, he passed
along the corridor to his father's door and, with his ear to the
keyhole, listened again. He could hear his father's steady, long-drawn
breathing, the breathing of a man in a deep sleep.