82 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Voices ! Some wayfarers, belated like himself, had ensconced 

 themselves at the other side of the stack. Taking advantage of 

 the pattering sound of the rain, he crept cautiously into a roomy 

 cutting which had been made in the solid mass of hay, and 

 covered himself with the rushes that had formed the thatch. 

 Even if the moon suddenly reappeared he was safe from obser- 

 vation. It was race-time, and he could not be too war}'. His 

 watch was well worth the attention of any of the disciples of 

 St. Nicholas who were on the look-out for unconsidered trifles 

 of that description, to say nothing of the contents of his purse 

 and note-case. He crouched and listened. The voices grew 

 more distinct. He could distinguish the words ' Winpenny,' 

 ' Slider,' ' Crowfoot,' ' won at five furlongs,' ' put the cross on — ' 



If he could have been seen at that dreadful moment his 

 visage would have presented a mingled expression of horror, and 

 amazement. He would have given anything to have been able 

 with safety to indulge in the relief of speech. A muffled groan 

 was all the sound he dared indulge in. He broke out into pro- 

 fuse perspiration, which became the more profuse the more he 

 listened. Yet he dared not move. Presently the rain abated, 

 and the moon broke from behind a sombre bank of cloud. Then 

 he heard a voice which, as he said afterwards, he could have 

 recognised amongst a thousand, utter these words : 



' Come on. I have had enough of this. I am nearly choked 

 with hay-seeds ; and my boots are ruined. We shall have to 

 step it to Redmarshall, or we shall be locked out.' He heard 

 also the rapid thud — thud — thud of footsteps retreating across 

 the sodden grass ; then followed a sound as of men climbing a 

 gate, and the conflict of rough coarse voices of different compass. 

 Thank God ! his companions were gone. 



When poor Trenholm again reached the road he paused, 

 wiped the moisture from his clammy brow, clenched his fist, and 

 shaking it in the direction which the conspirators had taken, 

 said, in a tone of suppressed excitement, 



' Well ! — of all the — the SCOUNDRRRELS I ever heard of, or 

 read of, or saw — you are the biggest. But — stop a bit.' 



He arrived at the Hurst — somehow. Before retiring to his 

 room, to think — there was no sleep for him that night — he man- 

 aged, with extreme difficulty, to deliver Wrightson's message to 

 his master. Next morning he arose at an unwontedly early 

 hour, and proceeded to rouse the maids from their precious 

 slumbers, a duty which had hitherto devolved on the house- 



