said the
duckling."--_The Ugly Duckling_.
The summers came and went, but Jack Fenleigh remained a rebel, refusing
to join the annual gathering at Brenlands, and to pay his homage at the
court of Queen Mab.
One bright September morning, about four years after the holidays
described in the previous chapter, he was sitting at an untidy
breakfast-table, evidently eating against time, and endeavouring to
divide his attention between swallowing down the meal and reading a
letter which lay open in front of him. The teapot, bread, butter, and
other provisions had been gathered round him in a disorderly group, so
as to be near his hand; the loaf was lying on the tablecloth, the bacon
was cold, and the milk-jug was minus a handle. It was, on the whole, a
very different display from the breakfast-table at Brenlands; and
perhaps it was this very thought that crossed the young man's mind as
he turned and dug viciously at the salt, which had caked nearly into a
solid block.
In outward appearance, to a casual observer, Jack had altered very
little since the day when he knocked Master Raymond Fosberton into the
laurel bush; yet there was a change. He had broadened, and grown to
look older, and more of a man, though the old impatient look seemed to
have deepened in his face like the lines between his eyebrows.
The party at Brenlands had waited in vain for a reply to their letters.
Within a week, Miss Fenleigh had written again, assuring the runaway
that neither she nor his cousins for one moment suspected him of having
stolen the watch; but in the meantime the mischief had been done.
"They think I did it," muttered Jack to himself, "or they'd have
written at once. Aunt Mabel wants to forgive me, and smooth it over;
but they know I'm a scamp, and now they believe I'm a thief!"
Again he hardened his heart, and though his feelings towards Queen Mab
and his cousins never changed, yet his mind was made up to cut himself
adrift from the benefit of their society. He left Valentine's letter
unanswered, and refused all his aunt's pressing invitations to visit
her again.
Every year these were renewed with the same warmth and regularity, and
it was one which now lay open beside his plate.
"I suppose," ran the letter, "that you have heard how well Val passed
out of Sandhurst. He is coming down to see me before joining his
regiment, and will bring Helen and Barbara with him. I want you to
come too, and then we shall all be
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