An evening or two later, a carriage containing Sir George and Lady Head
drew up at a little mansion in the West end, the residence of the
retired general, Sir Charles Menzies. The house was not brilliantly
illuminated, a subdued light gleaming only in a few of the windows.
Evidently there would not be many guests that night. As they entered,
the wide door in the deep archway was thrown open, and they were ushered
into the drawing-room, where the General and his wife awaited their
arrival.
"Just ourselves," exclaimed their host gaily; "a lonely old couple who
have the selfishness to desire you to dine with them _en famille_,
before they send you to the wars again."
"It is very kind of you," was the cordial response. "We are both of us
delighted to come. But about the wars, General, I am afraid there are no
more wars for me. It is just crossing the ocean to establish a garrison,
and I assure you that I would rather command a troop and fight the
enemy, than perform my allotted task."
"Still, it is all in your country's service, Colonel; and it sometimes
needs greater courage to build a rampart than to fight a battle."
"You may well say that, General. Don't know but what my own case is an
instance. It is a cut through the back country with only a couple of
companies for a following, as though one were sneaking through the bush
to escape the foe. After all, that is what it really is; for we could
not in safety carry our garrison stores by the lakes."
"Yet you may have more than one brush with the enemy before you get
there."
"If we do it will be all the merrier," returned Sir George with a laugh.
"These Yankees are giving us as much as we can carry just now, and
possibly there may be fighting on Georgian Bay before it ends."
"How soon do you sail, Sir George?" Lady Menzies asked.
"In eight days. Fortunately my wife is more contented over it than ever
she was when I went to fight the armies of the Little Corporal. She
always used to vow that I would never come back. Now she believes that I
will."
"I think he has done fighting enough," was that lady's quick response.
"To march a few hundred miles through the woods to build a garrison, and
then to return home, is all they ask of him; a much better prospect--to
his wife at least--than to have another fight with the French."
Dinner was announced, and the host led the way with the Colonel's wife
upon his arm.
"That husband of yours is a brave fellow," was his comment; "and my
lady, you need not be nervous about him. He's as true as steel, a good
disciplinarian, yet one of the kindest men who ever lived."
"Perhaps you are thinking of Talavera," she answered, her face flushing
with pleasure. "You know he helped some of the wounded French out of the
ditch after the battle was over."
"Yes, but he made two of his own men stand in the stocks all night for
letting another Frenchman run away," was his laughing answer.
When seated at the table the conversation became general, but soon
drifted back to Sir George Head's prospective trip.
"It will be a new experience," exclaimed Sir Charles; "snowshoeing
through Canada in January instead of marching through Spain in July."
"I have ordered my men a double supply of under garments as a
safeguard," said the Colonel.
"What about night quarters on the road?" queried the hostess.
"That is where the rub will come," was his answer. "I believe there are
no stopping places after leaving Montreal. But habitants and half-breeds
are numerous. They are accustomed to the woods, and I intend to take a
picked gang to help the men put up temporary shanties each night on the
road. What is more, abundance of dead timber can be had for the
cutting; and with good fires I have no doubt that we can stand the
journey."
The ladies were rising from the table when a rap on the knocker
announced the arrival of other guests.
"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Lady Menzies to the Colonel's wife. "I want to
introduce my sweet grand-niece to you. She has only just become a bride,
and promised to come in with her husband for an hour this evening."
"We shall be delighted," was the reply. "You know Sir George still
becomes enraptured over a pretty face. He always did."
The Colonel placed his hand over his heart and bowed.
"If the eyes have soul and the mouth character," he exclaimed gallantly,
"I hope I'm not too old a dog, even yet, to lose my heart."
"Bravo!" cried Sir Charles. "Our little girl has both, but I am sorry to
say we have seen too little of her of late."
The two ladies left the room, while the gentlemen over another glass of
wine continued to talk over the wars, and the apparently dim prospect of
peace.
When they entered the drawing-room a quarter of an hour later,
Lieutenant Manning and his bride were there. A flash of astonishment
swept over Sir George's face as he took in the situation. But it was
only for a moment. Gravely, but not unkindly, he offered his greetings
as Lady Menzies introduced Helen to him.
Her appearance was striking. With broad forehead, dark hair and lustrous
eyes, she carried her two and twenty years very gracefully. She was not
a bashful girl, just out of her teens, but a large-souled woman, who
knew much of the experiences of life, and had made her choice,
determined, by all that was holy, to be a help-meet for the man she had
married. Though scarcely at ease, she looked up into Sir George's face
with a frank smile as she received his greeting.
"I am glad to have the opportunity of meeting you," he said, looking
steadily into her eyes. "Lieutenant Manning informed me that he was
married; though I assure you it is a surprise to find that his wife is a
relative of my old friend, the General."
"Harold did not tell you, then," she returned, with a gesture toward her
husband.
"Unfortunately he did not; but perhaps it was my fault. I was so
astonished that I fear I did not ask him. And how are you, Mr. Manning?
I think you have been stealing a march on me."
"Is not marching a soldier's duty?" returned Harold, with a merry glance
at his wife.
"Yes, but countermarching is a different thing." There was a twinkle in
the gallant Colonel's eye, as he gravely shook his head, that was not
discouraging.
In a veiled way, Sir George watched every movement that Helen made. Her
self-control surprised him, knowing as she must that her own future as
well as that of her husband were in his hands. Soon an opportunity for a
personal talk presented itself.
Sir Charles had been adding to his collection of paintings, and was
particularly proud of a Reynold's beauty that he had recently purchased,
as well as a French landscape by Turner, who at that time was winning
fame as an artist. While the others were looking intently at the
delicate coloring and divine symmetry exhibited in the portrait by the
Master, Helen had lingered by Turner's picture. It was one of his
"Rivers of France," an illustration of the parting of lovers beneath
stately trees on the banks of the Seine.
"That is a remarkable picture," said Sir George over her shoulder. "It
is said to be an incident in the artist's own life. I did not know that
Menzies had it, though I have seen it more than once in Turner's
studio."
"I have heard of it," returned Helen, gravely. "He was, as he seems,
passionately in love; pity it came to such a sad ending."
"It was her villainous stepmother's fault," said the Colonel. "She
intercepted all his letters, and when the maiden believed herself
forsaken, she took a woman's revenge, and made herself miserable by
marrying another man."
"A miserable revenge it was," returned Helen warmly, "and one that few
women would take advantage of."
"I am not so sure about that," was Sir George's grave response. "I am
sorry to say I have known women do that very thing, though I acknowledge
they must have been vastly foolish."
"If they had married before that long tour of his," said Helen,
earnestly, "when they were both in love, the letters would not have been
intercepted; and of course they would have been happy ever afterwards."
"Marriage is always a serious business," said Sir George, looking
gravely into her eyes.
"Yes, I know it is." There was a little tremor in her voice this time.
"But when one does it bravely and with eyes open, it is not too serious
to be borne.
"And are you sure you can bear it, Mrs. Manning, whatever comes?" he
asked with almost a touch of sternness in his voice.
"Yes--I believe I can."
"I too believe it since I have seen you. Still for your sake I am sorry
it has happened. It would have been much better to have waited."
"For myself I believe I shall never regret it," said Helen, "whatever
happens. It is only the future of my husband that I feel concerned
about."
"I am glad to be able to relieve your mind on that score"--but there was
sternness still in his voice. "Lieutenant Manning has always been a
brave officer, and his future is certain."
"Thank you, Colonel, for the word. I know his record; and I assure you
as a soldier's daughter, as well as a soldier's wife, I shall never
stand in his way."
She stood very erect, but she dashed a tear away as the words flashed
from her lips.
"Nobly said," was Sir George's comment as the General and the other
ladies joined them. Harold had purposely wandered off to the far end of
the room to inspect some ancient weapons, of which Sir Charles had a
valuable collection. But he returned in time to hear their hostess ask
her niece to sing.
"I cannot sing to-night as the linnets sing," she replied with a half
sad, half mischievous glance at Harold, "but as my heart tells me."
"That is what we want, dearest," he whispered.
Seating herself at the piano, her fingers ran lightly over the keys.
Then, in a rich contralto voice, she poured out Goethe's favorite, "To
the Chosen One." There was the beauty of passion in every line of the
first verse:
"Hand in hand! and lip to lip!
Oh, be faithful, maiden dear!
Fare-thee-well! thy lover's ship
Past full many a rock must steer;
But should he the haven see
When the storm has ceased to break,
And be happy, reft of thee--
May the gods fierce vengeance take!"
There was exultation as she sang the second stanza:
"Boldly dared, is well-nigh won,
Half my task is solved aright,
Every star's to me a sun,
Only cowards deem it night.
Strode I idly by thy side
Sorrow still would sadden me,
But when seas our paths divide,
Gladly toil I--toil for thee."
Then with all the tenderness of her impassioned soul she breathed out
the last lines:
"Now the valley I perceive
Where together we will go,
And the streamlet watch each eve
Gliding peacefully below.
Oh, the poplars on yon spot!
Oh, the beech trees in yon grove!
And behind we'll build a cot
Where to taste the joys of love."
"You are a brave girl," cried the Colonel as she finished the song, "and
you well merit everything that the gods can give you. Lieutenant Manning
should be proud to have you for his wife--whatever happens."
Saying which he turned and asked Lady Menzies to be his partner at a
rubber of whist, for which Sir Charles and Lady Head were waiting.
Hence, the four elderly people were soon interested in the game; while
the bride and groom, ostensibly examining curios, were taxing their
souls with a thousand questions relative to the future.