COLONEL GREYSON’S MISSION.
“She is heartless, soulless!” groaned Sir Harold. “Oh, Elaine, why
should you be so fair and fickle?”
He paced the floor like a man distraught. His eyes were bloodshot, his
face ashy pale. This misery was more bitter than death.
He had given the one great love of his life; he had tasted the most
ecstatic bliss that had ever fallen to mortal man. But, after all, he
had only been reveling in a fool’s paradise. He had believed that the
earl’s daughter loved him beyond all earthly things; that this was
no idyllic dream, but the meeting of two sympathetic twin souls--a
beautiful reality.
When the first storm of his misery had nearly subsided, he sank into a
chair, and buried his face in his hands.
The Earl of Seabright had warned him to deal gently with Lady Elaine.
She was so young, so willful, so utterly spoiled.
“These sudden engagements are apt to be as quickly broken,” my lord had
said, and now his words rang like the knell of doom in Sir Harold’s
ears. Was all at an end between them? Was their quarrel to be the
subject of a nine days’ wonder? The society papers would enlarge upon
it. Innumerable five-o’clock teas would be enlivened by it, and then it
would be forgotten by everybody but Sir Harold.
Thus he reasoned, and he felt that his heart would be broken, that it
would be forever dead.
“Perhaps it will be better so. She does not love me--she does not love
as I love. I do not want half a heart. I will go away, and the sooner
I am dead the better it will be for me. My life has ever been a bitter
mistake. I am a visionary, and my last delusion will kill me!”
It was a relief to John Stimson, Sir Harold’s valet, that he had a
legitimate cause for knocking at the door of his master’s study. A
footman had appeared bearing the card of Colonel Greyson on a salver.
“He told me to see that he was not disturbed on any account,” he
muttered; “but I shall risk it. I didn’t like the look in his face when
he went into the study, and the awful silence within makes me uneasy.”
He took the salver from the footman, saying:
“All right. I will attend to this. Sir Harold is engaged. Where is
Colonel Greyson?”
“In the blue drawing-room,” the footman replied.
“Thank you; that will do,” said the valet, as he tapped gently on the
door.
To his surprise it was opened at once, and his master took the card
with an exclamation of impatience.
“I told you not to disturb me, Stimson,” he said, harshly.
“But you never refuse to see the colonel, Sir Harold, and I felt
anxious about you.”
Stimson was a privileged servant. He had traveled over half the globe
with his young master, and had nursed him through the yellow fever in
an African swamp.
“You are ill, master, I am sure.”
“Ill?” echoed Sir Harold. “No, I am not ill. I wish to heaven that I
were sick unto death!”
It was a strange speech, but Stimson pretended not to notice it. He
merely said:
“You will see Colonel Greyson, Sir Harold?”
“Yes, I will see him here, in my study,” was the gloomy reply, and when
Stimson had gone he added:
“He it was who introduced us, and who more fitting to be the first to
hear that we are parted forever?”
Then the colonel’s bluff tones fell upon his ears; and he felt his hand
being shaken warmly.
“I have not seen much of you for weeks, my boy,” he was saying; “but
suddenly determined to make an assault upon you. In your bower of
bliss, presided over by I don’t know how many Cupids, you seem to
forget that you are necessary, to a small extent at least, to your
neighbors.”
Every word was like the stab of a knife, and Sir Harold, his heart too
full for words, made a deprecatory gesture.
However, the colonel went on without noticing the agony of his young
friend. The study was a dark room at any time, when no artificial light
was used, and Colonel Greyson was notoriously short-sighted.
“Yes, my boy, we are organizing a steeplechase. Now, don’t tell me that
you cannot ride, or that you have other engagements. You must have a
little consideration for the county. I want you to become even more
popular than you are already, and we may yet run you for a seat in the
House.”
“Colonel,” broke in Sir Harold, “why will you torture me in this way?”
His voice was so harsh that the old soldier promptly pulled himself up,
and began to search for his eyeglasses.
“Torture you, eh? Egad, what is wrong with the boy? Confound it, sir,
what is the trouble? You, whom I account one of the most fortunate men
of the century, talking of torture!
“Is it torture to be a rich man? Is it torture to be young, handsome,
famous and engaged to the loveliest woman under the sun? I tell you
what it is, my boy, you are one of Fortune’s spoiled darlings, and have
been so much surfeited with good things that you do not know what is
best for you! Now, as you have hitherto professed to have implicit
confidence in my common sense, I intend prescribing for you. My dear
fellow, the county cannot possibly get on without you, and I am sure
that you cannot get along without the county! It is my ambition to see
you at the very top of the political tree, and if you take the thing in
hand I am pretty certain as to the result, for your abilities are far
beyond the average, and only want bringing out. Now, about this little
scheme of mine--this steeplechase----”
“Sit down, colonel,” Sir Harold interrupted, closing the door. “I have
something to tell you that will drive steeplechasing out of your head,
so far as I am concerned. I did not intend speaking of my misery to any
living soul, but my confidence is due to you, old friend, though I do
not solicit advice. I know my own case only too well!”
Colonel Greyson listened like a man in a stupor, but he had no
suspicion of the nature of Sir Harold’s trouble until it was revealed
to him in words that seemed to quiver with agony.
“Only a lovers’ quarrel,” he interjected.
“No, colonel, it is no ordinary affair. Mine is no ordinary love; it
is life or death to me. I have not shaped my life in any stereotyped
pattern. I have always been afraid of linking my fate with another,
because I am so intense in all that I profess. It is my misfortune. I
believed that Lady Elaine was capable of loving after my fashion of
loving, but I was wrong, and I wish you to understand that I do not
blame her, though my disappointment will embitter my whole life.”
“You must see her again,” said the colonel, “and I’ll wager that it is
nothing but a storm in a teacup.”
“No, I could not bear the agony of another interview. I have appealed
to her in vain. The reply she has sent to me is final. The engagement
is at an end, and the world may judge as it pleases. I do not suppose
that Lady Elaine will care one jot.”
“You wrong her,” Colonel Greyson retorted, a little angrily. “I have
known Lady Elaine from childhood. She is as good as she is beautiful.”
“I admit that. But, oh, the agony of knowing that she is soulless!”
“I will not listen to such nonsense!” fumed the colonel. “I will see
her myself. It is a duty I owe to both of you, for, in a measure, I
brought you together. Curse Viscount Rivington! I say--though I have no
doubt that your own insane jealousy is at the root of all the trouble.
No young woman of spirit would put up with it. I am determined to hear
both sides of the story.”
Sir Harold shook his head gloomily.
“I will not be content to have the matter patched up,” he said. “My
wife must be all in all to me. My ideal is in my dreams, and to that
alone will I be wedded.”
“Stuff!” interrupted the colonel, inelegantly. “All stuff, sir, depend
upon it! Lady Elaine Seabright will be your wife, and a more perfect
woman never breathed!”
To accentuate this Colonel Greyson brought his fist down upon the table
with a bang.
“Heaven help me!” went on Sir Harold. “I loved her as I believed her to
be, not as she is, and shall do so for evermore!”
“Once again,” pleaded the colonel, “I ask you to see her. You are
acting like an insane man. Why will you wreck two lives when----”
“Don’t--don’t! It is impossible!” groaned the baronet. “If she will
not grant me one reasonable request, with the full knowledge that she
will lose me, it is proof positive that her love is a mere chimera, a
passing fancy, undefinable and worthless! No, colonel, all is at an
end, and I shall leave Annesley Park to-night. My affairs shall be
put into the hands of my men of business in London, and I pray to God
that I may never set foot in the place again! My heart is broken! I
have one request to make of you, old friend, and that is to correct any
wrong impressions that get abroad. Spare Lady Elaine all that may be
annoying, and if any one has to bear the blame, let it be me. We part
now, probably never to meet again, and I wish you to take my farewell
to my cousin, Margaret Nugent.”
The colonel jumped to his feet, tears in his eyes.
He held out his hand, replying huskily:
“I will do all that you ask of me, you foolish fellow, and probably
a great deal more. I hope to see you again, though,” he added,
energetically. “I will see you again! You must excuse my haste; I have
several important matters needing my attention. Good-by!”
He scarcely gave Sir Harold time to reply, but dashed out of the room
into the hall, seized his hat and commanded a servant to see that a
horse was saddled for him at once.
In a few minutes the animal was brought to the door, and the colonel
galloped at a mad pace toward Ashbourne, the seat of the Earl of
Seabright.
“The boy is full of cranky, quixotic notions,” he thought, “and my
lady is too high-spirited and proud to pander to all his follies. As a
consequence, he would ruin two lives. The county cannot afford it. What
does she care for that dandyfied ass of a Rivington? Not one iota! I
consider that the girl has acted very properly. Does he want to shut
her out of the world entirely? By Jove, I feel that I could give him a
piece of my mind!”
When he arrived at Seabright Hall, his horse dripping with foam, the
first person he encountered in the vestibule was Viscount Rivington,
who regarded him in wonderment.
“One of Annesley’s horses,” he observed. “Why, colonel, one would think
that you were the bearer of important dispatches! You must be living
over again the days when you were a military aide-de-camp on active
service.”
“Where is the earl?” demanded the colonel, brusquely. Then he added
fiercely, his gray eyes flashing under his bristling brows: “See here,
Rivington, you are causing trouble between two young people who love
each other dearly. If you are a gentleman, you must stop it. D’ye hear?”
“No man ever dared say that I am not a gentleman!” retorted the
viscount, flushing hotly.
“Then prove that you are worthy of the name,” the colonel said, “or I
may have to stigmatize you as a blackguard! We men of the old school
are still ready to back our words at the sword’s point!”
So saying, Colonel Greyson stalked away in quest of Lady Elaine, while
Viscount Rivington watched him with gathering fury in his black eyes.