As Sir Madoc and I proceeded along the to me well-known Whitchurch
road, I asked myself mentally, could it really be that I was again
looking with farewell eyes on all this fair English scenery, and
perhaps for the last time; for our departure to the seat of war, where
we were to be face to face and foot to foot with an enemy, was very
different from other voyages to a peaceful British colony? Now, varied
by autumnal tints, brown, golden, or orange, I saw the long and shady
lane where Estelle had last seen me, and near it the low churchyard
wall, where our evil genius had rent away the locket from his wife.
Sir Madoc's eyes were turned chiefly to the tawny stubble-fields, and
he sighed with regret, as he saw the brown coveys of partridges
whirring up, that he had not his patent breech-loader in lieu of a
hunting-whip.
"Estelle--Estelle!" thought I. "How many temptations in mighty
London, and in the country, too--in Brighton, that other London by the
sea, and wherever she may go--will beset one so noble and so
beautiful--allurements that may teach her to forget and banish from
her memory the poor Fusileer subaltern, to whom she seems as the
centre of the universe!"
The evening was a lovely one, and the scenery was beautiful. Chestnuts
and oaks were, at every turn of the way we rode, forming natural
arches and avenues, beyond which were pleasant glimpses of quaint
cottages, whose walls and roofs were nearly hidden by masses of roses
and honeysuckle; short square village spires and ivy-covered
parsonages; widespreading pastures, where the sleepy cattle browsed
amid purple clover and golden cowslips, with the glory of the ruddy
sunset falling aslant upon them, while the ambient air was full of
earthy and leafy fragrance; for many fallen leaves, the earliest spoil
of autumn, lay with bursting cones in cool and sunless dells, or by
the wayside, where the fern and foxglove mingled under the old thick
hedgerows. And so I was looking, as I have said, on all this peaceful
scene, perhaps for the _last_ time; yet there was no sadness in my
heart, for the revulsion or change of feeling, from the gloom and
tumultuous anxiety of many, many days past, and even of that morning,
was great indeed to me, especially when we cantered through the
handsome iron gates of Walcot Park, the once suspicious keeper of
which gave me an unmistakable glance of recognition. I felt like one
in a dream as I threw my reins to a servant, and was led upstairs by
Sir Madoc.
"Where is Lady Estelle?" he asked of another valet, to whom I gave my
sword in the hall.
"In the front drawing-room."
"Alone?"
"I think so, sir."
"All right, Harry!"
But he suddenly affected to remember that he had something to say to
his own groom, and as he turned back, I was ushered into the long and
stately apartment. I had a dreamy sense of being amid many buhl tables
and glass shades, much drapery, and several mirrors that reproduced
everything, amid which I saw Estelle advancing cordially to meet me.
She had a bright smile in her face, and held out both her hands; but I
could scarcely speak.
"Estelle," I whispered, "joy--joy! It is indeed joy, to see you once
again!"
"Then you quite forgive me, dearest Harry?"
"Forgive you? O Estelle!" I exclaimed, in a low and passionate voice,
as she turned up her adorable face to meet mine half-way.
I knew from past experience that caresses from her meant much more
than they did from most women; for Estelle, though proud and reticent,
and apparently cold and calm, was reluctant to give and to accept
them; so now I felt all the truth and sincerity of this reunion. "A
lovers' quarrel is but love renewed;" we, however, had not quarrelled,
but been cruelly wrenched asunder by the art and cunning of another.
"Are you on duty, Mr. Hardinge?" said a voice; and from a window where
she had been sitting, quite unseen and unnoticed by me, Winny Lloyd
came forth, looking, as I thought, a little paler and sadder than when
I had seen her last at Craigaderyn Court.
"What makes you think I am on duty, dear Miss Lloyd?--or rather let me
say, my dear, dear good friend and guardian angel Winifred, to whose
intercession I owe all the happiness of a time like this," said I,
pressing her hand caressingly between both of mine.
"Because you are in undress uniform, of course," said she, almost
petulantly.
"I can wear no other costume now; we bid good-bye to mufti, the sable
livery of civilisation, to-morrow."
"How?"
"We march at daybreak."
"For the East?"
"Yes; for the East, at last."
"So soon?" exclaimed both girls at once.
"The order came within an hour or little more, when Sir Madoc was with
me."
The eyes of the girls were full of sudden tears, and they gazed on me
with an honest emotion of tenderness and real interest, that,
considering the rare beauty and high position of both, were alike
flattering and bewildering; and I felt that this was one of those
moments when, to be a soldier or a sailor on the eve of departure to
the seat of war, was indeed worth something.
And Winifred, the impulsive Welsh fairy, so fresh-hearted, so simple
in her motives, and sweet in her disposition, uttered something very
like a little sob in her slender white throat, adding apologetically
to Estelle, "We have been such old friends, Harry Hardinge and I."
"You never wrote to me, Estelle," said I, softly, yet reproachfully.
"I dared not; you remember our arrangement," she replied, with
hesitation.
"Nor was I invited here, like Mostyn, Clavell, and others; thus I had
no opportunity of--"
"I had no control, darling Harry, over mamma's dinner-list: I could
but suggest to mamma; and then there was that terrible story. But here
comes mamma!"
And turning, I found myself face to face with the tall, handsome,
and stately Countess of Naseby, whom--nathless her chilling manner
and lofty presence--I hoped yet to hail as a very creditable
mother-in-law.
I was on the eve of departure, to go where glory waited me. I might
cross her exclusive path no more; so my Lady Naseby seemed quite
disposed to bury the hatchet, and received me with that which was--for
her--unusual kindness, and an _enmpressement_ which made the eyes of
her daughter to sparkle with pleasure. A late dinner made a sad hole
in the time I had hoped to spend with Estelle; yet I had the pleasure
of sitting beside her--a pleasure that was clouded by the conviction
that my presence would soon be imperatively requisite at the barracks,
where so much was to be done ere morning, and that I should be
compelled to abridge even this, my farewell visit, to pleasant Walcot
Park, and all who were there. Fortunately, Lady Naseby went quietly to
sleep in her boudoir after dinner, with Tiny on her lap; Sir Madoc
obligingly went into the library to write; and Winifred suggested a
turn in the conservatory, where for a little time she adroitly left
Estelle and me together.
There is no utility in dwelling on how we sealed our reconciliation
and renewed our troth, when once more I placed my ring upon her
finger; or in rehearsing the soft and tender words--perhaps (O
heaven!) the "twaddle"--we spoke for an indescribable few minutes, and
how each said to the other that our apparent separation had been as a
living death. But now all that misery was over; we loved each other
more than ever, and the grave alone could part us finally; words, the
prompting of the heart, came readily, till our emotions became too
deep, and she agreed that I should write to her boldly, "as ere long
mamma, through good Sir Madoc, must know all." And so we leaned
against a great flower-stand, almost hidden by gorgeous azaleas, our
hands tightly clasped in each other, eyes looking fondly into eyes,
and feeling that the depth of our tenderness formed for us one of
those few-and-far-between portions of existence when time seems to
stand still, when silence is made eloquent by the beatings of the
heart, when we almost forget we are mortal, and feel as if earth had
become heaven. From this species of happy trance we were roughly
roused by the crash of a great majolica vase containing a giant
cactus, and a voice exclaiming querulously,
"God bless my soul!--Pardon me; I did not know any one was here."
"The devil you didn't!" was my blunt rejoinder.
And there, with gold glasses on his long aristocratic nose, and in his
richly-tasselled _robe de chamber_ and embroidered slippers, stood my
Lord Pottersleigh, whom I knew not to be at Walcot Park, as he had
been nursing his gout upstairs; and now I wished his lordship in a
hotter climate than the quarters of the 2nd West India for his
unwelcome interruption. Of what he had seen or what he thought I cared
not a rush, so far as _he_ was concerned; and a few minutes later saw
me, after a hurried farewell to all, with the pleasure of remembered
kisses on my lips, and my heart full of mingled joy and sadness,
triumph and prayerful hope for the perilous future, flying at full
gallop back to Winchester.