"And promoted?"
"Perhaps."
"And merry and happy?"--she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fones
being merry and happy.
"Exactly."
The word suited him.
He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if
to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again.
Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen to
take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in
steel.
He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped
out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and
the face of the girl. The door closed.
Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards the
house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the
direction of the barracks.
The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and of
Christmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back.
Meantime the party at Windsor's store was broken up. Pretty Pierre and
Young Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say:
"Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time." Then they talked after this
fashion:
"Ah, I know, 'mon ami;' for the last time! 'Eh, bien,' you will spend
Christmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the day
of good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the last
time? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magic
number. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh,
'mon ami,' where do you go the next day? Oh, 'pardon,' I forgot, you
spend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, Young
Aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. So."
"Stop that, Pierre." There was fierceness in the tone. "I spend the
Christmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn't
concern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you say
yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?"
"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day
after the same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive!
Adieu!"
Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white
teeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his
gloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person.
Poor Aleck.
"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone
awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and
against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for the
ne'er-do-weel!
That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carrying
with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outer
air of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawn so
close. Had one stood within "the Hunter's Room," as it was called, a
little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before a
woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where
dissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised the
head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man.
"You will not go to Pardon's Drive again, will you, Aleck?"
"Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I have
given my word."
"I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh,
Aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put
this on me as well?"
"My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I for
mine."
There was a moment's silence. He bowed his head again.
"And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab."