At the first words the Governor started, and his eyes flashed
searchingly, curiously at the paper that walled the face, and at the
iron-grey hair. The voice rose distinct and clear, with modulated
emphasis. It had a peculiarly penetrating quality. A few in the room
--and particularly Vic--were struck by something in the voice: that it
resembled another voice. She soon found the trail. Her eyes also
fastened on the paper. Then she moved and went to another door. Here
she could see behind the paper at an angle. Her eyes ran from the
screened face to that of the Governor. His Excellency had dropped the
lower part of his face in his hand, and he was listening intently. Vic
noticed that his eyes were painfully grave and concerned. She also
noticed other things.
The address was strange. It had been submitted to the Committee, and
though it struck them as out-of the-wayish, it had been approved. It
seemed different when read as Old Roses was reading it. The words
sounded inclement as they were chiselled out by the speaker's voice.
Dicky Merritt afterwards declared that many phrases were interpolated
by Old Roses at the moment.
The speaker referred intimately and with peculiar knowledge to the family
history of Lord Malice, to certain more or less private matters which did
not concern the public, to the antiquity of the name, and the high duty
devolving upon one who bore the Earldom of Malice. He dwelt upon the
personal character of His Excellency's antecedents, and praised their
honourable services to the country. He referred to the death of Lord
Malice's eldest brother in Burmah, but he did it strangely. Then, with
acute incisiveness, he drew a picture of what a person in so exalted a
position as a Governor should be and should not be. His voice assuredly
at this point had a touch of scorn. The aides-de-camp were nervous, the
Chairman apprehensive, the Committee ill at ease. But the Governor now
was perfectly still, though, as Vic Lindley thought, rather pinched and
old-looking. His fingers toyed with a wine-glass, but his eyes never
wavered from that paper and the grey hair.
Presently the voice of the speaker changed.
"But," said he, "in Lord Malice we have--the perfect Governor; a man of
blameless and enviable life, and possessed abundantly of discreetness,
judgment, administrative ability and power; the absolute type of English
nobility and British character."
He dropped the paper from before his face, and his eyes met those of the
Governor, and stayed. Lord Malice let go a long choking breath, which
sounded like immeasurable relief. During the rest of the speech--
delivered in a fine-tempered voice--he sat as in a dream, his eyes
intently upon the other, who now seemed to recite rather than read. He
thrilled all by the pleasant resonance of his tones, and sent the blood
aching delightfully through Victoria Lindley's veins.
When he sat down there was immense applause. The Governor rose in reply.
He spoke in a low voice, but any one listening outside would have said
that Old Roses was still speaking. By this resemblance the girl, Vic,
had trailed to others. It was now apparent to many, but Dicky said
afterwards that it was simply a case of birth and breeding--men used to
walking red carpet grew alike, just as stud-owners and rabbit-catchers
did.
The last words of the Governor's reply were delivered in a convincing
tone as his eyes hung on Old Roses' face.
"And, as I am indebted to you, gentlemen, for the feelings of loyalty to
the Throne which prompted this reception and the address just delivered,
so I am indebted to Mr.--Adam Sherwood for his admirable words and the
unusual sincerity and eloquence of his speech; and to both you and him
for most notable kindness."
Immediately after the Governor's speech Old Roses stole out; but as he
passed through the door where Vic stood, his hand brushed against hers.
Feeling its touch, he grasped it eagerly for an instant as though he were
glad of the friendliness in her eyes.
It was just before dawn of the morning that the Governor knocked at the
door of the house by Long Neck Billabong. The door opened at once, and
he entered without a word.
He and Old Roses stood face to face. His countenance was drawn and worn,
the other's cold and calm. "Tom, Tom," Lord Malice said, "we thought you
were dead--"
"That is, Edward, having left me to my fate in Burmah--you were only half
a mile away with a column of stout soldiers and hillmen--you waited till
my death was reported, and seemed assured, and then came on to England:
to take the title, just vacant by our father's death, and to marry
my intended wife, who, God knows, appeared to have little care which
brother it was! You got both. I was long a prisoner. When I got free,
I learned all; I bided my time. I was waiting till you had a child.
Twelve years have gone: you have no child. But I shall spare you awhile
longer. If your wife should die, or you should yet have a child, I shall
return."
The Governor lifted his head wearily from the table where he now sat.
"Tom," he said in a low, heavy voice, "I was always something of a
scoundrel, but I've repented of that thing every day of my life since.
It has been knives--knives all the way. I am glad--I can't tell you how
glad--that you are alive."
He stretched out his hand with a motion of great relief. "I was afraid
you were going to speak to-night--to tell all, even though I was your
brother. You spared me for the sake--"
"For the sake of the family name," the other interjected stonily.
"For the sake of our name. But I would have taken my punishment, in
thankfulness, because you are alive."
"Taken it like a man, your Excellency," was the low rejoinder. He
laughed bitterly.
"You will not wipe the thing out, Tom? You will not wipe it out, and
come back, and take your own--now?" said the other anxiously.
The other dried the perspiration from his forehead. "I will come back in
my own time; and it can never be wiped out. For you shook all my faith
in my old world. That's the worst thing that can happen a man. I only
believe in the very common people now--those who are not put upon their
honour. One doesn't expect it of them, and, unlikely as it is, one isn't
often deceived. I think we'd better talk no more about it."
"You mean I had better go."
"I think so. I am going to marry soon." The other started nervously.
"You needn't be so shocked. I will come back one day, but not till your
wife dies, or you have a child, as I said."
The Governor rose to his feet, and went to the door. "Whom do you intend
marrying?" he asked in a voice far from vice-regal, only humbled and
disturbed. The reply was instant and keen: "A bar-maid."
The other's hand dropped from the door. But Old Roses, passing over,
opened it, and, waiting for the other to pass through, said: "I do not
doubt but there will be issue. Good-day, my lord!"
The Governor passed out from the pale light of the lamp into the grey and
moist morning. He turned at a point where the house would be lost to
view, and saw the other still standing there. The voice of Old Roses
kept ringing in his ears sardonically. He knew that his punishment must
go on and on; and it did.
Old Roses married Victoria Lindley from "out Tibbooburra way," and there
was comely issue, and that issue is now at Eton; for Esau came into his
birthright, as he said he would, at his own time. But he and his wife
have a way of being indifferent to the gay, astonished world; and,
uncommon as it may seem, he has not tired of her.