AFTER THREE YEARS
After her meeting with Rufus Sterne, Madeline walked slowly back to the
Hall with a very thoughtful look upon her face. She knew that this
Christmas Eve was to be a fateful time for her, her whole future seemed
to be hanging in the balance. On what happened during the next few
days--perhaps, during the next few hours--would depend in all
probability the happiness, or the misery, of all the years that would
follow.
The point to which her life had been steadily drifting would be reached
to-night. The man who had been waiting for her would ask her to come
into his arms, the consummation of her girlish dreams was about to be
realised. Why did she shrink from the fateful moment? Why did she
contemplate the meeting with Gervase with something like alarm? Before
she reached the Hall she put a question boldly to herself that she had
never dared ask before. Had Rufus Sterne anything to do with this
half-defined fear that haunted her. Suppose he had never crossed her
path--had never awakened her gratitude by his courage and chivalry, had
never touched her sympathy by his vicarious suffering--would she at this
moment be almost dreading the appearance of Gervase Tregony on the
scene?
Till she met Rufus Sterne, Gervase had been her ideal. His bigness, his
masterfulness, his fearlessness, his daring had awakened in her a sense
of awe. He was her ideal still in many respects. She never expected to
see a more soldierly man, never expected to hear a voice that was more
clearly meant to command, never anticipated a stronger arm to lean upon.
And yet there was no denying the fact that the brightness of the image
had been somewhat dimmed of late. In point of bigness, in point of
masterfulness, and, above all, in point of social position, Rufus Sterne
was not to be mentioned in the same day with Gervase Tregony, and yet
Rufus Sterne, poor and friendless as he was, had touched her heart and
her imagination in a way that Gervase had never done.
Her fingers were tingling still under the pressure of his hand. The
tones of his voice were still vibrating through the chambers of her
brain, the colour mounted to her cheeks whenever she thought of him.
"Perhaps, when I see Gervase," she said to herself, "all my forebodings
will vanish. It will be a comfort to know that I have been worrying
myself for nothing. If he loves me for my own sake--and I shall soon
find out if he doesn't--and if I--I--like him as I have always done, why
there is no reason at all why we should not be two of the happiest
people in the world. Nevertheless, I wish Sir Charles was not in such a
hurry to arrange things."
She found Lady Tregony and Beryl pretending concern at her long absence,
but very little was said, and Madeline did not explain why she had been
so long.
"We have ordered dinner, my dear, for half-past seven," Lady Tregony
said, in her blandest tones. "We have had another telegram from dear
Gervase while you have been out. It was handed in at Bristol. He seems
terribly impatient to be at home. I suppose you would not care to drive
into Redbourne with Sir Charles to meet him?"
"No, indeed. I would prefer to meet him here, thank you."
"I am sure it would be quite proper, my dear, if you would care to go,
and really Gervase seems dying to see you."
"I don't think it would be proper at all," Madeline answered, quite
frankly.
"Oh, yes, my dear. Everybody now looks upon the engagement as a settled
thing."
"Indeed. I did not know people took so much interest in our affairs, or
indeed, knew anything about the matter."
"Oh, yes, my dear; it is impossible that such things can be kept a
secret. I expect you will get tons and tons of congratulations on
Friday."
"Why on Friday, Lady Tregony?"
"Why, because we shall have the house full of people on Friday, to be
sure. I wouldn't that there should be a hitch for the world."
Madeline walked upstairs to her room, feeling very perturbed, and not a
little annoyed. It seemed now as if everybody was beginning to show his
or her hand. Now that the game was practically won there was not quite
so much need for caution or finesse. Indeed, to take the engagement for
granted might be a good way of settling the matter once and for all.
"But it is not settled yet," she said to herself, a little bit
indignantly; "and what is more I will not have my affairs settled for me
by anybody."
It had been her intention to dress herself with the greatest care that
evening, to don the smartest and most becoming frock she possessed. But
she concluded now she would do nothing of the kind.
"I am not going to lay myself out to make a conquest as though I were a
husband hunter," she said to herself, with heightened colour; "and what
is more I am not going to let anybody take things for granted," and she
dropped into a basket chair before the fire.
It was the first time Lady Tregony had so openly shown her hand, and it
made Madeline think more furiously than ever.
Her maid came a little later and lighted the lamp and drew the blinds,
then quietly withdrew. Madeline sat staring into the fire, watching the
faces come and go, and conjuring up all kinds of visions. She heard the
brougham drive away; heard the Baronet's voice for a moment or two, then
all grew still again. In another hour he would be back again,
accompanied by his son. She wanted to get up and walk about the room,
but she held herself in check with a firm hand, and sat resolutely
still. She did not attempt to hide from herself the fact that she was
painfully excited. Her heart was beating at twice its normal rate. She
was longing to see Gervase, and yet she dreaded the moment when she
would again look into his eyes.
She did her best to put Rufus Sterne out of her mind. She had a vague
kind of feeling that she was disloyal to her girlish ideals. The hour,
to which all the other hours of her life had steadily and consistently
moved, was on the point of striking. She ought to be supremely happy.
One face only should fill all her dreams. She had grown to believe that
Gervase Tregony had been ordained for her and she for him--until the
last few months not a doubt had crossed her mind on this point, and
now----
She got up and began to walk about the room. She could sit still no
longer. The very air had become oppressive. She felt as though a
thunderstorm was brooding over the place.
Her maid came in at length, much to her relief, and began to help her
dress for dinner. While her hair was being brushed and combed she
listened intently for the sound of carriage wheels. The roads were hard,
and sounds travelled far on the still frosty air.
She caught the sounds she had been listening for at length, and her
heart seemed to come into her mouth. The beat of the horses' hoofs
became as regular as the ticking of a clock. Nearer and nearer drew the
sounds, till the maid stopped her brushing, and listened.
"They are coming," she said, with a little catch in her breath. "I did
not think they would be here so soon," and she dropped the brushes, and
began to twist Madeline's glorious hair into a large coil low on her
neck.
"You need not hurry," Madeline said, quietly; "I shall not go downstairs
till just before dinner."
"Her ladyship is dressed already," the maid answered.
"Naturally," she answered, significantly, and relapsed into silence.
A few minutes later they heard the gritting of the carriage wheels on
the drive. It curved round under Madeline's window, and pulled up at the
front door.
She listened for the sound of voices, but Sir Charles and his son
alighted in silence. Then a little shrill cry of delight was wafted up
from the hall as Lady Tregony fell into her son's arms. The next moment
the harsh, raucous voice of the captain echoed distinctly through all
the rooms.
Madeline felt her heart give a sudden bound. How often she had heard
that voice in her dreams, and thrilled at the sound--not a musical
voice, by any means, not a voice to lure and soothe, but a voice to
command; a voice to inspire confidence and awaken fear at the same
time.
Then a knock came to the door, and Beryl rushed in. "Gervase has come,
dear," she said, excitedly.
"Yes, I heard his voice."
"But are you not coming down at once?"
"I cannot very well," she answered, with a smile.
"But he will be terribly disappointed. His first inquiry was for you."
"We shall meet in the drawing-room before dinner is announced."
"But what must I tell him?"
"Anything you like, dear."
Beryl departed with a pout, and a look of disappointment in her eyes. A
little later there was a sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Madeline disappointed her maid by insisting on wearing her least
becoming evening gown, and the only ornament she wore was a bunch of
holly berries in her hair.
She went downstairs alone, and was surprised to find the drawing-room
empty. Where Lady Tregony and Beryl had taken themselves to she could
not imagine. A big fire of logs was blazing in the grate, and in all the
sconces candles were alight. She expected every moment that either Beryl
or Lady Tregony would come to her; they were both dressed, and there was
no reason whatever that they should remain in their rooms.
After several minutes had gone by she began to suspect the truth. They
were keeping away so that she might meet Gervase alone. It was very
thoughtful of them certainly, but it was taking rather too much for
granted. She disliked so many evidences of management and contrivance.
If Providence was arranging all these matters she could not see why
Providence might not be allowed a free hand. So much human assistance
did not seem at all necessary.
She was beginning to feel a little bit resentful when the door was
thrown suddenly open, and Gervase entered. For a moment she started back
with unfeigned surprise. She had expected seeing him in all the glory
and splendour of his uniform, and here he was in ordinary evening dress,
looking as common-place as any average country squire. The only splendid
thing about him was his moustache, which was waxed out to its fullest
dimensions.
"Madeline," he said, huskily, coming hurriedly forward, with
outstretched hands. "This is the supreme moment of my life."
She placed both her hands in his, and looked him steadily in the eyes.
She was quite calm again now. Her heart had ceased its wild gallop.
"It seemed as if I should never get here," he said, in the same husky
tones. "Oh! how impatient I have been to look into your dear eyes."
"If you had missed this train you would not have got here for your
Christmas dinner," she said, artlessly, "and that would have been
horribly disappointing."
"Would you have been very much disappointed?" he questioned, trying to
throw a note of tenderness into his voice.
"Of course, I should have been disappointed," she answered, frankly;
"I've been quite consumed with curiosity to see what you look like."
"Not with curiosity only, I hope, Madeline."
"Why, isn't curiosity bad enough without having any other feeling to
torment you?"
"Did you think I should have changed toward you?" he said, in hurt
tones. "Did you regard me as one of the fickle mob, who hold love so
lightly?"
"Nay, I have always regarded you as a brave, strong man who would place
duty above everything."
"In that, I trust, I shall never disappoint you," he said, humbly.
"Henceforth my duty and my joy shall be to serve you."
"I am only one," she said, quickly. "Is not your first duty to your
country and your King?"
"My first duty is to my queen," he answered gallantly, "and that is
you."
She drew her hands from his suddenly, and stepped back a pace. "Had we
not better understand each other better before we talk so confidently?"
she said, in hard decided tones.
"What, after three long years?" he questioned, in an aggrieved voice.
"Is it possible that there is anything left unexplained? Have I not
opened all my heart to you in my letters? Do I need still to prove my
devotion?"
"No, no. You have been very candid and very loyal," she said, quickly.
"But a matter of so much importance should not be decided in an hour."
"But we have known each other for years, and did we not understand each
other from the very beginning?"
"Perhaps we did," she answered, with downcast eyes.
"And everyone else understood," he went on. "It is true little or
nothing was said at the beginning, for you--you--were--were--very young.
But I was of full age, and when the proper time came I wrote plainly to
you."
"Yes, I know."
"And you were not surprised? You expected I should write in that way,
did you not?"
"Yes, I think I did."
"And yet now you talk of our understanding each other better. Oh,
Madeline! Let me assure you that no other woman has crossed my path,
that no other face has caught my fancy, that my heart has been true to
you from the first, and I am prepared now to devote the rest of my life
to you."
"But is there not another side to the question?" she asked, seriously.
"You said when first we met I was very young. But I have grown to be a
woman now."
"That is true, by Jove!" he answered, with a harsh laugh, "and a very
lovely woman, too. But that only adds force and weight to what I have
already said. If you had grown to be ill-favoured or plain, you might
hesitate, thinking my heart would change. But no, Madeline, I am not of
the fickle sort. If you were not half so handsome as you are I should
still come to you eager, devoted, and determined."
"You fail to understand my point," she said, quickly.
"Not I, indeed," he interposed, with a laugh. "It is natural, I suppose,
for a woman to have some doubts about a soldier. I know among the pious
folk we have rather a bad reputation, and that we are supposed to have
as many wives as Brigham Young. But that's a gross libel. I don't
pretend that soldiers are saints, and some of them, I grant, change the
objects of their affections frequently. But, Madeline, believe me, I
have been true to you. True to that last smile and look you gave me in
Washington. I come back offering you a complete and whole-hearted
devotion. Now, come and let me kiss you, and settle the matter before
dinner."
She drew back a step further. "I think we understand each other less now
than when we began our talk," she said, in hard, unnatural tones.
"Well, by Jove, Madeline, you do astonish me," he said, in a tone of
well-feigned surprise. "You surely don't think I'm insincere--that I'm
putting it on, as it were; that I'm pretending what I don't feel? Let
me assure you I'm absolutely certain of my regard for you. Even if I
were in doubt before I got here--though, to tell you the candid truth, I
never have been in any doubt. But even if I were, the sight of your
face, the loveliness of your ripened womanhood, if you will allow me to
say so, has drawn out my heart to you more strongly than ever."
"I don't think we shall gain anything by pursuing this subject any
further just now," she said, quietly. "And we shall have many
opportunities for quiet talks later on."
"And you are not going to let me kiss you?"
"Most certainly not," she said, the colour rising in a crimson tide to
her cheeks and forehead.
"Then all I can say, it is a cold welcome," he said, using an adjective
that need not be written down.
"You do not understand me, Gervase," she said, a pained look coming into
her eyes.
"By Jove! I don't," he said, "and what is worse still, you persist in
misunderstanding me."
"I am sorry you put it in that way," she answered; "but there goes the
dinner-gong," and the next moment the door was pushed open, and Lady
Tregony bustled into the room.
"So you have met!" she said, with a little giggle, "and no one to
disturb your _tete-a-tete_. Well, that is delightful."
Gervase frowned, but did not reply, and Madeline took the opportunity of
escaping out of the room.
In the dining-room she frustrated Lady Tregony's little design, and
instead of seating herself next to Gervase she sat opposite him. She had
not seen him for so long a time, that she wanted an opportunity of
studying his face. Her first feeling of disappointment was confirmed as
she looked at him more closely. In his uniform he looked magnificent--at
least, that was the impression left on her mind; but in ordinary
swallow-tail coat and patent leather slippers he looked common-place.
There was no other word for it. Moreover, three years under the trying
skies of India had aged him considerably. His straw-coloured hair no
longer completely covered his scalp. The crow's feet about his eyes had
grown deeper and more numerous. The skin of his face looked parched and
drawn, his cheek bones appeared to be higher, his nose more hooked, and
his teeth more prominent.
Moreover, under an ordinary starched shirt-front the well-rounded chest
had entirely disappeared. Perkins, the butler, could give him points in
that respect.
Madeline felt the process of disillusionment was proceeding all too
rapidly. She wished he had come downstairs arrayed in scarlet and gold.
As a study in black and white he was not altogether a success, and it
was not pleasant to have her dreams blown away like spring blossoms in a
gale.