ON THE TRAIL.
General Prioleau was not the pleasantest company the morning
after the Convent ball. Although commonly counted an easy-going
good-natured man, whom nothing seriously ruffled for long, he was
this day evidently in the vilest of tempers. No one liked to face
him. His wife was well aware of the cause of his anger, and in her
own lymphatic way approved it, but the general had given her a very
bad quarter of an hour over the whole affair, and had openly told
her that if she had shown a little more energy, and had kept a more
vigilant eye upon her daughter, any such _contretemps_ as this
could not have occurred. Edith was of course in utter disgrace.
Her father scowled at her at breakfast as though he thought her
guilty of the most heinous court-martial offence, and should be
immediately brought to trial. When the aide-de-camp came in he was
taken to task for various acts of omission and commission; while
the other members of the general’s staff, who brought him documents
to discuss and papers to sign, found him utterly impracticable and
impossible.
What chafed him most, probably, was that the chief offender was
practically beyond the reach of his rage. A general is a great
man within the limits of his own command, but his powers are
professional merely, and scarcely extend to life and limb. General
Prioleau was really able to inflict upon Herbert no stronger mark
of his displeasure than to cut him, and snub him, and refuse to
grant him leave. He might report unfavourably upon him in the
next confidential returns, but only by subordinating his sense of
duty to personal pique, a line of conduct abhorrent to an officer
and an English gentleman, such as General Prioleau undoubtedly
was. What would have pleased him best would have been to order
Herbert at once to leave the Rock. Could not Colonel Greathed be
persuaded to send this pestilent young fellow to the depot, and
keep him out of the way? Then the general remembered that Mr.
Larkins was adjutant--and a right good adjutant--and that he could
not be transferred to the depot unless he voluntarily resigned the
appointment, which he was little likely to do.
‘There is only one way out of it,’ he said at last to his wife. ‘We
must send Edith away. She shall go to England, to her aunts, by
the very next mail.’
‘You will be the chief sufferer by that. You know you cannot bear
to part with the girl, even for an hour. But for that she would
have gone to school. I always wished it. If she had, perhaps--’
‘You always wish things when it’s too late to get them,’ replied
the general, testily. ‘However she shall go now. I am angry with
her and can spare her.’
All arrangements were laid accordingly, and Edith was duly prepared
for her journey home. She did not quite object to go away, but she
consented with a very bad grace. If this did not tend to mollify
the general, he was presently made far more angry by what appeared
to be the most audacious pertinacity on the part of her lover.
Just within a day or two of Edith’s departure, Herbert Larkins
also applied for leave of absence to proceed to England on very
urgent private affairs.
The application had come before the general in the usual way,
presented to him as a matter of course with a number of other
documents.
‘It’s the most exasperating piece of presumption I ever heard of in
all my life. He shall not have it--not an hour!’
‘The commanding officer recommends it, sir; a substitute is named;
I really don’t think--’ said the brigade-major, expostulating. It
is so unusual a thing for a general officer to refuse leave which
is properly backed up and all according to form.
‘What do I care about the colonel? Does he command the brigade, or
do I?’
‘Oh, of course it rests with you, sir; still, to refuse it
peremptorily and without apparent reasons--’
‘Without reasons, man? Don’t you know that--?’ the general stopped
short. His brigade-major probably did not know the family trouble,
nor was there reason why he should.
‘Telegraph up for Colonel Greathed to come and see me, as soon
as possible,’ the general said, abruptly. ‘I will speak to him
personally on the subject.’
The general had cooled down a little by the time Colonel Greathed
arrived. He was quite cautious and diplomatic too, speaking first
of certain routine matters before he approached the matter he had
really at heart.
‘I see your adjutant is asking for leave. Are you sure you can
spare him?’
‘Oh, I think so, sir.’
‘I don’t quite like it, colonel. I have really some hesitation
about granting this leave. I should be loth to find fault, but your
men are at their spring drills, they want plenty of “setting-up;”
they don’t stand to their arms quite as I should like altogether.
I’m not finding fault, remember, nothing is further from my mind.
Still, the adjutant’s eye is wanted just now, and I don’t feel that
it ought to be withdrawn.’
‘He is most anxious to go, sir. Private affairs of some urgency
require his personal attention.’
‘He rose from the ranks, I believe; what private affairs could he
possibly have?’
‘Perhaps you are not aware, general, of Mr. Larkins’ history--that
he is the adopted son of an old lady of rank--’
‘Surely there is no truth in that cock-and-bull story?’
‘Pardon me, sir, it is perfectly true. I have the pleasure of
knowing the old lady--Lady Farrington. Diggle, you may remember,
married a Farrington, but of another branch.’
‘But this Mr. Larkins has no claim, I suppose, to the name--nothing
more than a left-handed claim, I mean?’
‘I am not so sure. It may be difficult to prove his case; but he
has a case, and a good one. At any rate, the old lady is devotedly
attached to him, and likes to see him now and again. She has now
written pressing him most earnestly to pay her a visit, thinking, I
believe, that something of importance is likely to turn up.’
‘Is this why he asks leave? Has he no other reasons?’
‘None that I am aware of, except that he thinks of competing at the
next Staff College final examination, and wishes to see what it is
like, so as to prepare in good time.’
The general could not well withhold his consent any longer; but he
was resolved now to keep Edith by his side. There was, of course,
no reason why she should leave the Rock; on the contrary, the
chances of meeting Mr. Larkins on board the steamer or in England
must be as far as possible avoided. The man was a forward fellow,
as reckless as he was presuming; who, it was quite likely, would
make opportunities for prosecuting his suit. General Prioleau was
little less bitter against Herbert, in spite of what Greathed had
told him; he could not possibly bring himself to think of our hero
as otherwise than an ineligible and unsatisfactory _parti_.
Herbert himself was also greatly excited by what had occurred. He
had only seen Edith twice since the ball. She was riding on the
beach, closely guarded, the general on one side, his aide-de-camp
on the other. Herbert had raised his hat, as in duty bound, to
his official superior, who returned the salute formally. Captain
Mountcharles looked straight to his front, and Edith bowed gravely
and sadly, he thought, in the short glimpse he caught of her face.
It was war, of course--to the knife. The general’s animosity was
all the more plainly shown by his attitude about the leave, for
Colonel Greathed had given Herbert an outline of his interview with
the chief.
‘I have a very shrewd notion what is wrong with him,’ Greathed
said; ‘I don’t want you to tell me more than you choose, Larkins,
but I have eyes and ears, and I know pretty well what has been
going on.’
‘There is no secret in the matter, sir,’ and Herbert told his
colonel exactly what had happened at the ball.
‘You are evidently in earnest, Larkins, and I wish you luck,’ said
Greathed, laughing. ‘But I’m not surprised the general was a little
put out. And now what do you mean to do?’
‘Stick to it to the last, sir. If I could be only sure that
she would wait. But in a place like this, and with a man like
Mountcharles always close by,--I shouldn’t be in the least afraid
but for that.’
‘It’s a long lane that has no turning. You must make your way in
the service; get upon the staff; lose no opportunity of employment.
Everything comes to the man who is determined to win. Perhaps that
other affair may turn up trumps. Lady Farrington, you say, thinks
that some important evidence will soon be forthcoming?’
‘The dear old lady is always thinking that, sir,’ said Herbert with
a smile. ‘She’s a little like the boy that cried wolf. There have
been so many false alarms that I shan’t believe the real thing if
it ever comes to pass.’
‘Have you any idea what she is expecting now?’
‘Not in the least. She gives me only the vaguest hints. I half
fancy it is only an affectionate ruse to get me back to England for
a time.’
But it was something more than that, as the reader will now see.
Some eleven months had elapsed since the last advertisement
had been published, offering a large reward for information
concerning the marriage of Herbert Farrington and Annie Orde, but
no satisfactory answer had been received. Hope was already failing
all but the sanguine old Lady Farrington, who kept on declaring
persistently that the right would certainly prosper in the end. As
she was the only person who stoutly maintained that proofs of the
marriage must certainly be forthcoming, so she was the only one who
was not surprised, when one morning a mysterious letter arrived
from no one knew where, and sent by no one knew whom.
It was addressed to Mr. Bellhouse, who had long been the family’s
solicitor, as well as Lady Farrington’s, and consisted of only a
few lines scribbled, on the back of an old invoice for goods:--
‘Those who seek find. Search the registers of the parish of
Stickford-le-Clay, in the county of ----. He who was once Herbert
Farrington sends this.’
A communication which drove Lady Farrington nearly frantic. It
revived, and indeed supported, all her old fancies, that her
injured son was still alive. She declared that she recognised his
handwriting; she began once more, although a long interval had
elapsed, to hear his voice and to see his beloved form in her
dreams. She talked incessantly about him and his probable return.
Had she not been carefully tended and watched by her own servants,
she might have had a very serious relapse.