THE RETURN OF THE SHADOW.
I woke with a heavy heart the next morning, for I knew that Jim would be
home before long, and that it would be a day of trouble. But how much
trouble that day was to bring, or how far it would alter the lives of
us, was more than I had ever thought in my darkest moments. But let me
tell you it all, just in the order that it happened.
I had to get up early that morning; for it was just the first flush of
the lambing, and my father and I were out on the moors as soon as it was
fairly light. As I came out into the passage a wind struck upon my
face, and there was the house door wide open, and the grey light drawing
another door upon the inner wall. And when I looked again there was
Edie's room open also, and de Lapp's too; and I saw in a flash what that
giving of presents meant upon the evening before. It was a
leave-taking, and they were gone.
My heart was bitter against Cousin Edie as I stood looking into her
room. To think that for the sake of a newcomer she could leave us all
without one kindly word, or as much as a hand-shake. And he, too!
I had been afraid of what would happen when Jim met him; but now there
seemed to be something cowardly in this avoidance of him. I was angry
and hurt and sore, and I went out into the open without a word to my
father, and climbed up on to the moors to cool my flushed face.
When I got up to Corriemuir I caught my last glimpse of Cousin Edie.
The little cutter still lay where she had anchored, but a rowboat was
pulling out to her from the shore. In the stern I saw a flutter of red,
and I knew that it came from her shawl. I watched the boat reach the
yacht and the folk climb on to her deck. Then the anchor came up, the
white wings spread once more, and away she dipped right out to sea.
I still saw that little red spot on the deck, and de Lapp standing
beside her. They could see me also, for I was outlined against the sky,
and they both waved their hands for a long time, but gave it up at last
when they found that I would give them no answer.
I stood with my arms folded, feeling as glum as ever I did in my life,
until their cutter was only a square hickering patch of white among the
mists of the morning. It was breakfast time and the porridge upon the
table before I got back, but I had no heart for the food. The old folk
had taken the matter coolly enough, though my mother had no word too
hard for Edie; for the two had never had much love for each other, and
less of late than ever.
"There's a letter here from him," said my father, pointing to a note
folded up on the table; "it was in his room. Maybe you would read it to
us."
They had not even opened it; for, truth to tell, neither of the good
folk were very clever at reading ink, though they could do well with a
fine large print.
It was addressed in big letters to "The good people of West Inch;" and
this was the note, which lies before me all stained and faded as I
write:
"My friends,--
I didn't thought to have left you so suddenly, but the matter was
in other hands than mine. Duty and honour have called me back to my
old comrades. This you will doubtless understand before many days
are past. I take your Edie with me as my wife; and it may be that
in some more peaceful time you will see us again at West Inch.
Meanwhile, accept the assurance of my affection, and believe me that
I shall never forget the quiet months which I spent with you, at the
time when my life would have been worth a week at the utmost had I
been taken by the Allies. But the reason of this you may also learn
some day."
"Yours,"
"BONAVENTURE DE LISSAC"
"(Colonel des Voltigeurs de la Garde, et
aide-de-camp de S.M.I. L'Empereur Napoleon.")
I whistled when I came to those words written under his name; for though
I had long made up my mind that our lodger could be none other than one
of those wonderful soldiers of whom we had heard so much, who had forced
their way into every capital of Europe, save only our own, still I had
little thought that our roof covered Napoleon's own aide-de-camp and a
colonel of his Guard.
"So," said I, "de Lissac is his name, and not de Lapp. Well, colonel or
no, it is as well for him that he got away from here before Jim laid
hands upon him. And time enough, too," I added, peeping out at the
kitchen window, "for here is the man himself coming through the garden."
I ran to the door to meet him, feeling that I would have given a deal to
have him back in Edinburgh again. He came running, waving a paper over
his head; and I thought that maybe he had a note from Edie, and that it
was all known to him. But as he came up I saw that it was a big, stiff,
yellow paper which crackled as he waved it, and that his eyes were
dancing with happiness.
"Hurrah, Jock!" he shouted. "Where is Edie? Where is Edie?"
"What is it, man?" I asked.
"Where is Edie?"
"What have you there?"
"It's my diploma, Jock. I can practise when I like. It's all right.
I want to show it to Edie."
"The best you can do is to forget all about Edie," said I.
Never have I seen a man's face change as his did when I said those
words.
"What! What d'ye mean, Jock Calder?" he stammered.
He let go his hold of the precious diploma as he spoke, and away it went
over the hedge and across the moor, where it stuck flapping on a
whin-bush; but he never so much as glanced at it. His eyes were bent
upon me, and I saw the devil's spark glimmer up in the depths of them.
"She is not worthy of you," said I.
He gripped me by the shoulder.
"What have you done?" he whispered. "This is some of your
hanky-panky! Where is she?"
"She's off with that Frenchman who lodged here."
I had been casting about in my mind how I could break it gently to him;
but I was always backward in speech, and I could think of nothing better
than this.
"Oh!" said he, and stood nodding his head and looking at me, though I
knew very well that he could neither see me, nor the steading, nor
anything else. So he stood for a minute or more, with his hands
clenched and his head still nodding. Then he gave a gulp in his throat,
and spoke in a queer dry, rasping voice.
"When was this?" said he.
"This morning."
"Were they married?"
"Yes."
He put his hand against the door-post to steady himself.
"Any message for me?"
"She said that you would forgive her."
"May God blast my soul on the day I do! Where have they gone to?"
"To France, I should judge."
"His name was de Lapp, I think?"
"His real name is de Lissac; and he is no less than a colonel in Boney's
Guards."
"Ah! he would be in Paris, likely. That is well! That is well!"
"Hold up!" I shouted. "Father! Father! Bring the brandy!"
His knees had given way for an instant, but he was himself again before
the old man came running with the bottle.
"Take it away!" said he.
"Have a soop, Mister Horscroft," cried my father, pressing it upon him.
"It will give you fresh heart!"
He caught hold of the bottle and sent it flying over the garden hedge.
"It's very good for those who wish to forget," said he; "I am going to
remember!"
"May God forgive you for sinfu' waste!" cried my father aloud.
"And for well-nigh braining an officer of his Majesty's infantry!" said
old Major Elliott, putting his head over the hedge. "I could have done
with a nip after a morning's walk, but it is something new to have a
whole bottle whizz past my ear. But what is amiss, that you all stand
round like mutes at a burying?"
In a few words I told him our trouble, while Jim, with a grey face and
his brows drawn down, stood leaning against the door-post. The Major
was as glum as we by the time I had finished, for he was fond both of
Jim and of Edie.
"Tut, tut!" said he. "I feared something of the kind ever since that
business of the peel tower. It's the way with the French. They can't
leave the women alone. But, at least, de Lissac has married her, and
that's a comfort. But it's no time now to think of our own little
troubles, with all Europe in a roar again, and another twenty years' war
before us, as like as not."
"What d'ye mean?" I asked.
"Why, man, Napoleon's back from Elba, his troops have flocked to him,
and Louis has run for his life. The news was in Berwick this morning."
"Great Lord!" cried my father. "Then the weary business is all to do
over again!"
"Aye, we thought we were out from the shadow, but it's still there.
Wellington is ordered from Vienna to the Low Countries, and it is
thought that the Emperor will break out first on that side. Well, it's
a bad wind that blows nobody any good. I've just had news that I am to
join the 71st as senior major."
I shook hands with our good neighbour on this, for I knew how it had
lain upon his mind that he should be a cripple, with no part to play in
the world.
"I am to join my regiment as soon as I can; and we shall be over yonder
in a month, and in Paris, maybe, before another one is over."
"By the Lord, then, I'm with you, Major!" cried Jim Horscroft. "I'm not
too proud to carry a musket, if you will put me in front of this
Frenchman."
"My lad, I'd be proud to have you serve under me," said the Major. "And
as to de Lissac, where the Emperor is he will be."
"You know the man," said I. "What can you tell us of him?"
"There is no better officer in the French army, and that is a big word
to say. They say that he would have been a marshal, but he preferred to
stay at the Emperor's elbow. I met him two days before Corunna, when I
was sent with a flag to speak about our wounded. He was with Soult
then. I knew him again when I saw him."
"And I will know him again when I see him!" said Horscroft, with the old
dour look on his face.
And then at that instant, as I stood there, it was suddenly driven home
to me how poor and purposeless a life I should lead while this crippled
friend of ours and the companion of my boyhood were away in the
forefront of the storm. Quick as a flash my resolution was taken.
"I'll come with you too, Major," I cried.
"Jock! Jock!" said my father, wringing his hands.
Jim said nothing, but put his arm half round me and hugged me.
The Major's eyes shone and he flourished his cane in the air.
"My word, but I shall have two good recruits at my heels," said he.
"Well, there's no time to be lost, so you must both be ready for the
evening coach."
And this was what a single day brought about; and yet years pass away so
often without a change. Just think of the alteration in that
four-and-twenty hours. De Lissac was gone. Edie was gone. Napoleon
had escaped. War had broken out. Jim Horscroft had lost everything,
and he and I were setting out to fight against the French. It was all
like a dream, until I tramped off to the coach that evening, and looked
back at the grey farm steading and at the two little dark figures: my
mother with her face sunk in her Shetland shawl, and my father waving
his drover's stick to hearten me upon my way.