“PYLADES AND ORESTES.”
“Are you going, Vic?”
“Of course I am going. I have been ordered to join Admiral Sir Hugh
Walter’s flagship, which sails for Halifax in a week.”
“I do not mean that. What I want to know is whether you are going to
Buckholme with me. I met Clarence Glynne on the Strand yesterday, and he
gave me a most cordial invitation to come out. He extended it to me in
the name of his father, Miss Renville, and himself.”
“That was more than a double-header, Jack,” said Victor; “that was three
of a kind.”
“I hope you won’t consider me egotistical, Victor, but I really think
from what he said that she was the instigator of the invitation.”
The one addressed as Victor was silent for a moment. He cast his eyes
downward as though thinking the matter over. At last he said:
“Why should I go, Jack? It was you who jumped into the river and saved
her life, for she sank twice, you will remember. Besides, when she
learns that you are the Honourable John De Vinne, and likely to
become--I beg your pardon--Viscount De Vinne, what chance will there be
for me?”
“Yes,” cried Jack, oblivious of his friend’s remark, “the whole picture
comes back to me so vividly. What an idiot that fellow was to run into
her boat--and then he was going to let her drown because he could not
swim. He was near enough to row up and pull her into his boat when she
came up the first time. Of course I had to swim for it, and dive too. I
think a man who cannot steer a boat and cannot swim should stay on
land.”
“Those are my sentiments--exactly,” remarked Victor.
The recalling of the event--the rescue from drowning of Miss Bertha
Renville by Mr. Jack De Vinne--had such an effect upon the young man
that he was in a very excitable condition.
“You might have been the one, Vic, to have saved her instead of me. To
be fair about it we should have drawn lots, but, as you say, there was
no time to lose. Although the affair happened a month ago, it seems as
though it were but yesterday. It seemed a profanation, but we had to
treat her just as though she were a man instead of a woman. You ran to
get a trap and we took her to the tavern and called a doctor, then, when
she was once more herself, we drove to Buckholme with her.”
“You’ve got it by heart,” said Victor. “Do you remember as well what
took place at Buckholme? How delighted Clarence was and the half-hearted
thanks of Mr. Glynne, Miss Renville’s guardian? What a roly-poly sort of
a man he is.
“I was not taken with his outward appearance, and if I am any sort of a
judge of human nature, I should say that he houses a bad heart within
that portly frame.”
“I must confess, Vic, that I did not notice the man much. I was thinking
of her; how close she had been to death, and how glad I was to have been
the means of saving her life. I will be honest with you, Vic, and own
up--I am in love with her. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever
seen and I want to ask your advice. What do you know about me, Victor?”
Victor Duquesne leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Well, Jack, I
know that you are the second son of an earl--I really do not know his
full title--but in England, you know, the second son of an earl is a
mere nobody if his elder brother enjoys good health.”
“You have hit it just right, Victor,” said Jack. “I am really a nobody;
that’s why I went into the Navy, but I hope you won’t take that remark
as a personal reflection. There are a great many smart men in the Navy,
and you are one of them.”
“Thanks, Jack. We are and always have been the best of friends. I hope I
shall serve my king faithfully and well, and be worthy of your good
opinion. But I fancy you are going to tell me something about yourself,
for some reason or other known to you, but at the present time, unknown
to me.”
“Well, listen,” said Jack. “I am the second son of the Earl of Noxton.
My father obtained considerable reputation in a political way when he
was Lord De Vinne, and although ten years have passed since he succeeded
to the Earldom, he prefers, for some reason or other, to be known as
Lord De Vinne. Even my mother thinks that ‘Lady De Vinne’ is a prouder
title than ‘Countess Noxton.’ My father’s name is Carolus. I think he
has told me at least a hundred times how one of his ancestors came over
with William of Normandy, and the name Carolus has always been borne by
the heir to the title.”
“I agree with your father and mother,” said Victor. “I should prefer a
title which I had won or upon which I had conferred some honour, rather
than one simply bequeathed to me.”
Jack continued: “My mother was a poor girl and, they say, very
beautiful. She can bring forward neither of her sons, however, as
evidence of that fact. Her name is Caroline. I have sometimes fancied
that its similarity to Carolus had no small influence with my father.
Now, to come to the point. My brother Carolus, who is five years older
than I, is engaged to Lady Angeline Ashmont. He has been an invalid for
some years and is now in Germany, taking the baths.”
“A temporary illness, I hope,” said Victor.
“I do not know,” said Jack. “He has been a great student, and instead of
riding horseback and hunting and swimming, as I have done all my life,
he stayed cooped up in his den working, I believe, on the genealogy of
the family. He is as thin as a rail and as white as a ghost.”
“He has been overworking,” suggested Victor.
“Perhaps so,” said Jack; “time thrown away, I have always told him. When
he inherits, which will be some years from now, for my paternal is as
tough as a knot, I suppose I shall have a small allowance from him. I
shall go into the Navy for a few years--maybe for life. I wish we could
go on the same ship.”
“So do I,” said Victor.
The two young men were old friends; they had attended the same schools
together, and together had received their naval training. Their regard
for each other had been so marked that their fellows had dubbed them
“Pylades and Orestes.” Neither had been called upon to suffer or die for
the other, but the tie that bound them was so strong that, had it been
put to the test, either would have proved himself worthy of his ancient
namesake.
Jack gave a long, deep sigh.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” asked Victor. “Are you thinking of Miss
Renville?”
“No, Victor, of you. What happy years we have passed together; and now
our ways part. You have forged ahead of me and are now a lieutenant,
while I--poor Jack--with inferior ability, have to be content with lower
rank! You deserve the good fortune, Vic, but your friends must have
great influence with the Admiralty.”
“I have no friends,” said Victor; “only one--you, Jack. The reason for
my appointment is as inexplicable to me as it is to you. Of course I had
a mother, but my father never spoke of her. I have not seen him for
twelve years--since I was ten years old, when he put me to school--the
one where I first met you. My expenses have been paid, but no word of
any kind has come from him.”
“He is a man of mystery,” said Jack, “but nearly all mysteries are
cleared up in time, and I have no doubt yours will be. By the way, what
is the name of Sir Hugh’s flagship?”
“Strange, is it not, Jack, she is called the _Orestes_; so you see I
shall have a constant reminder of our past friendship.”
“‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot,’” hummed Jack. Then he cried:
“Come, Victor, we must go back to first principles; say yes or no--will
you come to Buckholme with me?”
Victor hesitated. “Well--perhaps. Do you know, I have thought, Jack,
that Mr. Glynne may have spoken to the Admiralty about me. You know he
is in the iron and steel trade and is brought into business relations
with them. Yes, I will go. I will try to find out whether he had
anything to do with it. If he had, although he does remind me of a small
elephant every time I look at him, I will give him a credit mark for his
kindness.”
The conversation just narrated took place at Victor Duquesne’s
apartments in London. As he had told Jack, his bills had been paid
regularly and his allowance had not been a niggardly one. This enabled
him to have a sitting-room and a chamber, and he could have afforded a
valet had he been so disposed.
“You must not back out of your promise, Victor,” said Jack, as he
extended his hand; “shake! That settles it. You are booked for
Buckholme.”
“And you for Bertha,” said Victor, and they both laughed.
At that moment there was a light tap on the door.
“Come in,” cried the two young men together.
The door was opened for a short distance and the face of an untidy
maid-of-all-work, with unkempt hair, appeared.
“Come in,” again cried Victor.
“I don’t care to,” said the slavey. “I don’t look well enough, and Mrs.
Launders said if I dared go in she’d give it to me when I got back.”
“What do you want?” asked Victor, somewhat impatiently.
“I’ve got a letter for you,” said Sarah, the slavey, “and if you’ll
excuse me, I’ll throw it in and you can pick it up.”
Suiting the action to the word, the letter flew high in the air and then
fell to the floor. Sarah slammed the door, and her heavy boots were
heard clattering upon the stairs all the way down.
Victor sprang forward and picked up the letter. He looked first at the
postmark. “Ajaccio,” he cried. “It is from Corsica. I am not acquainted
with any person there.” He held the sealed letter in his hand and
regarded it.
“Never fool with a letter,” cried Jack. “Cut it open, tear it open, and
know the best or worst as soon as possible. To me, a man who is afraid
to open a letter is like a gambler who is uncertain whether to stake his
last shilling or not.”
“This is my letter, Jack, and I propose to regard the outside of it as
long as I choose before perusing its contents.”
Although the words had a sharpness in them, there was a look in Victor’s
eye as he spoke which robbed them of any intention to offend.
“All right, old boy,” said Jack. “Don’t let me hurry you. Why not leave
it on your table until you get back from Buckholme? My father is a man
of wisdom. He has a large correspondence, but he never gets ready to
answer his letters until they are about six months old. During that time
he says half of them have been answered by the course of events, and it
is too late to answer the others; so in that way he has not gained a
very wide reputation as a letter-writer.”
Victor broke the seal, unfolded the sheet, and spread it carefully on
the table before him. Reading it through quickly, he cried:
“Jack listen to this:
“MY DEAR VICTOR: Come to Corsica at once. When you reach Ajaccio, I
will communicate with you secretly by messenger. Hear all, but say
nothing. See Admiral Enright and sail with him on the _Osprey_.
“Your father,
“HECTOR DUQUESNE.”
Victor laid the letter upon the table, and as he brought his hand down
forcibly upon it, he cried: “Now, what does that mean, Jack?”
“It’s just as plain as the nose on your face, Victor. It was your father
who got the appointment for you. Tom Ratcliffe is going with Enright,
who is ordered to cruise in the Mediterranean. Corsica, unless my
geographical knowledge is twisted, is in the Mediterranean; so you see
your father has fixed things all right.”
Victor sprang to his feet “Then I must see Enright at once. Whether I go
to Buckholme or not depends upon when he sails.”
That evening Victor was at Jack’s rooms.
“I have got my transfer, Jack,” he cried as he entered the room.
“Lucky boy,” was Jack’s comment, “everything goes your way.”
“I don’t think it would have,” said Victor, “but upon one occasion when
Admiral Enright visited the Naval Academy, he was accompanied by his
daughter, Miss Helen. For some reason or other, probably on account of
my well-known affability, I was detailed to escort her and show her the
great attractions of the Academy. I could not find him to-day at the
Admiralty and was obliged to go to his house. I met Miss Helen, and I am
sure it was her influence that carried the day. We sail on Monday.
To-day is Thursday; so you see, my dear Jack, Buckholme becomes an
impossibility.”
“Then I must go alone,” said Jack. After another long sigh: “My fate
lies there--I love Bertha Renville, and I know, if an opportunity
offers, that I shall ask her to be my wife.”
“Do you leave early in the morning?” asked Victor.
“Yes, by the 7.30. I wish to get there early, for I shall ask her to go
boating with me. There is no place like a boat for propounding momentous
questions. Nobody to watch you, and only the little fishes to overhear
what you say.”
“Well, Jack,” said Victor, as their hands met at parting, “you have my
best wishes and my sincerest hopes for your happiness and success in
life.”
“The same to you, old boy,” cried Jack.
They spoke no more, but when they stood by the open door, as though
prompted by some instinct which they could not resist, they threw their
arms about each other and stood for a moment in a brotherly embrace.
Victor ran swiftly down the stairs and walked homeward so fast that his
fellow pedestrians looked after him, some with curiosity and others with
suspicion.
Jack threw himself into an arm-chair, lighted his pipe, and smoked
unremittingly for an hour.
The next morning he was not surprised to find that he had gone to bed
without extinguishing the gas.