DEVONSHIRE
Before leaving for England, I had learned that Captain Springfield was
at a base hospital, and that although he was in a bad way, and not fit
to return home, there were good hopes of his recovery. Of St. Mabyn I
had heard nothing, but I imagined that very possibly Lorna Bolivick
would have news of him. As I have said before, Lorna's letter, written
on receipt of Paul Edgecumbe's photograph, had dispelled whatever ideas
I had entertained about his being identical with Maurice St. Mabyn. Of
course it was unthinkable, after what she had said. She had been so
pronounced in her statement that Edgecumbe's face was altogether
strange to her, and that she had never seen one like it before, that I
was obliged to abandon all my former suspicions; and yet, at the back
of my mind, I could not help believing that Edgecumbe and Springfield
were not strangers.
Of another thing, too, I was certain. He had been an officer in the
Army. On the night before we started for Devonshire I had a talk with
the C.O. of the Officers' Training Corps to which Edgecumbe was
attached. He had been under his command only a few days, but the
attention of the C.O. had already been drawn to him. This man happened
to be an old acquaintance of mine, and he talked with me freely.
'You say you know Edgecumbe?' he asked.
'Yes,' I replied; 'he is a friend of mine.'
'I had a long report of him from France, where he seems to have done
some fine things,' said the colonel. 'Of course you know he is to be
decorated?'
'I had a hint of it before I left France,' I replied.
'Would it be an indiscretion to ask you to tell me what you know of
him?'
'I don't know that it would,' was my answer. 'Only I should like you
to understand that what I am going to tell you is in confidence. You
see, the situation is rather peculiar, and I do not think he wants his
mental condition known.'
'Why? Is there anything wrong about him?'
'Oh, no, nothing.' And then I repeated the story of our meeting in
Plymouth.
'And his memory's not come back?' said Colonel Heywood.
'No.'
'I can tell you this about him, though. He is an old artillery
officer.'
'How do you know?' I asked.
'The thing is as plain as daylight,' was the reply. 'The man may have
no memory for certain things, and the story of his past may be a blank
to him, but he knows his job already.'
'You mean----?'
'I mean this,' interrupted the colonel, 'no man could have the
knowledge he has of an artillery officer's work, without a long and
severe training. If he had forgotten it has come to him like magic.
You know what our work is, and you know, too, that gunners are not made
in a day. But he had it all at his fingers' ends. The major drew my
attention to it almost immediately he joined us, so I determined to
test him myself. He is fit to be sent out right away; he could take
charge of a battery, without an hour's more training. There is not the
slightest doubt about it. I shall take steps to try and find out
particulars about our Indian Army, and whether any officers have been
missing. The fellow interests me tremendously. Why, he has almost a
genius for gunnery! He is full of ideas, too,' and the colonel
laughed. 'He, a cadet, could teach many of us older men our business.
Some day I'm inclined to think there'll be a romantic revelation!'
It was through Colonel Heywood's good offices that I was allowed to
take Edgecumbe to Devonshire with me, as of course he, only having just
joined the corps, was not entitled to leave so soon. As it was, he was
allowed only a long week-end. I thought of these things on our way to
Devonshire, and I wondered what the future would bring forth. Anyhow,
it was a further blow, if further blow were needed to my suspicions.
Neither Captain Springfield nor Maurice St. Mabyn was an artillery
officer, and if Colonel Heywood was right, even although they had known
each other, they had belonged to different services.
'I feel awfully nervous,' said Edgecumbe to me, after the train had
left Exeter.
'Why?'
'I am acting against my judgment in accepting this invitation; why
should I go to this house? I never saw this girl before, and from what
you tell me, you have met her only once.'
'For that matter,' I said, 'I feel rather sensitive myself. The fact
that we have only met once makes it a bit awkward for me to be going to
her father's house.'
'Did you fall in love with her, or anything of that sort?' he asked.
'No-o,' I replied. 'I was tremendously impressed by her, and, for such
a short acquaintance, we became great friends. The fact that we have
kept up a correspondence ever since proves it. But there is no
suggestion of anything like love between us. I admire her
tremendously, but I am not a marrying man.'
'I wonder how she'll regard _me_?' And Edgecumbe looked towards the
mirror on the opposite side of the railway carriage. 'I am a
curious-looking animal, aren't I? Look at my parched skin.'
'It is not nearly as bad as it used to be,' I replied; 'it has become
almost normal. You are not so pale as you were, either.'
'Don't you think so? Heavens, Luscombe, but I must have had a strange
experience to make me look as I did when you saw me first!' Then his
mood changed. 'Isn't this wonderful country? I am sure I have seen it
all before.' And he looked out of the carriage window towards the
undulating landscape which spread itself out before us.
'It is a glorious country,' he went on, like one thinking aloud.
'France is like a parched desert after this. Think of the peacefulness
of it, too! See that little village nestling on the hillside! see the
old grey church tower almost hidden by the trees! That is what a
country village ought to be. Yes, I'll go to Bolivick, after all. If
I am uncomfortable, I can easily make an excuse for leaving. But I
want to see her; yes, I do really. You've made me interested in her.
I feel, too, as if something were going to happen. I am excited!'
'Well, you won't be long now,' I replied, for just then the train drew
up at South Petherwin station.
An old servant in livery approached me as we alighted. 'Captain
Luscombe, sir?' he queried in a way which suggested the old family
retainer.
'Yes,' I replied.
A few minutes later we were seated in an open carriage, while a pair of
spanking horses drew us along some typical Devonshire lanes.
'This is better than any motor-car, after all!' cried Edgecumbe, as he
looked across the richly wooded valleys towards the wild moorland
beyond. 'After all, horses belong to a countryside like this;
motor-cars don't. If ever I----' but he did not complete his sentence.
He was looking towards an old stone mansion nestling among the trees.
'That's it, that's surely it,' he cried.
'Is that Bolivick?' I asked the coachman.
'Yes, sir.'
'You might have been here before, Edgecumbe,' I said.
'No, no, I don't think I have--and yet--I don't know. It is familiar
to me in a way, and yet it isn't. But it _is_ glorious. See, the
sun's rim is almost touching the hill tops,--what colour! what infinite
beauty! Must not God be beautiful!'
The carriage dashed through a pair of great grey granite pillars, and a
minute later we were in park lands, where the trees still threw their
shade over the cattle which were lying beneath them.
'An English home,' I heard him say, 'just a typical English home. Oh,
the thought of it is lovely!'
The carriage drew up at the door of the old mansion, and getting out, I
saw Lorna Bolivick standing there.
'I am glad you've come,' and she gave a happy laugh. 'I should never
have forgiven you if you hadn't,' and she shook my hand just as
naturally as if she had known me all her life. Then she turned towards
Edgecumbe. 'And this is your friend,' she said; 'you don't know how
pleased I am to see you.'
But Edgecumbe did not speak. His eyes were riveted on her face, and
they burned like coals of fire. I saw, too, by the tremor of his lips,
how deeply moved he was.