A MAN AMONG TEN THOUSAND
HALF-AN-HOUR later, Denham Ivor, with Roy by his side, walked down the
street, his grave face alight with a new joy. Roy, ever his devoted
admirer, glanced upward once and again with boyish wonder. He had never
seen that look before. He decided that the journey into France was as
delightful in prospect to Denham as to himself.
"And Molly needn't mind," he said, carrying on his own line of thought,
confident that it fitted in with Denham's. "'We shan't be gone only a
fortnight. I don't see why she should care."
"Well, no. A fortnight is a mere nothing, Roy."
Half-way down the next street Ivor stood still abruptly. The front door
of a house opened, and a man came quickly out, close to him and Roy.
Denham's hand was lifted in an instant salute, and Roy followed his
example with amusing promptitude.
A remarkable man! Nobody casting one glance in his direction could fail
to cast a second. Equal to Ivor in height, gracefully built, every
inch a soldier, with a figure and face alike faultless in outlines,
he could not but draw attention. So young still in look and air that
none would have guessed him to be already over forty in age, already
a Lieutenant-General in rank, there was about him an extraordinary
and commanding force; and while the large brilliant hazel eyes,
under their dark arched brows, were brimming with laughter at Roy's
comical imitation of Denham, their slightest glance was of a kind to
search men's hearts, to enforce instant obedience. His was, indeed, a
singularly noble bearing.
Ivor was no longer utterly absorbed in thoughts of Polly. Another
supreme passion of his being had come to the front. Roy, keeping as
always one eye upon Denham, while taking note of all else around, saw
with fresh wonder the look in his face—a look of reverent devotion and
love. Never before had the boy seen these two together.
"Ivor! I expected to come across you somewhere. All your people well?
So Colonel Baron is off to France."
"Yes, sir. I am going with him."
"Ha!" thoughtfully. "Well, have your little jaunt, by all means. It may
be your last chance for a good while. Mischief lies ahead."
"That seems to be the general opinion, sir."
"No doubt about it. War will be declared, to a dead certainty, before
many weeks are over. But matters are not yet quite ripe. You will have
time for a glance at Versailles. After that, the deluge! I hope I may
have you to serve under me, wherever I am ordered, when the rupture
takes place."
"And I, sir, could desire nothing in life more!"
Those brilliant eyes met his. "What!—nothing! No fair lady in the
question, to carry off your more ardent longings!"
Ivor's bronzed cheek took a slightly deeper dye, though he answered
decisively—"You know me well enough, sir, to believe that no claim in
all the world could come before that."
The radiant smile would have been answer enough, without words.
"I do know you well enough. None the less, if I be not greatly
mistaken, you will have somewhat to tell me by and by."
"Yes, sir. Miss Keene and I are engaged."
"Already! You have been expeditious. But I suspected as much, and you
have my most hearty congratulations. And still you go to Paris! For how
long?"
"At the most a fortnight, sir. It may be less."
"That is well. No saying how soon troubles may break out. Good-bye, for
the moment. I shall see you in a few weeks; and what may have happened
before then, in these tempestuous days, he would be a rash man that
should foretell with confidence."
With a markedly kind and cordial farewell the speaker passed on, Roy
saying eagerly, so soon as he was beyond ear-shot—
"Den, was that General Moore? I'm sure it is General Moore. I saw him
once, you know—ever so long ago."
Rash indeed would any man have been to foretell the events which,
beginning in the near future, were to shape the pathways of those
three! Little dreamt Roy, in his boyish half-puzzled interest, that
long years were to pass before ever again his eyes should rest upon
that soldierly face and form. Little dreamt Ivor, glad in the thought
of Moore's confidence, Moore's wish, that never, never again in
this life, would he stand in the presence of the man who was to him
more than the whole world beside—in a sense more than even Polly,
passionately as he loved Polly.
His feeling for John Moore partook, indeed, rather of the nature of
idolatry. The love of man for man is so distinct from the love of man
for woman, that the one cannot be compared with the other, the one
cannot interfere with the other. From very boyhood Denham had revered
and worshipped Moore, with that reverent worship which can only be
called out by the superlatively good and great and lovable. It had
grown to be part of Denham's nature, part of his being. Polly was the
one woman on earth for him. But Moore was the one man whom he longed
to follow, to whom he looked up as to a superior being, with whom he
craved to be, for whom he would joyously have died. No other affection
could detract from this devotion.
Roy's remark was unnoticed, perhaps unheard. Ivor stood, gazing
steadfastly, until his chief was out of sight. Those who knew and
adored Moore—and they were many in number—could scarcely take their
eyes and attention from him when he was within sight.
It is to be feared that Polly found small leisure thereafter for
meditating on the childish woes of Molly, so full was her head of the
brave young Grenadier Captain who had vowed to devote his life to her.
One fortnight of separation, and then she would have him again, and
hers would be the ineffable delight of showing off her brave lover
among Bath friends. How they would one and all envy Polly!
A touch of feminine vanity crept in here, though Polly's whole heart
was given to Denham. But in his deeper love for her, there was no
thought of what others might say. He would doubtless be proud of the
fair young creature whom he had won; yet in his love no room remained
for any such puerile element.
He stood much alone in the world as regarded kinship, having been left
an orphan at an early age, under the guardianship of Colonel Baron,
his father's cousin, and having no brothers, sisters, or other near
relatives. The Barons' house had ever been a home to him; and while the
Colonel was almost as his father, Mrs. Baron filled rather the position
of an elder sister. To Roy and Molly, Denham was the most delightful of
big elder brothers.
He had seen a good deal of both Polly and Jack in their childhood,
but during later years he had been much on service abroad. His first
view of Polly Keene, his quondam pet and playmate, transformed into
a grown-up young lady, took place a few weeks before this date.
Denham had lost his heart to her in the first hour of their renewed
acquaintance; and Polly soon discovered that he was the one man in the
world who had her happiness in his keeping.
Three or four days later, when good-byes were said, no voice whispered
either to him or to Polly how long-drawn a separation lay ahead.