THE RELEASE OF ONE
RAPID travelling, ninety years ago, was a comparative term. Ivor
performed the journey as fast as relays of horses could convey a
post-chaise to the coast, and as quickly as contrary winds would allow
him to cross the Channel. Now that he was actually on the road to
Polly, each hour's delay became all but insupportable.
Six long years since he had said good-bye to Polly, for one fortnight!
Would she be altered, as much as he felt that he himself was altered?
It was a cold day, late in spring, when he found himself at the front
door of the Bryces' comfortable mansion. The old butler opened to
Denham, as once before to Roy. This time Drake was not taken in. One
glance, and his face changed.
"Sir!"
"You know me? I hardly thought you would." Ivor grasped kindly the old
retainer's hand. "I am taking you all by surprise."
"It is a surprise, indeed, sir! And I'm heartily glad for to see you
again. Not but what you ain't lookin' as you should, sir, not by no
means. Them furrin' parts haven't suited you, I'm thinkin'."
"Captivity has not suited me. And I have travelled hard and taken
little rest. Who is at home?"
"My mistress, sir, is in the drawing-room; and Miss Keene and Miss
Baron. I was about to take lights."
"Wait till I have gone in. And, Drake, you can announce me, but don't
say my name so that it can be heard."
Drake obeyed to the letter. He threw open the drawing-room door, and
mumbled something inaudible. Denham entered, bowing ceremoniously.
"You can bring lights, Drake," said Mrs. Bryce. The room was dark, and
the fire had fallen low.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm excessive glad to see you, sir," Mrs. Bryce declared cordially,
after a hurried whisper to Polly, "Who did he say, my dear?" Then she
turned to Ivor with her welcome. "Mr. Bryce is away, I'm sorry to say,
but doubtless you can await his return, and Mr. Baron will be in this
minute."
Polly was casting shy glances at him. Something in the outline of his
figure, dim though the light was, brought Denham to her mind; but it
was not until he spoke that her colour changed fast from pink to white
and from white to pink.
"I shouldn't be surprised to be informed, sir, that you are but just
home from the war?" said Mrs. Bryce.
"I have not been fighting, I regret to say. My turn for that will no
doubt come. I have been long a prisoner."
"And you have obtained your release?"
"The Emperor has consented to my return home."
Mrs. Bryce held up both hands.
"That is excessive gracious of him, truly. You are more fortunate than
many. Roy Baron was not so well off, and he had to make his escape.
But he has been since in the campaign in Portugal and Spain, under our
great Commander, Sir John Moore. A truly melancholy story that, sir;
yet he died as a soldier would choose to die, covered with glory. And
Roy—Mr. Baron, I should say—is now back with us for a little space; and
we, his friends, fondly think he has done well. But will you allow me
to offer you cake and wine? You have a very weary look." She peered at
him, from near at hand. "What can Drake be about not to bring in the
lights?" Her hand was on the bell.
Denham was gazing earnestly towards Polly, so earnestly that she could
not but return the gaze. A thrill ran through her, for there was no
mistaking that voice. Molly took upon herself to put a pointed question.
"Have you come from Verdun, sir, if I might ask?"
"Pray take a seat, sir," Mrs. Bryce was entreating. She might as well
have spoken to stone walls.
"I am straight from Verdun," Ivor replied.
"Then, sir, doubtless you will bring messages for us all from the
unfortunate prisoners there detained," said Mrs. Bryce, not grasping
his identity with one of those prisoners.
Drake at this moment carried in the lights; and Roy, entering too,
cried out in astonishment—
"Den! Why, 'tis Den himself! Den, dear fellow!—" nearly wringing Ivor's
hands off with the energy of his welcome.
Preoccupied though Ivor could not help being with Polly, his gaze
rested with satisfaction upon "his friend Roy." The boy who had left
Verdun for the dungeons of Bitche was a man now: broad-shouldered,
well-built, soldier-like, frank as ever in manner, yet with something
in the young face which told not only of endurance past, but of the
sharp touch of sorrow.
"I am glad—more glad than words can say! Little I dreamt who I should
find here. And you are free! But how is it? You don't say old Boney
has let you off? Of his own free will? How did it happen? Lucille! No!
Bravo, Lucille!"
Nobody else had a chance of being heard. Mrs. Bryce exclaimed and
talked in vain. Polly and Molly waited, not sorry to see Roy like
himself again, which he had scarcely been hitherto since his return.
Roy's eager questions had to be answered first.
Then came a change of manner, and a lowered voice. "I shall have no end
of things to tell you, Den—yes, I know—" at a slight gesture—"another
time." Roy did his best to resume a bright manner. "You've seen
accounts, of course. That charge of the Reserve through the valley
wasn't bad—yes, when I got my wound. It's pretty nearly right now. The
column tried to turn our flank, you know, and we did just knock 'em
into a cocked hat, and no mistake. The column simply ceased to exist."
So much Roy poured out impulsively. Then he stopped. A consciousness
had broken upon him of something unsatisfactory. Denham's face was to
him as an open book, and he saw written there several things. One thing
that he saw made him turn sharply to Polly, as she stood a little way
off, prettily composed. Was this the meeting of the two, after six
years of enforced separation?
Roy recalled his talk with Polly on his return from Bitche, and in a
flash he read the true state of affairs. He looked hard at each in turn.
"Polly, didn't I tell you? He has come back!"
It was necessary for Polly to answer. "Captain Ivor is indeed most
fortunate to have obtained his release," she said, adjusting her scarf.
"Fortunate to have obtained his release!" repeated Roy, with slow
emphasis.
Then he showed a decision and promptitude worthy of his profession. A
gesture ordered Molly to make herself scarce. Seizing Mrs. Bryce by
the arm, he dragged away that astonished lady, reserving explanations
till they were out of the room. After which he poured forth profuse
apologies, but would allow no re-entrance.
And Denham found himself alone with Polly. He stood looking down upon
her, with a grave tenderness and questioning. Polly began to tremble.
"We had no expectation of seeing you," she remarked, in a tone of great
decorum.
She cast one little glance up.
"Have you travelled hard? You are much fatigued."
"Polly, is all between us as it once was?"
Polly dropped her eyes.
"It is long since we parted," she said; "and very long since any letter
has reached me, sir. I cannot tell—how matters may be now. But six
years work changes. And I—"
"There are a few matters to be explained," Denham remarked quietly.
"But first, may I beg you to read this note from Jack? He exacted
from me a promise that I would not fail to give it to you within one
half-hour of my arrival. Jack is at Verdun, with Colonel and Mrs.
Baron, as you may have heard."
"I did not know that. We heard only that Jack was prisoner. It has been
a sad grief to me."
"Will you have his letter now?" asked Denham, in his most courteous
tones.
"If you choose, sir."
She moved two or three paces nearer to a candle, to read it. Jack's
left-handed hieroglyphics were not to be deciphered quickly. This was
what she made out—
"DEAR POLLY,—Denham is going home to you; and he has heard a false
tale of your having forgot him. That is why he has not writ to you for
so long a time. But I have assured him of your Unchanged Affection,
and now I assure you of the same in him. Roy was in the right of the
matter. Den has not altered, nor will he alter. But he has gone through
much, and has been long ill, and the Death of Our Hero has gone near to
break his heart. So do not put on pretty airs, dear Poll, but comfort
him, as you know how, for he needs your comfort; and the sooner you and
he get married, the better pleased shall I be, for he is in want of
you. Be good to him, my dear Polly, and believe me,—Your affectionate
brother, JACK KEENE."
Polly came across to where Denham stood.
"Jack tells me of the mistake," she whispered. "And now I understand.
He tells me, too, that I am to comfort you."
She held out her hands, and he took them into his strong grasp.
"Sweet Polly," he said, in a voice which shook a little, despite his
best efforts—"you wrote to me once a letter, which was signed, 'Yours
faithfully—and till death.' That letter I have never parted with since
the day it reached me. Not even when I feared that I had indeed cause
for doubt. Can you say those words to me once again?"
Polly lifted her head, and looked straight into his eyes. "I am yours,
Denham,—always and ever—as long as life shall last," she uttered, very
clearly.
* * * * * * *
Twelve months later, Denham stood in the passage of the little London
house, which for more than eleven months had been his home and Polly's.
He had wasted no time in making her his wife. He had but a year, he
urged, and surely the waiting had lasted long enough.
So Mrs. Bryce was obliged to forgo her hopes of a grand and fashionable
wedding, to which all the Quality should be invited, for the display
of resplendent costumes. Denham was neither in health nor in spirits
for such a function; and Polly's one wish was to do what would give him
pleasure.
They had been married quietly, less than three weeks after his return;
and Polly had done her best to comfort him and to win him back once
more to strength.
All that year he had not left her. But now he was free, and duty
called him to the Peninsula, where the long struggle was being carried
on between Wellesley and the army of Napoleon. The Spaniards with
Wellesley, as with Moore, did little at any time, beyond throwing
hindrances in the way of the British. Roy and Bob had gone out many
months before.
It was hard work for Denham to say good-bye—not only to Polly, with her
sweet brave face, but to the tiny boy, with Polly's own eyes of brown
velvet, who had come but a very little while before to gladden their
home. Denham bent to kiss the tiny sleeper, then turned again to Polly.
"It will not be for long," she whispered. "I may think that, may I not?
Peace must surely come some day."
"Not yet, dear heart," he answered; and she knew well that, acutely
though he felt leaving her, he yet longed to share the fight with those
who strove for England and for freedom, that fight from which he had
been so many years debarred.
"Molly will be always here. And she and I will think and talk of you
and Roy, every day and every hour. And oh, Denham, if women's prayers
may bring victory to men's arms, victory will surely be yours!"
"We shall conquer in the end, please God; and in that way you may truly
help us, sweet one," he replied.
Then he took her in his arms and held her very closely. And in another
minute he too was gone to the wars, as so many thousands had to go in
those stirring days.
It was well that neither he nor she could guess how long a separation
might again lie before them. For this was only 1810; and the day which
should see Wellington, at the head of his victorious Army, entering
France, lay four years ahead.
Four years also had Colonel and Mrs. Baron to possess themselves in
patience, before they could again set eyes on their boy—before they
might once more clasp in their arms the little Molly whom, in 1803,
they had quitted for one fortnight's absence.
Jack remained still at Verdun, and before him too stretched four years
of unbroken captivity. But Jack, though often disposed to chafe, yet
found something wherewith to pass his time. This became gradually clear
to Polly and Molly, through letters received at long intervals. At
length came one, in which Jack gave particulars as to Colonel and Mrs.
Baron, and as to the greatly improved condition of prisoners at Verdun
under the new French Commandant. After which he said—
"If ever this gets to England, it is to inform you that I am proposing
shortly to become a married man. Lucille has promised to be my wife."
Molly sat smiling over the notion for a long while. "Jack was sure to
marry," she remarked in a philosophic tone. "He is of the sort not to
be content without. And you and Denham are exceeding happy, married,
dear Polly. But as for me, I have no desire that way. Never shall I
care for any man in the whole world as I care for Roy." Then, in words
once spoken before, and perhaps often repeated in her own mind since,
she added—"And so that matter is for ever settled."
No doubt at the moment Molly honestly meant, or thought she meant, what
she said. But the declaration had no sooner passed her lips than she
hesitated, and a slight colour rose in her cheeks.
It was merely that she happened just then to think of Bob Monke!
Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press