WEARY WAITING
"Nothing yet," said Sir Denzil to Eager, on his twentieth anxious call
after further news of the boys. "I am surprised Denzil has not
written. But so many things may happen out there. His letter may have
gone astray. There may be difficulty in communicating with Sebastopol.
He may be wounded himself. He may be dead. We can do nothing but wait.
I will send you word the moment I have any news. Miss Gracie well?"
"Quite well, sir, but sorely troubled about the boys."
"Ay, ay! That is the woman's part--to sit at home and nurse her
fears."
"No news, Charlie?" asked the Little Lady hopelessly, from her chair
by the fire.
"No news yet, dear. Sir Denzil promises to send round the moment he
gets anything."
"I'm beginning to fear they're all lying dead in that horrible Crimea.
This waiting, waiting, waiting, is terrible."
"Yes, it's hard work, the hardest work in the world. But we can only
wait and hope, dear. Whatever is is best, and we cannot alter it."
It was a weary time for all of them, and all over Britain and France
and Russia the same black cloud lay heavily. The only ones who were
happy were those whose warriors had come home maimed, so long as the
maiming was not absolute and irretrievable. For such were at all
events safe from further harm.
So the slow dark days dragged on until at length one night, when Eager
had just got in from his rounds and the usual fruitless call at Carne,
there came the long-expected knock on the door, and Gracie ran to
answer it.
"Is it you, Kennet?"
"Me, miss. Sir Denzil would like to see Mr. Eager."
"He has got some news at last?"
"Ay, some papers just come in. But I don't know what it is. Bad, I
should say, from the looks of him--he was so mortal quiet."
"We will come at once. Let me go alone, Charlie. You're tired out."
"Not a bit of it, my dear. I feel like a hound on the scent at the
word 'news.' Don't you think you'd better wait here till I bring you
word?"
"I can't wait," she said breathlessly. And they went along together.
Sir Denzil met them with ominous impassivity.
"I trust Kennet did not raise your hopes," he said, with the corners
of his mouth drawn down somewhat more even than usual, and a glance
that never wavered for a moment. "This arrived just after you left,
Mr. Eager. It explains, of course, to some extent----"
It was a letter from General Canrobert, informing Sir Denzil, with
many complimentary phrases as palliatives to the blow, that Colonel
Carron had met his death while gallantly repelling a sortie on the
night of the 12th January. He had left instructions, in case of need,
for word to be sent to Sir Denzil and it was in pursuance thereat etc.
etc.
"That, of course, explains why he has been unable to pursue his
inquiries after the boys," said Sir Denzil, in an absolutely unmoved
voice.
"I need not say our deepest sympathies are yours, sir----"
"It is the boys I am concerned for," said Sir Denzil, with an
impatient double wave of the hand, whose finger and thumb held his
pinch of snuff. "Denzil put himself out of the running twenty
years ago. This is only an incident. But"--and he snuffed very
deliberately--"it may not be without its consequences in the other
matter. There is no one out there now who has any special interest in
them, you see. And, under present circumstances, they may quite easily
be overlooked and lost track of. Personally, I should not be in the
least surprised to learn that they are both dead. This war seems to me
to be carried on in quite unusually wasteful fashion."
Gracie never said a word. The callousness of the old heathen chilled
her heart, though it was boiling with many emotions. If she opened her
mouth she feared it' would all come out in a torrent that would
astonish him for the rest of his life.
"We can only go on hoping for the best," said Eager quietly. "Sir
George is making inquiries for us----"
"He is quite outside things," said Sir Denzil brusquely, and gazed at
Eager with thoughtful intensity for a moment, as though on the point
of offering some other suggestion. "However," he said abruptly, at
last, "at the moment, as you say, we can only wait, and see what comes
of it all. If I hear anything I will send you word at once." And they
left him and went soberly home, feeling death still a little nearer
their dear ones in this new loss.
"What a terrible old man he is!" said Gracie. "I think he must have
been born without a heart."
"It is mostly assumed, I think. Inside, I have no doubt he is feeling
his loss bitterly, but he prides himself on not letting it be seen. It
is the old fashion. Thank God, we have come to recognise the fact that
a man may be a strong man and yet have a heart! It makes for a better
world."
And as the slow weeks dragged on, and still brought them no news of
the missing ones, their hearts were heavy with fears.