HOW THE MAJOR LOST HIS YOUTH AGAIN
It was a night of midsummer glory; an orbed moon rode high in queenly
splendour filling the world with a radiance that lent to all things a
beauty new and strange. Not a breath stirred, trees, tall and
motionless, seemed asleep, so still were they.
Thus the Major, on his way to bed, paused to lean from the open
casement of his study and to gaze, happy-eyed, upon the radiant heaven
and to dream of the future as many a man has done before and since.
All at once he started and stared to behold Sergeant Zebedee abroad at
this witching hour. But the Sergeant was there for other things than
dreaming, it seemed, for upon his shoulder he bore a blunderbuss, a
broadsword swung at his thigh, and from one of his big side-pockets
appeared the heavy, brass-mounted butt of a long-barrelled pistol.
Wondering, the Major stepped out through the casement and followed.
Sergeant Zebedee marched with elaborate caution and was keeping so
sharp a lookout before that he quite overlooked the Major behind him;
but all at once a stick snapped, round wheeled the Sergeant,
blunderbuss at "the ready" but, seeing the Major, he immediately
lowered his weapon and stood easy.
"'S'noggers, sir," said he, "I thought you was it!"
"It, Zebedee?"
"Aye, your honour, it, him, or her. If it ain't a him 'tis a her and
if it ain't a her it's an it--or shall us say a apparation, sir. Same
being said to walk i' the orchard o' nights lately----"
"An apparition--in the orchard, Zeb? Have you seen it?"
"Why no, sir, not exactly, but what I did see was--hist!"
The Sergeant halted suddenly, crouching in the shadow of a hedge; they
were close on the orchard now and, upon the stilly air was a soft
rustle, a faint scraping sound and, parting the leafy screen, the Major
saw a dark figure silhouetted above the wall, a nebulous shape that
seemed to hang suspended a moment ere it vanished over the wall into my
lady's garden.
"That weren't no apparation, sir!" whispered the Sergeant, looking to
pan and priming, and, hurrying forward, pointed to a footprint in the
soft, newly-turned soil. "Never heard as spectres wore shoes, sir."
The Major, staring at that slender footprint, felt suddenly cold and
sick, and wondered; then, as the Sergeant prepared to climb the wall,
checked him:
"Wait--wait you here!" he muttered. "Make way!" Reaching up, the
Major swung himself astride the coping and silently mounted the wall.
Before him was a flagged walk which, as he remembered, led to the
arbour; this walk he avoided and, stepping in among the bushes, began
to advance cautiously, eyes and ears on the strain, for the shadows lay
dense hereabouts. Thus he was close upon the arbour when he stopped
suddenly, arrested by the sound of a man's voice, low and muffled.
"... 'tis you now, Bet, and only you----"
"... Ah God, how may I? And yet ... my own dear, have I ever refused
thee ... I've yearned for thee so..." Here the sound of passionate
kisses.
It was her voice indeed, but so tender, so full of thrilling
gentleness! The Major shivered and a sudden faintness and nausea
seizing him, leaned weakly against a tree, and ever, as he leaned thus,
their voices reached him--his low and eager, hers a-thrill with
tenderness.
The Major turned and, groping like one blind, crept back until he came
to the wall and crouching there, his head between his arms, seemed to
shake and writhe as with some horrible convulsion.
"That you, sir?" a voice whispered hoarsely. Silently the Major drew
himself up and dropped back into his own grounds.
"What was it, sir?"
"Nought, Zeb."
"D'ye mean 'twere a ghost, arter all?"
"Aye!"
"Didn't notice if 'twere a her or a him, sir?"
"No!"
"Why then, did you chance to ob-serve----" but seeing the Major's face,
Sergeant Zebedee broke off with a gasp and, dropping his blunderbuss,
reached out quick hands: "Good God! Your honour! What's amiss?"
"Let be, Zeb, let be," said the Major wearily, putting by these kindly
hands, "'tis nought to worry over--nought to matter, nought i' the
world, Zeb. Leave me awhile. Go to bed!"
"Bed, your honour? And leave you alone? Sir, I beg----"
"Sergeant Tring--get you indoors!"
The Sergeant stiffened, saluted, and, wheeling about, marched away
forthwith, but, once in the shadows, turned to glance anxiously at the
lonely figure so pale and still and rigid under the moon.
Being alone, the Major seemed to shrink within himself, and, limping
slowly into the gloom of the hutch-like sentry-box, cast himself face
down across the table and lay there; and from that place of shadows
came sounds soft but awful. At last he lifted heavy head, and, staring
before him, perforce beheld that part of the wall where he had first
seen her; and again he writhed and shivered. But, all at once, as the
spasm passed, he leaned forward tense and fierce, for in that precise
spot a man was climbing the wall. The Major rose and stood with breath
in check, watching as the unknown clambered into view, a slender figure
that paused for a lingering, backward glance, then leapt down into the
orchard; but, doing so, the unknown tripped, lost his hat and cursed
softly, and in that moment the Major gripped him in iron hands and
stared into the pale, fierce face of Mr. Dalroyd; the long curls of his
peruke had fallen back leaving his features fully exposed in the strong
moonlight, and now, as the Sergeant had done before him, the Major
blenched and drew back, his fingers loosing their hold.
"Effingham!" he gasped, "Effingham--by God!"
Mr. Dalroyd smiled and fingered his curls:
"'Tis Major d'Arcy, I think!" said he gently. "And Major d'Arcy is
either drunk or mad, my name, as he very well knows, is Dalroyd much
and ever at his service. Though, permit me to say 'tis scarce
a--laudable or honourable thing to--spy upon the tender hours of his
fair neighbours! 'Tis true I trespass, but love, sir, love----!" Mr.
Dalroyd smiled, sighed and picked up his hat. "If you wish to quarrel,
sir, you lose your labour for I quarrel with no man--to-night!"
"Sir," said the Major, his voice calm and unshaken, "whoever you are
and whatever your name, I advise you to go--now, this instant!"
Mr. Dalroyd surveyed the Major with languid interest, the pallid
serenity of his face, the smouldering eyes, the haggard lips, the moist
brow, the nervous, clutching fingers, and smiling, went his way leaving
the Major to his agony.
For now indeed it seemed that all the fiends of hell had risen up to
mock and gibe and torture the quivering soul of him; beneath their
obscene hands his reverent love lay shamed and writhing in the dust.
"Betty!" he whispered, "O my love!" Yet even as he spoke he knew that
the woman he had worshipped was not and never had been; he had clothed
her warm youth and beauty with divinity, had adored and made of her an
ideal and now his dream was done, his ideal shattered and by one who
wore the cold, satyr-like face of Effingham--Effingham who had died
upon his sword-point years ago in Flanders; almost unconsciously his
quivering fingers sought and touched the scar upon his temple. And
now, remembering her voice as he had heard it, thrilling with ineffable
love and tenderness, he alternatively shivered in sick horror and
burned with shame, a shame that crushed him to his knees, to his face.
That it should be Effingham of all men, or one so hatefully like! So
the Major, grovelling there beneath the moon, knew an agony in his
stricken soul, deeper, fiercer than flesh may ever know; and thus,
towards the dawn-hour, Sergeant Zebedee found him.
"Sir--sir," said he, kneeling beside that prostrate form, "God's love,
sir--what's amiss?"
The Major raised himself and stared round about with dazed eyes.
"Ah Zeb," said he, slowly, "I do think I must ha' slept of late and
dreamed, Zeb, a fair sweet dream that later changed to nightmare--but
'twill pass. I've lived awhile i' the paradise of fools!"
"Nay sir, here's spells and witchcraft! 'Tis an ill place and an ill
hour--come your ways wi' me, sir."
"Aye, 'tis witchcraft--spells and enchantments, as 'twere, Zeb, but
'twill pass. Lend me your arm." So saying the Major rose and began to
limp towards the house. But, as they went thus, side by side, he
paused to glance up at the waning moon. "'Tis a fair night, Zeb, I've
never seen a fairer. What o'clock is it?"
"Nigh on to three, your honour."
"So late! How time doth flee a man once youth be gone. We've kept
many a night-watch together ere now, Zeb, but the hours never sped so
fast in those days, we were younger then, Zebedee, so much younger,
d'ye see."
Being come into his study the Major stood beside his desk staring down
at his orderly papers and documents, vacant-eyed.
"You'll come to bed now, sir?" enquired the Sergeant anxiously.
"Nay Zeb, 'tis so late I'll e'en sit and watch the dawn come."
"Why then sir, you'll take something to eat and drink? Do now!"
The Major shook his head:
"I want nought, Zeb, save to be--alone."
Sergeant Zebedee sighed heavily, shook doleful head and going out, shut
the door softly behind him.
"That it should be Effingham of all men, or one so hatefully like!"
The Major clenched his hands and began to pace restlessly back and
forth. And now came Memory to haunt him--her sweet, soft voice, the
droop of her black lashes, the way she had of pouting red lips
sometimes when thoughtful, her eyes, her hands, her quick, light feet,
and all the infinite allurement of her. And now----!
"That it should be--Effingham!"
Here again he was seized of faintness and nausea, fierce tremors shook
him and sinking into his elbow-chair he sat crouched above the desk,
his face bowed between clutching hands. Sitting thus, the great house
so still and silent all about him, he must needs remember how she had
called it a "desolate" house. And, in truth, so it was and must be for
him now until the end. The end?
Once more he rose and took to his restless pacing. What end was there
for him now but a succession of dreary days, while old age crept upon
him bringing with it loneliness and solitude--a great, empty house and
himself a solitary, loveless old man. And he had dreamed of others
perchance to bear his name! God, what a life it might have been! And
now, this was the end; he had walked in a "fool's paradise" indeed.
Pausing in his tramping he lifted haggard eyes to the pistols on the
wall; with fumbling hands he opened a certain drawer in his desk, and,
taking thence a brown wisp that once had been a fragrant rose, looked
down at it awhile with eyes very tender, then let it fall and set his
foot upon it, and leaning back in his chair stared down at all that
remained. Long he sat thus, chin on breast, his drawn face half buried
in the gay curls of his glossy peruke, but now his gaze had wandered
back to the pistols on the wall. The candles, guttering in their
sockets, burned low and lower, flickered and went out, but he sat on,
motionless and very still; at last he sighed, stirred, rose from his
chair, reached groping hand up to the wall and stood suddenly rigid.
"Major John, dear, some of your tenants are miserably poor, Major John!"
It was as if she had uttered these words again, the small room seemed
to echo her soft voice, the darkness seemed full of her fragrant
presence. The Major sank back in the chair and covered his face with
twitching fingers; but, little by little, upon the gloom about him
stole a faint glow, a tender radiance, an ever-brightening glory and
lo, it was day. And presently, beholding this gladsome light, he
lifted drooping head and glanced about him.
"Betty!" he whispered, "O sweet woman of my dream, though the dream
vanish memory abideth and in my memory I will hold thee pure and sweet
and fragrant everlastingly!"
Then he arose and heeding no more the pistols on the wall, went forth
calm-eyed into the golden, joyous freshness of the dawn.