BEAT OF DRUM
The imbroglio with Russia had at this time scarcely earned the name of
war. Half-hearted hostilities there had been for months; but a halting
diplomacy had not altogether abandoned its ineffectual functions, and
even at the latter end of April a hope was breathed from the highest
quarter that peace might still be restored between the contending
countries. Little as yet was heard of the Crimea, much less of its
invasion by the allies. But the Brigade of Guards was actually on its
way from Malta to Scutari.
The uncertainty in the official mind was exemplified in the case of
Captain Devenish, who, though unfeignedly eager to join his fortunate
battalion on the Bosphorus, was provisionally attached to one of those
remaining at Wellington Barracks. It is true that he was ordered to hold
himself in readiness to embark at the shortest possible notice; but in
the constant society of disgusted officers, who consoled themselves with
the conviction that there would be no serious fighting after all, Ralph
soon absorbed their views, and began to look upon himself as a permanent
ornament to the streets of London and the lanes of Hertfordshire. It
was only in Hertfordshire itself that he affected a different feeling,
openly congratulating himself each week on his arrival, and seldom
departing without some half-hopeful and half-heartbroken hint that it
was very likely for the last time.
Not a week, in the beginning, without one of these visits; but erelong,
scarcely a day. The extravagant fellow would arrive in hansoms at all
hours, and go rattling back to barracks through the silent country in
the middle of the night. Often he would stay; his room was always ready
for him; but his goings and his comings were alike erratic, and that was
part of their charm. In the very beginning he was never without some
offering for Nan. She soon put a stop to that. The bustle and clatter
and high spirits which he still brought with him, these were enough for
the girl, who little dreamed of what nervous tension they were the
outward and reactionary sign. Yet such was the explanation of the
boisterous animation which so improved Devenish in her eyes, and it
dated from the time when his visits became more frequent and irregular.
One lovely morning in early May, after a whole long Sunday spent with
Nan, the visitor had been first abroad before breakfast, and by merest
chance had met the postman at the gate. Without an evil thought, Ralph
had taken the letters from him, only to behold one from Denis to Nan on
top of the pile. He stood where he was until the postman's steps rang
away into silence along the hard highway. It was Denis's writing,
without a doubt: the superscription on the fraudulent parcel was written
indelibly in Ralph's brain; this letter was directed in the same hand;
it bore the new Ballarat postmark; and until the sight of it Ralph had
almost forgotten there was such a place, or such a person as Denis Dent.
He had been equally absorbed in town and in the country. The cloud of
war had obscured the past; the sun of love had blinded him to its
consequences. Even the soul-destroying thought of the packet he had
posted--the packet with which Jewson had obviously tampered--the packet
on whose changed contents he himself was trading every day--even the
thought of that had quite ceased to bother Ralph. He was not a man of
much imagination. Dent and Jewson were at the opposite end of the world,
a hundred days' sail at a flattering average; what was the use of
bothering about Jewson or Dent? Yet on Jewson he had been relying more
than he knew until this moment. The dirty work had been left in Jewson's
hands; but until now, when he saw an important branch of it neglected,
Devenish had not chosen to realize what the dirty work would be. Here
was a letter from Denis to Nan. It should never have been allowed to
reach the post. Jewson was not to be trusted after all.
Standing there in the fresh May sunshine, his ears filled with the
morning song of birds, his nostrils with the thousand scents of the
countryside, Ralph Devenish, annoyed and nonplused as he well might be,
was still a comparatively honest man. A certain element of
self-deception lingered in his dishonour. At the worst he had been a
passive traitor to this point: nor was the next step downward taken in
cold blood. A window opened behind his back, and Nan's voice hailed him
from her room.
"Anything for me, Ralph?"
He wheeled about, but approached the house slowly, shuffling the pack on
his way.
"I'm afraid not; but there's one for me."
And he pocketed her letter under her eyes.
"A bothersome one?" she asked, looking down from her window upon his
bent head and rounded shoulders.
"I'm afraid so, Nan."
He had not looked up.
"But you didn't open it, did you?"
"No--that's why!" he cried grimly; and pleased with his own readiness he
could look up now and meet her eyes. "They sha'n't badger me down here,"
said Ralph. "It can keep until I get back to town."
But it kept as insecurely as skeleton in open cupboard; not a moment was
the letter off his mind. He lodged it in his innermost pocket, yet could
not restrain his fingers from feeling if it were there; he buttoned up
his coat, only to feel outside. A bank-note for a thousand pounds would
have burdened him less; for his embarrassment went beyond the moment;
the worst part of it was undoubtedly to come. But he must know the
worst, and to get at it he must glance at the letter first or last. That
was an absolute necessity of the situation, and the exigency itself was
to Ralph Devenish the worst of all. Was it not written that his honour
was dying hard? It was not quite dead yet.
He must get back to town first thing, so he told them at the
breakfast-table; but Nan, seeing his trouble, inveigled him into the
garden for a last turn (it might always be the last indeed), and in the
narrow avenue, now nearly covered in for the summer, abruptly asked him
if he had opened his letter.
"Not yet," he answered hoarsely. "It can keep till I get back."
"But it is bothering you."
"I know."
"It may not prove as unpleasant as you imagine."
"That is unlikely."
"If I were you I should prefer to know the worst; and if I trusted any
one as you say you trust me----"
"Trust you! Nan, I----"
He had halted abruptly; but it was her face that stopped his tongue.
"Hush!" she commanded. "I have heard enough of all that, enough to last
me all my life; but if you trust me as a friend, as you've said you do
and promised you will, you might take me into your trouble, open your
letter, and let us face whatever it contains together."
His tongue clove in his head; with a ghastly laugh he managed to refuse
at last. Her curiosity was now on fire. And to gratify the sudden
passion she stooped to a level of which she was very soon and very
bitterly ashamed.
"If you ever want me to feel differently toward you--ever, ever, when we
are both middle-aged people--you must begin by trusting me now!"
So spoke Nan, as unworthily as she was prompted, on the spur of a moment
which marked an epoch in her life; but even the immediate effect was
sufficiently sensational; for with a cry that was almost a sob, the
conscience-stricken wretch broke away from her, and fled through the
checkered sunlight of the narrow avenue, like the madman her words had
made him.
Nan was puzzled and displeased, first with him, afterward and more
seriously with herself. She remembered and deplored what she had
said. If she had given him ground for hope! That would be
terrible--unpardonable--an offense against God and man. And yet the
evidence of his passion displeased her least; and least of all the
indirect evidence contained in a few lines of explanation which a
private messenger brought her during the day; for while they accounted
for his conduct of the morning, they displayed an intention so in
accordance with her wishes as to relieve her mind of many misgivings.
"I made sure it was my orders to sail," wrote Ralph, with a wise
brevity. "I was wrong, but I made sure I was right, and yet I could not
trust myself to know it for certain without telling you, or to tell you
and then say good-bye as you would have me say it! Forgive me if you
can. It was a sudden madness, and as it turns out there was little or no
justification for it. Still, as a matter of fact, they do talk of
sending me out with a draft next month. That will be soon enough. Yet in
one way you know it could not come too soon for me. Oh, Nan, I am torn
two ways!"
And yet this glib liar had not then summoned up the moral or immoral
courage to open her letter; part of the glibness sprang from that last
grain of virtue. He might not open it after all, could not all that day,
with officers and gentlemen jostling him at every turn. It was only late
at night, in the privacy of his own quarters, that the absolute
necessity presented itself with fresh force, and with a sudden oath the
envelope was ripped open; but even then the letter itself was glanced at
rather than read.
Endearment and protestation this reader could indeed afford to skip; but
what he could not help seeing in this kind at once hardened and inflamed
his heart. He called her his. His, forsooth, his! Ralph ran a blazing
eye over all that, tried another page, read a little, caught his
breath, read backward and then forward in a skin of ice. Jewson was
dead, killed by a snake! That was bad enough, but it was a trifle to
what followed; for much had since come out, and more was suspected of
the dead man. He had drugged some beer and stolen a nugget which Nan
should have received a month ago. That much was proved. The nugget had
been found; there could be little doubt that he had stolen the letter
which was to have accompanied it. And here Denis reproached himself with
having written so seldom, not once a month as yet; but in the first few
weeks of abject failure he had never had the heart to write, but once,
and for reasons given he could not be sure that even that letter had not
fallen into the same dead hands.
Devenish held his breath. Was he suspected also? Yes, he could see that
he was; he could read it between the lines; and his heart reviled the
writer for suppressing his suspicions. There was no generosity in Ralph,
and he wanted none from Denis.
"You will be seeing something of Ralph Devenish," the innocent could
write. "You might ask him whether Jewson, to Ralph's knowledge, ever
called at our first camp. He never did when I was there, but I remember
thinking of him when Moseley told me a strange digger had offered to
take our letters. He bore me a grudge as you know. But I can still
hardly think he bore me such a grudge as that, or you any grudge at
all. I should be glad if you had an opportunity of speaking to Ralph
Devenish on the subject. The wretched man was his servant at the time,
so perhaps he could enlighten us a little. If he can I am sure he will."
Sure, was he? Sure of Ralph? What was the use of such transparent lies?
Ralph himself was only enraged by them; they accentuated his meanness
and the other's magnanimity. He forgot that they could not have borne
such significance to Nan, that she would have suspected nothing, and
that the letter after all was written to her. He read on as though it
had been written to himself; and the end left him icy sick. Not because
Denis had already made several thousands out of his fabulous claim, and
upward of L2,500 by a single nugget found in the hour that was so nearly
his last. He was welcome to his filthy gold. It was neither record nor
assurance of monetary success that froze Ralph's blood; it was Denis's
promise to make amends in the matter of correspondence, to write in
future by every possible ship, and to post his letters with his own
hand.
Ralph felt easier when he had destroyed this one; he was only thankful
he had read it now; to have destroyed it unread would have been his
ruin. But it was only the first. What of all the rest? Could he hope to
intercept a series? Was there no postman or postmaster whom he could
suborn to intercept them for him?
No--that was far too dangerous. No more assistant rascals for Ralph!
Henceforward he would do his own dirty work; he approached it forthwith
without a qualm, but, on the contrary, with the spirited intelligence of
a bold nature and an educated brain.
His first care was to arrange with Lloyd's for immediate advice upon the
signaling of any homeward-bound Australian packet at the Lizard or other
Channel station; in each case, separate post-office inquiries were the
next step; and it was from this point that Ralph's appearances in
Hertfordshire became as delightfully erratic as the Merridews found
them. So far everything was plain sailing. It was the actual
interception of the letters which was fraught with inconceivable
difficulty and incessant danger.
Its unforeseen variety was its greatest curse. If the letter came in the
morning, well and good; but once it was only due by the evening
delivery, and then Devenish fetched all the letters from the village
post-office on some impudent pretext. He always met the early postman at
the gate.
"You see they know where to put their finger on me now," he said to Nan,
in presumed reference to the War Office. "Since that one fright I got
down here I want to know the worst at the earliest possible moment. Yet
but for you it would be the best, and even in spite of you I can't tell
you how I burn to go. If only you would let me leave you on the one
footing which would make me a happy man!"
For it had come to this: he had proposed repeatedly and gained the stage
of receiving a fair hearing and some faint encouragement. "Some
day--perhaps!" she said, with a stress which indicated a very distant
day indeed; and that, of course, was no promise; nor was the pale
prospect accompanied by any hope on Nan's part that she could ever love
him as she should. Her heart was dead or numb; he heard it again and
again, without loss of confidence in his power to quicken it in the end.
And this self-confidence stood Ralph in equal stead with Nan and with
his own soul: not from the first, yet in a very few weeks, he was
playing a winning if a waiting game. He learned from her lips how he had
improved in her sight; and though unable to believe there had been so
much room for improvement, he was careful to keep the ground thus won in
her regard. It was so at every point of his advance. Here and there the
gain was trifling, but he never lost an inch.
Ralph had an open and yet silent ally in Mr. Merridew; of old he had
always wanted this marriage, and now he wanted it more than ever. Nan
was not happy; it was the one thing to make her happy. He would have
told her so every day but for a plain word in the beginning from Ralph
himself. "Din me in her ears," said he, "and I am done; leave it to her,
and there is a chance for me. But never another word against Denis
Dent; if his name comes up, make excuses for him. You don't know women
as I know them, sir, or I wouldn't presume to offer you such advice."
It was followed, however, with all loyalty and devotion to their common
cause. Not for weeks did the father venture to express any further
opinion in the matter; and when he did break silence the occasion
justified him. Captain Devenish was ordered out at last. Typhus,
dysentery and ague had descended upon the Guards' camp at Aladyn close
to Varna; thither Devenish was to sail before the end of June, in charge
of a draft to replace those fallen in this unfair fight.
It was Mr. Merridew who brought the news home from the City, and capped
it with the conviction, now indeed general, that there would be hard
fighting somewhere before the end. The resolution to attack Sebastopol
was not yet taken, but the probability had long been in the air, and Mr.
Merridew spoke of it as an absolute certainty. It might be a short
campaign; but from the character of a map which he spread out Mr.
Merridew was not of that opinion. Nan took but a perfunctory interest in
the map; she knew very well what had been in her father's mind for
weeks, and she was entirely prepared for what was coming now.
"Whatever may be before them, you may depend the Guards will be in the
van," said Mr. Merridew, grandly. "The chances are that many of them
will never come back; but we won't think of that. Suppose they are away
a year. Think of Ralph and of yourself. Imagine his torments all that
time, fighting for his country, and yet uncertain of you! How can you
expect him--not to do his duty, for that we know he will--but to be as
efficient as a soldier with a single and a settled mind?"
"He is certain enough," said Nan, sulking sweetly, "if he can wait."
"But nothing is so uncertain as such a future!"
"Well, I can't marry him before he goes, can I?"
It was said flippantly, yet with a certain feeling far back in the mind.
"I don't know about that. Would you if you could, Nan?"
"It might save complications, if he is to be away a year! Suppose some
one else were to come home during the year, you know!" added Nan, with
undiminished flippancy; yet this was the thought at the back of her
brain, and she was entertaining it in bitter earnest.
"Ah, poor Dent!" said Merridew, advisedly, as he grasped her meaning.
"You needn't pity him; he will come back rich, if not with a wife," said
the girl whom Devenish knew so well.
Mr. Merridew came back to his point, after a pause intended to break the
thread of painful association, as it did.
"But would you marry Ralph if there was time?"
"There isn't time."
"I don't know. I wish I knew the date he sails. It may be later than we
think."
And the budding strategist dropped the subject with a tact which was
growing on him with the conduct of this affair. But first thing next
morning Ralph and he were closeted in his private office.
"Splendid! splendid!" cried the younger man. "Another word from you
might have spoiled everything. I will run down this minute and say the
rest for myself."
"But is it possible, Ralph?"
"With a special license it would be possible to-morrow."
"And how long have you?"
"I hope a month. Time enough for banns, if you like. We can get them put
up this Sunday."
John Merridew looked at the young man sitting before him, his dark face
flushed, his dark eyes sparkling--handsome, eager, and exultant--without
a misgiving or a qualm for mortal eye to see.
"You are very confident, Ralph!"
"I am."