COLONEL LANE APOLOGIZES
It was Mrs. Barrimore who opened Philip’s telegram, for Colonel Lane
was quite prostrated.
“What is it?” demanded Uncle Robert excitedly, as his sister kept her
eyes glued to the paper.
“Phyllis is all right,” she said hysterically.
“Who sends the wire?” was the next question.
“Philip,” she answered, scarcely audibly.
“Then it is true,” pronounced Uncle Robert. “How are we to tell him?”
(He referred to Colonel Lane, who was lying down in the drawing-room.
They were in the dining-room.)
“He will know she is safe. That will lessen the other--blow,” said Mrs.
Barrimore.
She herself felt the blow acutely. She was forced against her will to
condemn her beloved boy. Philip had acted very badly. There was no
getting over it. He had caused a scandal all over Hastings. She would
never have believed it of Philip--_her_ Philip. She had thought that of
all the world she understood him best. She had smiled when others had
said that Philip had forgotten Eweretta--and now this incredible thing
had happened.
“How are we to tell him, Robert?” she echoed her brother’s words.
Mr. Burns was facing the open door, and at that precise moment the
tall, gaunt figure of the soldier appeared framed there.
“You have news of Phyllis,” he said quite calmly.
Then he advanced towards the others.
Mrs. Barrimore handed him the telegram. What else could she do?
“So they are together,” he said in dangerous tones.
Mrs. Barrimore gazed at the outraged father--the man whom she so
tenderly loved--with eyes full of desperate pleading. The culprit was
her only son--the son for whom she had sacrificed herself all her life.
Would he be merciful?
The soldier was uppermost in Colonel Lane just then--the soldier, who
at duty’s call untwines clinging arms from about his neck, turns a deaf
ear to entreaties to stay, though uttered in the voice he loves best.
Philip should be punished, even though he was _her_ son--Philip, who
had befouled a name which was adorned with military honors, a name on
which there had up to now been no stain.
Phyllis was now a by-word in Hastings. Her conduct was discussed at
every tea-table. And this was Philip’s doing--Philip, who had had the
impertinence to dictate to his mother--to dictate and criticize.
No, even for Annie’s sake, Philip should not be spared.
Mrs. Barrimore, watching the stern, calm face, saw that she had nothing
to hope, and, mother-like, began in her heart to hate Phyllis, who had
brought her boy to such a pass. Of course, it was the fault of the
girl. She had led Philip on. She had always been a flirt. Surely in
justice Colonel Lane ought to remember that!
But she said nothing.
Colonel Lane took his hat and went out.
He walked on the West Hill for hours.
Boys were still playing about on the grass, though their football was
over.
The moon, big and round, flooded the sea with silver light.
The riding-lights of the fishing-boats looked like jewels out beyond
the harbor.
The Old Town, lying below, with its lamps lit, was like a picture
from some old romance. Moonlight lay tenderly on the graves round All
Saints’ Church on the side of the East Hill. The ruins of Hastings
Castle stood out rugged and bold.
On all this the eyes of the soldier rested in turn, but he saw no
beauty in any of it. Rage filled his heart.
It was after eleven o’clock when he at last made his way down the steep
path that led home.
Two or three days passed miserably after this, two or three days in
which he had never visited the dear fireside at Hawk’s Nest; two or
three days in which neither Mrs. Barrimore nor Uncle Robert had seen
him, though they had both called.
On the evening of the fourth day he relented and made his way to Hawk’s
Nest.
It was after dinner.
A fierce wind was blowing, the sea roared on the shingle.
Entering the familiar dining-room, where Mrs. Barrimore and Mr. Burns
still lingered, a sense of relief came over the Colonel. It lasted but
for a moment, for he was followed into the room--by Philip.
Philip looked haggard and worn. The mother flew to him with
outstretched arms.
“Philip! oh, Philip!” she cried.
Colonel Lane looked coldly on. He waited till Philip had freed himself
from the clinging arms, then he said: “Annie, leave us, I beg of you!”
Mrs. Barrimore, with her chin on her breast and her eyes streaming with
tears, left the room obediently.
Colonel Lane closed the door he had held open for her to pass out; then
he folded his arms and advanced towards Philip.
Uncle Robert’s ruddy face had paled.
“Where is my daughter, you scoundrel?” demanded the Colonel.
This was too much for Philip. He had been harassed out of his life
these last days. He had done what he honestly believed to be the best
for a girl for whom he now felt something akin to contempt--and her
father stood there calling him a scoundrel. He was not disposed to at
once relieve the old soldier’s tension.
“I have had quite enough of her!” he answered curtly.
“What!” roared the soldier. “Do you mean to tell me that you have left
that poor deluded girl, after taking her away! Tell me where she is?
Tell me, I say, you contemptible cur!”
Philip was white with passion. “I wish I had never seen your daughter,”
he said with feeling, “and I pity the man who has got her.”
Colonel Lane grasped the young man’s shoulder fiercely, while he
hissed: “Explain that!”
Philip shook the hand off, and savagely projecting his chin, said:
“I have a good deal to explain, and if you will sit down quietly and
listen, then after you have heard, I think you will see the necessity
of an apology.”
Colonel Lane sat down rigidly, and Philip slowly and wearily took the
chair that Uncle Robert pushed towards him.
“Phyllis is on her way to Bombay to join her husband,” he said slowly.
A hissing breath came from the Colonel’s throat. He closed his mouth
with a snap. His eyes stared. Philip went on:
“Phyllis was married to Captain Arbuthnot before he went out to India.
They were married at St. Clement’s Church. You can see it for yourself
in the register. She told me of it almost at once, after obtaining my
promise to keep the communication secret. She came to me to get letters
from her husband, which were sent under cover to me, and to talk of her
various difficulties.
“Well, after that rather unpleasant half-hour at the bungalow, I
thought the best thing was to get Phyllis off to her husband, who has
come into money. She has gone with Captain and Mrs. Hurst--whom you
know by name at least. Now what have you to say?”
The room was going round with Colonel Lane. A great buzzing was in his
ears. He clutched at his collar.
Uncle Robert came and loosened it and gave him some brandy.
Philip, apathetic and played-out, toyed with a wine-glass as if
unconscious of what was going on.
At length Colonel Lane gave a long sigh and recovered himself, and
holding on to the table, rose. “Philip,” he said, “I apologize.” Then a
spasm caught his throat.
Philip seemed to rouse out of a kind of stupor. He looked at the old
soldier, and a sudden pity seized him. He held out his hand, which the
Colonel grasped.
“I am to blame, sir, a good deal to blame, but I am not so bad as you
thought me. I was afraid Phyllis was about to wreck her life. I won’t
go into particulars about that. To send her to her husband seemed the
only thing to do.”
“I know how difficult she is to deal with,” acknowledged the Colonel,
“and as she is married, it is best she should be with her husband as
quickly as possible. But I should have liked the manner of her going to
have been different. I should have liked to say good-bye!”
Philip, remembering how gaily Phyllis had gone off, pitied the father
the more.
“Do you know it is all over Hastings that you have eloped with her?”
said Uncle Robert.
“I daresay it is,” answered Philip, “but all that can soon be put
right. She didn’t go with me at all, but came afterwards and found me
out. I had gone to make arrangements with the Hursts. I did not trust
Phyllis. I did not know what folly she might commit.”
“All’s well that ends well!” said Uncle Robert. “Let us fetch Annie!”
Mrs. Barrimore came in with tear-stained face, her tender mouth
smiling, for Uncle Robert had whispered that all was right.
Then all had to be told over again. Mrs. Barrimore was still somewhat
puzzled, remembering her conversation with Phyllis. She had then got
the impression that Phyllis was the victim of a hopeless love. Phyllis
was unexplainable--an impossible girl!
“You have the letter, mother?” asked Philip.
Mrs. Barrimore produced it.
“Give it to the Colonel,” Philip said. “It is from Arbuthnot, and there
is a line from me.”
Colonel Lane opened the letter in which lay confirmation of the amazing
story he had just heard.
“Mother, I am so tired,” said Philip.
“And starving, my own boy!” answered Mrs. Barrimore. “You must have a
meal instantly.”
The meal was ordered, and the mother sat between her dear friend and
her son, looking from one to the other with shining eyes.
“I feel like ‘Mr. Wegg,’” remarked Uncle Robert, “and inclined to drop
into poetry.”
But no one listened.