"But I imagine it rather decided itself. I spoke of it to you once
before, I remember, when we were up in hospital, how there never
seemed to be much choice open to me. I fancy I am deciding things; I
mull over them till I am disgusted with the whole matter. Then,
after I have made up my mind what I am going to do, I suddenly
realize that there was never any question about it from the start. I
have simply said 'yes' to an irresistible force."
"Perhaps," she assented slowly. "I am not so sure." Then she turned
to the tangible fact. "But when do you go?"
"To-morrow morning."
"I am sorry it must be so soon," she said quietly. "Still, I am glad
you are going. You never would have been satisfied to sail for home
now."
"No," he answered. "I should not."
Then the talk halted again.
"Where is Mr. Carew?" she asked abruptly at length, less from
interest in Carew than from a desire to escape so insistent a pause.
"At the Mount Nelson." "Here in Cape Town?"
"Yes. He came down with me. We volunteered together, you know, and
his time was ended, too."
"Does he go home?"
"No; not Harry Carew. We had decided to keep together in our plans;
in fact, it was one of the conditions of our coming out. But, from
the start, he has hated the idea of going back home as long as there
was an armed Boer left in the field."
"And he goes with you?"
"Yes, to Springfontein. We have our headquarters there for the
present. For Carew's sake, I hope it will be more riding and
scouting than actual fighting. The man is made of some material that
draws all the bullets in sight."
Ethel smiled.
"Don't let him stop near you, then," she advised.
"Why not? He is as good as a shield. It is hard on him, though. He
was hit four or five times before Vlaakfontein, and has had one
scratch since."
"What is the trouble? Is he foolhardy?"
"Foolhardy in war, Miss Dent?"
"Yes, just that. There is no sense in taking needless risks."
"But it is mighty hard to draw the line between avoiding needless
risks and funking necessary ones," he answered. "But Carew isn't
reckless. He is plucky, but very level-headed, and he means to take
care of himself, when he can. One can't always, you know. And then
he is wonderfully unlucky."
"You believe in luck, then?"
"Yes, or Fate. What else makes a man move out of the way, just in
time for the bullet to graze his cheek? He doesn't see the bullet
coming; neither does the man who stops it. Both of them are busy
about something else. For the man who escapes it, it is Providence;
for the man who gets killed, it is Fate."
She tried to rouse him from his sudden gravity.
"And for both, it is mere chance."
"If you call it that. Miss Dent--" He hesitated.
"Yes," she assented gravely.
"It was only a chance, but a strange one," he went on, with his eyes
fixed on the topmost ridge of his brown puttie. "We were climbing
the face of a kopje, one day. It was very steep, and we crawled up a
narrow trail in single file. Two days before, our guns had been
shelling the whole kopje, and they must have cracked it up badly.
All at once, the man above me loosened a great lump of rock. I was
exactly underneath it. It gave a little bound outward, went
completely over me and struck full on the head of the next man in
line."
The girl sat, bending forward in her chair, her strong, quiet hands
clasped loosely in her lap.
"And he?" she asked quite low.
"He dropped to the foot of the kopje, dead. In his fall, he dragged
down the next man after him, and his leg was crushed."
"And you were saved!" she said a bit breathlessly.
"Doesn't it make you feel a vague responsibility, as if you must
live up to something that you couldn't quite understand?"
Without looking up, he bowed in assent.
"Yes," he said then. "Don't think me foolishly superstitious, Miss
Dent, or too egotistic. I try not to pay much attention to it. Once
in a while, though, not too often, it all comes back over me, and I
feel then as if my life might have been kept for something that is
still ahead of me."
"And doesn't it leave you feeling anxious about making all your
decisions?" she asked slowly, as she leaned back again in her chair.
"At first. Then I remember how that, and some other things have been
settled for me."
"What then?"
"Then I shut my teeth and face forward. All one can do, is to forget
the future and take the present as it comes, making the best of each
minute and leaving the hour to look out for itself," he answered
simply. "Sometimes one makes better progress by drifting than he
does by punting against the current."
She bit her lip.
"Sometimes I think, though--" Suddenly she roused herself and gave a
nervous little laugh. "Captain Frazer is coming up the steps," she
added.
"You think?" Weldon reminded her, as she rose.
But she shook her head and laughed again, this time more in her
natural manner.
"I think that I wish you would bring Mr. Carew to call on me, next
time you come," she said evasively.
"Thank you. He will be glad to come. The only question is when the
next time will arrive."
"You said Captain Frazer was a prophet," she said, as she moved
towards the door. "Ask him."
Tall, alert, eager, the Captain entered the room in time to catch
her words.
"A prophet of what and to whom, Miss Dent?" he asked, as he bowed
over her outstretched hand.
"To Mr. Weldon, in regard to the future fighting," she answered
gayly.
"You here, Weldon?"
"Yes, to say good by."
Captain Frazer nodded.
"I saw Mitchell, this morning. He spoke well of you; of Carew, too,
for the matter of that. He told me your troop would be off in the
morning, and asked me to diagnose your best points."
"Could you find any?" Weldon asked imperturbably. "A few. I told him
you could sit tight and shoot straight," the Captain answered,
laughing. Then he added gravely, "And I also told him you could ride
the fiend incarnate, and that, as far as I knew, you didn't lose
your head when you were under fire."
For the instant, Weldon forgot his hostess, as he looked up to meet
the Captain's blue eyes squarely.
"Thank you. But it is more than I deserve."
"Then you must try to live up to it," Ethel advised him languidly.
"It merely increases your responsibilities, for now you have two
reputations to support, your own for pluck and the Captain's for
being a judge of his fellowmen. It is an awful weight that you are
carrying on your shoulders, Mr. Weldon."
"If it grows too heavy, I will slide some of it off on your own," he
returned, as he picked up his hat and rose to his feet. "Your
responsibility is back of mine, Miss Dent. It was you who advised me
to stay in South Africa."
"Not at all. I presented the case and kept my advice to myself," she
rebelled promptly.
"Certain presentments are stronger than much advising."
"Perhaps. But in the end, you remember, I commended your soul to
Captain Frazer's keeping."
He bowed with the odd, old-fashioned deference which it pleased him
to assume at times. "Captain Frazer may have saved it; but it may
have been you who made it worth his efforts at salvation."
She laughed again. Nevertheless, her eyes showed her pleasure.
"Then we, Captain Frazer and I, must divide the responsibility for
your future," she replied. "In any case, may it be all good!"
The drapery fell backward over his departing figure, and, for an
instant, Ethel stood staring at the swaying folds. Then, turning,
she walked back to the fire.
"All good," she repeated. "I know you echo the wish, Captain Frazer.
But--isn't it hard to say good by?"
"In these days most of all," he assented slowly. "And one never can
tell when his own turn may come."
"Nor what its end may be," she added. Then impetuously she rose
again and moved up and down the room. "Look at that sunshine
outside, Captain Frazer," she said restlessly. "It ought to forbid
any such gloomy moods. I believe all this war and so many partings
are spoiling my nerve. I really feel quite blue, to-day; and Mr.
Weldon made it worse."
"By saying good by?"
Glancing up, she was astonished at the wishful, hungry look in the
blue eyes before her. "Yes, a little," she said lightly; "for I hate
the very word. But, if it must be spoken, it should always be short
and staccato. Instead, he sat here, and we talked about Fate and
wounds and all sorts of direful things." She shook herself and
shivered slightly. Then she sat down in the chair which Weldon had
just left vacant. "It is bad manners to have nerves, Captain Frazer.
Forgive me first, and then tell me something altogether flippant, to
make me forget things."
But her mood had caught the Captain in its grasp.
"Are you sure you want to forget?" he asked her gravely.
"Yes," she made vehement answer. "Always!"
But not even her decided answer brought back the eager light into
his dark blue eyes.
Nevertheless, an hour later found him still sitting there. Ethel's
depression had vanished, to be followed by a mood of wayward
merriment for which the honest, straightforward soldier was totally
at a loss to account. Sincere himself, he looked for sincerity in
others. If Ethel's gravity had been unfeigned, how could it so soon
give place to her present buoyancy? Not the strictest code of
hospitality could demand that a hostess should straightway toss
aside the thought of the parting guest who had gone away to battle
and, perhaps, to sudden death. And, if the girl had been insincere
in her parting from Weldon, why should she be sincere in her present
absorption in his own interests? And, if her regrets for Weldon were
as great as they had seemed to be, then what was the use of his
remaining by her side any longer? The horns of the dilemma extended
themselves to infinity and branched again and again as they
extended. Meanwhile, his eyes were full of trouble, and his answers
to her questions were vague and faltering. Until her sudden trip to
Johannesburg, Captain Frazer had taken the girl as a matter of
course. Since then, he had begun to doubt, and the doubts were
thickening.
But, after all, there was no real reason for doubt. During her one
short season in London, the Captain had met Ethel constantly, he had
been quite obviously the favorite of the old aunt who had presided
over the girl's introduction to society, and his later meetings with
Ethel at sundry week-end gatherings had convinced him that he had no
serious rival. Then had come the war; and Ethel's absence from town
had made a farewell impossible. Captain Frazer had sailed away,
leaving the past behind him; but the future was still his, to be
lost or won, according to the use he made of his manhood's chances.
And then, on the dazzling summer morning which had ushered in the
new century, he had caught a glimpse of Ethel riding towards home.
Three days later, as he had gone away down the broad white steps, he
had felt convinced that the future already lay in his grasp. It had
been the selfsame Ethel, unchanged and changeless to his loyal mind,
who had met him with smiling, eager cordiality. The year of
separation was cast aside; their friendship began again at the
precise spot where it had been broken off.
Since then, he had seen her often, occasionally alone, sometimes
with her mother, sometimes the central figure of a little crowd who
were obviously striving to win her favor. Her father's fortune was
in part the cause of this; but the greater, surer cause lay within
the girl's own personality. Ethel Dent was no negative character.
However, Captain Frazer had never found her too absorbed in her
other companions to be able to give him a share of her attention
which differed from all other shares that she bestowed, in being a
bit more personal in its cordiality. His black-fringed blue eyes
were keen and far-sighted. They assured him that, whatever her
regard for him, at least it was true that, in all her Cape Town
life, there was no man for whom Ethel Dent had a sincerer liking.
And then, all at once, a doubt had assailed his mind, and the doubt
had centered itself in this long, lean Canadian with the grave,
steady face and the boyish manner. Worst of all, the doubt had
scarcely arisen before he himself had become aware of his own
growing liking for the young Canadian. Captain Leo Frazer was
strictly just. He admitted to himself that Weldon was in every way
worthy to be chosen by Ethel Dent. However, he was determined as
well as just, and he had no mind at all to allow Ethel Dent to
choose any man but one, and that one was himself, Leo Frazer.
And now he was sitting moodily by her fireside, listening to her
light, easy flow of talk and asking himself certain questions, which
he was powerless to answer.
As he rose at last, some sudden impulse made him speak from the very
midst of his train of thought.
"Did you know he had refused a commission?" he asked, regardless of
antecedents.
She made no pretence of misunderstanding him.
"No. Did he?"
"Yes. Mitchell told me, this morning."
"I wonder why."
"He said he had pledged himself to stay with the rank and file, that
it was easier to take orders than to give them."
"Strange!" she said thoughtfully.
"Strange that he should feel so?"
She shook her head.
"No. He told me about that, coming out. I am not surprised. But it
is strange that he shouldn't have spoken of the matter now."
"It was like him. He doesn't tell all his best deeds," Captain
Frazer said, with direct frankness "Still, I thought it was fairer
that you should know."
Her color came, as she met his eyes; but she offered no question in
regard to the meaning of his final phrase.