IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED.
My love he stood at my right hand,
His eyes were grave and sweet;
Methought he said, "In this far land,
Oh, is it thus we meet!
Ah, maid most dear, I am not here,
I have no place--no part
No dwelling more by sea or shore,
But only in thine heart!"
--Jean Ingelow.
Bertie Du Meresq, after lingering a while in London, without any tidings
of Cecil, began to weary of inaction, and turn his thoughts again to
Australia. But just then warlike rumours were becoming rife, and forced
his mind into another channel. Good heavens! with such a prospect,
possibility even, how could he let his papers be sent in? There was just
time to recall them. He rushed to the Horse Guards, despatched a letter
to his Colonel, and his retirement, not having yet been gazetted, was
cancelled.
But how appease the injured Green, who had advanced the over regulation
money for the troop? That must be returned, however expensive it might be
to raise the necessary sum. One possible resource remained. He possessed
a maiden aunt--of means, whose patience and purse he had completely
exhausted some years ago; added to which she had become "serious," and
a gentleman of the Stiggens order now diverted her spare cash into the
coffers of little Bethlehem.
Du Meresq was aware that he had been predestined to doom by the Rev. Mr.
Jackson, and that his aunt had been assured she could not touch pitch
without being defiled. "Nevertheless," he thought, "I must try and carry
her by a _coup de main_, if I have to pitch her clerical friend out of
the window first."
Lady Susan had abandoned the more fashionable precincts of London to be
nearer her chapel and districts, and the Hansom cabman who drove Bertie
to Hammersmith had quartered nearly every yard of it before their
combined intelligence hit off a square stone house on a bit of a common.
Lady Susan was within, and Du Meresq followed the depressed-looking
footman upstairs with as much ease as if he had not been particularly
forbidden the house five years ago. He embraced his aunt affectionately
before she had collected herself sufficiently to prevent him, and bowed
with the utmost grace to a rather vulgar-looking, self-sufficient lady to
whom he was presented. This person, however, he contrived to sit out in
spite of her curiosity.
"And now, Bertie," said Lady Susan, austerely, "what is it you want? I
know from past experience it is not I alone you come to see. I warn you
though your hopes are vain. I have, happily, now a more edifying way of
spending my poor income than in aiding you in your godless courses."
"I have come to you, my dear aunt, as the kindest-hearted person I know.
I am in an awful hole. But let me explain." And then he told how he had
sold his troop to pay his debts, but had now, war being eminent, recalled
his papers, and so owed all the over regulation money obtained in
advance.
For once Du Meresq had a good case. Against her principles almost, Lady
Susan listened, and, though pre-determined not to believe a thing he
said, his words were making an impression.
"Of course I can get the money; but, going on active service, I should
have to pay enormously for it. And, anyhow," he continued, "I thought I
should like to say good-bye to you, whether you can let me have it or
not."
Bertie's Irish blarney always peeped out in his dealings with women,
and Lady Susan of late had been so unaccustomed to anything of the sort,
that her heart began to warm to her scape-grace nephew. He was so
distinguished-looking, too, with the beauty which comes of air and
expression, and a certain winning manner, none of which were conspicuous
attributes of the disciples of little Bethlehem. She made him stay to
dinner, and Du Meresq, who thought things were looking up, gladly
dismissed his Hansom, which had been imparting an unwonted appearance of
dissipation to the locality for the last hour. He could make himself
quite as agreeable to an old lady as a young one, and this one was a
soldier's daughter, and Irish into the bargain. What wonder that her
heart beat responsively and her blood fired at the idea of another of her
race lending his life to his country! Bertie, to be sure, would have
preferred not having to make capital of that, and objected strongly to
being treated as a hero in advance. However, it was no use quarrelling
with the means that had brought his aunt into so promising a frame of
mind; and, before he left that evening, he had actually received the
promise of a cheque to the amount of Mr. Green's claims in a few days.
Soon after this, he heard the welcome news that his regiment was ordered
home immediately, evidently in consequence of the disturbances in the
East. This caused Du Meresq great delight. His corps was, then, certain
to be in it, and he would go into action with Lascelles and all his old
friends, instead of exchanging into a strange regiment, as he had
determined to do if his own were not for service.
With all this other thoughts were associated. Somehow he had never looked
upon his rupture with Cecil Rolleston as final, having pretty well
fathomed the _motif_ of her renunciation of him, which he considered
would bear explanation when occasion offered; but now, rather sadly
reviewing the past, he said to himself that, after all, it was well for
her they had not married.
I do not know that Cecil would have been of the same opinion. She had a
brave spirit, that could bear up against known evils, but fretted and
suffered in suspense. She was much altered since her illness. Once the
most attentive and docile of daughters, she became irritable and
uncertain in temper-_difficile_, as the French call it, or, according to
a Scotch expression, "There was no doing with her" some days; and Mrs.
Rolleston, unhappy about both Cecil and Bertie, looked upon her husband's
prejudice against the latter as the cause of all this unsatisfactory
state of things.
As to Colonel Rolleston, he was in the condition of a man whose "foes are
those of his own household." No one appreciated more the "pillow of a
woman's mind"; but really now the pillow might have been stuffed with
stones, so many corners and angularities had developed themselves in his
feminalities.
The regiment had been ordered to Quebec almost immediately after Bluebell
had gone to England; and, as Mrs. Rolleston there heard of Evelyn
Leighton's death, the fate of their _protegée_ became naturally a subject
of anxious speculation. Yet not a line had been received from her; and,
after a time, the subject was avoided, for all felt that Bluebell had
been ungrateful.
Then Mrs. Leighton wrote out the strange story of her elopement, and
having since entered a family as governess in her maiden name. Mrs.
Rolleston was painfully shocked; for, coupling it with the girl's
silence, she could not but imagine the worst, especially when, as they
gazed at each other in mute dismay, she read in Cecil's face a suspicion
that Bertie had had some hand in her disappearance, he had not written
either; but, unless he were in correspondence with Bluebell, could not
have been aware that she was in England. Of course, therefore, it was
only the wildest conjecture. Yet how could Cecil believe that a girl who
had once cared for Bertie should so utterly have forgotten him as to
sacrifice herself to any one else within a few weeks? But a letter from
Du Meresq himself did much to banish these gathering doubts and
suspicions. It appeared quite open and above-board, and was written to
Mrs. Rolleston on the eve of embarking with his regiment for the Crimea.
He mentioned one or two houses he had been staying in, related the
successful visit to his aunt and wound up in a postcript with the
words,--"Give my dearest love to Cecil, if she cares to have it."
Mrs. Rolleston silently put the letter into her hand, and left the room.
But the privacy of four walls was insufficient for Cecil while permitting
herself the dear fascination of perusing Bertie's handwriting. She was
missing for the next two hours, which Lela was able to account for,
having observed her going downstairs dressed for walking.
She did not remember to return Du Meresq's letter, nor did Mrs. Rolleston
ask for it. Very soon afterwards they also went to England, though the
Colonel's regiment was not sent to the Crimea for some months later. It
was quartered near London, and he took a house for his family in
Kensington. And now a strange fancy possessed Cecil. It happened one day,
when they were out driving, that a little boy drifting across the street
with the suicidal _insouciance_ of his kind, got knocked down by their
horses, and, of course, had to be driven straight to the hospital to have
his injuries investigated. It was necessary to detain the child, and
Cecil walked down most days to bring him toys and inquire into his
progress. There she became acquainted with some members of a sisterhood,
who were employed in nursing in the accident ward, and, after the boy
had been dismissed, convalescent, and ready to be run over again, she
still continued her visits.
What the attraction was, neither of her parents could conceive, for,
although the sisterhood was of the High Church order, they observed no
particular religious enthusiasm or ritualistic tendencies in their
daughter. "Cecil's mystery" it was called in the family, for she never
spoke of what she had been doing all day, though it was apparently
satisfactory, as her spirits were far more even than they had been of
late. It was generally supposed that a charitable fervour had seized her,
and that she was visiting among the poor; indeed Mrs. Rolleston had
little curiosity to spare at present. She was living in dread and daily
expectation of Colonel Rolleston being sent to the East; and he was
engaged, as a calm, brave man might, in arranging his affairs to provide
for his family in any event.
The order came at last; it was almost a relief from the continual
suspense, and there were a few days for preparation. On one of these last
evenings some of the officers were dining at the Colonel's, and among
them--which was unusual now--Fane, who, though believing that Cecil's
love affair with Du Meresq must have been broken off, still honourably
abstained from her society till she should, by some sign, absolve him
from his promise. On this occasion though, to her dread, he appeared
sentimentally inclined, and Cecil, to whom a Sir Lancelot even would have
been intolerable had he attempted to take the place of the lover she had
outwardly discarded and inwardly enshrined, took refuge with Jack
Vavasour, who regarded the approaching campaign in about the same light
as a steeple-chase--a delightful piece of excitement, with a spice of
danger in it.
His cheerful chatter amused and relieved the tension of her mind.
"I shall be sure to come across Du Meresq," he observed, with simple
directness. "I shall tell him I saw you the last thing. How glad he will
be to hear of any one at home! Have you any message, Miss Rolleston?"
looking straight in her face, which was glowing as he spoke.
"Tell him," said Cecil, who liked Jack, and trusted him more than any
one, "to be sure and write very often to his sister, who is dreadfully
anxious, as, indeed, we _all_ are."
"Oh, yes, of course," cried Vavasour; "but is that all? Let me give him
that glove," which Cecil had been absently pulling off and on.
"Certainly-not!" flaming up in a moment. "Give it to me back directly,
Mr. Vavasour!"
Jack thought she was offended. "I didn't mean to be impertinent, Miss
Rolleston. You know this is not like an ordinary occasion; and I am sure
I didn't think there would be much in it."
"I know, I know. But don't invent anything from me to Bertie Du Meresq."
Then, with a softer manner, and most cordial squeeze of the hand as she
saw the other men rising to go,--"Good-bye, and come back safe, you dear,
true-hearted boy!"
Next day the mystery came out. She had been qualifying as a hospital
nurse, with the view of joining Miss Nightingale's staff at Scutari.
Cecil had quite anticipated the antagonism and ridicule with which this
announcement would assuredly be met. A craze to go out to the East
possessed many romantic young ladies of the period, too adventurous
to be satisfied with merely knitting socks and comforters for their
frost-bitten heroes. Colonel Rolleston had frequently expressed a
profound contempt for this mania, refusing to perceive any more exalted
motive for it than a desire to follow their partners. So his horror may
be imagined when his own daughter, whom he had always credited with a
certain amount of sense, thus enrolled herself in the ranks of these fair
enthusiasts.
Cecil allowed the first torrent of words to expend itself, but, in reply
to the contemptuous query of "What earthly use could she be?" reiterated
the fact of her having received a certificate of competency from the
hospital, and adding, that as five of the sisterhood were shortly to be
taken out to Scutari, it would be easy for her to accompany them as a
volunteer. Then, evading further discussion by leaving the room, she
calmly left the idea to work.
It was not certainly innate love of the occupation that had made Cecil so
diligent an attendant of the accident ward. At first she shuddered and
faltered at the simplest operation in which her assistance was called
for, but it was essential to test her own nerve before dressing gun-shot
wounds, besides which, a certificate from the hospital would much
facilitate her chance of being taken out to Scutari. And, moreover, she
was desperately unhappy, and rushed into anything to escape from herself.
I don't know how it was that Cecil prevailed in the end. A year ago, if
she had proposed such a thing, Colonel Rolleston would have a considered
her a fit subject for a _maison de sante_, but he had been thinking for
some time that his daughter was "odd." She was evidently turning out one
of those unmanageable beings, an eccentric woman. Of age, and with an
independent income, if baulked in this, she might only do something else
equally perverse, and, though a most extraordinary fancy for a girl so
brought up, he would not oppose it further.
And then Cecil, when she had got her wish, with a strange inconsistency
seemed almost inclined to give it up again. But the Colonel, being in
ignorance of her vacillating purpose, took her passage in the same ship
as the other nurses.
Work enough was there for every one when that vessel reached its
destination. The battle of the Alma had just been fought, and the wounded
were being brought in daily to Scutari.
In the mean time, Colonel Rolleston had sailed with his regiment, and
Mrs. Rolleston fell into such a state of nervous depression, that Cecil
saw it would be cruel to abandon her--another opportunity for going out
would soon occur, and defering her journey till then, she remained at
home to fulfil the more obvious duty of supporting the sinking spirits
of her step-mother.
And so passed many weary weeks. The battle of the Alma had been won, and
none of their belongings had appeared in the long list of killed and
wounded. Mrs. Rolleston, becoming more accustomed to suspense, bore up
with greater fortitude. Letters from the seat of war were, of course,
waited for with fearful anxiety, and on the few and far between occasions
when these arrived, they were all comparatively happy.
One evening Cecil was sitting alone in her own room, and, being very
tired after a long day at the hospital, dropped asleep in her chair. She
awoke with a feeling of deadly chilliness. The moon was shining into the
room, and the figure of Bertie Du Meresq, keen clearly by its rays, was
standing quietly gazing at her.
"Bertie!" shrieked Cecil "Oh, when did you come?"--and she tried to rush
forward to greet him, but her limbs seemed paralyzed, and he did not move
either, though a sad, sweet smile seemed to pass over his face. _Was_ it
himself, or only a quivering moonbeam? for when she was able to move
there was nothing else to be seen.
A ghost itself could not have been whiter than Cecil, as she fled to the
drawing room, and almost inarticulately described what she had beheld.
The very horror it inspired made Mrs. Rolleston repel the ghastly idea
almost angrily.
"Good heavens, Cecil, why do you frighten me so! You had fallen asleep,
and were dreaming. You say yourself," and she shuddered, "_it_ was gone
when you awoke."
"You know," said the girl, not apparently attending, "I have never seen
Bertie in uniform, but this is what he wore," (describing the dress of
the ---- Hussars), "and his tunic was torn."
"That is too absurd, Cecil. All Hussar uniforms are more or less alike,
and you must have seen many. It _is_ this dreadful idea of going to
Scutari that has filled your mind with horrors, and hospital work here
has been too much for you, and told on your nerves."
But Cecil sat unheeding, as if turned to stone, with such a grey look of
despair on her face, that Mrs. Rolleston longed to rouse her in any way.
"Forgive me, Cecil," she cried; "you _do_ care for poor Bertie, I see."
She looked up with a vague, uncomprehending glance.
"Who was so brilliant--who so brave--with that sympathetic voice, and
warm, endearing manner? He was wicked, I dare say!--he was not cold
enough for a saint."
Mrs. Rolleston listened painfully.
"How every one adored him!" pursued Cecil. "I don't mean women--of course
_they_ did: but all his friends would have done anything for him. I have
seen his letters; and who could touch him in countenance, manner, grace?
And such a poetic, original mind! But he cared for me _most_,--he must,
don't you think?" (looking up with dry, tearless eyes), "or he would not
have come to me to-night."
"Then _why_, oh, why, Cecil, did you give him up?"
Her brow contracted for an instant. "I could not bear my sun to shine on
any one else," she cried, passionately "I grudged every glance of his
eye, every tone of his voice given to another."
"Then, Bluebell _was_ the cause--" began Mrs. Rolleston.
"'My eyes were blinded;' he cared no more for her than the rest. Had I
believed him, we might have been happy five months, for we should have
married the day I came of age."
"It will happen yet!" cried Mrs. Rolleston. "Shake off this fearful
dream, my dearest child. I know that Bertie cares only for you."
"We have met to-night, we never shall again."
"She will have a brain-fever," thought Mrs. Rolleston, distractedly, "if
tears do not come to her relief." They did eventually, convulsively and
exhaustingly, till she dropped into a death-like sleep far into the next
morning.
The sun had been shining for hours. Mrs. Rolleston did not disturb her,
but the superstitious terror she had battled against the night before
returned daring that long day, in an agony of impatience for news.
But no submarine telegraph then existing, nothing was heard for a time.
Mrs. Rolleston might have shaken off the gruesome impression, but for the
immovable conviction of Bertie's death that actuated Cecil. She assumed
the deepest mourning, and passed whole hours alone with her grief,
perfectly indifferent to the opinion of any one. Indeed, since his
spiritual presence had, as she believed, appeared to her, he seemed
nearer than before, when they were parted and unreconciled.
One day, late in the afternoon, Mrs. Rolleston was agitated by that weird
sound to anxious ears, the shouting voices of men and boys hawking
evening papers, and proclaiming startling news. She saw from the balcony
her servant dart down the street for the gratification of his curiosity.
He bought a paper, and perused it as he slowly returned. He got "quite a
turn," as he afterwards described it, when his mistress, pale as a sheet,
met him at the door, and, without a word, snatched the evening journal
from his astonished hands.
No occasion to seek far. The sensational paragraph was in capital
letters, and contained the intelligence of the battle of Balaklava, and
famous charge of the six hundred, with its fearful losses. The cavalry
regiments engaged were named. Among them was Bertie Du Meresq's, and
mentioned as one that had suffered heavily. The returns of killed and
wounded did not appear.
Mrs. Rolleston had a friend at the Horse Guards, and instantly despatched
the servant there, with a letter requesting further particulars as early
as possible. Ill news does not lag. A letter from General--soon arrived,
with its warning black seal. Captain Du Meresq was among the casualties.
He had been shot through the heart during the charge.