"Armitage is the most indolent man I know, Susan," said Colonel
Sutherland; "here is his letter, my love, saying he has written to his
attorney to make inquiries. And yet, after all, they're sharp these
country lawyers--perhaps it was the best thing he could do; and
here's--eh?--why, a letter from Horace! Come now, that's
satisfactory--let us see what the boy says."
"What does he say, uncle?" asked Susan, when, after a considerable
pause, and two readings of the letter, Uncle Edward carefully refolded
it, laid it down by his own plate, and went on with his breakfast
without another word.
"Oh, hum--nothing particular, my dear child--nothing of any
importance," said Colonel Sutherland, with a troubled face, opening the
letter again and glancing over it; as if he might perhaps find out
somewhere a key to the moral cipher in which it was written. He was slow
to take offence; but its tone affronted the old soldier. There was a
shade of mockery, visible even to Uncle Edward's earnest, unsuspicious
eyes; and whether it was true, and Musgrave was to blame--or false, and
a disgrace to Horace, there was equal pain in the alternative; in either
case it was not for Susan's eyes.
"Uncle, has Horace been doing something very wrong?" asked Susan, after
a little interval, with the moisture rising to her eyes. Colonel
Sutherland made a little use of his infirmity at that moment. He bent
his deaf ear towards her, asking, "What, my love?" as if he had neither
heard nor could guess what her question was; and before she could speak
again, made an exclamation of surprise over another letter, the postmark
of which he was regarding curiously. "London! why, Susan, Musgrave has
come home!"
And before the Colonel could assure himself of this unexpected event by
a glance over his letter, a commotion was heard outside; Patchey intent
upon showing into the drawing-room somebody who was equally intent upon
finding his way direct to the Colonel's presence.
"Why, man, I have come all the way from the Cape to see him," burst at
last upon their hearing, in a manly voice, somewhat loud, and full of
exhilaration, from the hall. "I tell you, he'll give me some breakfast;
the kindest friend I ever had in the world, do you think he'll refuse to
see _me?_"
"The Colonel's a kind friend to many a person, but it's agin his
principle to be disturbed at his meals," said Patchey, obstinately.
"I'll tell him whenever the bell rings, but in the meanwhile you'll walk
in _here_."
And Patchey's pertinacity would have gained the day but for the
interference of Colonel Sutherland, who got up hastily from the
breakfast-table, with an exclamation very rare on his gentle lips, and
threw open as wide as it would go the door of the dining-room. There
outside stood Roger Musgrave, brown and manful, in his dark Rifleman's
uniform, and restored to such a degree of self-confidence and social
courage as became a man who had been living among his equals for a
couple of years, who had earned his place, and made himself a modest
degree of fame. He grasped the Colonel's hands in his own with an
exuberant satisfaction, which the poor Squire of Tillington's penniless
heir would not have ventured upon. He came in boldly, overflowing with
honest gratitude and pleasure, secure of finding his place, and
delighted to be "at home" once more. But Roger was suddenly interrupted,
and struck dumb in his jubilant and rapid account of having been sent
home with dispatches, and arriving suddenly without due time to warn his
old friend of his approach. Susan rose from her place by the
breakfast-table, and the young man lost his head and his tongue in an
instant, scared by that formidable apparition. After a minute's
interval, turning very red, and stammering out, "Miss Scarsdale?" Roger
shyly approached the unlooked-for mistress of the house; while Susan on
her part, with an equal blush, and a faltering exclamation of "Mr.
Musgrave!" made an imperceptible step of advance, and gave her hand to
Uncle Edward's "young friend." Uncle Edward himself, much amazed and
amused by this pantomime, looked on till it was over. Then he covered
the embarrassment of the young people in his own fashion by innumerable
questions, which Roger was only too glad to answer; but Susan, mortified
and troubled, and finding herself sadly in the way, could not but
perceive that her presence was an effectual damp upon the stranger's
high spirits, and had subdued him in the strangest fashion. How could it
be? Susan took the earliest opportunity of leaving the room, dismayed at
the influence she had unconsciously exercised, and more than half
disposed to run upstairs to her own room and have a good cry over it.
She had imagined to herself, perhaps, more than once, what might happen
at this very arrival--but her thoughts had never pictured any such
scene as this.
When Susan had left the room, however, Roger's silence and diffidence,
instead of lessening, rather increased; he followed her to the door with
his eyes, and made a confused pause; and then he burst into the very
middle of a little lecture upon strategy which the good Colonel was
delivering to him, with the very inconsequent and illogical remark:--
"I was quite taken by surprise to see Miss Scarsdale here."
"Why," said Colonel Sutherland, swallowing the affront to his own
eloquence, "you knew Susan was my niece, did you not?"
"I--I suppose I had forgotten," said Roger, with another blush over this
inexcusable fib. And as the young man seemed disposed to make another
pause after this false statement, and to fall into a state of reverie,
the Colonel bethought himself of applying the sharp spur of Horace's
letter to bring him to himself.
"I would have delayed for a little speaking to you so gravely," said
Uncle Edward; "but as we are talking of Miss Scarsdale, it is just as
well to enter upon the subject at once. Now, remember, I don't want to
steal into your confidence, or urge you to tell anything you may wish to
conceal; but let me know this much, Musgrave. When you left Tillington
did you leave anything behind you; any foolish connexion, any boyish
entanglement, anything you wished to conceal? My dear boy, I don't want
to make myself your judge--such things have been, and have been repented
of--only tell me, 'yes' or 'no'?"
"Foolish connexion!--boyish entanglement!" repeated Roger, in amazement;
"I know _you_ don't mean to insult me, Colonel Sutherland--what do you
mean?"
The old man looked into the young man's face, bending towards him with
that stoop of benign weakness--the touch of physical imperfection, which
put a tender climax to his fatherly words and ways.
"I will tell you what I mean by-and-bye; but in the meantime say to me
in so many words--'It is not true.'"
"It is not true!" said Roger, with emphasis.
The young man was certainly roused now--he sat quite upright, carrying
high his soldierly head, not defiant as he might have been at
Tillington, perfectly grave, conscious of nothing which slander could
build upon. The old soldier's eyes glistened over him--he was proud of
his volunteer.
"I knew it all along," said Colonel Sutherland, joyfully; "but to know
you perfectly right, as I always believed, is not so much pleasure to me
as it might be, since it proves somebody else entirely wrong. I'll tell
you now how this came about. Susan on her way here overheard part of a
conversation between her brother and an old man, in which your name was
introduced, and mention made of a pension which the man thought you
might be induced to give him, in consequence of some discovery. This
Horace forbade his sister to repeat, but Susan told me, thinking there
was something wrong at the bottom. You will forgive me, Musgrave, if the
idea glanced into my mind for a moment that there might be something to
conceal. With that idea, thinking to appeal to my nephew's generosity,
I wrote to him, and this is the answer; see--I am assured now that there
is something of importance to your interests beneath this veil."
Roger read the letter with a rising colour; he saw the trick of it, and
had hard enough ado to restrain his impatience.
"He is brother--I mean he is your nephew, Colonel Sutherland," he said,
returning the letter with a somewhat proud gesture. He thought of
nothing else in his sublime, youthful contempt for this effort to
dishonour him; he was innocent, and his veins tingled with momentary
rage, proudly subdued; but he gave no second thought to the discovery,
or to the something important and secret which this impotent slander had
concealed.
However, the Colonel proceeded to question him upon the condition of his
relation's estate, and the chances there might be of some discovery of
consequence. Roger answered at random, being very ignorant, quite
hopeless of any good, and otherwise occupied in his mind. The old
soldier was at last compelled to break up the conference from manifest
signs of impatience on the part of his guest, who was anxious to go to
his room and refresh himself after his journey. When Roger had really
got his release, however, and was on his way to the door, the young man
came back again with another inconsequent question:--
"May I ask, Colonel Sutherland, if Miss Scarsdale was aware of this--of
your suspicions?" he said, fumbling wrathfully with the handle of his
travelling-bag.
"Certainly not--not a word," said Uncle Edward, gravely; and while the
young man went away relieved, the old one mused in his chair, with a
little humour in his smile. "I wonder, now, what it mattered if she
had?" he said to himself; "they never exchanged three words in their
lives." That was very true; but there are more things than words in the
world when people are young.