awfully. I shall feel that there is nothing to do when you have gone
away, Peggy!"--Rosalind hesitated, and looked at her companion in
uncertain bashful fashion. "I--I think you like me a little bit now,
and I'm vewy fond of you, but you couldn't bear me before we were ill.
You might tell me why?"
"I was jealous of you," said Peggy promptly; whereat Rosalind's eyes
filled with tears.
"You won't be jealous now!" she said dismally, and raised her head to
stare at her own reflection in the mirror. The hair which had once
streamed below her waist was now cut short round her head, her face had
lost its delicate bloom, and an ugly scar disfigured her throat and the
lower portion of one cheek. Beautiful she must always be, with her
faultless features and wonderful eyes, but the bloom and radiance of
colour which had been her chief charm had disappeared for the time being
as completely as though they had never existed.
"I'll love you more," said Peggy reassuringly. "You are ever so much
nicer, and you will be as pretty as ever when your hair grows and the
marks fade away. I like you better when you are not _quite_ so pretty,
for you really were disgustingly conceited; weren't you now? You can't
deny it."
"Oh, Peggy Saville, and so were you! I saw that the first moment you
came into the woom. You flared up like a Turkey cock if anyone dared to
offend your dignity, and you were always widing about on your high
horse, tossing your head, and using gweat long words."
"That's pride, it's not conceit. It's quite a different thing."
"It's about the same to other people," said Rosalind shrewdly. "We both
gave ourselves airs, and the wesult was the same, whatever caused it. I
was pwoud of my face, and you were pwoud of your--your--er--family--and
your cleverness, and--the twicks you played; so if I confess, you ought
to confess too. I'm sorry I aggwavated you, Mawiquita, and took all the
pwaise for the decowations. It was howwibly mean, and I don't wonder
you were angwy. I'm sorry that I was selfish!"
"I exceedingly regret that I formed a false estimate of your character!
Let's be chums!" said Peggy sweetly; and the two girls eyed one another
uncertainly for a moment, then bent forward and exchanged a kiss of
conciliation, after which unusual display of emotion they were seized
with instant embarrassment.
"Hem!" said Peggy. "It's very cold! Fire rather low, I think. Looks
as if it were going to snow."
"No," said Rosalind; "I mean--yes. I'll put on some more--I mean coals.
In half an hour Esther and Mellicent will be here--"
"Oh, so they will! How lovely!" Peggy seized gladly on the new
opening, and proceeded to enlarge on the joy which she felt at the
prospect of seeing her friends again, for on that afternoon Robert and
the vicarage party were to be allowed to see her for the first time, and
to have tea in her room. She had been looking forward to their visit
for days, and, new that the longed-for hour was at hand, she was eager
to have the lamps lit, and all preparations made for their arrival.
Robert appeared first, having ridden over in advance of the rest. And
Rosalind, after going out to greet him, came rushing back, all shaken
with laughter, with the information that he had begun to walk on tiptoe
the moment that he had left the drawing-room, and was creeping along the
passage as if terrified at making a sound.
Peggy craned her head, heard the squeak, squeak of boots coming nearer
and nearer, the cautious opening of the door, the heavy breaths of
anxiety, and then, crash!--bang!--crash! down flopped the heavy screen
round the doorway, and Rob was discovered standing among the ruins in
agonies of embarrassment. From his expression of despair, he might have
supposed that the shock would kill Peggy outright; but she gulped down
her nervousness, and tried her best to reassure him.
"Oh, never mind--never mind! It doesn't matter. Come over here and
talk to me. Oh, Rob, Rob, I am so glad to see you!"
Robert stood looking down in silence, while his lips twitched and his
eyebrows worked in curious fashion. If it had not been altogether too
ridiculous, Peggy would have thought that he felt inclined to cry. But
he only grunted, and cried--
"What a face! You had better tuck into as much food as you can, and get
some flesh on your bones. It's about as big as the palm of my hand!
Never saw such a thing in my life."
"Never mind my face," piped Peggy in her weak little treble. "Sit right
down and talk to me. What is the news in the giddy world? Have you
heard anything about the prize? When does the result come out?
Remember you promised faithfully not to open the paper until we were
together. I was so afraid it would come while I was too ill to look at
it!"
"I should have waited," said Robert sturdily. "There would have been no
interest in the thing without you; but the result won't be given for ten
days yet, and by that time you will be with us again. The world hasn't
been at all giddy, I can tell you. I never put in a flatter time.
Everybody was in the blues, and the house was like a tomb, and a jolly
uncomfortable tomb at that. Esther was housekeeper while Mrs Asplin
was away, and she starved us! She was in such a mortal fright of being
extravagant that she could scarcely give us enough to keep body and soul
together, and the things we had were not fit to eat. Nothing but milk
puddings and stewed fruit for a week on end. Then we rebelled. I
nipped her up in my arms one evening in the schoolroom, and stuck her on
the top of the little bookcase. Then we mounted guard around, and set
forth our views. It would have killed you to see her perched up there,
trying to look prim and to keep up her dignity.
"`Let me down this moment, Robert. Bring a chair and let me get down.'
"`Will you promise to give us a pie to-morrow, then, and a decent sort
of a pudding?'
"`It's no business of yours what I give you. You ought to be thankful
for good wholesome food!'
"`Milk puddings are not wholesome. They don't agree with us--they are
too rich! We should like something a little lighter for a change. Will
you swear off milk puddings for the next fortnight if I let you down?'
"`You are a cruel, heartless fellow, Robert Darcy--thinking of puddings
when Peggy is ill, and we are all so anxious about her!'
"`Peggy would die at once if she heard how badly you were treating us.
Now then, you have kept me waiting for ten minutes, so the price has
gone up. Now you'll have to promise a pair of ducks and mince-pies into
the bargain! I shall be ashamed of meeting a sheep soon, if we go on
eating mutton every day of the week.'
"`Call yourself a gentleman!' says she, tossing her head and withering
me with a glance of scorn.
"`I call myself a hungry man, and that's all we are concerned about for
the moment,' said I. `A couple of ducks and two nailing good puddings
to-morrow night, or there you sit for the rest of the evening!'
"We went at it hammer and tongs until she was fairly spluttering with
rage; but she had to promise before she came down, and we had no more
starvation diet after that. Oswald went up to town for a day, and
bought a pair of blue silk socks and a tie to match--that's the greatest
excitement we have had. The rest has been all worry and grind, and
Mellicent on the rampage about Christmas presents. Oh, by the bye, I
printed those photographs you wanted to send to your mother, and packed
them off by the mail a fortnight ago, so that she would get them in good
time for Christmas."
"Rob, you didn't! How noble of you! You really are an admirable
person!" Peggy lay back against her pillows and gazed at her "partner"
in great contentment of spirit. After living an invalid's life for
these past weeks, it was delightfully refreshing to look at the big
strong face. The sight of it was like a fresh breeze coming into the
close, heated room, and she felt as if some of his superabundant energy
had come into her own weak frame.
A little later the vicarage party arrived, and greeted the two
convalescents with warmest affection. If they were shocked at the sight
of Rosalind's disfigurement and Peggy's emaciation, three out of the
four were polite enough to disguise their feelings; but it was too much
to expect of Mellicent that she should disguise what she happened to be
feeling. She stared and gaped, and stared again, stuttering with
consternation--
"Why--why--Rosalind--your hair! It's shorter than mine! It doesn't
come down to your shoulders! Did they cut it all off? What did you do
with the rest? And your poor cheek! Will you have that mark all your
life?"
"I don't know. Mother is going to twy electwicity for it. It will fade
a good deal, I suppose, but I shall always be a fwight. I'm twying to
wesign myself to be a hideous monster!" sighed Rosalind, turning her
head towards the window the while in such a position that the scar was
hidden from view, and she looked more like the celestial choir-boy of
Peggy's delirium than ever, with the golden locks curling round her
neck, and the big eyes raised to the ceiling in a glance of pathetic
resignation.
Rob guffawed aloud with the callousness of a brother; but the other two
lads gazed at her with an adoring admiration which was balm to her vain
little heart. Vain still, for a nature does not change in a day; and,
though Rosalind was an infinitely more lovable person now than she had
been a few weeks before, the habits of a lifetime were still strong upon
her, and she could never by any possibility be indifferent to
admiration, or pass a mirror without stopping to examine the progress of
that disfiguring scar.
"It wouldn't have mattered half so much if it had been Peggy's face that
was spoiled," continued Mellicent, with cruel outspokenness, "and it is
only her hands that are hurt. Things always go the wrong way in this
world! I never saw anything like it. You know that night-dress bag I
was working for mother, Peggy? Well, I only got two skeins of the blue
silk, and then if I didn't run short, and they hadn't any more in the
shop. The other shades don't match at all, and it looks simply vile. I
am going to give it to--ahem! I mean that's the sort of thing that
always happens to me--it makes me mad! You can't sew at all, I suppose?
What do you do with yourself all day long, now that you are able to get
up?"
Peggy's eyes twinkled.
"I sleep," she said slowly, "and eat, and sleep a little more, and eat
again, and talk a little bit, roll into bed, and fall fast asleep.
_Voila tout, ma chere! C'est ca que je fais tous les jours_."
Rosalind gave a shriek of laughter at Peggy's French, and Mellicent
rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
"How s-imply lovely!" she sighed. "I wish I were you! I'd like to go
to bed in November and stay there till May. In a room like this, of
course, with everything beautiful and dainty, and a maid to wait upon
me. I'd have a fire and an india-rubber hot-water bottle, and I'd lie
and sleep, and wake up every now and then, and make the maid read aloud,
and bring me my meals on a tray. Nice meals! Real, nice invalidy
things, you know, to tempt my appetite." Mellicent's eyes rolled
instinctively to the table, where the jelly and the grapes stood
together in tempting proximity. She sighed, and brought herself back
with an effort to the painful present. "Goodness, Peggy, how funny your
hands look! Just like a mummy! What do they look like when the
bandages are off? Very horrible?"
"Hideous!" Peggy shrugged her shoulders and wrinkled her nose in
disgust. "I am going to try to grow old as fast as I can, so that I can
wear mittens and cover them up. I'm really rather distressed about it,
because I am so--so addicted to rings, don't you know. They have been a
weakness of mine all my life, and I've looked forward to having my
fingers simply loaded with them when I grew up. There is one of
mother's that I especially admire--a big square emerald surrounded with
diamonds. She promised to give it to me on my twenty-first birthday,
but, unless my hands look very different by that time, I shall not want
to call attention to them. Alack-a-day! I fear I shall never be able
to wear a ring--"
"Gracious goodness! Then you can never be married!" ejaculated
Mellicent, in a tone of such horrified dismay as evoked a shriek of
merriment from the listeners--Peggy's merry trill sounding clear above
the rest. It was just delicious to be well again, to sit among her
companions and have one of the old hearty laughs over Mellicent's quaint
speeches. At that moment she was one of the happiest girls in all the
world.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
ALAS, FOR ARTHUR!
A few days later Peggy was driven home to the vicarage, and stood the
drive so well that she was able to walk downstairs at tea-time, and sit
at the table with only a cushion at her back, to mark her out as an
invalid just recovering from a serious illness. There was a special
reason why she wished to look well this afternoon, for Arthur was
expected by the six o'clock train; and the candidate who had come out
first in his examination lists must not have his reception chilled by
anxiety or disappointment.
Peggy was attired in her pink dress, and sat roasting before the fire,
so as to get some colour into her cheeks. If her face were only the
size of the palm of a hand, she was determined that it should at least
be rosy; and if she looked very bright, and smiled all the time, perhaps
Arthur would not notice how thin she had become.
When half-past six struck, everyone crowded into the schoolroom, and
presently a cab drove up to the door, and a modest rap sounded on the
knocker.
"That's not Arthur!" cried Mrs Asplin confidently. "He knocks straight
on without stopping, peals the bell at the same time, and shouts
Christmas carols through the letter-box! He has sent on his luggage, I
expect, and is going to pounce in upon us later on."
"Ah, no, that's not Arthur!" assented Peggy; but Mr Asplin turned his
head quickly towards the door, as if his ear had caught a familiar note,
hesitated for a moment, and then walked quickly into the hall.
"My dear boy!" the listeners heard him cry; and then another voice spoke
in reply--Arthur's voice--saying, "How do you do, sir?" in such flat,
subdued tones as filled them with amazement.
Mrs Asplin and Peggy turned towards each other with distended eyes. If
Arthur had suddenly slid down the chimney and crawled out on the hearth
before them, turned a somersault in at the window, or crawled from
beneath the table, it would have caused no astonishment whatever; but
that he should ring at the bell, walk quietly into the hall, and wait to
hang up his hat like any other ordinary mortal,--this was indeed an
unprecedented and extraordinary proceeding! The same explanation darted
into both minds. His sister's illness! He was afraid of startling an
invalid, and was curbing his overflowing spirits in consideration for
her weakness.
Peggy rose from her chair, and stood waiting, with sparkling eyes and
burning cheeks. He should see in one glance that she was better--almost
well--that there was no need of anxiety on her behalf. And then the
tall, handsome figure appeared in the doorway, and Arthur's voice
cried--
"Peggikens! Up and dressed! This is better than I hoped. How are you,
dear little Peg?"
There was something wrong with the voice, something lacking in the
smile; but his sister was too excited to notice it. She stretched out
her arms towards him, and raised her weak, quavering little voice in a
song of triumph--
"See-ee the conquering he-he-he-he-hero com-ums! Sow-ow-ow-ow-ownd the
trumpet, play--a--a--a--"
"Don't, Peg!" cried Arthur sharply. "Don't, dear!" He was standing by
her side by this time, and suddenly he wrapped his arms round her and
laid his curly head on hers. "I'm plucked, Peg!" he cried, and his
voice was full of tears. "Oh, Peg, I'm plucked! It's all over; I can
never be a soldier. I'm plucked--plucked--plucked!"
"Arthur dear! Arthur darling!" cried Peggy loudly. She clasped her
arms round his neck, and glared over his shoulder, like a tigress whose
young has been threatened with danger. "You plucked! My brother
plucked! Ho! ho! ho!" She gave a shrill peal of laughter. "It's
impossible! You were first of all, the very first. You always are
first. Who was wicked enough, and cruel enough, and false enough, to
say that Arthur Saville was plucked in an examination?"
"Arthur, my boy, what is it? What does it mean? You told us you were
first. How can you possibly be plucked?"
"My--my eyes!" said Arthur faintly. He raised his head from Peggy's
shoulder and looked round with a haggard smile. "The medical exam.
They would not pass me. I was rather blind when I was here before, but
I thought it was with reading too much. I never suspected there was
anything really wrong--never for a moment!"
"Your eyes!" The vicar pressed his hand to his forehead, as if unable
to grasp this sudden shattering of his hopes. "But--but I don't
understand! Your eyes never gave you any trouble when you were here.
You were not short-sighted. One knew, of course, that good sight was
necessary; but there seemed no weakness in that direction. I can't
imagine any cause that can have brought it on."
"I can!" said Arthur drearily. "I got a bad knock at lacrosse two years
ago. I didn't tell you about it, for it wasn't worth while; but my eyes
were bad for some time after that. I thought they were all right again;
but I had to read a lot of things across a room, and made a poor show of
it. Then the doctor took me to a window and pointed to an omnibus that
was passing.
"`What's the name on that 'bus?' he said. `What is the colour of that
woman's hat? How many horses are there?'
"I guessed. I couldn't see. I made a shot at it, and it was a wrong
shot. He was a kind old chap. I think he was sorry for me. I--I came
out into the street, and walked about. It was very cold. I tried to
write to you, but I couldn't do it--I couldn't put it down in black and
white. No V.C. now, little Peg! That's all over. You will have a
civilian for your brother, after all!"
He bent down to kiss the girl's cheeks as he spoke, and she threw her
arms round his neck and kissed him passionately upon his closed eyelids.
"Dear eyes!" she cried impetuously. "Oh, dear eyes! They are the
dearest eyes in all the world, whatever anyone says about them. It
doesn't matter what you are--you are my Arthur, the best and cleverest
brother in all the world. Nobody is like you!"
"You have a fine career before you still, my boy! You will always
fight, I hope, and conquer enemies even more powerful than armed men!"
cried Mrs Asplin, trembling. "There are more ways than one of being a
soldier, Arthur!"
"I know it, mater," said the young man softly. He straightened his back
and stood in silence, his head thrown back, his eyes shining with
emotion, as fine a specimen of a young English gentleman as one could
wish to meet. "I know it," he repeated, and Mrs Asplin turned aside to
hide her tears. "Oh, my pretty boy!" she was saying to herself. "Oh,
my pretty boy! And I'll never see him in his red coat, riding his horse
like a prince among them all! I'll never see the medals on his breast!
Oh, my poor lad that has the fighting blood in his veins! It's like
tearing the heart out of him to turn Arthur Saville into anything but a
soldier. And the poor father--what will he say at all, when he hears
this terrible news?" She dared not trust herself to speak again; the
others were too much stunned and distressed to make any attempt at
consolation, and it was a relief to all when Mellicent's calm,
matter-of-fact treble broke the silence.
"Well, for my part, I'm very glad!" she announced slowly. "I'm sorry,
of course, if he has to wear spectacles, because they are not becoming,
but I'm glad he is not going to be a soldier. I think it's silly having
nothing to do but drill in barracks, and pretending to fight when there
is no one to fight with. I should hate to be a soldier in times of
peace, and it would be fifty thousand times worse in war. Oh, my
goodness, shouldn't I be in a fright! I should run away--I know I
should; but Arthur would be in the front of every battle, and it's
absurd to think that he would not get killed. You know what Arthur is!
Did you ever know him have a chance of hurting himself and not taking
it? He would be killed in the very first battle--that's my belief--and
_then_ you would be sorry that you wanted him to be a soldier! Or, if
he wasn't killed, he would have his legs shot off. Last time I was in
London I saw a man with no legs. He was sitting on a little board with
wheels on it, and selling matches in the street. Well, I must say I'd
rather have my brother a civilian, as you call it, than have no legs, or
be cut in pieces by a lot of nasty naked old savages."
A general smile went round the company. There was no resisting it.
Even Arthur's face brightened, and he turned his head and looked at
Mellicent with his old twinkling smile.
"Bravo, Chubby!" he cried. "Bravo, Chubby! Commend me to Mellicent for
good, sound commonsense. The prospect of squatting on a board, selling
matches, is not exhilarating, I must confess. I'm glad there is one
person at least who thinks my prospects are improved." He gave a little
sigh, which was stifled with praiseworthy quickness. "Well, the worst
is over, now that I have told you and written the letter to India.
Those were the two things that I dreaded most. Now I shall just have to
face life afresh, and see what can be made of it. I must have a talk
with you, sir, later on, and get your advice. Cheer up, Peggikens!
Cheer up, mater! It's no use grieving over spilt milk, and Christmas is
coming. It would never do to be in the dolefuls over Christmas! I've
got a boxful of presents upstairs--amused myself with buying them
yesterday to pass the time. You come up with me to-night, Peg, and I'll
give you a peep. You look better than I expected, dear, but fearsome
scraggy! We shall have to pad her out a bit, shan't we, mater? She
must have an extra helping of plum-pudding this year."
He rattled on in his own bright style, or in as near an imitation of it
as he could manage, and the others tried their best to follow his
example and make the evening as cheery as possible. Once or twice the
joy of being all together again in health and strength conquered the
underlying sorrow, and the laughter rang out as gaily as ever; but the
next moment Arthur would draw in his breath with another of those short,
stabbing sighs, and Peggy would shiver, and lie back trembling among her
pillows. She had no heart to look at Christmas presents that night, but
Arthur carried her upstairs in his strong arms, laid her on her bed, and
sat beside her for ten minutes' precious private talk.
"It's a facer, Peg," he said. "I can't deny it's a facer. When I
walked out of that doctor's room I felt as weak as a child. The shock
knocked the strength out of me. I had never thought of anything else
but being a soldier, you see, and it's a strange experience to have to
face life afresh, with everything that you had expected taken out of it,
and nothing ahead but blankness and disappointment. I've been so strong
too--as strong as a horse. If it hadn't been for that blow--well, it's
over! It's a comfort to me to feel that it was not my own fault. If
I'd been lazy or careless, and had failed in the exam., it would have
driven me crazy; but this was altogether beyond my control. It is
frightfully rough luck, but I don't mean to howl--I must make the best
of what's left!"
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. You have begun well, for I think you have
been wonderfully brave and courageous about it, Arthur dear!"
"Well, of course!" said Arthur softly. "I always meant to be that, Peg;
and, as the mater says, it is only another kind of battle. The other
would have been easier, but I mean to fight still. I am not going to
give up all my dreams. You shall be proud of me yet, though not in the
way you expected."
"I never was so proud of you in my life!" Peggy cried. "Never in all
my life."
Long after Arthur had kissed her and gone to his own room she lay awake,
thinking of his words and of the expression on his handsome face as the
firelight played on moistened eye and trembling lip. "I mean to fight."
"You shall be proud of me yet." The words rang in her ears, and would
not be silenced. When she fell asleep Arthur was still by her side; the
marks of tears were on his face. He was telling her once more the story
of disappointment and failure; but she could not listen to him, for her
eyes were fixed on something that was pinned on the breast of his coat--
a little cross with two words printed across its surface.