rush of joy and exultation.
"For Valour!"
"For Valour!" Yes, yes, it was quite true! Never was soldier flushed
with victory more deserving of that decoration than Arthur Saville in
his hour of disappointment and failure.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS!
Arthur kept his word, and tried manfully not to let his own
disappointment interfere with the enjoyment of Christmas Day.
The party at the vicarage was smaller than usual, for Rob and Oswald had
both gone home for the festive season, and he knew well that the
knowledge that "Arthur was coming" had seemed the best guarantee of a
merry day to those who were left.
Peggy too--poor little Peg, with her bandaged hands and tiny white
face--it would never do to grieve her by being depressed and gloomy!
"Begone, dull care!" cried Arthur to himself then, when he awoke on
Christmas morning, and, promptly wrapping himself in his dressing-gown,
he sallied out on to the landing, where he burst into the strains of
"Christians, awake!" with such vigorous brush-and-comb accompaniment on
the panels of the doors as startled the household out of their dreams.
"Miserable boy! I was having such a lovely nap! I'll never forgive
you!" cried Mrs Asplin's voice, in sleepy wrath.
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" shouted the girls; and Peggy's
clear pipe joined in last of all. "And many of them! Come in! Come
in! I was lying awake and longing to see you!"
Arthur put his ruffled head round the door and beamed at the little
figure in the bed, as if he had never known a trouble in his life.
"What a wicked story! I heard you snore. Merry Christmas, Peg, and a
Happy New Year! And don't you go for to do it again never no more!
It's a jolly morning. I'll take you out for a toddle in the garden when
we come home from church, if you are a good girl. Will you have your
present now, or wait till you get it? It begins with a B. I love my
love with a B, because she's a--"
"Oh, Arthur!" interrupted Peggy regretfully. "I haven't half such a
nice present for you as I expected. You see I couldn't work anything,
and I couldn't get out to the shops, and I hadn't nearly as much money
as I expected either. If Rob and I had won that prize, I should have
had ten pounds; but the stupid editors have put off announcing the
result week after week. They say there were so many competitors; but
that's no consolation, for it makes our chance less. I do hope it may
be out next week. But, at any rate, I didn't get my ten pounds in time,
and there I was, you see, with little money and practically no hands--
a--er--a most painful contingency, which I hope it may never be your lot
to experience. You must take the will for the deed."
"Oh, I will!" agreed Arthur promptly. "I'll take the will now, and you
can follow up with the deed as soon as you get the cash. But no more
journeys up to London, my dear, if you love me, and don't use such big
words before seven o'clock in the morning, or you'll choke. It's bad
for little girls to exert themselves so much. Now I'm going to skate
about in the bath for a bit, and tumble into my clothes, and then I'll
come back and give you a lift downstairs. You are coming down for
breakfast, I suppose?"
"Rather! On Christmas morning! I should just think I was!" cried Peggy
emphatically; and Arthur went off to the bathroom, calling in at Max's
room _en route_, to squeeze a sponge full of water over that young
gentleman's head, and pull the clothes off the bed, by way of giving
emphasis to his, "Get up, you lazy beggar! It's the day after
to-morrow, and the plum-pudding is waiting!"
Peggy was the only one of the young folks who did not go to church that
morning; but she was left in charge of the decorations for the
dinner-table, and when this was finished there was so much to think
about that the time passed all too quickly.
Last year she and Arthur had spent Christmas with their mother; now both
parents were away in India, and everything was strange and altered. As
Peggy sat gazing into the heart of the big gloomy fire, it seemed to her
that the year that was passing away would end a complete epoch in her
brother's experiences and her own, and that from this hour a new chapter
would begin. She herself had come back from the door of death, and had
life given, as it were, afresh into her hands. Arthur's longed-for
career had been checked at its commencement, and all his plans laid
waste. Even the life in the vicarage would henceforth take new
conditions, for Rob and Oswald would go up to Oxford at the beginning of
the term, and their place be filled by new pupils. There was something
solemnising in the consciousness of change which filled the air. One
could never tell what might be the next development. Nothing was too
unexpected to happen--since Arthur's success had ended in failure, and
she herself had received Rosalind's vows of love and friendship.
"Good things have happened as well as bad," acknowledged Peggy honestly;
"but how I do hate changes! The new pupils may be the nicest boys in
the world, but no one will ever--ever be like Rob, and I'd rather Arthur
had been a soldier than anything in the wide world. I wish one could go
on being young for ever and ever. It's when you grow old that all these
troubles and changes come upon you." And Peggy sighed and wagged her
head, oppressed with the weight of fifteen years.
It was a relief to hear the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the sound of
voices in the hall, which proved that the church-goers had returned
home. Mr and Mrs Asplin had been driven home from church by Lord and
Lady Darcy, and the next moment they were in the room, and greeting
Peggy with demonstrative affection.
"We couldn't go home without coming to see you, dear," said Lady Darcy
fondly. "Rosalind is walking with the rest, and will be here in a few
minutes. A merry Christmas to you, darling, and many, many of them.
I've brought you a little present which I hope you will like. It's a
bangle bracelet--quite a simple one that you can wear every day--and you
must think of me sometimes when you put it on."
She touched the spring of a little morocco case as she spoke, and there
on the satin lining lay a band of gold, dependent from which hung the
sweetest little locket in the world--heart-shaped, studded with pearls,
and guarding a ring of hair beneath the glass shield.
Lady Darcy pointed to it in silence--her eyes filling with tears, as
they invariably did on any reference to Rosalind's accident, and Peggy's
cheeks flushed with pleasure.
"I can't thank you! I really can't," she said. "It is too lovely. You
couldn't possibly have given me anything I liked better. I have a
predilection for jewellery, and the little locket is too sweet, dangling
on that chain! I do love to have something that waggles!" She held up
her arm as she spoke, shaking the locket to and fro with a childlike
enjoyment, while the two ladies watched her with tender amusement. Lord
Darcy had not spoken since his first greeting, but now he came forward,
and linking his arm in Peggy's led her to the farther end of the room.
"I have no present for you, my dear--I could not think of one that was
good enough--but yesterday I really think I hit on something that would
please you. Robert told us how keenly you were feeling your brother's
disappointment, and that he was undecided what to try next. Now, I
believe I can help him there. I have influence in the Foreign Office,
and can ensure him an opening when he is ready for it, if your father
agrees that it is desirable. Would that please you, Peggy? If I can
help your brother, will it go some little way towards paying the debt I
owe you?"
"Oh-h!" cried Peggy rapturously. "Oh!" She clasped Lord Darcy's hands
in her own and gazed at him with dilated eyes. "Can you do it? Will
you do it? There is nothing in all the world I should like so much.
Help Arthur--give him a good chance--and I shall bless you for ever and
ever! I could never thank you enough--"
"Well, well, I will write to your father and see what he has to say. I
can promise the lad a start at least, and after that his future will be
in his own hands, where I think we may safely leave it. Master Arthur
is one of the fortunate being's who has an `open sesame' to all hearts.
Mr Asplin assures me that he is as good at work as at play; I have not
seen that side of his character, but he has always left a most pleasing
impression on my mind, most pleasing." The old lord smiled to himself,
and his eyes took a dreamy expression, as if he were recalling to memory
the handsome face and strong manly presence of the young fellow of whom
he was speaking. "He has been a favourite at our house for some years
now, and I shall be glad to do him a service; but remember, Peggy, that
when I propose this help, it is, in the first instance at least, for
your sake, not his. I tell you this because I think it will give you
pleasure to feel that you have been the means of helping your brother.
Talk it over with him some time when you are alone together, and then he
can come up and see me. To-day we must leave business alone. Here they
come! I thought they would not be long after us--"
Even as he spoke voices sounded from the hall, there was a clatter of
feet over the tiled flooring, and Mellicent dashed into the room.
"P-P-P-Postman!" she stammered breathlessly. "He is coming! Round the
corner! Heaps of letters! Piles of parcels! A hand-cart, and a boy to
help him! Here in five minutes! Oh! oh! oh!" She went rushing back to
the door, and Rosalind came forward, looking almost her old beautiful
self, with her cheeks flushed by the cold air, and the fur collar of her
jacket turned up so as to hide the scarred cheek.
"Merry Christmas, Rosalind! How--how nice you look!" cried Peggy,
looking up and down the dainty figure with more pleasure in the sight
than she could have believed possible a few weeks before. After being
accustomed for four long weeks to gaze at those perfectly cut features,
Esther's long chin and Mellicent's retrousse nose had been quite a trial
to her artistic sensibilities on her return to the vicarage. It was
like having a masterpiece taken down from the walls and replaced by an
inferior engraving. She gave a sigh of satisfaction as she looked once
more at Rosalind's face.
"Mewwy Chwistmas, Peggy! I've missed you fwightfully. I've not been to
church, but I dwove down to meet the others, and came to see you. I had
to see you on Chwistmas Day. I've had lovely pwesents, and there are
more to come. Mother has given you the bwacelet, I see. Is it what you
like?"
"My dear, I love it. I'm fearfully addicted to jewellery. I had to put
it on at once, and it looks quite elegant on top of the bandages! I'm
inexpressibly obliged. I've got heaps of things--books, scent,
glove-box, writing-case, a big box coming from India, and--don't tell
her--an apron from Mellicent! The most awful thing. I can't think
where she found it. Yellow cloth with dog-roses worked in filoselle!
Imagine me in a yellow apron with spotty roses around the brim!"
"He! he! I can't! I weally can't. It's too widiculous!" protested
Rosalind. "She sent me a twine bag made of netted cotton. It's awfully
useful if you use twine, but I never do. Don't say I said so. Who got
the night-dwess bag with the two shades of blue that didn't match?"
"Esther! You should have seen her face!" whispered Peggy roguishly, and
the girls went into peals of laughter, which brought Robert hurrying
across the room to join them.
"Now then, Rosalind; when you have quite done, I should like to speak to
Peggy. The compliments of the season to you, Mariquita; I hope I see
you well."
Peggy pursed up her lips, and looked him up and down with her dancing
hazel eyes.
"Most noble sir, the heavens rain blessings on you--Oh, my goodness,
there's the postman!" she said all in one breath; and the partners
darted forward side by side towards the front door, where the old
postman was already standing, beaming all over his weatherbeaten face,
as he began turning out the letters and calling out the names on the
envelopes.
"Asplin, Asplin, Saville, Asplin, Saville, Saville, Miss Peggy Saville,
Miss Mellercent Asplin, Miss Saville, Miss M. Saville, Miss Peggy
Saville."
So the list ran on, with such a constant repetition of the same name
that Max exclaimed in disgust, "Who _is_ this Miss Peggy Saville that we
hear so much about? She's a greedy thing, whoever she may be;" and
Mellicent whined out, "I wish I had been at a boarding-school! I wish
my relatives lived abroad. There will be none left for me by the time
she has finished." Then Arthur thrust forward his mischievous face, and
put in a stern inquiry--
"Forbes! Where's that registered letter? That letter with the
hundred-pound note. Don't say you haven't got it, for I know better.
Hand it over now, without any more bother."
The old postman gave a chuckle of amusement, for this was a standing
joke renewed every Christmas that Arthur had spent at the vicarage.
"'Tasn't come ter-day, Muster Saville. Missed the post. 'Twill be
coming ter-morrer morning certain!"
"Forbes!" croaked Arthur solemnly. "Reflect! You have a wife and
children. This is a serious business. It's ruin, Forbes, that's what
it is. R-u-i-n, my friend! Be advised by me, and give it up. The
hundred pounds is not worth it, and besides I need it badly. Don't
deprive a man of his inheritance!"
"Bless yer rart, I'd bring it yer with pleasure rif I could! Nobody'd
bring it quicker ran I would!" cried Forbes, who like everyone else
adored the handsome young fellow who was always ready with a joke and a
kindly word. "It's comin' for the Noo Year, sir. You mark my words.
There's a deal of luck waitin' for yer in the Noo Year!"
Arthur's laugh ended in a sigh, but he thanked the old man for his good
wishes, tipped him even more lavishly than usual, and followed his
companions to the drawing-room to examine their treasures.
Parcels were put on one side to await more leisurely inspection, but
cards and letters were opened at once, and Rob seated himself by Peggy's
side as she placed the pile of envelopes on a table in the corner.
"We are partners, you know," he reminded her, "so I think I am entitled
to a share in these. What a lot of cards! Who on earth are the
senders?"
"My godfathers, and my godmothers, and all my relatives and friends.
The girls at school and some of the teachers. This fat one is from
`Buns'--Miss Baker, the one whose Sunday hat I squashed. She used to
say that I was sent to her as wholesome discipline, to prevent her being
too happy as a hard-worked teacher in a ladies' school, but she wept
bucketfuls when I came away. I liked Buns! This is from Marjorie
Riggs, my chum. She had a squint, but a most engaging disposition.
This is from Kate Strong: now if there is a girl in the world for whom I
cherish an aversion, it is Katie Strong! She is what I call a specious
pig, and why she wanted to send me a Christmas card I simply can't
imagine. We were on terms of undying hatred. This is from Miss Moss,
the pupil teacher. She had chilblains, poor dear, and spoke through her
dose. `You busn't do it, Peggy, you really busn't. It's bost adoying!'
Then I did it again, you know, and she sniggered and tried to look
cross. This is--I don't know who this is from! It's a man's writing.
It looks like a business letter--London postmark--and something printed
in white on the seal. What is it? `The Pic-Pic-Piccadilly'--Robert!"
Peggy's voice grew shrill with excitement. "_The Piccadilly Magazine_."
"Wh-at!" Robert grabbed at the envelope, read the words himself, and
stared at her with sparkling eyes. "It is! It's the prize, Mariquita!
It must be. What else would they write about? Open it and see. Quick!
Shall I do it for you?"
"Yes, yes!" cried Peggy breathlessly. She craned her head forward as
Rob tore open the envelope, and grasped his arm with both hands.
Together they read the typewritten words, together they gasped and
panted, and shrieked aloud in joy. "We've done it! We have! We've won
the prize! Thirty pounds! Bravo, Rob! Now you can buy your
microscope!"--"Good old Mariquita, it's all your doing. Don't speak to
us; we are literary people, far above ordinary commonplace creatures
like you. Thir-ty pounds! made by our own honest toil. What do you
think of that, I'd like to know?"
Each member of the audience thought something different, and said it
amid a scene of wild excitement. The elders were pleased and proud,
though not above improving the occasion by warnings against secret work,
over-anxiety, midnight journeys, etcetera. Mellicent exclaimed, "How
jolly! Now you will be able to give presents for the New Year as well
as Christmas;" and Arthur said, "Dear Peggums! I always loved you; I
took the `will,' you know, without any grumbling, and now you can follow
up with the deed as quickly as you like!" Each one wanted to hold the
precious document in his own hands, to read it with his own eyes, and it
was handed round and round to be exclaimed over in accents of wonder and
admiration, while Rob beamed, and Peggy tossed her pigtail over her
shoulder, holding her little head at an angle of complacent
satisfaction.
The moment of triumph was very sweet--all the sweeter because of the
sorrows of the last few weeks. The partners forgot all the hard work,
worry, and exhaustion, and remembered only the joy of success and hope
fulfilled. Robert said little in the way of thanks, preferring to wait
until he could tell Peggy of his gratitude without an audience to
criticise his words; but when his mother began to speak of leaving, it
was he who reminded Mrs Asplin of the promise that the invalid should
have her first walk on Christmas Day.
"Let us go on ahead, and take her with us until the carriage overtakes
us. It will do her no harm. It's bright and dry--"
"Oh, mater, yes! I told Peg I would take her out," chimed in Arthur,
starting from his seat by Rosalind's side, and looking quite distressed
because he had momentarily forgotten his promise. "Wrap her up well,
and we'll take care of her. The air will do her good."
"I think it will, but you must not go far--not an inch beyond the
crossroads. Come, Peggy, and I'll dress you myself. I can't trust you
to put on enough wraps." Mrs Asplin whisked the girl out of the room,
and wrapped her up to such an extent that when she came downstairs again
she could only puff and gasp above her muffler, declare that she was
choking, and fan herself with her muff. Choking or not, the eyes of the
companions brightened as they looked at her, for the scarlet
tam-o'-shanter was set at a rakish angle on the dark little head, and
Peggy the invalid seemed to have made way for the Peggy of old, with
dimpling cheeks and the light of mischief in her eyes.
The moment that Mrs Asplin stopped fumbling with her wraps, she was out
at the door, opening her mouth to drink in the fresh chill air, and
Robert was at her side before anyone had a chance of superseding him.
"Umph! Isn't it good? I'm stifling for a blow. My lungs are sore for
want of exercise. I was longing, longing to get out. Robert, do you
realise it? We have won the prize! Can you believe it? It is almost
too good to be true. It's the best present of all. Now you can buy
your microscope, and get on with your work as you never could before!"
"Yes, and it's all your doing, Mariquita. I could not have pulled it
off without your help. If I make anything out of my studies, it will be
your doing too. I'll put it down to you, and thank you for it all my
life."
"H-m! I don't think I deserve so much praise, but I like it. It's very
soothing," said Peggy reflectively. "I'm very happy about it, and I
needed something to make me happy, for I felt as blue as indigo this
morning. We seem to have come to the end of so many things, and I hate
ends. There is this disappointment about Arthur, which spoils all the
old plans, and the break-up of our good times here together. I shall
miss Oswald. He was a dear old dandy, and his ties were quite an
excitement in life; but I simply can't imagine what the house will be
like without you, Rob!"
"I shall be here for some weeks every year, and I'll run down for a day
or two whenever I can. It won't be good-bye."
"I know--I know! but you will never be one of us again, living in the
house, joining in all our jokes. It will be quite a different thing.
And you will grow up so quickly at Oxford, and be a man before we know
where we are."
"So will you--a woman at least. You are fifteen in January. At
seventeen, girls put their hair up and wear long dresses. You will look
older than I do, and give yourself as many airs as if you were fifty. I
know what girls of seventeen are like. I've met lots of them, and they
say, `That boy!' and toss their heads as if they were a dozen years
older than fellows of their own age. I expect you will be as bad as the
rest, but you needn't try to snub me. I won't stand it."
"You won't have a chance, for I shan't be here. As soon as my education
is finished I am going out to India, to stay until father retires and we
come home to settle. So after to-day--"
"After to-day--the deluge! Peggy, I didn't tell you before, but I'm off
to-morrow to stay in town until I go up to Oxford on the fourteenth.
The pater wants to have me with him, so I shan't see you again for some
months. Of course I am glad to be in town for most things, but--"
"Yes, but!" repeated Peggy, and turned a wan little face upon him. "Oh,
Rob, it is changing quickly I never thought it would be so soon as this.
So it is good-bye. No wonder I felt so blue this morning. It is
good-bye for ever to the old life. We shall meet again, oh yes! but it
will be different. Some day when I'm old and grown-up I will see in a
newspaper the name of a distinguished naturalist and discoverer, and
say, `I used to know him once. He was not at all proud. He used to
pull my hair like any ordinary mortal.'
"Some day I shall enter a ballroom, and see a little lady sitting by the
door waving her hands in the air, and using words a mile long, and shall
say to myself, `Do my eyes deceive me? Is it indeed the Peggy Pickle of
the Past?' and my host will say, `My good sir, that is the world-famous
authoress, Mariquita de Ponsonby Plantagenet Saville!' Stevenson, I
assure you, is not in it for flow of language, and she is so proud of
herself that she won't speak to anyone under a belted earl."
"That sounds nice!" said Peggy approvingly. "I should like that; but it
wouldn't be a ball, you silly boy--it would be a conversazione, where
all the clever and celebrated people of London were gathered together,
`To have the honour of meeting Miss Saville.' There would be quite a
number of people whom we knew among the Lions. A very grand Lady
Somebody or other, the beauty of the season--Rosalind, of
course--all sparkling with diamonds, and leaning on the arm of a
distinguished-looking gentleman with orders on his breast. That's
Arthur. I'm determined that he shall have orders. It's the only thing
that could reconcile me to the loss of the Victoria Cross, and a
dress-coat is so uninteresting without trimmings! A fat lady would be
sitting in a corner prattling about half a dozen subjects all in one
moment--that's Mellicent; and a tall, lean lady in spectacles would be
imparting useful information to a dandy with an eyeglass stuck in one
eye--that's Esther and Oswald! Oh dear, I wonder--I wonder--I wonder!
It's like a story-book, Rob, and we are at the end of the first volume.
How much shall we have to do with each other in the second and third;
and what is going to happen next, and how, and when?"
"We--we have to part, that's the next thing," said Rob sadly. "Here
comes the carriage, and Arthur is shouting for us to stop. It's
good-bye, for the present, Mariquita; there's no help for it!"
"At the crossroads!" said Peggy slowly, her eye wandering to the
sign-board which marked the paths branching north, south, east, and
west. She stopped short and stood gazing into his face, her eyes big
and solemn, the wind blowing her hair into loose little curls beneath
her scarlet cap, her dramatic mind seizing eagerly on the significance
of the position. "At the crossroads, Rob, to go our different ways!
Good-bye, good-bye! I hate to say it. You--you won't forget me, and
like the horrid boys at college better than me, will you, Rob?"
Robert gave a short, strangled little laugh.