"TWO YEARS AFTER"
"Colonel Sir Francis Devereux to see you, sir."
I turned away from the window of my room, whence I had been gazing idly
into the dreary barrack square below, and advanced to greet the
stately, grey-headed old man who stood in the doorway.
"Surprised to see me, Hugh, eh?" he asked, sinking into my one easy
chair.
"I didn't expect you in town again so soon," I acknowledged. "But I'm
very glad to see you. You know that."
"Are you?" he said shortly. "Then why the devil can't you come and see
me sometimes? A nice thing to bring an old man over seventy years of
age a couple of hundred miles whenever he wants to have a word or two
with his grandson! Damn it, sir, you're as obstinate as a mule!"
I did not answer him. He knew very well why I would not go to
Devereux. What was the use of treading all over the old ground again?
"More rumours in the _Times_ this morning, I see, about Burton Leigh
and Mr. Arbuthnot," he remarked, after a short silence. "They say
they've been handed over to the Mahdi now. Don't believe a word of it!"
"I hope to God that it's not true," I groaned; "but in any case they
must be in terrible danger. The Mahdi is gaining fresh followers every
day, and they must be in the very centre of the most perilous district.
Why on earth the Government doesn't make a decided move, I can't
imagine!"
Sir Francis looked at me for a moment, half sadly, with an expression
on his face which I scarcely understood. Then he sighed.
"I have brought you news, Hugh," he said slowly.
"News!" I repeated; and then a sudden light flashed in upon me. "Tell
me quick," I cried. "You have been with Lord Cannington?"
My grandfather nodded.
"I left him only a quarter of an hour ago, at Whitehall, and came down
here as fast as a hansom could bring me. The 17th, 19th, and 21st are
ordered out. 'Twill be in to-night's Gazette."
I could have shouted, done any mad thing, in my great joy. But I sat
quite still in my chair, grasping its sides, and struggling to conceal
my excitement.
"Thank God!" I murmured fervently, "this is what I have prayed for. I
am sick of playing at being a soldier, of lounging about here, whilst
he--others--were in such mortal peril."
He sat looking at me, nodding his head slowly.
"He! others! Ah, well. But I have more news for you, Hugh. Who do
you think is appointed to the colonelcy of the 18th?"
"Utterson? Haigh?"
He shook his head.
"Your Uncle Rupert."
I was not surprised, for I had heard rumours that it might be so. But
it seemed very strange when I thought it over. Were we three to meet
again? I wondered.
"Yes," my grandfather went on with a shade of sadness in his tone, "I
am to be left quite alone again, you see."
"Miss Devereux will be with you, I suppose?"
"Maud! Oh, yes, Maud will be with me. What's come to her I don't
know. She's refused Lord Annerley and Captain Bryant, and I don't know
how many others, and seems settling down into an old maid. Hugh, I'm
getting a nervous old man, I think, but I shall have no peace till you
get back again. When I think that if anything happened to you--which
God forbid--that dissipated, low young cub of a nephew of mine would be
my heir, it makes me feel sick. I'd burn Devereux Court above my head
rather than that should be."
"It is not likely that anything will happen to me, grandfather," I
said, bitterly. "There is one who should be dearer to you than I, who
stands in greater peril."
He shook his head sadly.
"He is nothing to me--nothing. He is your father, Hugh, and I have
never blamed you for----"
"And he is your son," I interrupted.
Sir Francis looked at me sternly.
"He is nothing to me. I disowned him."
"Ay, disowned him! I know that. You disowned him. You believed that
accursed lie against your own son's words."
"I believed in the decision of the court-martial," he said, with all
his old severity of tone and manner. "And if the same thing were to
happen over again with you, Hugh, I should do exactly the same. I
would never look upon your face again."
"I am in no danger," I answered bitterly. "I have no younger brother
who would gain a fortune by my ruin."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"What I say. 'Tis simple enough! I tell you now, what I have told you
before, that your son Rupert forged that lie against my father that he
might take his place as your heir. It was done in a mad impulse of
jealousy, and thank God his conscience has punished him for it! Look
at his life! Can't you see that there is something amiss with it? Has
he not always seemed like a man haunted by some guilty shadow? From
one career he has passed to another, never satisfied, never happy. He
made two great speeches in Parliament, and then resigned his seat to
travel abroad. He became famous as a writer and a novelist, and now
never touches a pen. Can't you see it written into his face--a guilty
conscience? Why, if it had not been for that, I should have killed
him, on my word and honour, grandfather. I have heard him with his own
lips acknowledge it, and in my desk there is the confession of John
Hilton, whom he bribed. Grandfather, chance may bring him and me
together before long. You know in your heart that the man who is
braving all the worst terrors of death amongst a fanatical people to
save them from bloodshed and to urge them against a hopeless struggle,
you know that this man is not a coward! Go into the clubs and listen
to what they are saying about these two Englishmen who have pushed
their way alone into an unknown country amongst a savage people. Say
that you believe Burton Leigh's companion to be a coward, and you will
be ridiculed. Grandfather, if he escapes--they say that escape is
almost impossible for them--but if fate does bring us together again,
may I take him a message from you--one word?"
"You may not."
The words came with a hard and cutting distinctness. I drew back
chilled and bitterly disappointed.
"You are blinded, Hugh, by your love for your father. I do not blame
you for it, but I am sorry that you re-opened this subject. When a
court-martial shall reverse the decision of five-and-twenty years ago,
then and then only will I crave my son's pardon, and welcome him back
to Devereux. Enough of the subject."
Proud, obstinate old soldier. For a moment my heart leaped with anger,
but it died away again almost immediately. Surely it was more his
misfortune than his fault that his military training and instincts
should have made him a soldier first and a father afterwards, and I
thought of his long, cheerless life, and of the agony under which he
had writhed because of the blot upon the name which he loved, and I
pitied him.
"Will you dine with me at the Army and Navy, Hugh?" he asked, in an
altered tone. "I must see as much as I can of you now."
I shook my head.
"Dine away from mess to-night? Why, not a man will do that with this
glorious news to talk about! You must mess with us, sir!"
He smiled grimly.
"Glorious news, indeed! Because you're going out to cut a lot of
half-naked savages to pieces! Well, well, perhaps it's a good thing
it's nothing more serious. The more chance of seeing you home safe and
sound. Yes, I'll mess with you if you like, and if your mess will not
mind an old fogie like me."
He spoke lightly, for no one knew better than he that Colonel Devereux,
V.C., would have been a welcome and an honoured guest at the table of
any regiment in Great Britain.
"Give me your arm down these infernal stairs, Hugh," he said, rising
and making his way to the door. "I have some commissions to do for
Maud, and I want to see my lawyer, so I must be off. I'll be back
before seven."
I watched him cross the square, with his head thrown back and his
shoulders very slightly stooped, notwithstanding his seventy-five
years. Then I returned to my rooms to think over the great news.