EXPIATION
Whether it was the stifling desert air, or the anticipation of the
morrow's battle, I cannot tell; but sleep for me was a thing
impossible. We were encamped on the outskirts of a mighty plain, and
within an hour's march the Mahdi lay entrenched awaiting our attack.
Outside my tent all was bustle and stir in preparation for the morrow's
fight, and a yellow moon was shining with a grim ghostly light upon our
white tents, and the figures moving silently about.
There were many other reasons why I should be restless. We were within
a day's march--they could not be further away, and they might be
nearer--of my father and Burton Leigh. Every day came tidings of the
two white men on whose heads the Mahdi had set an enormous price, and
who lived in deadly peril for fear of the treachery of their wavering
friends, and to-morrow their fate would be decided, for if the tribe of
the Asarees seceded to the false prophet and joined in the fight, then
they were most surely doomed. But if, on the other hand, they held
aloof from the fight, then would my father and Burton Leigh have
succeeded in their daring mission, and would reach us in safety to be
received as heroes.
A shadow darkened my tent, and an orderly stood before me, saluting.
"Colonel Devereux would like particularly to see you in his tent, sir."
What could it mean! Neither word nor glance had passed between us
since we left England on board the same ship. I followed the man with
beating heart.
The vision of a man physically weak, who, after a mortal struggle with
some fiendish sin, has cast it from him and come out of the fight dying
but triumphant with a spiritual joy; it seemed to me that this was what
I saw when I stood face to face with my Uncle Rupert. Ghastly pale,
but firm, with deep lines suddenly engraven across his forehead, but
with the light of a great, calm resolution in his eyes, he stood before
me, and I trembled, for strong and clear the conviction of the truth
flashed upon me. The day for which I had longed with such a sickening
desire had come.
"Hugh," he said, quietly, "to-night is my last on earth. People may
scoff at presentiments who never feel them. Like a still whisper from
another world I have heard the truth. In to-morrow's fight I shall
die!"
I would have spoken, but it was impossible. The words stuck in my
throat.
"One word about this sin of mine, Hugh," he went on in a strange, calm
tone. "It was done in a mad impulse of jealousy, in a moment of
madness which a lifetime of misery has not expiated. Every one knows
that I have been an unhappy man. Success and fame have only been
glow-worms leading me on into a marsh of discontent. With a guilty
conscience no man on earth can be happy!"
He took up a roll of papers from a table by his side, and summoned his
servant.
"Greasely, go to General Fielding's tent and tell him I am ready."
I stood there still in silence. My uncle sank into a low chair and
half covered his face. In less than a minute the opening to the tent
was lifted, and our commander-in-chief, followed by a younger officer,
entered.
"Colonel Devereux," he said, kindly but promptly, "in accordance with
my promise I am here and I have brought Captain Luxton. I can spare
you five minutes."
Like a gaunt spectre my uncle came out from the shades of the tent, and
his sad, weary tone moved even my pity.
"Three will be sufficient," he said. "General Fielding, a quarter of a
century ago you heard me commit perjury against my brother; and your
father, Captain Luxton, pronounced the sentence. It is for this reason
that I have asked you to witness my confession. You have already read
it."
He took up his pen and signed the roll of paper. General Fielding and
Captain Luxton immediately followed suit, and the former took
possession of the document.
"General Fielding," my uncle continued, with a voice that commenced to
shake a little, "I am already your debtor, inasmuch as you permit me to
retain my commission until after to-morrow's fight. But I ask you
still another favour."
The General bowed, and there was a decided gleam of compassion in his
stern face.
"Let this matter be cleared up immediately after to-morrow's fight. If
my brother be found alive, which God grant that he may, let my
confession be read in open court-martial, however informal, at once,"
he pleaded.
"It shall be done. Luxton, we must be off. Gentlemen, good-night."
We were alone, my uncle and I. His unnatural calm seemed to be
breaking up, and the look of agony on his face filled me with
compassion--aye, compassion even towards him.
"There is something troubling you," I said quietly. "You are thinking
of Maud."
He looked at me wildly. I knew that I was right.
"Maud's future will be in my hands," I told him in a low tone. "She
loves me, and she will be my wife."
At first he seemed dazed, then, as he began to realise my words, a
great sob of relief shook him from head to foot.
"And Francis," I added, after a short pause, "I will remember that he
is my cousin--and my brother."
He stood up like one who has passed through the Valley of the Shadow of
Death, yet with a look almost of peace upon his spiritualised face.
"Hugh, will you take my hand?"
I took it, wrung it warmly, and left him. What more could I have done?
He was better alone.
* * * * *
Like the sands of the desert before a fierce sirocco, the followers of
the false prophet were flying far and wide. It had been a fierce
fight. They had come down upon us like a whirlwind, with their lances
gleaming like silver in the sunlight, and wild cries of "Allah!
Allah!" bursting from their lips. But the maddening enthusiasm of
fanatical zeal had quickly burnt itself out. We had driven them behind
their trenches, only to carry them at the point of the bayonet and
drive them out into the desert. The victory was complete.
With my broken sword still in my hand, and my face streaming with blood
and perspiration, I kneeled with wildly beating heart by the side of my
father's prostrate body. For I had found him lying white and still at
the bottom of one of the trenches, and--oh, the horror of it!--with a
great gaping wound in his side.
"My father! My father, speak to me!" I cried. "O God! if this should
be death!"
He opened his eyes slowly, and, dimmed though they were, he recognised
me at once.
"Hugh, Hugh, my boy. Thank God!" he faltered out.
"You are wounded," I sobbed. "Are you in pain? Tell me, father."
A spasm of agony passed over his face, but he answered me in a while.
"My side--a spear-head. 'Twill soon be over."
I passed my arm around him, and gazed into his face with streaming eyes.
"Father, you must live," I sobbed. "Rupert Devereux has confessed.
All is known!"
He nodded, and smiled faintly.
"I know, Hugh. He was first over the trenches. They were murdering
me. He fought like a devil. There they lie--five of them. He saved
my life, and crawled here as he was dying--told me--everything. I
forgave him. See."
I looked around, and there, scarcely a yard away, lay my Uncle Rupert,
with a calm peace in his white face, turned to heaven, which in life he
had never known.
* * * * *
A strange scene. General Fielding, with a little crowd of officers
around him at one end of the tent, and a little distance away my father
lying on a stretcher, with a surgeon on one side striving to stanch the
blood which flowed from that hideous, gaping wound, whilst on the other
I knelt clasping his hands, and anxiously watching his face.
General Fielding had done all in his power. He had read my Uncle
Rupert's confession, and had formally rescinded the verdict of General
Luxton. The black stain of dishonour no longer rested upon my father's
name. But this greatest of joys had surely come too late; for the hand
which I held passionately clasped in mine was growing colder and colder
every moment, and the surgeon's face was very grave.
"Is there hope?" I faltered out. But the doctor shook his head.
"Very little, I fear," he whispered. "I am expecting hemorrhage every
moment."
A deep silence reigned in the tent, a silence which seemed ominously
like the silence of death. Suddenly he re-opened his eyes, and a
feeling of sickening agony stole over me, for there was a deeper film
than ever upon them.
He smiled very faintly and struggled to speak, but the words died away
on his lips. I bent closer still, and strove to catch his meaning.
"Hugh--my--s----" The fingers of his right hand were moving nervously
about, and I knew what he meant.
"General Fielding," I said, standing up, with hot burning eyes, and
with a choking in my throat, "he wants his sword."
The General stepped forward, and unsheathing his own, held it by the
blade, and my father's long fingers, trembling with eagerness, wound
themselves around it. Then he sank back with a little satisfied gasp,
and I knew that he was at rest.