THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM.
The day of embarkation arrived only too speedily. It was a persistently
pouring wet morning, rain descending in torrents. It cleared a little
towards the afternoon, and the Mayhews, accompanied by Alice, started
in a close carriage for Portsmouth Dockyard. They had insisted on her
accompanying them, saying that, if she did not, it would give rise to
a great deal of unpleasant discussion among their friends, several of
whom lived at Southsea.
“It is only fair to Reginald,” urged Helen. “He has not had time to
clear himself yet, and at any rate before the _world_ you will have to
keep up appearances. How you can allow him to go--how you can doubt
him, I cannot imagine. You will be exceedingly sorry for yourself some
day,” she added in a lower voice, accompanied by a look of keen-edged
meaning quite lost upon Alice, who was staring vacantly out of the
window.
They soon arrived at The Hard, Portsea, and descried the huge white
_Alligator_ lying alongside. The most frightful confusion prevailed
on all sides, and the noise and din and pushing and shoving were
beyond description. Baggage bewailed as lost; baggage going on board;
soldiers’ wives, who were being left behind, in loud lamentation;
friends who came to see people off, rather cheery and important
than otherwise; friends who were really sorry, and on the verge of
tears; dogs being smuggled on board; dogs being turned out; wherever
you looked there was bustle and confusion! The Mayhew party gingerly
ascended the long and slippery gangway, and asked for Sir Reginald
Fairfax.
“Yes, he was below, God bless him!” said an Irishwoman, who was wiping
her eyes with the tail of her dress. “It’s many a sore heart he has
lightened this day.”
“How so?” inquired Mrs. Mayhew graciously.
“Hasn’t he given ten pounds to every woman that’s not on the strength,
and is left behind, meeself among them--and me wid three childer? May
the heavens be his bed! may he never know sickness or grief! May he
never know what it is to have as sore a heart as mine is this day! May
the Holy Virgin protect him!”
It was in vain they tried to stem this torrent of blessings; the woman
would not let them out of her sight.
Addressing herself specially to Alice, she said:
“Maybe you’re his sweetheart, or his sister, alannah! His sweetheart,
I’m sure?” she urged insinuatingly.
“No, neither,” replied Alice, blushing furiously, and making a wild and
at last effectual effort to reach the top of the saloon stairs, leaving
the Irishwoman still pouring benedictions on her husband’s head.
The long saloon was full of artillery, cavalry, and infantry officers
and their friends, but Reginald was not there after all; so, under
the escort of a polite naval officer, they again went on deck, where
they found him in the fore part of the ship, giving orders to a smart
saucy-looking sergeant, with his cap on three hairs, who was receiving
his directions with many a “Yes, sir; very well, sir.”
Sir Reginald was now junior major in the Seventeenth Hussars, and
uncommonly well he looked in his new uniform. He received Mark and
Helen warmly, Alice politely, and as though she were some young lady
friend of Helen’s, and nothing more. He offered to show them over the
ship, now they were there, and took them between decks, pointed at the
soldiers’ quarters, the live stock, the engines, etc. Alice, under
convoy of the naval officer, walked behind her husband and the Mayhews,
but her mind was in far too great a ferment to notice or admire the
order, discipline, spotlessness of the magnificent trooper.
She answered her exceedingly smart escort utterly at random as she
mechanically picked her steps along the wet decks, the said young
sailor thinking her the prettiest girl he had seen for many a day, and
that her feet and ankles were the most unexceptionable he had ever come
across. He made a mental note to find out who she was and all about her.
As they passed a group of weeping women, he remarked: “They may well
cry, poor creatures, for many a fine fellow will sail to-day that will
never see his native land again.”
“Oh, please don’t say that,” said Alice, her eyes filling with tears.
“Why not? Are you very much interested in anyone on board?” he asked
with a smile meant to be tender and captivating.
“My husband,” she faltered.
“Your husband!” he cried thunderstruck. “Are you married--you look so
awfully young? Is that your husband--that young hussar fellow ahead
with your friends?”
Alice, whose tears were now quietly coursing down her cheeks, turned
and leant over the side in silence.
“Is he?” he repeated.
She nodded impatiently, still further averting her face.
“Oh, but a strong-looking fellow like that is sure to come back all
right,” said he, offering her the first piece of clumsy comfort that
came into his head, and much distressed at the flow of tears that kept
drip, drip, dripping into the sea.
“By Jove!” he thought, “what an odd couple they are! They have never
spoken to each other yet, for all this grief.”
Meanwhile the Mayhews and Reginald had turned and come back towards
them, and were much edified to find Alice leaning over the side,
apparently studying the sea, and a young sailor seemingly whispering
soft nothings into her ear. _This_ was a phase of her character that
burst upon them for the first time. She remained quite motionless till
they had passed, then dried her eyes and followed them below. They went
down to the main deck and saw Reginald’s cabin, which he shared with
another officer. Some loving hands had done up the stranger’s side with
many a little comfort--a thick quilted crimson counterpane, pockets for
boots, and combs, and brushes against the wall, and the netting over
his berth crammed with new novels. All these caught Alice’s eye, and
she felt a sharp twinge as she turned and saw her husband’s share of
the cabin bare of everything save such luxuries as the ship provided.
“You are all going to stay and dine with me,” he said, “at the ghastly
hour of half-past four, but it will take the place of five-o’clock tea
for once. And if you like to make a toilette,” addressing himself to
Helen, “here are brushes and combs at your service, and I’ll take care
that the other fellow does not intrude.”
“But won’t it seem very odd if we stay?” asked Helen, dying to do so.
“Not at all. About twenty ladies are dining besides yourselves; so look
sharp, the first bugle has gone.”
He treated Alice as an utter stranger; and Alice, now that he was
really and truly going, began to realise what she was losing. Regret,
remorse, and love were getting the better of pride, obstinacy, and
suspicion. Miss Fane’s influence was gradually wearing away in Helen
Mayhew’s society. She choked back the blinding tears that would come
into her eyes, and bit her quivering lips, so that Helen might not see
her tardy sorrow. Helen was calmly titivating herself at the glass, and
did not observe her companion’s emotion.
“Come, Alice, be quick!” she exclaimed at last. “Take off your jacket,
child; your serge will do very nicely. Here, wash your face and brush
your hair; you look quite wild and dishevelled.”
Alice mechanically rose to obey her. “What a dandy Reginald is,”
she proceeded. “I had no idea he was such a fine gentleman:
ivory-backed brushes with monograms, and all his toilet accessories to
correspond--boot-hook, button-hook, shoe-horn, all complete. Let’s see
what his dressing-case is like inside.”
“Oh don’t,” cried Alice piteously; “he hates to have his things
rummaged, I know he does.”
“What nonsense, my dear girl,” opening the case. “Here, have some
white rose--hold out your handkerchief.”
“No, thank you, I would rather not.”
“Ridiculous goose, afraid to have it because it is your husband’s!
Listen to me, Alice,” she said more gravely, putting her hand on
Alice’s shoulder; “he is your husband as sure as Mark is mine. Say
_something_ to him before he goes. Promise me that you will. There!
there’s the dinner-bugle. Now mind,” opening the cabin-door hastily and
speaking to Alice over her shoulder, “it will be your last chance.”
They found Reginald waiting at the foot of the stairs to escort them
to dinner, where he sat between them at the captain’s table. Quite a
number of ladies were present, but not one to compare with Alice in
appearance. Many an admiring eye was turned again and again to the
lovely slight girl sitting next Fairfax. A lisping sub, who was at
the opposite table, after gazing at her for nearly five minutes, gave
utterance to the universal query, “Who is she?”
“I say, who the deuce is that pretty girl sitting next Fairfax? She is
uncommon good-looking.”
“Don’t know, I’m sure,” returned his neighbour; “his sister most
likely. She is downright lovely. Such a nose and chin, and sweet
kissable little mouth!”
“You had better not let Fairfax hear you, my dear boy. Maybe she’s his
wife.”
“Wife! That girl! You can just step upstairs and tell that to the
marines.”
“I would give a trifle to know who she is,” remarked a third, upon whom
a brandy-and-soda had had a most reviving effect.
“I can tell you,” said Alice’s acquaintance, the naval officer, who had
just come down and seated himself at the end of the table; “she is the
wife of that young fellow next her.”
“What nonsense! He is not married.”
“Oh yes, he is,” observed a hitherto silent youth, who had been
devoting himself ardently to his dinner, and who now plunged into the
discussion pending the arrival of the second course. “He _is_ married,
but he and his wife have had no end of a shindy, I hear; that’s the
reason he is going abroad. Just look at them now, as grave and as glum
as if they were at a funeral.”
“What a pity it is that marriage is so often the grave of love,”
remarked a cynical little artilleryman, putting up his eyeglass and
staring across at the other table. “They are an uncommonly good-looking
couple, anyway. The fellow reminds me of Millais’ ‘Black Brunswicker,’
only he is darker.”
So saying, he languidly dropped his glass and resumed his dinner.
The moment of parting came, and the general feeling was that the sooner
it was over the better.
Putting on their hats and jackets, Alice and Helen hastened on deck;
Alice’s heart thumping, her knees trembling, and her face as pale as
death. Here they were joined by Mr. Mayhew and Reginald, who were
having a few last words.
“Come along, Helen,” said Mark, taking her arm and leading her down the
gangway, good-naturedly intending to give the other couple a moment
to themselves; but if it had been to save Alice’s life she could not
have uttered a syllable. She intended to have said something--what,
she scarcely knew--but her dry lips could not frame a sound, and they
reached the carriage in dead silence.
“Good-bye, Mark! Good-bye, Helen! Good-bye, Alice!” said her husband
hurriedly.
Alice turned on him a wistful glance, but a cold farewell was all she
read in his stern dark eyes. In another second he was clanking up the
gangway, a vision of a dark-blue uniform, a close-cropped brown head,
and he was gone; and Alice leant back in her corner of the carriage,
and gave way to a passion of weeping no longer to be restrained.