THE SQUIRE'S STORY
(_Being the commencement of the narrative in the little red note-book_)
"To commence at the very beginning, my dear boy, and in orthodox
fashion, I will state that my name is that by which you have always
known me--Harold Lester Carrington, only son of a worthy naval officer
and his wife, who was a younger daughter of the late Sir John Collyer. I
was born nine-and-fifty years ago at Manchester, received but a moderate
education, and entered the army at an early age.
"I was unfortunate enough to lose both my parents while I was quite a
child, and, getting into bad company, led what my few relatives--they
are all dead now--considered a wild life. I can safely say, though, that
I never forgot I was the son of gentlefolk, for to both my parents I had
been greatly attached.
"I must have been either twenty-one or twenty-two years of age when I
first met Edith Rawson, the charming daughter of my old Colonel. It was
at a garden party, and was a case of love at first sight on both sides.
Of course it was foolish in the extreme for me, a penniless lieutenant,
to aspire to the hand of wealthy Colonel Rawson's eldest daughter, but
the folly was inevitable. Miss Rawson was the most lovely girl I ever
cast eyes upon. Mutual love in such cases as ours is hard to
conceal--particularly from a woman--and Mrs. Rawson quickly perceived
things after I had visited the house a few times. She communicated her
suspicions to her husband, and a tremendous row was the result--the
upshot of which was that I changed my regiment for one embarking for
India, bade my loved one a pitiful farewell, re-echoed my vows of
constancy, promising to return when, judging by Rawson's standard, I was
in a position to claim Edith as my bride, and left England for the great
Eastern Empire.
"I had been forbidden to write, even once a year, to my loved one, and
it was with a faint heart that I started life again in Madras. But I
knew that if I wished to succeed I must throw all my energy into the
work, and strive my hardest to render myself fit to become Edith's
husband in what seemed a very distant future.
"Years rolled by, and by degrees, thanks to sundry small skirmishes with
discontented tribes, I gained the promotion which meant so much. But it
was a sad time for me. Folks may say that 'out of sight' is equivalent
to 'out of mind,' but I speak truly when I say that never for a single
day did anyone--any woman--figure in my thoughts except the loved one in
the far-off old country.
"Periodically I got hold of old society newspapers, sent to us from
London, and in these I occasionally came across the name of Colonel
Rawson's fair daughter. Each time I was thrilled with pleasure to find
that her maiden name still remained to her. Was she true to the devoted
young officer in India? Of course she was!
"I was Major Carrington by this time, and young for that, still I knew a
beautiful girl like Edith would never want for offers of marriage. Three
or four years had passed since I had discovered the dear name in print.
Two or three were likely to drag before there was any chance of my
further promotion, after which Colonel Rawson had given me permission to
return home, and, if the mutual affection still existed, marry his
daughter.
"Then one day a copy of the _Times_ chanced to reach me, and I casually
commenced reading by a perusal of the births, marriages, and deaths
column in that paper. Suddenly I caught sight of an announcement that
caused me to cry aloud with dismay, with horror, with disappointment.
It was painfully brief, but, oh! so plain.
"'SANDLYNG-RAWSON.--On the 28th ult., at St. Jude's,
Aynswell-street, W., George Arthur Sandlyng, of the Priory,
Parkham, Bucks, to Edith, daughter of Colonel Rawson, V.C.'
"Had I considered this paragraph in the light of common sense I would
not have acted as I did.
"In the first place, I should have recollected that Rawson was no rare
name, and that the combination of names, Edith Rawson, might occur in
any other branch of the Rawson family than the one in which were centred
all my hopes.
"I might, too, have made the following deduction: When I left England,
ten years before, the Colonel had not the letters V.C. after his name.
As far as I was aware he had not been engaged in active warfare since.
Suppose, though, he had, and had won the Victoria Cross, would it not
have been reasonable to suppose that ten years would have seen his
promotion to a generalship, particularly if his conduct had been so
conspicuous as to merit the award of the coveted V.C.?
"But I did not stop to take a rational view of the matter. To me, then,
there was no doubt but that Edith--my Edith--had broken her vows to me,
and had married. I was filled with murderous thoughts. For the time I
was mad."