"That you, Jane?"
"Why, of course it is. Were you really asleep?"
"Asleep? No--yes. I don't know, Jane. My head's all gone queer, I
think."
"And no wonder, fighting like that, and never touching a bit of the
dinner I brought you up. Yes, your head's all in a fever, and your poor
swelled-up eyes too. That's better. Now, then, you must take this."
"What is it?" said the lad, drowsily.
"What is it? Why, can't you see?"
"No; my head's all swimming round and round, and my eyes won't open."
"Never mind, poor boy, this'll do you good. I've brought you up a big
breakfast-cup of nice, fresh, hot tea, and two rounds of buttered toast.
They'll do your head good."
"I say, Jane, where's uncle?"
"In his room. He's had some too. I didn't wait to be asked, but took
the tea in."
"What was he doing?" said Aleck.
"Writing."
"His book?"
"No, letters; and as busy as could be. Come, try and drink your tea."
"But isn't it very early for tea--directly after dinner like this?"
"Directly after dinner? Why, bless the boy, it's past seven!"
"Then I must have been asleep," said the boy, speaking more collectedly
now.
"I should just think you must, and the best thing for you. Hark!
There's master's study bell; he wants more tea. I must go; but promise
me you'll take yours?"
"Yes, I'm dreadfully thirsty," said the lad, and as the woman left the
room he began to sip the tea and eat pieces of the toast till all was
gone, and then, after a weary sigh, he glanced at his bundle and hat
upon the chair, reeled towards the bed, held on by the painted post,
while he thrust off his boots and then literally rolled upon it, with
his face looking scarlet upon the white pillow. The next moment he was
breathing heavily in deep, dreamless sleep.
That dreamless sleep lasted till the old eight-day clock on the landing
had struck eleven, during which time Jane, who was growing anxious about
him, came in three times--the first to take away the tea and dinner
things, the other twice to make sure that he was not going into a high
fever, as she termed it, and feeling better satisfied each time.
"Nothing like so hot," she said to herself. "It was that cup o' tea
that did him good. There's nothing like a hot cup o' tea and a good
sleep for a bad headache."
So Jane left and went to bed after a final peep, and, as before said,
the sound sleep went on till the clock began to strike, and then he
began to dream that his uncle came into the room with a chamber
candlestick in his hand, set it down where its light shone full upon his
stern, severe old features, and seated himself upon the chair by the
bed's head.
Then he began to question him; and it seemed to the boy that in his
dream he answered without moving his head or opening his eyes, which
appeared strange, for he fancied he could see the old man's angry face
all the time.
"Not undressed, Aleck?" said the old man.
"No, uncle."
"Shoes here ready--hat, bundle, and stick on the chair! Does that mean
waiting till all is quiet, and then running away from home?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Hah! From one who took you to his heart when you were a little orphan
child, just when your widowed mother had closed her eyes for ever on
this weary world, and swore to treat you as if you were his own!"
"Yes, uncle."
"And why?"
"Because you are tired of me, uncle, and don't trust me--and are going
to send me away."
"Hah! You are not going to try and be taken as a soldier?"
"No, uncle."
"Hah! What then? Going to seek your fortune?"
"No, uncle. I'm going to sea."
Perhaps that _hah_! that ejaculation, was louder than the other words--
perhaps Aleck Donne had not been dreaming--perhaps it was all real!
At any rate the sleeper had awakened and with his eyes able to open a
little more, and through the two narrow slits he was gazing at the
stern, sorrowful face, lit up by one candle, seated there within a yard
of the pillow.
"Head better, my lad?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Seems clearer, eh?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Feel feverish?"
"No, uncle, I think not. I'm hardly awake yet."
"I know, my lad. You got a good deal knocked about, then?"
"I don't quite know, uncle. I suppose so. It all seems very dreamy
now."
"Consequence of injury to the head. Soldiers are in that condition
sometimes after a blow from the butt end of a musket."
"Are they, uncle?" asked Aleck, who was half ready to believe that this
was all part of his dream.
The captain nodded, and sat silent for a few moments, before glancing at
the bundle, hat, and cane. Then--
"So you've been making up your mind to run away?"
"To go away, uncle; not run."
"Hah! Same thing, my lad."
"No, uncle."
"What! Don't contradict me, sir. Do you want to quarrel again?"
"No, uncle."
"Humph! You prepared those things for running away?"
"I had some such ideas, uncle, when I tied them up," said the lad,
firmly; "but I should not have done that."
"Indeed! Then why did you tie them up?"
"To go away, uncle."
"Well, that's what I said, sir."
"That was not quite correct, uncle. If I ran away it would have been
without telling you."
"Of course, and that's what you meant to do."
"No, uncle; I feel now that I could not have done that. I should have
come to you in the morning to tell you that I felt as if I should be
better away, and that I would go to sea at once."
"Humph! And if you went away, sir, what's to become of me?"
"I don't know, uncle, only I feel that you'd be better without such an
obstinate, disobedient fellow as I am."
"Oh, you think so, do you? Well, you shouldn't be obstinate then."
"I didn't mean to be, uncle."
"Then, why, in the name of all that's sensible, were you? Why didn't
you tell me why you fought and got in such a state?"
"I felt that I couldn't tell you, uncle."
"Why not, sir--why not?"
Aleck was silent once more.
"There you are, you see. As stubborn as a mule."
"No, I'm not, uncle."
"Now, look here, Aleck; I couldn't go to bed without trying to make
peace between us. Don't contradict me, sir. I say you are stubborn.
There, I'll give you one more chance. Now, then, why did you fight
those lads?"
"Don't ask me, uncle, please. I can't tell you."
"But I do ask you, and I will know. Now, sir, why was it? For I'm sure
there was some blackguardly reason. Now, then, speak out, or--or--or--I
vow I'll never be friends with you again."
"Don't ask me, uncle."
"Once more, I will ask you, sir. Why was it?"
"Because--" began Aleck, and stopped.
"Well, sir--because?" raged out the old man. "Speak, sir. You are my
sister's son. I have behaved to you since she died like a father. I am
in the place of your father, and I command you to speak."
"Well, uncle, it was because they spoke about you," said the lad, at
last, desperately.
"Eh? Ah! Humph!" said the old man, with his florid face growing
clay-coloured. "They spoke ill of me, then?"
"Yes, uncle."
"About my past--past life, eh?"
"Yes, uncle."
"Humph! What did they say?"
"Uncle, pray don't ask me," pleaded Aleck.
"Humph! I know. Said I was disgraced and turned out of my regiment,
eh? For cowardice?"
"Yes, uncle."
"And you said it wasn't true?"
"Of course, uncle."
"Got yourself knocked into a mummy, then, for defending me?"
"Yes, uncle; but I'm not much hurt."
"Humph!" ejaculated the old man, frowning, and looking at the lad
through his half-closed eyes. "Said it was not true, then?"
"Of course, uncle," cried the boy, flushing indignantly.
"Humph! Thankye, my boy; but, you see, it was true."
Aleck's eyes glittered as he stared blankly at the fierce-looking old
man. For the declaration sounded horrible. His uncle had been one of
the bravest of soldiers in the boy's estimation, and time after time he
had sat and gloated over the trophy formed by the old officer's sword
and pistols, surmounted by the military cap, hanging in the study. Many
a time, too, he had in secret carefully swept away the dust. More than
once, too, in his uncle's absence he had taken down and snapped the
pistols at some imaginary foe, and felt a thrill of pleasure as the old
flints struck off a tiny shower of brilliant stars from the steel pan
cover. At other times, too, he had carefully lifted the sword from its
hooks and tugged till the bright blade came slowly out of its leathern
scabbard, cut and thrust with it to put enemies to flight, and longed to
carry it to the tool-shed to treat it to a good whetting with the rubber
the gardener used for his scythe, for the rounded edge held out no
promise of cutting off a Frenchman's head. And now for the old hero of
his belief to tell him calmly and without the slightest hesitation that
the charge was true was so staggering, so beyond belief, that the blank
look of dismay produced by the assertion gradually gave place to a smile
of incredulity, and at last the boy exclaimed:
"Oh, uncle! You are joking!"
The old soldier returned the boy's smile with a cold, stern gaze full of
something akin to despair, as he drew a long, deep breath and said,
slowly:
"You find it hard to believe, then, Aleck, my boy?"
"Hard to believe, uncle? Of course I do. Nobody could believe such a
thing of you."
"You are wrong, my boy," said the old man, with a sigh, "for everyone
believed it, and the court-martial sentenced me to be disgraced."
"Uncle! Oh, uncle! But it wasn't--it couldn't be true," cried Aleck,
wildly, as he sat up in bed.
"The world said it was true, my boy," replied the old man, whose voice
sounded very low and sad.
"But you, uncle--you denied the charge?"
"Of course, my boy."
"Then the people on the court-martial must have been mad," cried the
boy, proudly. "I thought the word of an officer and a gentleman was
quite sufficient to set aside such a charge."
"Then you don't believe it was true, my lad?"
"I?" cried the boy, proudly; "what nonsense, uncle! Of course not."
"But, knowing now what I have told you, suppose you should hear this
charge made against me again, what would you do?"
Aleck's eyes flashed, and, regardless of the pain it gave him, he
clenched his injured fists, set his teeth hard, and said, hoarsely:
"The same as I did to-day, uncle. Nobody shall tell such lies about you
while I am there."
Captain Lawrence caught his young champion to his breast and held him
tightly for a few moments, before, in a husky, quivering voice, he said:
"Yes, Aleck, boy, for they are lies. But the mud thrown at me stuck in
spite of all my efforts to wash it away, and the stains remained."
"But, uncle--"
"Don't talk about it, boy," cried the old man, hoarsely. "You are
bringing up the past, Aleck, with all its maddening horrors. I can't
talk to you and explain. It was at the end of a disastrous day. Our
badly led men were put to flight through the mismanagement of our
chief--one high in position--and someone had to suffer for his sins,
there had to be a scapegoat, and I was the unhappy wretch upon whom the
commander-in-chief's sins were piled up. They said that the beating
back of my company caused the panic which led to the headlong flight of
our little army. Yes, Aleck, they piled up his sins upon my unlucky
shoulders, and I was driven out into the wilderness--hounded out of
society, a dishonoured, disgraced coward. Aleck, boy," he continued,
with his voice growing appealing and piteous, "I was engaged to be
married to the young and beautiful girl I loved as soon as the war was
over, and I was looking forward to happiness on my return. But for me
happiness was dead."
"Oh! but, uncle," cried the boy, excitedly, catching at the old man's
arm, "the lady--surely she did not believe it of you?"
"I never saw her again, Aleck," said the old man, slowly. "Six months
after my sentence the papers announced her approaching marriage."
"Oh!" cried the lad, indignantly.
"Wait, my boy. No; she never believed it of me. She was forced by her
relatives to accept this man. I have her dear letter--yellow and
time-stained now--written a week before the appointed wedding-day which
never dawned for her, my boy. She died two days before, full of faith
in my honour."
Aleck's hands were both resting now upon his uncle's arm, and his eyes
looked dim and misty.
"There, my boy, I said I could not explain to you, and I have uncovered
the old wound, laying it quite bare. Now you know what it is that has
made me the old cankered, harsh, misanthropic being you know--bitter,
soured, evil-tempered, and so harsh; so wanting in love for my kind that
even you, my boy, my poor dead sister's child, can't bear to live with
me any longer."
"Uncle!" panted Aleck. "I didn't know--"
"Let's see," continued the old man, with a resumption of his former
fierce manner; "you said you would not run away, only go. To sea, eh?"
"Uncle," cried Aleck, "didn't you hear what I said?"
"Yes, quite plainly," replied the old man, bitterly; "I heard. I don't
wonder at a lad of spirit resenting my harsh, saturnine ways. What a
life for a lad like you! Well, you've made up your mind, and I'll be
just to you, my lad. You shall be started well. When would you like to
go?"
"When you drive me away, uncle," cried the boy, passionately. "Oh,
uncle, won't you listen to me--won't you believe in me? How can you
think me such a coward as to leave you, knowing what I do?"
The old man caught him by the shoulders, held him back at arm's length,
and stood gazing fiercely in his eyes for a few moments, and then his
own began to soften, and he said, gently:
"Aleck, when I was your age my sister and I were constant companions.
You have her voice, boy, and there is a ring in it so like--oh, so like
hers! Yes, I heard, and I believe in you. I believe, too, that you
will respect my prayers to you that all I have said this night shall be
held sacred. I do not wish the world to know our secrets. But, there,
there," he said, in a totally changed voice, "what a day this has been
for us both! You have suffered cruelly, my boy, for my sake, and I in
my blindness and bitterness treated you ill."
"Oh, uncle, pray, pray say no more!" cried the boy, piteously.
"I must--just this, Aleck: I have suffered too, my boy. Another black
shadow had come across my darkened life, and in my ignorance I turned
against you as I did. Aleck, boy, your uncle asks your forgiveness,
and--now no more, my boy; it is nearly midnight, and we must try and
rest. Can you go to sleep again?"
"Yes, uncle," cried the boy, eagerly, "I feel as if it will be easy now.
Good-night, uncle."
"Good-night, my boy," whispered the old man, huskily, and he hurried
out, whispering words of thankfulness to himself; but they were words
the nephew did not hear.
As the door closed Aleck sprang off the bed on to his feet, his knuckles
smarting as he struck an attitude and tightly clenched his fists, seeing
in imagination Big Jem the slanderer standing before him once again.
"You cowardly brute!" he muttered; and then his aspect changed in the
dim light shed by the candle, for there was a look of joyous pride in
his countenance, disfigured though it was, as he said, hurriedly: "I
didn't half tell uncle that I thoroughly whipped him, after all. But
old Tom Bodger--he'll be as pleased as Punch."
It was rather a distorted smile on Aleck's lips, as, after undressing,
he fell fast asleep, but it was a very happy one all the same, and so
thought Captain Lawrence as he stole into the room in the grey dawn to
see if his nephew was sleeping free from fever and pain, and then stole
out again without making a sound.