"Then you think, Milly, that's what I ought to do? You think I'd better
go and never come back again till I feel quite sure of myself?"
"I think so, Harry, I think so.... I think so.... And yet ... it's very
hard not to see you for so long, Harry."
"But I shall write to you every day, Milly, however long it may be; and
if I conquer myself, why, then, Milly, I shall feel I can come back fit
to marry you. I'm not fit now, and unless I feel that I've put myself
straight with you and my uncle, I'll never come back again--never,
never, never!"
Milly's lip trembled, but she only answered bravely, "That's well,
Harry; for then you'll make all the more effort, and for my sake I'm
sure you'll conquer. But, Harry, I wish before you go you'd tell me
plainly what else it is that you've been doing besides playing and
losing your uncle's money."
"Oh, Milly, Milly, I can't--I mustn't. If I were to tell you that you
could never again respect me--you could never love me."
Milly was a wise girl, and pressed him no further. After all, there are
some things it is better for none of us to know about one another, and
this thing was just one of them.
So Harry Walpole went away from Cheltenham, nobody knew whither, except
Milly; not daring to confide the secret of his whereabouts even to his
uncle, nor seeing that sole friend once more before he went, but going
away that very night, on his own resources, to seek his own fortune as
best he might in the great world of London. "Tell my uncle why I have
gone," he said to Milly; "that it is in order to conquer myself; and
tell him that I'll write to you constantly, and that you will let him
know from time to time whether I am well and making progress."
It was a hard time for poor old Sir Thomas, no doubt, those four years
that Harry was away from him, he knew not where, and he was left alone
by himself in his dreary home; but he felt it was best so; he knew Harry
was trying to conquer himself. How Harry lived or what he was doing he
never heard; but once or twice Milly hinted to him that Harry seemed
sorely in want of money, and Sir Thomas gave her some to send him, and
every time it was at once returned, with a very firm but gentle message
from Harry to say that he was able, happily, to do without it, and would
not further trouble his uncle. It was only from Milly that Sir Thomas
could learn anything about his dear boy, and he saw her and asked her
about him so often that he learned at last to love her like a daughter.
Four years rolled slowly away, and at the end of them Sir Thomas was one
day sitting in his little library, somewhat disconsolate, and reflecting
to himself that he ought to have somebody living with him at his time of
life, when suddenly there came a ring and a knock that made him start
with surprise and pleasure, for he recognized them at once as being
Harry's. Next moment, the servant brought him a card, on which was
engraved in small letters, "Dr. H. Walpole," and down in the left-hand
corner, "Surrey Hospital."
Sir Thomas turned the card over and over with a momentary feeling of
disappointment, for he had somehow fancied to himself that Harry had
gone off covering himself with glory among Zulus or Afghans, and he
couldn't help feeling that beside that romantic dream of soldierly
rehabilitation a plain doctor's life was absurdly prosaic. Next moment,
Harry himself was grasping his hand warmly, and prose and poetry were
alike forgotten in that one vivid all-absorbing delight of his boy
recovered.
As soon as the first flush of excitement was fairly over, and Harry had
cried regretfully, "Why, uncle, how much older you're looking!" and Sir
Thomas had exclaimed in his fatherly joy, "Why, Harry, my boy, what a
fine fellow you've turned out, God bless me!" Harry took a little bank
bag of sovereigns from his coat pocket and laid it down, very red, upon
the corner of the table. "These are yours, uncle," he said simply.
Sir Thomas's first impulse was to say, "No, no, my boy; keep them, keep
them, and let us forget all about it," but he checked himself just in
time, for he saw that the best thing all round was to take them quietly
and trouble poor Harry no more with the recollection. "Thank you, my
boy," the old soldier answered, taking them up and pocketing them as
though it were merely the repayment of an ordinary debt. ("The School
for the Orphan Children of Officers in the Army will be all the richer
for it," he thought to himself) "And now tell me, Harry, how have you
been living, and what have you been doing ever since I last saw you?"
"Uncle," Harry cried--he hadn't unlearnt to think of him and call him by
that fond old name, then--"uncle, I've been conquering myself. From the
day I left you I've never touched a card once--not once, uncle."
"Except, I suppose, for a quiet rubber?" the old Colonel put in softly.
"Not even for a rubber, uncle," Harry answered, half smiling; "nor a cue
nor a dice-box either, nor anything like them. I've determined to steer
clear of all the dangers that surround me by inheritance, and I'm not
going to begin again as long as I live, uncle."
"That's well, Harry, that's well. And you didn't go in for a direct
commission, then? I was in hopes, my boy, that you would still, in spite
of everything, go into the Queen's service."
Harry's face fell a little. "Uncle," he said, "I'm sorry to have
disappointed you; sorry to have been compelled to run counter to any
little ambitions you might have had for me in that respect; but I felt,
after all you told me that day, that the army would be a very dangerous
profession for me; and though I didn't want to be a coward and run away
from danger, I didn't want to be foolhardy and heedlessly expose myself
to it. So I thought on the whole it would be wiser for me to give up the
direct commission business altogether, and go in at once for being a
doctor. It was safer, and therefore better in the end both for me and
for you, uncle."
Sir Thomas took the young man's hand once more, and pressed it gently
with a fatherly pressure. "My boy," he said, "you are right, quite
right--a great deal more right, indeed, than I was. But how on earth
have you found money to keep yourself alive and pay for your education
all these years--tell me Harry?"
Harry's face flushed up again, this time with honest pride, as he
answered bravely, "I've earned enough by teaching and drawing to pay my
way the whole time, till I got qualified. I've been qualified now for
nine months, and got a post as house-surgeon at our hospital; but I've
waited to come and tell you till I'd saved up that money, you know, out
of my salary, and now I'm coming back to settle down in practice here,
uncle."
Sir Thomas said nothing, but he rose from his chair and took both
Harry's hands in his with tears. For a few minutes, he looked at him
tenderly and admiringly, then he said in his simple way, "God bless you!
God bless you! I couldn't have done it myself, my boy. I couldn't have
done it myself, Harry."
There was a minute's pause, and then Sir Thomas began again, "What a
secretive little girl that dear little Miss Milly must be, never to have
told me a word of all this, Harry. She kept as quiet about all details
as if she was sworn to the utmost secrecy."
Harry rose and opened the library door. "Milly!" he called out, and a
light little figure glided in from the drawing-room opposite.
"We expect to be married in three weeks, uncle--as soon as the banns can
be published," Harry went on, presenting his future wife as it were to
the Colonel. "Milly's money will just be enough for us to live upon
until I can scrape together a practice, and she has confidence enough
in me to believe that in the end I shall manage to get one."
Sir Thomas drew her down to his chair and kissed her forehead. "Milly,"
he said, softly, "you have chosen well. Harry, you have done wisely. I
shall have two children now instead of one. If you are to live near me I
shall be very happy. But, Harry, you have proved yourself well. Now you
must let me buy you a practice."