Dawn came, and with it victory for the defenders of the Solent. In the last moment von Kuhne's plans had gone astray. His submarines which had intended to cause havoc among the multitude of shipping at Portsmouth had indeed passed the boom, only to meet destruction beyond. Eight submarines went to the credit of the R.G.A. and the Navy that night; eighty German marines were captured on the little shore of South Bay. And now, in the fort mess-room that had known so much of drama during the last few months, Colonel Hobin occupied his chair at the head of the table. Beside him was seated Throgmorton, the Flag-Lieutenant. Commander Greaves and John Manton were also present, grouped at the end of the room, near the window whence the dawn crept in. At the far end of the room stood Ewins, something of a hero that morning, but the time for compliment had not yet arrived."Bring them in, Ewins," commanded Hobin.Ewins saluted and clattered away.Five minutes later he returned with a squad of men who waited in the little passage outside. And Ewins ushered into the mess-room Captain Cherriton, still in British uniform. With him was the tall German naval lieutenant John had some time ago seen at Voules's house at Brooke. The last prisoner to enter the room was Voules himself, the General von Kuhne who had so industriously instituted the attack which had met with disaster.Colonel Hobin put a few questions."I am an officer of the German Navy," said the tall lieutenant. "I demand all the privileges of an honourable prisoner of war.""Certainly," intervened Throgmorton, "in your case there is no question of the death penalty.""I, too, am an officer," began Voules in his rasping voice."I am afraid the fact," said Colonel Hobin, "that you neglected the formality of wearing uniform in your attack upon us will tell somewhat severely against you. All I want this morning," he concluded, "is that you should each admit your identity."The three Germans had no objection to this.When the prisoners had been removed Hobin and then Throgmorton gripped John by the hand—in fact, everybody in the room shook hands in the grey of the dawn that morning."All the luck in the world was ours, Treves," said Throgmorton."My name is Manton," John reminded him."Of course, of course—I had quite forgotten that."John's life story was only just beginning—the recovery of his own name marked an epoch. Summer went and autumn came; the sun of Peace rose over the horizon. Letters at first somewhat formal, but later growing in cordiality, passed between himself and Elaine. Then, at last, on a certain autumn day—a red-letter day for John—he received an epistle in Colonel Treves's shaking hand. "My dear boy," ran the Colonel's letter, "I want you to come and visit me. We have been friends a long time—you have played your part well and truly. That which my poor boy failed to do, you have done in his name. You have done credit to my house and to the name of Treves. I am well again now, and shall welcome you with all my heart."John did not know how it was, but a film came before his eyes as he finished reading the old Colonel's letter. And on the Saturday following, when he drove up to the Colonel's house in a hired motor, from Freshwater, the sun was setting over the Solent and yellow leaves were falling in the long drive.Gates drew open the front door of the mansion before John alighted and conducted him straight to the Colonel, in the library. The old man, who had been standing in the window expecting his arrival, came across the room and gripped his hand. He looked into John's face, then smiled. There was conviction in his voice."Yes," he said. "You're a Treves in everything except name."There was much to talk about. In the first place the Colonel spoke of Elaine always as his daughter-in-law. She had completely won his heart."This gives me a new lease of life, my boy," he said to John. Then the smile that was so attractive in him lit up his face. "And when that lease is run out she shall have all that is mine just as she would have had if my boy had lived." The Colonel laid his hand on John's shoulder."John, my boy," he said, "your attention's wandering, it isn't me you want to hear talking, so I'll take myself off now."He went out of the room, and John, walking to the window, looked for a moment upon the autumn scene outside. Then a sound came to him, and he turned to see Elaine, radiant yet doubtful, and strangely shy—looking like spring in autumn.For a moment John was still; then he hurried across the room and took her hands in his."Elaine," he whispered, "is everything forgotten and forgiven?"Elaine lifted her eyes to his. She was ten times more beautiful at that moment than the image he had treasured in his heart."There is nothing to forget, and nothing to forgive, John," she said quietly.John drew in a deep breath."You love me, don't you?""You know I do."Again John drew in a deep breath, this time of complete happiness."Thank goodness," he said—"so that's all right!" Then, without more ado, he swept her into his arms. "I'm going to make mad love to you until seven o'clock," he announced masterfully.Printed in Great Britain by Wyman & Sons Ltd., London and Reading*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBERNARD TREVE'S BOOTS***
Dawn came, and with it victory for the defenders of the Solent. In the last moment von Kuhne's plans had gone astray. His submarines which had intended to cause havoc among the multitude of shipping at Portsmouth had indeed passed the boom, only to meet destruction beyond. Eight submarines went to the credit of the R.G.A. and the Navy that night; eighty German marines were captured on the little shore of South Bay. And now, in the fort mess-room that had known so much of drama during the last few months, Colonel Hobin occupied his chair at the head of the table. Beside him was seated Throgmorton, the Flag-Lieutenant. Commander Greaves and John Manton were also present, grouped at the end of the room, near the window whence the dawn crept in. At the far end of the room stood Ewins, something of a hero that morning, but the time for compliment had not yet arrived.
"Bring them in, Ewins," commanded Hobin.
Ewins saluted and clattered away.
Five minutes later he returned with a squad of men who waited in the little passage outside. And Ewins ushered into the mess-room Captain Cherriton, still in British uniform. With him was the tall German naval lieutenant John had some time ago seen at Voules's house at Brooke. The last prisoner to enter the room was Voules himself, the General von Kuhne who had so industriously instituted the attack which had met with disaster.
Colonel Hobin put a few questions.
"I am an officer of the German Navy," said the tall lieutenant. "I demand all the privileges of an honourable prisoner of war."
"Certainly," intervened Throgmorton, "in your case there is no question of the death penalty."
"I, too, am an officer," began Voules in his rasping voice.
"I am afraid the fact," said Colonel Hobin, "that you neglected the formality of wearing uniform in your attack upon us will tell somewhat severely against you. All I want this morning," he concluded, "is that you should each admit your identity."
The three Germans had no objection to this.
When the prisoners had been removed Hobin and then Throgmorton gripped John by the hand—in fact, everybody in the room shook hands in the grey of the dawn that morning.
"All the luck in the world was ours, Treves," said Throgmorton.
"My name is Manton," John reminded him.
"Of course, of course—I had quite forgotten that."
John's life story was only just beginning—the recovery of his own name marked an epoch. Summer went and autumn came; the sun of Peace rose over the horizon. Letters at first somewhat formal, but later growing in cordiality, passed between himself and Elaine. Then, at last, on a certain autumn day—a red-letter day for John—he received an epistle in Colonel Treves's shaking hand. "My dear boy," ran the Colonel's letter, "I want you to come and visit me. We have been friends a long time—you have played your part well and truly. That which my poor boy failed to do, you have done in his name. You have done credit to my house and to the name of Treves. I am well again now, and shall welcome you with all my heart."
John did not know how it was, but a film came before his eyes as he finished reading the old Colonel's letter. And on the Saturday following, when he drove up to the Colonel's house in a hired motor, from Freshwater, the sun was setting over the Solent and yellow leaves were falling in the long drive.
Gates drew open the front door of the mansion before John alighted and conducted him straight to the Colonel, in the library. The old man, who had been standing in the window expecting his arrival, came across the room and gripped his hand. He looked into John's face, then smiled. There was conviction in his voice.
"Yes," he said. "You're a Treves in everything except name."
There was much to talk about. In the first place the Colonel spoke of Elaine always as his daughter-in-law. She had completely won his heart.
"This gives me a new lease of life, my boy," he said to John. Then the smile that was so attractive in him lit up his face. "And when that lease is run out she shall have all that is mine just as she would have had if my boy had lived." The Colonel laid his hand on John's shoulder.
"John, my boy," he said, "your attention's wandering, it isn't me you want to hear talking, so I'll take myself off now."
He went out of the room, and John, walking to the window, looked for a moment upon the autumn scene outside. Then a sound came to him, and he turned to see Elaine, radiant yet doubtful, and strangely shy—looking like spring in autumn.
For a moment John was still; then he hurried across the room and took her hands in his.
"Elaine," he whispered, "is everything forgotten and forgiven?"
Elaine lifted her eyes to his. She was ten times more beautiful at that moment than the image he had treasured in his heart.
"There is nothing to forget, and nothing to forgive, John," she said quietly.
John drew in a deep breath.
"You love me, don't you?"
"You know I do."
Again John drew in a deep breath, this time of complete happiness.
"Thank goodness," he said—"so that's all right!" Then, without more ado, he swept her into his arms. "I'm going to make mad love to you until seven o'clock," he announced masterfully.
Printed in Great Britain by Wyman & Sons Ltd., London and Reading
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKBERNARD TREVE'S BOOTS***