Mrs. Foster brought her guests back to Sandymere, and when Challoner had shown them the best bits of the old carved oak with which the house was decorated and some curious works of art he had picked up in India, he took them to the picture gallery which ran round the big square hall. A lantern dome admitted a cold light, but a few sunrays struck through a window looking to the south-west and fell in long bright bars on polished floor and sombre panelling. On entering the gallery, Challoner took out a case of miniatures and placing it on a small table brought a chair for Mrs. Keith.
"You know the pictures, but this collection generally interested you, and I have added a few examples of a good French period since you were last here," he said.
Mrs. Keith sat down. She was fond of miniatures, and though she would have preferred to accompany her host she had kept him away from Mrs. Chudleigh since their arrival and thought she must be content with that. She seldom overdid anything and had no wish to make her object too plain; Geoffrey Challoner was by no means a fool. As she expected, Mrs. Chudleigh found an opportunity of joining him after a time and diverted his attention from Mrs. Foster, who left him to talk to his sister. Mrs. Keith watched the manoeuvre, which was cleverly carried out, with ironical amusement, though she was troubled by a faint uneasiness. She felt that her old friend was threatened, but she could not see where the danger lay, and, sitting with the miniatures before her, she tried to formulate her suspicions.
In the first place, she had unwisely given Mrs. Chudleigh to understand that it was doubtful whether Richard Blake had merited his disgrace. Then the former had met Lieutenant Walters, who had fought in the frontier action, and had gained his confidence. It was possible that she had led him on to talk about the affair with injudicious freedom, and now she had met Greythorpe and seemed desirous of cultivating his acquaintance. All this had an ominous look, because the woman was ambitious and scheming, besides being in love with Sedgwick, who was something of an adventurer. She would no doubt seize upon any opportunity of securing his promotion.
Margaret's Keith's suspicions were justified, for Mrs. Chudleigh was then cleverly clearing the ground for future action. She had some knowledge of art and the row of family portraits, hung between suits of armour and trophies of Eastern weapons, interested her, while Challoner was gratified by the way she listened as he spoke of them. One or two were by well-known artists, and the faces of the old Challoners, some of whom wore wigs and rich court dress, and some obsolete uniforms, fixed her attention. The resemblance between them all was recognizable, and she thought the family strain must be unusually strong. They had obviously been stern, masterful men, practical rather than imaginative and not likely to be troubled by any emotional weaknesses. Then she glanced at the picture of a young woman with a face of singularly delicate beauty. Its expression was gentle and pensive.
"My wife; she died in Simla twenty years ago," said Challoner gravely, and passing on, stopped before a water-colour drawing of his son.
It had been painted when Bertram was young, and he had his mother's dreamy look. Mrs. Chudleigh missed the hardness of expression that marked the Challoners.
"A sketch rather than a finished study, but there's talent in it," she remarked. "The subject's temperament has been cleverly seized; I have met Captain Challoner."
"My wife's work," said the Colonel. "Although I value it, I have thought she was mistaken in this drawing. My son is a man of action, and this is the face of a sentimentalist."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Chudleigh; "his mother should know him best."
"Undoubtedly," agreed Challoner, who looked disturbed at the suggestion. "Still, perhaps, in painting a portrait the artist may be misled into unduly emphasizing some single, passing phase of the sitter's character. A lad's moods are variable; his nature has not had time to harden into its mould. I imagine this is what has happened, because if the likeness is faithful, my son has changed since then."
"One does not change much in essentials," Mrs. Chudleigh answered thoughtfully. "But what would you have different? It is a good and very likeable face."
"There is a hint of weakness; something that suggests a too sensitive disposition." The Colonel pointed to an officer in the old East India Company's uniform whose expression was grim and arrogant. "A crude piece of work, but he has the Challoner look."
"It may sound presumptuous, but I think you are scarcely doing the family justice. One can see the salient characteristics of the male line in this example, but they're too strongly marked. Good qualities, such as resolution and courage, may degenerate through being developed to exaggeration at the expense of others, and after all Captain Challoner strikes me as a much finer type. I'm afraid you undervalue the gift of imagination."
"These others," said Challoner, indicating the portraits generally, "had imagination enough to do their duty, often in difficult situations. I don't know that one needs much more."
"A stern doctrine; it seems to bar out a good deal of the beauty and joy of life. But I see some landscapes yonder."
She led him up to several small impressionist sketches in water-colour of Indian subjects, and stopped in admiration.
"These are very good. I know the country, and they make you realise what it is like. There is genius here."
"My son did them," said Challoner with dry amusement. "I can see their cleverness, but I'll admit that I think them rather a waste of time."
"A shocking view. Would you sooner have had him study his drill book or attend a kit inspection?"
"On the whole, I believe so. It would be more in line with his profession."
Mrs. Chudleigh gave him a direct, reproachful glance. "I know your son and that he is a good soldier, but I feel you were wrong when you sent him into the army. With training, he might have made a great artist."
Challoner regarded her with frank astonishment. "But, my dear lady, would you prefer the latter; a coverer of canvases, a mere portrayer of action instead of a doer? Is it better to paint human passions and emotions than to control and direct your own and those of others?"
"Painting is his work," Mrs. Chudleigh persisted. "He has the temperament; you can see it triumphing over circumstances. In spite of his duties, the amusements he must be expected to take part in, and, no doubt, the banter of the mess, he finds time to make these sketches. Then they exhibit more than mere skill with the brush; they show clear understanding and the power of feeling."
"The latter is a dangerous gift. A man of action is better without it."
"Your son has it, and it cannot be got rid of; but in a sense, you're right. Sensibility must be a handicap to a soldier now and then, making him realize dangers and cruelties he had better have been blind to." Mrs. Chudleigh paused and added with a thoughtful air: "Captain Challoner's courage and coolness are known, but I think they must cost him more than is required of his comrades. I mean that his having something to overcome before he can practise them, and yet always doing so, shows a fine moral fibre."
Challoner looked grave. He had suspected what he thought were symptoms of weakness in his son, though Bertram had never given way to it. His companion's talk disturbed him because it seemed to prove the correctness of his suppositions, but he was shortly relieved of her.
Margaret Keith, who had watched closely, decided that Mrs. Chudleigh had been alone with her host long enough, but for a time she could see no suitable means of separating them. By and by, however, Millicent came towards her and she beckoned the girl.
"Isn't Arrowdale near your aunts' place in the North?" she said. "There's a picture of the hills round it that I think you would like. Ask Colonel Challoner to show it you."
Millicent joined the others, and when she spoke about the picture Mrs. Chudleigh went away. She thought she had said enough, for her object had been to plant a seed of doubt about his son's character in Challoner's; mind. If he considered sensitiveness, artistic talent, and imagination failings in a Challoner, she had given him food for thought, which was as far as she wished to go just then, and on the whole she thought she had reason to be satisfied. When she had moved away, Challoner showed Millicent a picture of grey hills and a sullen tarn, half revealed between folds of rolling vapour, and the girl was stirred to keen appreciation.
"It's beautiful and full of life," she said. "One can see the mist drive by and the ripples break upon the stones. Perhaps it's because I know the tarn I like the picture so much, but it makes one realize the rugged grandeur and melancholy charm of the place. I suppose that is genius; who is the painter?"
"My son," said the Colonel, and added with a curious smile: "You are the second person who has lately tried to persuade me that he should have been an artist."
Millicent saw he was troubled, though she could not imagine the reason.
"I hardly know Captain Challoner, whom I only met once, but it is obvious that he has talent. You would sooner have him a soldier?"
"Very much sooner."'
"But he is one and I understand has distinguished himself. After all, it is perhaps a mistake to think of genius as limited to one ability, music or painting for example. Real genius, the power of understanding, is more comprehensive; the man who has it ought to be successful at whatever he undertakes."
"I'm dubious," said Challoner. "It strikes me as a rather daring theory."
"It isn't mine," Millicent answered, blushing. "It's a favourite theme of a philosopher I'm fond of, and he insists upon it when he speaks about great men. Perhaps I'm talking too freely, but I feel that Captain Challoner's being able to paint well shouldn't prevent his making a good officer."
"Great men are scarce. I'm content that my son has so far done his duty quietly and well; all I could wish for is that if any exceptional call should be made on him he should rise to the occasion. That is the supreme test, and men one expects much from sometimes fail to meet it."
Millicent guessed that he was thinking of a man who had been dear to him and had apparently broken down beneath sudden stress.
"It must be hard to judge them unless one knows all the circumstances," she remarked.
"Not when a man has entered his country's service. He must carry out his orders; what he is sent to do must be done. No excuse can justify disobedience and failure. But we are getting too serious and I am boring you. There is another picture I think you would like to see."
Soon afterwards Mrs. Foster said that she must go, and when she and her friends had left, Challoner sat alone for a time while the pictures faded as dusk crept into the gallery. A man of practical abilities with a stern perception of his duty, he was inclined to distrust all that made its strongest appeal to the senses. Art and music he thought were vocations for women; in his opinion it was hardly fitting that a man should exploit his emotions by expressing them for public exhibition. Indeed, he regarded sentimentality of any kind as a failing, and it had been suggested that his son possessed the dangerous gift. One of his guests had gone further and hinted that Bertram should never have been a soldier. Challoner could not agree with this conclusion, but he thought there was, perhaps, a grain of truth in it. Then he banished his disturbing thoughts and went out in search of Greythorpe.
During the next week Mrs. Chudleigh met Challoner twice and skilfully led the conversation to his son. Then she heard from Sedgwick, who said that if he could obtain the vacant appointment it would give him an opportunity of making his mark. The time was ripe for a bold stroke which would lead to the acquisition of valuable territory, but he could not carry out his plans unless he had full command. They were, he felt, bound to succeed, but he frankly owned that he meant to force the hand of the Colonial authorities and could not act while he held a subordinate position. Accordingly he begged Mrs. Chudleigh to exert all her influence to secure his promotion, adding that his name had been mentioned in connexion with the post, but that there were other candidates with stronger claims on those who had the power to make the appointment.
Mrs. Chudleigh had already been at work in different quarters, but she thought Colonel Challoner the most likely man to help her, though he might be difficult to persuade and she could not hurry him. She had moreover had several confidential talks with Lieutenant Walters and had extracted a good deal of information. This enabled her to form a plausible theory of what had happened during the night attack, and she was inclined to think that even an experienced soldier could not find much fault with the conclusions she had arrived at, but she did not wish to make use of it unless compelled.
When it was getting dark one evening Foster, who was crossing a meadow with two young men carrying guns dropped behind to speak to a keeper as Mrs. Chudleigh and Millicent came forward to meet the party. Soon afterwards he joined his wife, who had waited for him, and they walked to the house behind the others.
"How did you get on at the Seymours' this afternoon?" he asked. "Did Ada air her views for the benefit of your friends?"
Mrs. Foster laughed, for Ada Seymour was a lady with strong opinions which she was fond of proclaiming.
"Yes," she said; "in fact, she went farther than usual and rather forgot her manners. After a while Mrs. Chudleigh took exception to something she said and Miss Graham was drawn into the argument. Somewhat to my surprise, she supported Ada and spoke really well, but Ada was getting angry and I was so busy trying to smooth things down that I hardly know what it was all about."
"The degeneracy of the age and the insidious influence of luxury no doubt. Ada can't keep off these topics and she makes some surprising statements when she warms up, but I'm not surprised that Mrs. Chudleigh and Miss Graham took opposite sides."
"Why?"
"They're very different types; about as different as a moonlight night and a spring morning."
Mrs. Foster looked at him sharply and he chuckled.
"Not often so poetical, am I? But I prefer the bright morning; moonlight's a tricky, elusive thing, apt to dazzle and mislead one. However, does Mrs. Chudleigh intend to remain long? She looks like a fixture."
"She doesn't inconvenience you."
"Not at all. She's amusing and that and moderate good looks are all you expect from a woman, so long as you don't mean to marry her. I'm interested in your friend; very much so, although I can't see her game."
"What do you mean by her game?"
"If you don't know, it isn't often you're so dull. She's up to something and Meg Keith sees it; she keeps a close watch on the woman and when she's forced to take her eyes off her sets Miss Graham on guard."
"Do you mean that Miss Graham informs her of what Mrs. Chudleigh says or does?"
"Nothing farther from my thoughts. Meg Keith has lots of pluck, but she'd be shy of suggesting such a course to that girl. What she does is not to trust the woman alone when she can help it; when you see Mrs. Chudleigh you'll generally find Meg or her companion in the neighbourhood. The plot's interesting and the Colonel's in it. I've an idea that Meg's somehow defending him. He's an old friend and she's as staunch as they're made."
"If there is more in the situation than appears on the surface, you had better leave it alone. You won't improve matters by interfering."
"Seen that all along," Foster agreed. "I'll stick to my shooting, but provided that I keep my hands off, there's no harm in looking on. But you mark me; there'll be developments."
He broke off with a chuckle and Mrs. Foster walked on in thoughtful silence. Her husband occasionally showed shrewd observation, and she believed that he was right in the present instance. Something was undoubtedly going on, but she could not determine what it was. As she entered the hall she saw Millicent talking to one of her sporting guests who had shown a preference for her society and Mrs. Chudleigh watching. The latter liked admiration but her expression indicated critical scrutiny rather than jealousy. Mrs. Foster imagined that she was trying to analyse the girl's charm. Then as she came forward with her husband the others joined them and shortly afterwards tea was brought in.
A week after Mrs. Foster's visit Challoner drove over to Hazlehurst in the afternoon and on reaching the lodge found her setting out with several of her guests to meet Foster and his friends on their return from shooting. Refusing to allow her to turn back with him, he accompanied the party, and some time later Mrs. Keith, who had remained at home, went out on the terrace. Following it to the end of the house near which the stables stood, she saw a man leading in a horse which she thought she knew.
"Isn't that bay Colonel Challoner's?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," said the groom. "The gardener brought it up from the lodge. The Colonel went on with Mrs. Foster to the long wood."
Mrs. Keith turned away and sat down on a terrace seat feeling disturbed. Mrs. Chudleigh was with the others and would no doubt detach Challoner from them, as she generally succeeded in doing when Mrs. Keith was unable to prevent her. Now there was nobody to come to his rescue, he would be at the woman's mercy, and though she admitted that this was perhaps an exaggerated view to take, Mrs. Keith felt that he was threatened. It was, however, a long walk to the wood and she was old enough to shrink from it; besides there was a possibility that she was after all suspecting Mrs. Chudleigh without much cause, but she made up her mind to follow. By walking fast she might overtake the party before much harm was done. Entering the house, she put on thick boots and then set out with all the speed she was capable of.
In the meanwhile Mrs. Foster's party had split up, and Mrs. Chudleigh and Challoner were left together. The Colonel did not regret this, because he had found her an entertaining companion. Though it was a winter day, the weather was mild and the road almost dry, and after a time they reached a birch wood which skirted its eastern side. The rays of the low sun struck in among the trees, forcing up the silvery trunks and fragile twigs which looked like lacework against a background of blue shadow. Thick hollies and rhododendrons planted near the wayside kept off the light wind, and dead leaves and withered fern made patches of glowing colour. When they came to a gate leading to a drive through the wood Mrs. Chudleigh stopped.
"The others have vanished; I can't even hear them," she said. "I wonder which way they have gone."
Challoner listened, but could only distinguish the murmur of the wind among the birches and the rustle of fallen leaves. The rest of the party were obviously some distance ahead.
"The road's the longer, but as the field-path's often wet I can't tell which they've taken," he said.
"The field-path for me," Mrs. Chudleigh replied.
"I'm afraid I'm not very fond of walking."
They entered the wood and presently reached a stile, on the other side of which a boggy patch cut off the path from a strip of sticky ploughing. Mrs. Chudleigh regarded it with disapproval.
"I don't know if Mrs. Foster could jump over that, but I can't," she said.
She sat down upon the stile and Challoner leaned against the fence.
"There'll be time to meet them coming back before they reach the spot where the path rejoins the road. After all, I see no reason to complain of being left behind."
Mrs. Chudleigh smiled at him. "That's very nice of you, and while the sunshine lasts it's pleasant here. I often think an English wood, with the varied colours of the trunks and mosses showing, is most beautiful on a bright winter day. Besides, I wanted to talk to you. There's a favour I must ask."
"You can consider it granted if it's in my power."
"Don't be rash," she warned him. "You may be surprised when you hear what it is, but I want you to see the matter in its proper light and not to be actuated merely by a wish to please me."
"It's a wish I should like to gratify," Challoner assured her. "But please go on."
Mrs. Chudleigh hesitated. Beneath his formal, old-fashioned courtesy which she had found attractive she recognized a stern conscientiousness. He must, if possible, be convinced that the course she meant to urge was the best, though she had the means of putting pressure on him if this proved needful.
"Well," she said, "there is a rather important post vacant in a West African colony and you have influence. Mr. Greythorpe is an intimate friend of yours and may consult you about the matter. He will, no doubt, have a part in making the selection."
"I have heard about it," Challoner admitted guardedly.
Instead of answering, Mrs. Chudleigh started and clenched her hand, for she was looking towards the road and could see a woman's figure through an opening between the trees. She recognized the dress, which was behind the current fashion, and the new-comer's carriage, which somehow suggested determination, further indicated Mrs. Keith. Mrs. Chudleigh was glad that Challoner stood where he could not see the road, but she watched in keen suspense when Mrs. Keith reached the gate and stopped as if undecided which way to go. If she chose the field-path, Mrs. Chudleigh's opportunity would be gone, and it might be some time before she found another, while her business brooked no delay. It was, however, fortunate that she and her companion could not be plainly seen from the road because there were some bushes in the way and a tall thicket close by formed a background against which their figures would not show. After a few moments Mrs. Keith moved on and Mrs. Chudleigh, who was conscious of deep relief, saw that Challoner was waiting for her to speak.
"It is essential that the right man should be chosen," she resumed. "Our political and commercial interests demand this. There is a chance of acquiring a strip of territory which would open a way to the trade of the interior, but it must be done with tact as well as boldness. We need a man with firmness and judgment who can secure us this opening without giving the French definite ground for offence, and he must be experienced in West African affairs. The post could not be entrusted safely to a newcomer."
"Ah!" said Challoner; "as you seem so well informed, I presume you have somebody to suggest."
She could learn nothing from his manner, which had changed and grown formal.
"I know a man who has all the necessary qualifications. He is resolute and enterprising; a soldier who has distinguished himself in action and a clever administrator. What is more, the direction of affairs has been largely left in his hands for some time."
"You mean Captain Sedgwick?" Challoner's tone was discouragingly reserved. "May I ask what leads you to plead his cause?"
"First of all because I think he is the best man."
"A good reason," said the Colonel. "Still I'm inclined to think you have a better one."
Mrs. Chudleigh hesitated while the colour crept into her face; then she said simply, "I love him."
Challoner bowed. "I am honoured by your confidence, but if he were chosen, it would separate you. You could not stand the climate of Western Africa."
"I know," she said eagerly. "These appointments, however, are not for long and we are willing to defer our marriage if it will give him an opportunity of showing what he can do."
There was silence for the next minute. Challoner was somewhat touched by her frank appeal, and though he saw that she was sufficiently ambitious to subordinate her affection to her desire for her lover's advancement, it was an ambition he could sympathize with. The woman was willing to make a sacrifice. For all that, he felt that he could not conscientiously help her.
"I wish you had asked for something else," he said. "I'm sorry this favour is not in my power."
"You can know nothing against Captain Sedgwick," the answered sharply.
"Certainly not; the trouble is that personally I know nothing in his favour."
"But I have assured you that there is nobody so suitable."
"That is a different matter. Your opinion is very natural and does you credit; I will not suggest that your affection for him may lead you to rate Captain Sedgwick's qualifications too highly. No doubt, he is an excellent officer, but these appointments are not made on a lady's recommendation."
"Are they not?" Mrs. Chudleigh asked with a touch of irony. "Remember that I have lived at Simla and know that influence often goes a long way I have seen it at work."
Challoner frowned. "So have I, but it is a thing I have always set my face against. The man for a post of this kind must be chosen on his merits."
"How are they to be ascertained, unless you take the opinion of those who know him best?"
"It is often difficult, but the safest test is his work as it is known to his official superiors. Unless he is judged by this, there is a risk of partiality and unfairness. Social influence is a dangerous thing and deplorable mistakes have been made when it has been allowed to have effect."
"Then you will do nothing?"
Her tone was harsh and Challoner looked at her in surprise.
"It is possible that Greythorpe may consult me, though I do not know what weight my opinion would have with him. If the information he lays before me seems to indicate that Captain Sedgwick is the best man, I should suggest his appointment."
Mrs. Chudleigh appeared to acquiesce and said nothing for some minutes. She was sorry that Challoner had not proved more amenable, since his stubbornness forced her into a distasteful line of action, but she could not spare him when her lover's future was at stake.
"After all," she said, "a soldier's official record is sometimes as little to be trusted as you think his friends' estimate of him ought to be. I have an instance in view; two men I know took part in an action on the Indian frontier, and one gained a reputation for courage, and the other obloquy. As it happened, neither was deserved."
"On the Indian frontier?" Challoner glanced at her sharply.
"Yes; some time since. A night attack was made upon a hill which formed the key to the position of a small British force. An order to retreat was wrongly given."
"Ah!" said Challoner; "I have good reason to remember that affair. May I ask what you know about it?"
"I'm convinced I know the truth, which has been concealed."
Challoner started and his face grew eager. "Then your knowledge is of great importance and I must beg you to share it with me. It may clear a man I have a strong affection for."
"At the cost of involving another."
"I suppose that follows."
"Then you do not believe it wiser to let a painful matter which is already almost forgotten rest? You would rake it up, even if it brought trouble upon innocent people?"
"Justice must be done," said Challoner. "I have always hated jobbery. If a wrong has been committed, it must be put right."
"You no doubt know that the order to retreat could only have been given by one of two officers?"
There were signs of tension in Challoner's face and Mrs. Chudleigh pitied him, but she was forced to be merciless.
"That seems to have been taken for granted. What then?"
"It was a dark night and nobody saw who gave the order, but Blake was stationed with his electric apparatus in the ravine and the bugler some distance behind him. Besides, the latter was attached to Captain Challoner's company."
"But Blake did not fire the mine." Challoner's voice was strained.
"That is true. The conclusion was that he had deserted his post, but I believe it must be wrong because he was seen busy with the wires."
"Who saw him?"
"One of his comrades, after the attack began, and it seems impossible that Blake could have reached the bugler when the retreat was sounded. There were one or two other points which might have been raised, only that he made no defence. I will mention them."
She had after a long and careful consideration arranged her evidence in a skilful manner. Facts which had appeared of minor importance to the men who had noticed them had now, as she handled them, a telling effect and Challoner grew troubled.
"If needful, I believe I could prove all this, though it would require strong pressure to make my informant speak," she concluded. "You must see what it implies?"
"That my son is a coward and gave the shameful order?" Challoner's eyes glittered, though his face was colourless. "It's unthinkable!"
"Nevertheless it's true. Why did he, without permission and abusing his authority over the guard, spend two hours late at night with Blake who was under arrest? What had they to say that took so long, when there was a risk of Captain Challoner's being discovered? Why did Blake make no defence, unless it was because he knew that to clear himself would throw the blame upon his friend?"
"You press me hard," said Challoner in a hoarse voice. "But that my son should so have failed in his duty to his country and his cousin is impossible."
"Yet you were willing to believe your nephew guilty. Had you any cause to doubt his courage?"
"No," said Challoner. "I used to think he loved a risk."
He felt beaten by her remorseless reasoning; there was scarcely a point he could contest and his heart grew very heavy. A conviction that humbled him to the dust was being forced on him.
"There is only one conclusion," Mrs. Chudleigh resumed. "The order to retreat was given by the weaker man, Bertram Challoner."
He turned to her with a gesture that begged her to desist. "My dear lady, this is very painful. I must try to think it out calmly, and I am not able now."
For a time there was strained silence, and Mrs. Chudleigh waited until he roused himself.
"I must know if what you have told me has any bearing on your request that I should recommend Captain Sedgwick's appointment?"
She paused before she answered, for he was very stern and peremptory.
"Not a direct one. I have kept the secret out of consideration for you and your son, but since I have done so, I ventured to believe you would not refuse me a favour that would only cost you a few words to your friend."
"I'm relieved to hear it," Challoner grimly replied. "You wish to appeal to my gratitude and not my fears? Has it struck you that, if you are correct in your conclusions, by keeping silent you were wronging an innocent man?"
"Think!" she said impressively. "In a sense, Blake stands by himself, a man of no importance; your son is heir to a fine estate and is expected to carry on the traditions of the family. He has a young wife who adores him, and many friends. Is a career such as lies before him to be destroyed by one weak action which he has since well atoned for? I believe your nephew saw that his cousin's disgrace would be a disaster and felt that at any cost the situation must be saved."
Challoner regarded her with a stern smile. "One would imagine that you are trying to heighten the value of your silence."
"You misjudge me, but since you take this line, I have some claim on your gratitude. Can you deny it?"
"I had better answer frankly. If my opinion is desired, I will try to consider Captain Sedgwick's appointment on its merits. You must not count on more than this."
Mrs. Chudleigh rose and they turned back to the road in silence. It looked as if she had failed, but she would not give up the game yet. When Challoner had time to think he would, no doubt, realize the necessity of safeguarding his son's good name and even his austere uprightness might fail to stand the strain.
It was half an hour later when Mrs. Keith, who had walked as fast as she was able, met Foster and the others coming back. She stopped, hot and breathless, with keen disappointment, for neither Colonel Challoner nor Mrs. Chudleigh were among them. Then, rousing herself, with an effort, she asked where they were.
"I can't tell," Mrs. Foster replied. "They dropped behind us and may have gone home. Mrs. Chudleigh soon gets tired of walking."
Mrs. Keith's heart sank and Foster noticed her expression. "It's a good way from Hazlehurst, but you look as if you had been hurrying," he remarked. "Are you very much disappointed that you didn't meet us earlier?"
"I am disappointed that I missed Challoner," Mrs. Keith answered with a forced smile.
Foster, who gave her a keen glance, tactfully talked about his shooting as they went back together, and on reaching the house they found that Challoner had already driven home.
The morning was mild and Challoner paced slowly up and down his shrubbery. Bright sunshine fell upon him, the massed evergreens cut off the wind, and in a sheltered border spear-like green points were pushing through the soil in promise of the spring. Challoner knew them all, the veined crocus blades, the tight-closed heads of the hyacinths, and the twin shoots of the daffodils, but, fond as he was of his garden, he gave them scanty attention, and by and by sat down in a sheltered nook lost in painful thought. He had a careworn look and had left the house in a restless mood with a wish to be alone in the open air.
Mrs. Chudleigh's revelation had been a shock. With his sense of duty and family pride, he had, when the news of the frontier disaster first reached him, found it almost impossible to believe that his nephew had been guilty of shameful cowardice; and now it looked as if the disgrace might be brought still closer home. Bertram would presently take his place and, retiring from active service, rule the estate in accordance with Challoner traditions and perhaps exert some influence in politics; he remembered that Mrs. Chudleigh had laid some stress on this. She had, however, told him that Bertram, from whom so much was expected, had shown himself a poltroon and, what was even worse, had allowed an innocent man to suffer for his baseness. Challoner had spent the last few days pondering the evidence she had offered him and had seen one or two weak points in it. By making the most of these, it might, perhaps, be rebutted, but his honesty rendered such a course out of the question if she were right in her conclusions, and he was forced to admit that this was possible. Bertram had shown timidity in his younger days—Challoner remembered that they had had some trouble in teaching him to ride—and there was no doubt that his was a highly-strung and nervous temperament. He had not the calm which marked the Challoners in time of strain. Then Dick Blake was recklessly generous and loved his cousin; it would be consistent with his character if he were willing to suffer in Bertram's stead. Moreover there were reasons which might have had some effect in inducing Bertram to consent, because Challoner knew the affection his son bore him and that he would shrink from involving him in his disgrace. What Bertram would certainly not have done to secure his own escape he might have done for the sake of his father and the girl he was to marry.
Admitting all this, Challoner could not take his son's guilt for granted. There was room for doubt, and soon after leaving Mrs. Chudleigh he had cabled a friend in Montreal asking him to spare no effort to trace Blake. If the latter could be found, he must be summoned home and forced to declare the truth. By and by Challoner heard a footstep and looking up saw Foster approaching. He stopped and regarded the Colonel with surprise, for it was seldom Challoner was to be seen sitting moodily idle.
"I'm taking a short cut through your grounds to the fir spinney," he said. "As I was leaving home Mrs. Chudleigh asked me to give you this note, and when I looked in at the house Miss Challoner said she didn't know where you were and a telegram had just come in. Thinking I might find you, I brought it along." Handing the other two envelopes he added: "Sorry to see you're not looking as brisk as usual."
"There's not much the matter," Challoner replied, forcing a smile. "Still, I do feel a trifle slack, and I've had something to worry me."
Foster gave him a sympathetic nod. "Worry's bad; make a rule to avoid it when I can. But will you walk as far as the wood?"
He went on when Challoner said he would sooner remain, and the latter eagerly opened the telegram. It was in answer to his cable and read—
"Blake and two others left Sweetwater settlement. Destination supposed far North."
This implied the impossibility of learning anything from his nephew for some time, and Challoner could not recall his son, who was then in Japan and must shortly rejoin his Indian regiment. Besides, if Bertram were blameless, it would be a cruel blow for him to find that his father had suspected him of a shameful deed, while if he were guilty, something must be done. This would probably lead to a disastrous change in their relations and compel Bertram to leave the army. Though the suspense was hard to bear, Challoner, as Mrs. Chudleigh had foreseen, was beginning to feel afraid to learn the truth and inclined to temporize.
Then he opened her note and read—
"As I hear you expect Mr. Greythorpe, shortly, I venture to believe that now you have had time for reflection you will see that it would be better for everybody if you did as I suggested. This would be a great favour and you could count upon my gratitude and discretion."
Studying it carefully, Challoner saw a threat as well as a promise that she would keep his secret if he complied, but he tore the note up and trod the fragments into the soil. So far as the African appointment was concerned, he was not to be influenced. He would not offer a bribe for her silence, nor would he derive a personal advantage from a piece of jobbery. On that point his mind was made up.
A little later Mrs. Keith opened a neighbouring gate and came towards him.
"The fine morning tempted me out, and as Lucy Foster was passing with the car, I thought I'd look your sister up," she said. "But I'm afraid you're in trouble. The last time we met you had a downcast air and you don't look much brighter to-day."
"It's unpleasant to think I'm in the habit of showing my feelings so plainly," he answered.
"You don't, but your moody calm has its meaning. I've known you long enough to recognize it. You can't deny that something is disturbing you."
"No," said Challoner. "I'm not clever enough to hide it from your keen eyes."
"They're very friendly, as you know. I'll strain a friend's privilege far enough to guess that your perplexities began the last time you and Mrs. Chudleigh met."
He wondered how much she knew and longed to confide in her. She was very staunch, but his secret must be kept until he had learned the truth.
"I'm sorry, Margaret, but I can't tell you what is troubling me."
She made a sign of acquiescence. "You would if it were possible and I won't press you, but you know I can be trusted if you need me. I was afraid of that woman; I felt she threatened you."
Their glances met and lingered, and Challoner felt that the reason for his grief was but thinly veiled from her. Still, for his son's sake, he could not confirm her suspicions, and he broke into a dry smile.
"I believe you tried to protect me, and it certainly wasn't your fault that you failed. I appreciate it, Margaret, but after all there may be less cause for anxiety than I imagine, and we'll talk about something else. Will you come up to the house?"
They walked slowly across the lawn, and though his companion chatted about indifferent matters Challoner knew he had her sympathy. When they reached the door she stopped.
"I needn't bring you in, because I have something to ask Hilda. No doubt, it's unnecessary, but you won't mind my warning you not to be influenced by anything that woman said."
"I had already decided to disregard it."
A look of gratified confidence came into her eyes. "That is what I expected; you are not easily swayed, but I see signs of strain. There is some crisis you must face, and I think it is connected with Greythorpe's visit."
"You have guessed correctly."
"When one is in difficulties the easiest way out is not always the best. But you know that."
"I have learned it. One has often to chose between the right and the most prudent thing."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Keith, "I believe they are generally the same in the end; that is, if one has the courage to choose the former."
Challoner bowed. "You have never failed me, Margaret, and you give me good counsel now."
She went in, and he turned away, feeling encouraged; but a reaction followed, and he spent the rest of the day in troubled thought. A day or two later Greythorpe arrived and in the early evening sat with his host in the library. Though dusk was closing in, a window near them stood open and a single shaded candle burned upon a neighbouring table. Presently Greythorpe opened some papers.
"We have not settled the African appointment yet," he said. "The matter, of course, is not altogether in my hands, but my recommendation will have weight, and I should be glad of your opinion before making it. You will find the names and qualifications of the candidates here."
Challoner studied the papers, and then gazed out of the window without speaking. It was not quite dark, and he could see the great oaks in the park, and the sombre masses of the woods rolling back up the valley. In the foreground, a sheet of water shone with a pale gleam. It was a rich and beautiful countryside and much of it belonged to him. Though his wife had brought him money, Sandymere had long been the property of the Challoners, and the old house had a picturesque stateliness, while every field and farmstead had been well cared for.
In process of time it would all be his son's, and, in that sense, Bertram had more than an individual importance. He was one of a line of men who had served their country well in court and field, and any disgrace that fell upon him would taint a respected name and reflect upon his children, for the family honour was indivisible, a thing that stretched backwards to the past as well as forward. Now, however, it was threatened by an unprincipled woman who claimed the power to drag it in the mire; but Challoner recognized that he could not allow this to influence him. His private affairs must not count where the interests of his country were concerned.
"Well," he said at length, "the matter seems difficult to decide. You have two men of excellent character, whom I know something about, and a third who has shown ability in a subordinate post."
"Sedgwick? Your manner leads me to believe that you don't quite class him with the others."
"There is a difference. The first two are honest and reliable but not brilliant men. Sedgwick is obviously more capable than either, but I suspect that self-interest is his strongest motive. I knew a major in his regiment. He might use this appointment to force himself into prominence."
"It's possible, but that needn't prove a great drawback."
"Is the Cabinet ready to embark upon a bold course of Colonial expansion?"
"No," said Greythorpe with a smile, "not so far as I'm acquainted with their views, but we would like the strip of unoccupied territory, and Sedgwick seems alive to its importance."
"He'll probably get it for you if you give him a chance, but I imagine he won't stop there. In fact, he may take you much farther than you wish to go. Suppose he brings off some sensational coup in which you would have to support him at the expense of France?"
"There might be some risk of that, but he's undoubtedly an able man."
"I think so," Challoner agreed. "It's his disinterestedness I suspect."
"Then if the post were at your disposal, you would not offer it to him?"
Challoner was silent for a few moments. It looked as if Greythorpe were disposed to favour Sedgwick's claim and to concur might save a good deal of trouble. Even then, it did not follow that Sedgwick would be chosen, because there were higher authorities to be consulted. Challoner thought he would not be blamed if they refused the man the post, because he did Mrs. Chudleigh the justice to believe that she would not doubt his assurance that he had done his best and that she would afterwards put no further pressure on him. It was her lover's promotion she wished to secure. For all that, easy as it would be to humour her, he had been asked for his opinion by a man who trusted him, and he must give it honestly.
"No," he said with a resolute air, "I should prefer either of the others. On the whole, I believe I'd select the first on your list."
"You seem to have thought it well over."
"That's true. It's a rather grave matter," Challoner answered drily.
"Well," said Greythorpe, "my idea is that Sedgwick should be left in charge a month or two longer. Then if we send out another man, we'll try to find him something else."
He changed the subject and Challoner lighted a cigar and listened, sitting back in the shadow where his companion could not see him. He felt weary, because he had borne a heavy strain during the last few days, and the course he had taken had cost him a good deal. Now he knew that if Sedgwick were not appointed Mrs. Chudleigh would hold him responsible.