The Colonel's fierce eyes were transfigured with a radiant tenderness, his gruff voice was grown strangely soft and tender, his sinewy hand had sought and found at last those white and trembling fingers, while two soft eyes were looking up into his, eyes made young with love, and bright with happy tears.
Seeing all of which from without the casement, my lady Betty, choking back her own grief, smiled, sobbed and, stealing away, crept softly upstairs to her room, locked herself in and, lying face down upon her bed, wept tears more bitter than any she had ever known.
A wild, black night full of wind and rain and mud—a raging, tearing wind with rain that hissed in every vicious gust—a wind that roared fiercely in swaying tree-tops and passing, moaned dismally afar; a wind that flapped the sodden skirts of the Major's heavy riding-coat, that whirled the Sergeant's hat away into the blackness and set him cursing in French and Dutch and English.
"What is't, Zeb?" enquired the Major during a momentary lull as they rode knee and knee in the gloom.
"My hat sir ... the wind with a cur——" The words were blown away and the Sergeant, swearing unheard, bent his head to the lashing rain.
"Are we ... right ... think you? ... long way ... very dark egad..."
"Dark sir, never knowed it darker and the rain—may the dev..."
"Are we nigh the place Zeb d'ye think, we should be ... by now——"
"Not so fur your hon ... a bye-road hereabouts if 'twarn't dark, with ten thousand..."
In a while as they splashed on through the gloom the Major felt a hand on his arm.
"By your left, sir ... bye-road ... can't see on account o' dark, may the foul fiend ... by your left, so!" Thus through mud and rain and buffeting wind they rode until at word of the Sergeant they dismounted.
"Must hide the horses, sir," said he in the Major's ear. "I know a snug place hard by, wait you here sir ... some shelter under the hedge ... never saw such a plaguy night, may all the foul——" And the Sergeant was gone, venting curses at every step. Very soon he was back again and the Major stumbled after him across an unseen, wind-swept expanse until looming blacker than the dark, they saw the ruin of the haunted mill. Inside, sheltered from rain and wind the Major unloosed his heavy coat and took from under his arm a certain knobby bludgeon and twirled it in the dark while Sergeant Zebedee, hard by, struck flint and steel, but the tinder was damp and refused to burn.
"Is a light necessary Zeb—if any should observe——"
"Why sir, like as not they'd think 'twas ghosts, d'ye see. And 'tis as well to survey field of operations, wherefore I brought a lanthorn and——" The Major reached out and caught his arm.
"Hark!" said he.
Above and around them were shrieks and howlings, timbers creaked and groaned and the whole ruined fabric quivered, ever and anon, to the fierce buffets of the wind, while faint and far was an ever-recurrent roll and rumble of thunder.
"Storm's a-waxing sir ... can't last, I..." Borne on the wind above the tempest came a faint hail. "Zounds, they're close on us!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "This way, sir, keep close, catch the tail o' my coat." Thus they stumbled on through the pitchy dark, found a wall, followed it, turned a corner, brought up against another wall and so stood waiting with ears on the stretch.
And soon amid this confusion of sounds was a stamping of horse, the tread of feet and presently voices within the mill itself; one in especial that poured out a flood of oaths and fierce invective upon rain and wind and all things in general.
"O burn me, and must we wait here, shivering in the darkness with a curse on't and me wet to the bone——"
"Content ye, my lushy cove, the others aren't far."
"The others, curse 'em! And what o' me shivering to the bones o' me as I'm a roaring lad——"
"What, Jerry," cried another voice, "is the Captain wi' you?"
"Aye, here I am—show a light!"
"Why so I will an ye gimme time. So we're all met, then—all here, Nick?" Followed the sound of flint on steel, a flash, a glow, a light dazzling in its suddenness, a light that revealed four masked men, mud-splashed and bedraggled, thronged about a lanthorn on the uneven floor.
"Now mark me all," said Joseph pushing up his vizard. "You, Jerry and the Captain will ride to the cross-roads, the finger-post a-top o' the hill. The coach should reach thereabouts in half an hour or so. Benno and I strike across the fields and join my gentleman's coach and come down upon you by the cross-roads. So soon as you've stopped the coach, do you hold 'em there till we come, then it's up wi' the lady and into my gentleman's coach wi' her. D'ye take me?"
"No we don't!" growled Jerry, shaking the rain from his hat, "how a plague are we t' know which is the right coach——"
"By stopping all as come your way——"
"Ged so—we will that!" nodded the Captain.
"And look'ee Jerry and be damned, if you——"
"Stand!" The four sprang apart and stood staring at the Major who stood, a pistol in each hand, blocking the doorway between them and the howling desolation outside. "Move so much as a finger either one of you and he's a dead man. Quick, Sergeant—their wrists—behind!" Thus while the Major stood covering the four with levelled weapons watchful and ready, Sergeant Zebedee stepped forward with several lengths of stout cord across his arm. Coming up to the Captain who chanced to be nearest, the Sergeant was in the act of securing him, when Jerry uttered a dreadful cry:
"God save us—look!" For an instant the Major's glance wavered and in that moment Joseph had kicked out the light and there and then befell a fierce struggle in the dark, a desperate smiting and grappling; no chance here for pistol-play, since friend and foe were inextricably mixed, a close-locked, reeling fray. So while the storm raged without, the fight raged within, above the howling of wind and lash of rain rose piercing cries, shouts, groans and hoarse-panted oaths. Smitten by a random blow the Major fell and was kicked and trampled upon by unseen feet; yet he staggered up in the dark, his long arms closed in relentless grip, his iron fingers sought and found a hold that never loosed even when he fell and rolled again beneath those unseen, trampling feet. Little by little the ghastly sounds of conflict died away and in their place was again the roar and shriek of wind.
"Zebedee—Sergeant Zeb!"
"Thank God!" a hoarse voice panted. "A moment sir—must have—light. Hot work your honour—never ask for warmer!" After some delay the Sergeant contrived to light his lanthorn; and the Major, looking into the face of the man he held, loosed his grip and got to his feet.
"'Tis him they call the Captain!" said the Sergeant, flashing his light.
"Pray God I haven't killed him!" the Major panted, clasping one hand to his side.
"'Twould but save the hangman a job, sir. Lord! but you're ripped and tore, sir!" The Major glanced from his disordered dress to the Sergeant's bloody face:
"Are you hurt, Zeb?" he questioned.
"Nought to matter, sir. Look'ee, here lies the rogue Jerry—zounds, and a-coming to already! Hold the light, sir—may as well tie him up nice and comfortable."
"And this other fellow too, Zeb—he's stirring, I'm glad to see——"
"Glad sir? Zooks, 'tis pity you didn't kill him——"
"Nay, I'll ha' no killing, Zebedee——"
"Zounds sir, why so queasy-stomached nowadays? 'Tain't as if you'd never——"
"Enough, Sergeant! I'm no longer a soldier and besides—things are—are different quite—nowadays."
"Why look'ee sir, where's t'others? Here be but two o' the rogues——"
"Only two, Zeb?—give me the lanthorn!" By its light they searched the mill inside and out; gruesome signs of the vicious struggle they found in plenty but, save themselves and their two groaning captives, the place was empty.
"'Tis mortal hard," mourned the Sergeant, "here's me i' the dark, seemingly a-knocking of 'em all down one arter t'other, continual. Yet, 'spite said zeal here's but two to show for same, sure enough."
"Why then we must after 'em, Zeb!" said the Major with a sudden sharp catch of the breath. "Go fetch the horses!" Forthwith Sergeant Zebedee hurried away and, left alone, the Major, leaning against the wall, set a hand to his side and kept it there until the Sergeant reappeared, leading their horses.
"You picked up my pistols, Zeb?"
"And put 'em back i' the holsters, sir. And the rogues are got away sure enough, their horses are gone, d'ye see."
"Then we must spur, Zebedee."
"Aye sir. And the rain's stopped, praise God!" quoth the Sergeant and blew out the lanthorn leaving their captives to groan in the dark.
"Take the lead, Zeb," said the Major as they reached the high-road—"the finger-post a-top the hill—and gallop."
My lady Betty leaned back in the corner of her coach, gazed at her aunt's slumbering features dim-seen in the light of the flickering lamps, and yawned. The storm had abated, the rain had passed, but the darkness was around them, a darkness full of rioting wind, and mud was below them through which the heavy wheels splashed dismally as the great coach laboured on its way.
My lady Betty, stretching rounded limbs luxuriously, yawned again and having nothing particular to look at, closed her eyes; but, almost immediately she opened them rather wider than usual, and sat up suddenly as, from somewhere amid the gusty dark outside, a loud voice hailed, a pistol cracked and the coach pulled up with a jerk.
Instantly Lady Belinda awoke, screamed "Highwaymen!" and swooned. Next moment the coach door swung open and Lady Betty saw a sodden hat with a hideous, masked face below; she saw also two arms that seized her roughly, dragged her forward and whirled her out into the tempestuous darkness. Hereupon my lady struggled once, found it vain, screamed once, felt the cry blown away and lost in the wind and, resisting no more, reserved her forces for what might be. Next she was aware of a dim shape, was bundled through a narrow opening, was seized by hands that aided her to a cushioned seat, heard the slam of a door, a hoarse command, and was jolted fast over an uneven road.
Instinctively she reached out her hand, groping for the door, felt that hand clasped in smooth, strong fingers, and a voice spoke close beside her:
"That would be unwise, sweet Bet?"
Recognising that voice, she freed her hand and shrank back into her corner, shivering all at once; yet when she spoke her voice was almost casual.
"This is quite surprising, Mr. Dalroyd."
"But more delightful!" he retorted, and she was aware that his hand, in the darkness, was seeking hers again.
"Yet—how very foolish and—and unnecessary!" said she a little breathlessly.
"Unnecessary—ha, perhaps, dear Betty——"
"Had I not promised to fly with you, next week?"
"True, my Bet, true, but next week is—next week. And then besides though you would have run off with me in your own time yet I prefer to run off with you in my own time. Moreover——"
"Well, sir?"
"I love the unexpected! I want you, Betty, but I'd have you come a little unwilling to my embrace. Give me this pretty hand, suffer me to—what, no?—excellent! Presently, here in the dark, with unbridled tempest rioting about us, I shall kiss your lips and the more you struggle in my arms the sweeter I shall find you—so, dearest Bet, struggle and strive your best——"
But at this moment the coach slowed down, came to a standstill and a hand knocked at the window. Whispering fierce curses Mr. Dalroyd lowered it.
"Sir," said a voice humbly, "these bye-roads be evil going and in this dark hard to follow—shall we light the lamps?"
"Aye—if you must—light one—the off one."
Thus after some little delay the lamp was lighted and the coach lurched forward again. My lady sighed to find herself no longer in utter darkness, though the light was faint—scarcely more than a glow. Then dread seized her, for by this glow she saw her captor's eyes and, reading his sure and merciless purpose there, she grew suddenly and terribly afraid of him at last. Fronting that look she strove to hide her shame and terror but he, wise in the ways of proud and frightened beauty, laughed softly and leaned towards her. And in that moment, looking beyond him, she saw over his shoulder that which strung every quivering nerve of her, for in a sling, on Mr. Dalroyd's side of the coach, hung his travelling pistols; and now in her terror the one ambition of her life became narrowed down to this—to grasp sure fingers round the silver-mounted butt of one of these weapons.
"Betty," said he, "my beautiful Betty, which is it to be?"
"Pray sir," said she, striving to speak lightly, "pray be more explicit."
"Doth proud loveliness yield at last?" he questioned softly, "or shall it be forced?" Even as he spoke his arms were about her; for a moment she struggled wildly, then, as he crushed her to him, still struggling against his contact, she yielded suddenly and, bearing him backward, her white hand flashed out and, laughing hysterically, she wrenched herself away from him.
"Sir," she panted, "O dear sir, you love surprises, you tell me—look, look at this and beg your life of me!"
His arms fell from her and slowly, sullenly, he recoiled, watching her beneath drooping lids.
"Ah, Betty!" he sighed, "what an adorable woman you are!"
"Why then sir," said she a little tremulously but with hand and eyes steady, "you will obey me."
"'Twill be my joy, sweet Bet," he answered softly, "aye faith, my joy—when I have conquered thee——"
"Conquered?" she cried and gnashed white teeth. "No man shall do that—you least of——"
A hoarse command from the road in front, followed almost immediately by two pistol shots in rapid succession, and, lurching towards the hedge, the coach came to an abrupt standstill, ensued the stamp of horses, cries, fierce imprecations, the sounds of desperate struggling and a heavy fall. In an instant Mr. Dalroyd had snatched his other pistol, had jerked down the window and thrust out head and arms.
"What now?" he cried. "What the devil——" The words ended in a choking gasp, for the pistol was twisted from his hold and a strong hand was upon his throat; then the door was wrenched open and himself dragged into the road there to be caught and crushed in arms of steel while his hands were drawn swiftly behind him and dexterously trussed together, all in a moment.
"You!" he cried, staring into the pale, serene face of his captor and struggling against his bonds. "God, but you shall repent this outrage, I swear you——"
"The gag, Sergeant!"
"Here, sir!" And Mr. Dalroyd's vicious threats were choked to sudden silence.
"His ankles, Sergeant!"
"All secure, your honour!"
"Then mount and take him before you—so! Up with him—heave!"
Next moment Mr. Dalroyd lay bound, gagged and helpless across the withers of the Sergeant's horse.
"What's come of the coachman, Zebedee?"
"I' the ditch, sir."
"Hurt?"
"Lord love ye, just a rap o' the nob, sir."
It was now that my lady, crouched in the darkest corner of the chaise, fancied she heard shouts above the raving of the wind and, grasping the pistol in trembling fingers, ventured to look out. And thus she saw a face, pallid in the flickering light of the solitary lantern, a face streaked with mud and sweat, fierce-eyed and grim of mouth. She caught but a momentary glimpse as he swung to horse but, reading aright the determined purpose of that haggard face, she cried aloud and sprang out into the road, calling on his name.
"John—O John!" But her voice was lost in the rushing wind, and the Major, spurring his spirited horse, plunged into the dark, beyond the feeble light of the lamp, and was swallowed up in the whirling darkness.
Deafened and half-dazed by the buffeting wind and the suddenness of it all, she stood awhile, then, squaring her dimpled chin, set about freeing one of the horses.
Colonel Lord George Cleeve, dozing over a bottle beside the hearth, stirred at the heavy tread of feet, unclosed slumberous eyes at the sudden opening of the door, glanced round sleepily, stared and sprang to his feet, broad awake in a moment, to see the Major and Sergeant Zebedee, wind-blown and mud-splashed, tramp heavily in bearing between them a shapeless bundle of sodden clothes and finery the which, propped upright in a chair, resolved itself into a human being, gagged and bound hand and foot.
"Jack!" he gasped, his eyes rolling. "Why, Jack—good Lord!" After which, finding no more to say he sank back into his armchair and swore feebly.
"Off with the gag, Sergeant," said the Major serenely as he laid by his own mud-spattered hat and riding-coat. The Sergeant obeyed; and now beholding the prisoner's pale, contorted features, the Colonel sprang to his feet again.
"Refuse me!" he gasped. "What the—Mr. Dalroyd!"
"Or Captain Effingham!" said the Major. "Loose his cravat and shirt, Sergeant, and let us be sure at last." Sergeant Zebedee's big fingers were nimble and the Major, taking one of the silver candlesticks, bent above the helpless man for a long moment; then, setting down the light, he bowed:
"Captain Effingham, I salute you!" said he. "To-night sir, here in this room, I propose that we finish, once and for all, what we left undone ten years ago, 'tis for this purpose I brought you hither, though a little roughly I fear. My Lord Cleeve will oblige me by acting as your second, I think. But first, take some refreshment, I beg. We have ample leisure, so pray compose yourself until you shall have recovered from the regrettable violence I have unavoidably occasioned you. Loose him, Zebedee!"
Freed of his bonds, Mr. Dalroyd stretched himself, re-settled his damp and rumpled garments, and lounged back in his chair.
"Sir," said he, viewing the Major with eyes that glittered between languid-drooping lids, "though my—enforced presence here runs counter to certain determined purposes of mine, yet I am so much of a philosopher as to recognise in this the hand of Fate and to find therein a very real satisfaction, for I have long been possessed of a most earnest desire to kill you—as indeed I think I should ha' done years ago but for a slip of the foot." The Major bowed:
"May I pour you a glass of wine, Captain Effingham? he enquired.
"Not now sir, I thank you," answered Mr. Dalroyd, languidly testing the play of right hand and wrist, "afterwards, perhaps!"
"You are without your sword, I perceive sir," said the Major.
"Gad, yes sir!" lisped Mr. Dalroyd, smiling, "in our hurry we left it behind in the coach."
"Still, you will prefer swords, of course?"
"Of course, sir."
"Go, bring the duelling-swords, Sergeant," said the Major and sitting down filled himself a glass of wine while Mr. Dalroyd gently smoothed and patted wrist and sword-hand with long, white fingers and the Colonel, standing on the hearth, his feet wide apart, stared from one serene, deadly face to the other.
"Ten years, sir, is a fair span of life," said Mr. Dalroyd musingly, "and in that time Fortune hath been kind to you, 'twould seem. You have here a noble heritage to—ah—leave behind you to some equally fortunate wight!" Here he turned to glance at the wicked-looking weapons Sergeant Zebedee had laid upon the table. "When you have finished your wine, sir, I will play Providence to that fortunate wight, whoever he may be, and put him in possession of his heritage as soon as possible." The Major bowed, emptied his glass and rising, proceeded to remove coat and waistcoat and, with the Sergeant's aid, to draw off his long riding-boots and rolled back snowy shirt from his broad chest while Mr. Dalroyd, having kicked off his buckled shoes, did the same.
"We have no surgeon here, I perceive," he smiled. "Ah well, so much the better." So saying, he took up the nearest sword haphazard, twirled it, made a rapid pass in the air and stood waiting.
"My Lord Cleeve," said the Major as the Colonel drew his weapon and stepped forward, "when once we engage you will on no account strike up our swords——"
"But damme, man Jack, how if you wound each other——"
"Why then sir," murmured Mr. Dalroyd quietly, testing the suppleness of his blade, "we shall proceed to—exterminate one another. This is to the death, my lord!"
The library was a long, spacious chamber with the broad fireplace at one end; moreover the Sergeant had already set back the furniture against the wall and rolled up the rugs out of the way. Lord Cleeve glanced round about him quick-eyed, ordered the candles to be disposed a little differently that there might be no advantage of light, then, folding his arms, glanced from the pale, serene face of the Major to the cold, smiling face of Mr. Dalroyd as they fronted each other sword in hand in the middle of the wide floor.
"Then, 'tis understood, I am not to part ya', not to interfere until——"
"Until one of us is dead, my lord!" said Mr. Dalroyd, his nostrils quivering.
"Exactly so!" said the Major. "Sergeant Zebedee—lock the door!"
Lord Cleeve shrugged his shoulders: "'Tis a damnably cold-blooded business altogether!" said he as the Sergeant turned key in lock.
"Agreed, sir!" smiled Mr. Dalroyd. "But pray be so obliging as to give the word."
The Colonel shrugged his shoulders again, cleared his throat and took a step backwards:
"Ready, sirs!" said he curtly. "On guard!"
The narrow blades glittered, crossed, kissed lightly together and remained for a moment rigidly motionless, then, quicker than eye could follow, flashed into swift and deadly action. Followed the soft thud of swift-moving feet, the quick, light beat of the blades, now ringing sharply, now clashing and grinding, now silent altogether. Mr. Dalroyd's white teeth were bared in a confident smile as, pressing in, he beset the Major with thrust on thrust, now in the high line, now in the low, constantly changing his attack, besetting him with cunning beats and skilful twists; but cunning was met with cunning and fierce attack with calm and unerring guard.
Thus as the moments sped, the fighting grew ever more close and deadly, the blades darted and writhed unceasingly, they flashed and flickered in narrow circles, while the Sergeant, leaning broad back against locked door, watched the rapid exchanges with a fencer's eye and the Colonel forgot all else in the world but the sublime skill of their play. But as the moments dragged by, the Colonel's fingers began to pull and twist irritably at one of the buttons of his coat, and about this time too, Sergeant Zebedee's nonchalant attitude changed to one of rigid attention, his black brows twitched and in his look was dawning bewilderment; for while Mr. Dalroyd fought serene of face and tireless of arm the Major seemed to have become strangely languid and unaccountably slow, his pallid cheeks were lined with sweat and he laboured painfully in his breathing; noting all of which the Sergeant's bewilderment grew to anxiety, while Colonel Cleeve's fingers were twisting and wrenching at the button harder than ever.
Without the windows was the ceaseless rush of the wind, now rising to an angry roar, now dying to a mournful wail; within was a ceaseless tread of shoeless feet and ring of steel, now clashing fierce and loud, and always the Sergeant's anxiety increased, for the Major's parries seemed slower than ever; again and again his adversary's point, flashing perilously near, was turned only just in time, once ripping the cambric at his neck and again at shoulder; and ever Mr. Dalroyd's smile grew more confident and the spectators' anxious bewilderment the keener.
All at once the Sergeant uttered a gasp, the Colonel took a quick stride forward as Mr. Dalroyd, thrusting in tierce, flashed into carte and drove in a vicious lunge—was met by lightning riposte and flinging himself sideways sprang out of distance, a fleck of blood upon his shirt-sleeve.
"You are touched, I think, sir?" enquired the Colonel.
"Thank you, 'tis nought in the world," he answered, panting a little but with lips that curled and nostrils that quivered in his cold smile as he watched the Major who stood, haggard of face, one hand pressed to his side, his lips close-set, breathing hard through his nose.
"Art hurt, man Jack—art hurt?"
"Nay sir I—I am well enough!" he answered, forcing a ghastly smile—"when Captain Effingham is ready——"
"Nay sir," answered Mr. Dalroyd, bowing, "pray take your time—you are a little distressed I think, pray recover your breath——"
"I am quite ready, sir." So they bowed to each other, advanced upon each other and again their weapons crossed. And now as though they knew it was a matter of time they pressed each other more fiercely and with a new impetuosity, yet equally alert and wary—came a whirl and flurry of ringing steel drowned all at once in the crash of splintering glass at one of the windows—a frenzied hand that groped, then the casement swung wide with a rush of wind and, as though borne in upon the raging tempest, a figure sprang into the room, long hair flying, a cloud of tresses black as the night, silks and satins torn and mud-splashed, one white hand grasping a silver-mounted pistol, the other stretched out commandingly.
"Stop!" she panted. "Stop!"
At sight of her Mr. Dalroyd lowered his weapon and bowed; the Major, with head drooping, viewed her beneath his brows, then, crossing to the table leaned there with head averted, and Lord Cleeve, having opened his eyes to their widest, opened his mouth also—but said not a word and dropped a button from suddenly relaxed fingers; as for the Sergeant he unclenched his fists, breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness and murmured "Zounds!"
"My Lord Cleeve," said she at last, "when Mr. Dalroyd has taken his departure, I will beg you to escort me to my house."
Lord Cleeve bowed and sheathed his sword looking foolish the while.
"A—a happiness!" he stammered.
"Mr. Dalroyd," said my lady very proudly for all her torn and muddy gown, "I ask you to prove your manhood by setting by that sword and leaving the house—now! You will find one of your coach horses below the terrace. Your quicker way will be by the window yonder."
Mr. Dalroyd hesitated, his pale cheeks flushed suddenly, his sleepy eyes opened wide, then he smiled and bowing, reached for his coat and with the Colonel's assistance got into it, and he slipped on his shoes. Then, heedless of the others, he caught my lady's hand to his lips and bowing, kissed it.
"Ah, Betty," said he, "you are worth the winning—aye, upon my soul you are!"
"Take your pistol, sir!" He took it, turned it over and laughed gently.
"My dear lady," said he, "after your exploits this night I wouldn't forego you for any woman that ever tempted man. Your time shall be my time and my time is—soon, Betty—ah, soon!" And bowing again, he crossed to the open window, stepped out into the dark and was gone. For a moment none moved, then the Sergeant crossed the room and closed the shattered casement.
"Major d'Arcy," said my lady, and now there was a troubled quiver in the clear voice, "upon a night not long ago you made me a promise—nay, swore me an oath. Do you remember?" The Major was silent. "Sir," she continued, her voice growing more troubled, "you did not give me that oath easily and now—O is it thus you keep all your promises?" The Major made no answer, nor did he stir, nor even lift his head.
"John," she took a quick step toward the rigid figure. "O Jack—you are not hurt——"
"Thank you—I am—very well!" he answered, still without turning, and gripping the sword he still held in rigid fingers. After this there seemed a long silence filled with the rumble of wind in the wide chimney. Then my lady stirred, sighed, and stretched out her hand to Colonel Cleeve.
"O my lord," she said wearily, "prithee take me home." So the Colonel took her hand, drew it through his arm and led her towards the door, but ever as she went she gazed towards the Major's motionless back; reaching the door she paused, but still his head was averted; then she sighed, shivered and, despite her muddy and tattered gown, swept away upon Lord George's arm like a young, disdainful goddess.
The Major drew a quivering breath and his sword clattered upon the floor.
"God above!" exclaimed the Sergeant, clasping strong arms about that rigid form, "the Captain pinked you after all, sir."
"No, Zeb, no—but I fancy I've broke a—couple of ribs or so—as 'twere, d'ye see, Zeb——" And sighing, he fell forward with his head pillowed upon the Sergeant's shoulder.
"The Major's rib will do, sir," nodded Dr. Ponderby, "'tis doing well and will do better and better. A simple fracture, sir—'twill be sound in no time, it being a rib of health abounding, owing, if I may put it so, to an abstemious life, a past puritanic—a——"
"Abstemious, sir!" exclaimed Lord Cleeve, rolling his eyes, "abstemious d'ya' say? O begad, hark to that, Jack! Abstemious sir, abste——" The Colonel choked and rolled his eyes fiercer than ever.
"My lord," said portly Dr. Ponderby, patting his smooth wig, "I am no Puritan myself, nor do I look askance at a glass or so of wine, far from it——"
"The bottle is at your elbow, sir," said the Major from his cushioned chair.
"Abstemious—begad!" chuckled Lord Cleeve, snuffing fiercely.
"I thank you, Major," said Dr. Ponderby, leisurely filling his glass, "and my Lord Cleeve, coming back to my patient's rib, I repeat its abounding health is due entirely to a youthful and immensely robust constitution and——"
"Abstemious—ho!" chuckled the Colonel. "Given occasion sir, Jack can be as abstemious as Bacchus. I remember last time we made a night on't—aha! It being nigh dawn and we on our fifth bottle, or was it the seventh, Jack—not to mention Sir Benjamin's punch, begad, it being nigh dawn, I say, and I happening to glance about missed divers faces from the genial board. 'Where are they all, Jack?' says I. 'Under the table,' says he, sober as a judge, and damme sir, so they were and Jack as I say, sober as yourself sir, for all his abstemiousness!"
"Hem!" exclaimed Dr. Ponderby, gulping his wine and rising. "None the less, Major d'Arcy, my dear sir, you shall be abroad again in a week if—I say, and mark me sir, I say it with deepest emphasis—if you will brisk up, banish gloomy thought and melancholy, cultivate joy, sit i' the sun, eat well, drink moderately and sleep as much as possible."
"A copious prescription, sir!" sighed the Major wearily.
"Brisk?" snorted Lord Cleeve, "brisk, is it? Refuse me but he's as brisk and joyous as a gallows! Here he sits, hunched up in that old service coat and glooms and glowers all day, and when night draws on, damns his bed, curses himself, and wishes his oldest friend to the devil and that's me sir—his friend I mean."
"Stay, never that, George," smiled the Major, shaking protesting head.
"But ya' curst gloomy Jack, none the less."
"This won't do," smiled Dr. Ponderby, "won't do at all. Gloom must we dissipate——"
"Dissipate!" exclaimed the Colonel, "dissipate—aye man, but he won't drink and the Oporto's the right stuff you'll allow——"
"He must have company——"
"Well and aren't I company?"
"The very best, my lord——"
"Not to mention Viscount Tom and——"
"Very true sir," smiled the doctor, "only you don't either of you happen to wear petticoats——"
"Petticoats!" exclaimed the Colonel, rolling his eyes.
"Petticoats are my prescription, my lord—plenty of 'em and taken often. A house is a gloomy place without 'em——'
"Agad and ya' right there—ya' right there!" nodded the Colonel vehemently.
"No!" protested the Major.
"Yes!" cried the Colonel. "Look at my place in Surrey, the damndest, dreariest curst hole y'ever saw——"
"Nay George, when I saw it last it was——"
"A plaguy, dreary hole, Jack!" snapped the Colonel. "Used to wonder why I couldn't abide the place—reason perfectly plain to-day—lacks a petticoat, and Jack man, a petticoat I'm a-going to have soon, man, soon ha, and so shall you begad!"
"Never!" said the Major drearily.
"Now hark to the poor, curst wretch, 'tis the woefullest dog!" exclaimed the Colonel feelingly, "won't drink and no petticoats! Man Jack, I tell thee woman is to man his—his—well, she's a woman, and man without woman's gentle and purifying influence is—is only—only a—well, man. Look at me. After all these years, Jack 'tis a petticoat for me."
The Major murmured the old adage about one man's meat being another man's poison, whereon his lordship snarled and rolled his eyes as he rose to escort the doctor to the door.
"Petticoats quotha?" said he, "Petticoats it shall be."
"In large doses!" nodded Dr. Ponderby, "and repeated often." So saying, he shook the invalid's languid hand, smiled and bustled away.
"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, "there's a man of stark common sense, Jack."
"Aye, aye," nodded the Major a little impatiently, "but what of Effingham, you say he has left Westerham?"
"He left at mid-day, Jack."
"For good?"
"'Twould seem so, he marched bag and baggage. The rascal fences purely well, I vow."
"Superlatively well," nodded the Major beginning to fill a much smoked clay pipe.
"Man Jack, I thought he had ya' there in carte."
"Nay I was expecting it and ready, George. I should have caught him on the riposte but I was short d'ye see——"
"Owing to ya' rib, Jack."
"Damn my rib!" exclaimed the Major. "'Tis pure folly I should be laid up and sit here like a lame dog for so small a matter as a rib, d'ye see——"
"'Tis more than ya' rib is wrong with ya', Jack!"
"A Gad's name, what?"
"A general gloom and debility induced by lack of and need for—a petticoat."
"Folly!" snorted the Major, but his pale cheek flushed none the less.
"Talking o' Dalroyd, ya' pinked his sword arm, Jack."
"But he's alive, alive George and now, now for all I know—where's Tom—where's Pancras? For all we know they may be fighting at this moment!" And the Major half rose from his elbow-chair.
"Content ya', Jack, content ya'!" said the Colonel, pressing him back with hands surprisingly gentle, "the lad's not fighting—nor likely to. I swear again, he shan't cross blades with Dalroyd or Effingham if I have to pistol the rogue myself, so ha' no worry on that score, Jack."
The Major sighed and leaned back in his chair while Lord Cleeve watched him and, snuffing copiously, sighed sympathetically.
"'Tis the woefullest figure ya' cut, Jack, wi' that long face and damned old service coat."
"'Tis the one I wore at Ramillies," said the Major, glancing down at faded cloth and tarnished lace.
"Is it, begad! I'd never ha' recognised it. Then 'tis time 'twas superannuated and retired from active service. You was wounded that day I remember, Jack."
"Yes."
"Twice."
"Yes."
"But ya' never wore look so doleful—never such a damned dumb-dog, suffer-and-smite me air—not then, Jack—not in those days and ya' were generally nursing some wound or other."
"I was younger then!" sighed the Major.
"Pah!" exclaimed the Colonel scattering a pinch of snuff in his vehemence, "I say pish, man—tush and the devil! Ya' younger these days than ever ya' were—all ya' need to become a very youth is a petticoat—take your old comrade's advice and marry one."
"Never!" exclaimed the Major, clenching his fists.
"Tush!" exclaimed the Colonel, snuffing. "As ya' friend, Jack, 'tis my duty to see ya' happily married and I'll be damned if I don't. Wedlock 'twixt man and woman is—is—ah, is well, marriage. There's little Mrs. Wadhurst over at Sevenoaks—a shape, Jack, an eye and a curst alluring nose. Hast ever noticed her nose?"
"No!" snarled the Major.
"Ha!" sighed the Colonel. "Not to ya' taste, belike. Why then there's Lady Lydia Flyte—a widow, Jack—another neighbour—a comely piece, man, bright eyes, wealthy and sufficiently plump——"
"Ha' done!" snapped the Major, puffing smoke.
"Dooce take ya'!" snarled the Colonel, scattering snuff. "Begad, man Jack, ya' damned peevish and contrary, y'are 'pon my life! If I wasn't the most patient, long-suffering, meek and mild soul i' the world I should be inclined to lose my temper over ya' damned stubbornness—rot me, I should!" At this the Major chuckled..
"Your meekness, George, hath ever been equalled only by your humility!" said he.
"Nay, but man Jack, look'ee now—'tis not that I would ram my own happiness down thy throat, but to see thee so glum and spiritless, damps my own joy doocedly. And the word glum brings us back to petticoats."
"Nay George, for mercy's sake no more——"
"But comrade, a petticoat should be—ah—should be, a petticoat is—is a—ha!"
At this moment was a knock and, the door opening, the Sergeant advanced two paces and stood at attention:
"Your honour," said he.
"Ha, Zeb," exclaimed the Colonel, fixing him with fierce, blue eye, "ho, Sergeant Zeb, what the dooce is a petticoat?"
The Sergeant stared at his lordship, stared at the ceiling, scratched smooth-shaven chin with thoughtful finger and spoke.
"A petticoat, m' lud, is a article as a woman can't very well go without and a man shouldn't—and won't!"
The Colonel set down his glass, threw back his head and roared with laughter till he stamped. "Aha—oho!" he cried at last, sprinkling snuff over himself and everything within reach. "O Gad, Zeb, ya' right, ya' right—must remember that. D'ya hear that, Jack—oho—aha!" And he roared again while the Major smiled, chuckled, and despite rib and bandages, laughed until Sergeant Zebedee anxiously bade him have a care, and announced that Sir Benjamin Tripp, Lord Alvaston, Mr. Marchdale, Sir Jasper and Captain West had ridden over to see him and enquire after his health.
"Why then let 'em in, Zeb—let 'em in," said the Major a little breathlessly, "and bring up a half-dozen or so of the yellow seal——"
"The yellow—ha!" sighed the Colonel, "if the same as last time 'tis bottled sunshine, 'twill warm the very cockles o' ya' heart, man——"
"Nay, George——"
"Tush, Jack—an you don't drink, I don't——"
"But George——"
"Pish, Jack! You'll never go for to deny ya' old friend?" Here the door opened and the company entered with a prodigious waving of hats, flirting of gold-mounted whips and jingling of spurs.
"Major d'Arcy, sir!" cried Sir Benjamin, "your very devoted, humble servant. My lord, yours! Ods my life, my dear Major d'Arcy, I joy to see you no worse, sir, after your desperate battle with nine bloodthirsty ruffians——"
"Four, Sir Benjamin——"
"Common report, sir, makes 'em twelve but I'm assured they were but nine——"
"Sir, they were but four," repeated the Major gently. "But gentlemen, you have lost one of your number—Mr. Dalroyd is gone, I understand?"
"Faith and so he has, sir," answered Mr. Marchdale petulantly, "clean gone and with eight hundred guineas o' mine and more of Alvaston's, not to mention——"
"But then we never had 'ny luck wi' th' cards, Tony," yawned his lordship.
"Luck!" spluttered Mr. Marchdale, "luck, d'ye call it——"
"Ahem!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin. "'Tis true Dalroyd is gone, sir, and suddenly, nor will I disguise the fact that his ahem!—his departure was in some sort a relief considering the deplorable scene 'twixt him and Viscount Merivale——"
"And his curst secret ways," added Mr. Marchdale, "and his treatment of that fellow of his—Dalroyd's room was next mine and I know he's beaten the poor rogue damnably more than once of late."
"Haw—that's true enough!" exclaimed Captain West, "heard the miserable dog myself. Dismally a-groaning a-nights. More than once, haw!"
"And yesterday, just as he mounts to ride away Dalroyd must fall a-kicking the fellow—in the open street and with us standing by! And kicked him, look you, not as a gentleman should but with such vicious pleasure in it—faith, 'twas positively indecent!"
"Od's life, sir, and that's true—indecent is the word!" nodded Sir Benjamin tapping his snuff-box, "and gentlemen, if the human optic, basilisk-like, could blast soul and wither flesh—Dalroyd would have hem! I say would have known—ha—would have made a sufficiently uncomfortable not to say painful exit—or setting forth the matter in plainer terms Dalroyd hem——"
"Hold hard, Ben!" yawned Alvaston. "Y' gettin' lost again. What our Ben wants t' say 's simply Dalroyd's f'low looked bloody murder 'n so he did."
"Ha—begad! He did so!"
"Dalroyd is well enough enjoyed now and then," said Mr. Marchdale sententiously, "but as a constant diet is apt to become devilish indigestible! And as regards his unfailing lack with the cards, I shouldn't wonder——"
"Then don't, Tony—don't!" murmured Lord Alvaston, crossing his slender legs. "Dalroyd may be this, that or t'other, but Dalroyd ain't here—enough of him."
"Aye, true," nodded Sir Benjamin, "true indeed, Dalroyd is gone and we, dear Major, like this year's roses, are going too. In a week sir, this fraternity amorous will suffer disruption, our lady hath so decreed, the fiat hath gone forth."
"Indeed sir, you surprise me!" said the Major, glancing from one to another, "whence comes this?"
Here Sir Benjamin shook his head and sighed, Sir Jasper stifled a groan, Mr. Marchdale swore beneath his breath, the Captain uttered a feeble "Haw" and Lord Alvaston whistled dolefully.
"Sir," sighed Sir Benjamin, "you behold in us a band of woeful wooers each alike condemned to sigh, and yet to sigh in unison and in this, the measure of our woe doth find some small abatement. Each hath wooed and each hath proved his wooing vain, his dreams, his visions must remain but—hem!—but dreams and——"
"Hold on, Ben," murmured Alvaston, "burn me but y're gettin' int' th' weeds again! What poor old Ben's strivin' t' say 's simply that——"
"Betty'll ha' none of us," scowled Mr. Marchdale, "though if I'd had more time——"
"None of us!" added the Captain, "er—haw! Not one!" Here Sir Jasper, trying to sip his wine and groan at the same time, choked.
"And yet—and yet," sighed Sir Benjamin, holding his glass between his eye and the light, "seeing that our ahem! our unspeakable grief is common to us, each and all, it shall, methinks, but knit closer the bonds of our fellowship and we should unite to wish her happiness with whatsoever unknown mortal she shall some day make blest. Regarding which I think a toast might be appropriate—pray charge your glasses and I——" Sir Benjamin paused and turned as with a perfunctory knock the Sergeant re-appeared.
"Your honour," said he, "my Lady Belinda Damain with Lady Carlyon to see you."
The Major caught his breath, then sat upright his square chin showing a little grim.
"You will tell their ladyships that I present my humble respects and thanks but regret I am unable to see them."
"Sir?" said the Sergeant, staring.
"Go, Sergeant!"
"Jack!" exclaimed the Colonel as the door closed "why, Jack!"
"Sir!" answered the Major, his eyes very keen and bright.
"P-petticoats, man—two of 'em—doctor's orders! O rot me!" spluttered the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," said the Major, smiling wearily, "pray charge your glasses for Sir Benjamin's toast."
"Major d'Arcy, sir," said Sir Benjamin, bowing from his chair, "permit me to say that I applaud the delicacy of your feelings. We lovers who have wooed and lost, alas! Ods my life, sir, 'twas well done—honour me!" And he extended his snuff-box. "Sir," he continued, when they had bowed and snuffed together, "summer is on the wane and with the summer we, like the swallows, shall desert these rural solitudes. A week hence, instead of perambulating bosky Westerham we shall most of us be jolting over the cobblestones of London—but we shall one and all treasure a lively memory of your friendship and trust that it may be renewed from time to time. Meanwhile, ere we fly hence, it is our united hope that you, together with my Lord Cleeve will honour us again with your company to supper on an early date——"
"A Gad, sir, we will that!" nodded the Colonel. "Speaking for myself I thank you heartily, and speaking for Jack, I say he shall come if I have to carry him there and back again."
"And now, Sir Benjamin," said the Major, "pray give us your toast."
Sir Benjamin rose, glass in one hand, lace handkerchief in the other.
"We have all here, I think, with the exception of the gallant Colonel, essayed our fortune with my lady Betty, and with equal ahem! equally deplorable lack of success. 'Twould seem that she is determined on according to no one of us here that felicity we have, each one, dreamed of and sought for. But she is young and 'tis but to be expected that one day some happier man shall succeed where we have failed. Now sirs, as lovers, as gentlemen and sportsmen true, let us raise our glasses to that happy unknown whoever he be, let us drink health to him, joy to him, success and long life to him for the sake of Our Admirable Betty. Gentlemen 'The Unknown!'"