It is an old saying, founded on very correct observation, that long-continued calm breaks up in storm. And the same holds good of life, individual and national. Too long a calm leads at times to somewhat of deterioration--at all events to a laxing of the fibres and an indolent reliance on the continuance of things as they are; and that, in a world whose essence is growth and change, is not without its dangers. And--proverbially again--a storm always clears the air.
It seemed to Jim Carron that, of a sudden, the accumulated storms of all the long quiet years burst upon him.
He had intended seeing Lord Deseret at the first possible moment and questioning him as to that very curious remark of his. But he could not broach such a matter at the theatre and in company, and his lordship had driven off to some other appointment the moment the curtain fell.
So, at twelve next day, having scrambled through his morning's duties with a quite unusually preoccupied mind, he presented himself at Mme Beteta's lodgings and was taken upstairs to her apartments.
She welcomed him graciously, and they sat down at once to the table.
He thought she looked decidedly older in the daylight, but it was only in the texture of her face, devoid now of any artificial assistance, and slightly lined in places.
The two great plaits of black hair showed no silver threads. The luminous black eyes were still bright. The sinewy form the dancer was full of exquisite grace.
"Now tell me about yourself," demanded madame, as they sipped their final coffee, and the maid retired.
"I don't think there's anything to tell," said Jim, with his open boyish smile.
"We have lived all our lives at Carne--Jack and I--until we went to Harrow, and then he went to Woolwich and I came to London."
"Jack is your brother?"
"Yes; we're twins. He's the clever one. That's why he's at Chatham now--in the Engineers. It was all I could do to scramble into the Hussars." And he laughed reminiscently at the scramble, and then told her about it.
"And which of you is the elder? Even in twins one of you must come first."
"That's funny now. Lord Deseret was asking me that the first time we met, and I couldn't tell him. We've really never troubled about it, you see, or thought about it at all until a very short time ago. I suppose it was the fellows at school wanting to know which was the elder that set us thinking about it. We asked old Mrs. Lee--she keeps house for us at Carne, you know--and Mr. Eager----"
"Who is Mr. Eager?"
"Oh, he's a splendid fellow. He's curate at Wyvveloe, and he's done everything for us, he and Gracie "--and madame noted the softened inflection as he said the word.
"And who is Gracie?"
"Mr. Eager's sister. They call her 'the Little Lady' in Wyvveloe."
"Is she pretty?"
"Oh, she's lovely, and as good and sweet as can be."
"You're in love with her, I suppose."
"Yes, I am," said Jim, colouring up, "and I'm not ashamed of it."
"And what about Jack?"
"He's in love with her, too."
"That's rather awkward, isn't it? What does Miss Gracie say to it all?"
"Oh, she was terribly upset. You see she had never thought of us like that. It was after the dance at Sir George Herapath's that we found it out----"
"She had a low dress on, I suppose--bare arms and shoulders, and you had never seen her so before."
"Yes," he said, surprised at such acumen, "I suppose that was it. We all used to bathe together and run about the sands. But that night she seemed to grow up all of a sudden--and so did we."
"And what does her brother say to it--and your grandfather?"
"We're to say nothing more about it for a year. You see, this war is coming on and you never can tell----"
"War is horror," she said, with a shudder. "I have seen fighting in Spain and in the streets of Paris. It is terrible. You may neither of you come back alive. If only one comes, then, I suppose----"
"Yes, that would settle it all."
"And you do not remember your mother?" she asked, after a pause.
"We never knew her," he said thoughtfully, bethinking him suddenly of Lord Deseret and that curious saying of his. "She died when we were born, and nobody has told us about her. Old Mrs. Lee must remember her, but she would never tell us, and Sir Denzil--well, you can't ask him about anything--at least, not to get any good from it."
"He has been good to you both?"
"Oh yes, in his way. But if it hadn't been for Mr. Eager----. We were growing up just little savages, running wild In the sand-hills, you know. And then he came, and it has made all the difference in the world to us."
"You owe him much, then?"
"Everything! Him and Gracie."
In his boyish Impulsiveness, having been led on to talk about himself, he was half tempted to consult her about the matter that was troubling his mind in connection with Lord Deseret. But how should this half-foreign woman know anything about such matters. It was not likely that she had ever heard tell of Lady Susan Sandys. How should she? And so he lapsed into a brown study, thinking over it all.
He was aroused from it by another leading question from madame.
"And your father? Is he alive? Can he not help to solve your difficulty?"
"Well--you must think us a queer lot--we never saw our father till a short time ago. He has been living in France. We thought he was dead. He killed a man in a gaming quarrel long ago and had to live abroad, and he's been there ever since."?
"Truly, as you say, you are an odd family. Will you bring your brother to see me sometime?"
"I'm sure he would like it, but he's not often in town. You see, he has the brains and he's putting them to use. I'll bring him, though, the first time he's up."
It was not till afterwards that her interest in him and his struck him as somewhat unusual, and then he had other things to think about.
That same afternoon he went to Park Lane, and found Deseret House and asked for Lord Deseret.
"Now, this is good of you," was his lordship's greeting--"to look up an old man when all the world is young and calling to you."
"I wanted to ask you something, sir, if I may."
"Say on, my boy. Anything I can tell you is very much at your service."
"When you were speaking about Jack and me the other night, you said something which has been puzzling me ever since. You asked, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'"
"Yes--well?" asked the old man, with a glint of surprise in the keen dark eyes, which rested on the boy's ingenuous face.
"Was Lady Susan Sandys our mother, sir?"
"Good heavens, boy, do you mean to say you don't know who your own mother was?"
"We don't know anything sir. That was the first time I had ever heard her name."
"Good God!" And there was no doubt about the vast surprise in the calm white face now, as its owner stood for a moment staring at Jim and then began to pace the room in very deep thought.
"Your grandfather? Has he never discussed these things with you?"
"Never, sir. We have never had very much to do with him, you see. Until quite lately we supposed our father was dead too. Then, one day, he came to Carne--from France, where he lives, and it was a great surprise to us."
"And you know nothing about your mother?"
"Nothing whatever, sir. But since you said that, I have been thinking of very little else. You said, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?' Does that mean that we are not both Lady Susan Sandys's boys? That would mean that we had different mothers. But how could that be when we are both the same age? I wish you would tell me what it all means, for I've thought and thought till my brain is getting all twisted up with thinking."
Lord Deseret paced the long room with bent head and his thin white hands clasped behind him.
It seemed to him shameful that these boys should have been kept in such ignorance of matters so vital. He was not aware, of course, of their strange upbringing in the wilds of Carne.
On the other hand, if their father and grandfather had not thought fit to enlighten them it would hardly become him to do so. Moreover, as he turned it all over in his mind, he perceived that there might be something to be said on the other side.
The boys had obviously been brought up in perfect equality. Any revelation of the mystery of their births could only make for upsetting--must introduce elements of doubt into their minds, might work disastrously upon their fellowship.
Quite unconsciously, supposing they knew all about it, he had stirred up the muddy waters that had lain quiescent for twenty years.
"This is a great surprise to me, my boy," he said quietly at length--"a very great surprise. I should never have said what I did had I not supposed you knew all about it. As matters lie . . . I'm afraid you must absolve me from my promise. If your grandfather and your father have deemed it wise to keep silence in regard to certain family matters, it would hardly be seemly in me to discuss them without their permission. You see that, don't you?"
"I see it from your point of view, sir, but not at all from my own," said Jim stubbornly. "There is something we do not know and we certainly ought to know it. If you won't tell me I must go elsewhere. I wish I had Jack's head. I think I'll go down to Chatham and talk it over with him."
The mischief was done. Lord Deseret saw that the only thing left to him was to direct the boy's quite legitimate curiosity into right channels.
"If I were you I would go straight to Sir Denzil. Tell him just what has happened, and that you will know no peace of mind till you understand the whole matter."
"Thank you, sir. I will do that, but I think I will see Jack first and perhaps we could go down together. It's right he should know, and he's got a better head than I have."
"It concerns you both, of course. Perhaps it would be as well you should go together," said Lord Deseret, and long after Jim had gone he pondered the matter and wondered what would come of it, and yet took no blame to himself. For who could have imagined that any boys could have grown to such an age in such complete ignorance of their father and mother and all their family concerns?
Jim spent a troubled night, tossing to and fro and trying in vain to make head or tail of the tangle.
He was in Chatham soon after midday and made his way at once to Jack's quarters.
He found him hard at work at a table strewn with books and drawings.
"Hello, Jim boy? Why, what's up? You look---- What is it, old boy? Not money, when you sent me that gold-mine, day before yesterday. It was mighty good of you, old chap. Now--what's wrong?"
"I don't know. Everything, it seems to me. I told you about Lord Deseret----"
"Rather! Good old cock! His money comes easily, I should say."
"When he was talking to me, asking about you and Carne and all the rest, he said, quite as though I knew all about it---- 'And which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'"
"Who the deuce is Lady Susan Sandys?"
"Your mother--or mine."
Jack's knitted brows and concentrated gaze settled on Jim in vastest amazement.
"Your mother--or mine, Jim? What on earth do you mean?"
"That's just it. I don't know what it means. There is something behind that we don't understand, Jack."
"And this Lord Deseret?"
"I went to him and begged him to explain. He was very much surprised that I didn't know all about it, whatever it is. But he said that since our grandfather or our father had seen fit not to tell us, it would hardly be right for him to do so."
Jack nodded.
"He advised me to go to Sir Denzil and tell him how the matter had come up, and give him the chance to explain. And I suppose that's the only thing to do, but I wanted your advice. We've always been together in everything."
Jack nodded again, and then shook his head over his own bewilderment.
"I don't understand at all, Jim. Do you mean that we are not brothers, you and I? That's nonsense, and d----d nonsense too, I should say."
"I've thought and thought till I'm all in a muddle. But, if words mean anything at all, it means that you and I are not children of the same mother, and Lord Deseret knows all about it."
"You're sure he won't speak?"
"Certain. He's a splendid old fellow. He'll only do what he thinks proper, and the fact that he was so much put out at having started the matter, without understanding that we knew nothing about it, shows the kind of man he is and what there is in it."
"I can't imagine what it all means. Everybody knows we're twins, and to come now and tell us--oh, it's all d----d nonsense!"
"I know. I felt that way too. But all the same we've got to know all about it now. How are you for leave? When can you come down to Carne?"
"Leave's all right. Come now if you like," growled Jack, very much upset in his mind and temper, as was natural enough.
"Meet me at ten o'clock, at Euston, to-morrow morning and we'll go down and get to the bottom of it all; unless you think it would be better still to go across to Paris and see our father and ask him. I have thought of that."
"If the old man won't speak, we may have to do that," said Jack, in gloomy consideration. "But if there's something queer behind it all, he's the last man to tell us, for he must be mixed up in it, and it can't be to his credit."
"I wish we'd never heard anything about it," said Jim.
"I don't know. If there's anything wrong it's sure to come out sooner or later, and we ought to know. I'd like a proper foundation for my life."
"Seems to me to cut all the foundations away."
"Feels like that. Any one who says we're not brothers is simply a fool. Besides, why on earth should our grandfather bring us up as brothers if we aren't? He's no fool, and he's not the man to play at things all these years. I wonder if Mr. Eager knows."
"I shouldn't think so. We were ten when he came."
"Well, we'll see him first, at all events, and get his advice." And on that understanding they parted, to meet at Euston the following morning.
Jack would have had Jim stop for a while to see round Chatham and make the acquaintance of some of his friends, but he begged off.
"I can think of nothing but this thing at present. It's turned me upside down. I hope nothing will turn up to separate us, Jack."
"We won't let it, Jim boy. That's in our hands at all events, and we'll see to it."
It was after ten o'clock the next night when they drove into Wyvveloe and knocked on Mrs. Jex's door. Mrs. Jex had gone to bed and so had Gracie. Eager himself answered their knock, and jumped with surprise at sight of them.
"Why--Jack--Jim! What on earth----"
"We'll tell you if you'll let us in," said Jack.
"Now what mischief have you been getting into?" said Eager, as they sat down before the fire, and he knocked the wood into life.
"It's not us this time. We've come to ask you something, Mr. Eager; and if you can't tell us we are going on to see Sir Denzil." And Charles Eager knew, without more telling, that the boys had somehow fallen on the mystery of their birth.
"Go on," he nodded.
"You know what we want to know?"
"I think so; but if you'll tell me I shall be sure."
And Jack, as the better speaker, laid the matter before him, and both eyed him anxiously the while.
"I am glad you came to me first," he said. "I can probably tell you all you wish to know; and you must take it from me, boys, that if it was never told to you before, it was for good reason. Better still if it had never needed to be told at all. Best of all if there had been nothing to tell. The trouble is none of our making. All we can do is to face it like men, and that, I know, you will do."
And he told them, as clearly and briefly as possible, all that he had learned concerning their births.
"To sum it all up," he said in conclusion, "you are sons of the same father, and so are half-brothers. But which of you is the son of Lady Susan and which the son of Mrs. Lee's daughter, no man on earth knows. And again--whether your father was really married to Mrs. Lee's daughter I doubt if any one but himself knows. And so you see the tangle the whole matter is in, and you can understand why it was kept from you. We could only present you with a puzzle of which we did not know the solution. It could only have upset your lives as it has done now. We have gained twenty years by keeping silence."
"Old Mrs. Lee knows which of us is which, I suppose," said Jack. And Jim jumped at the thought.
"I have very little doubt that she does, Jack; but she has never shown any indication of it whatever."
"And is her daughter still alive?"
"I doubt if even she knows that. She has not heard of her for a great many years."
"Does Gracie know anything about it all?" asked Jim.
"Not a word; and I see no reason why she should. You two have given her quite enough to think about without troubling her with this matter."
They quite agreed with that, and Jack, who had been pondering gloomily, summed up with:
"It's all an awful tangle, and I see no way out. It seems to me that it doesn't matter in the least who is who; for even if we learned who our mothers were, we don't know if they were legally married. I'm afraid there is only one thing to be said--and that is, that the one parent we are both certain about was a dishonourable rascal, and we have got to suffer for his sins."
"Morals were very much looser then than they are now," said Eager gently. "He was the product of his age. We may at all events be thankful that things have improved, and you two are the proofs thereof."
"We'd probably have been no better if you'd never come here," said Jim, with very genuine feeling. "We owe everything to you--and Gracie."
"That is so," said Jack heartily; and wished he had said it first, but he had been too fully occupied with the other aspect of the case.
"One cannot help wondering," he said presently, "what is going to happen if our father and our grandfather should die. What are we going to do then, Mr. Eager?"
"That is a question Sir Denzil and I have often debated, but we never arrived at any conclusion. One of you must be Carron of Carne. There is also another possibility. Lady Susan Sandys was the only sister of the Earl of Quixande. He is unmarried, so far as the world knows, but he also comes of the bad old times and--well, you know his reputation. But if he leaves no legitimate heir the title comes to his sister's son----"
"If he should happen to be legitimate," growled Jack.
"As you say, my boy--if he can be proved legitimate?"
"In which case he is both Carron of Carne and Earl of Quixande."
"And, having no need for the two titles, it might be possible to hand one over to his half-brother."
"Could he?" asked Jack doubtfully.
"Under the circumstances it might possibly be sanctioned."
"Failing that, who comes in?"
"Some Solway Canons. I know nothing of them except that your grandfather detests them. But there is still further possibility for you both."
"What?" And they eyed him anxiously.
"That in your military careers you may both rise to such heights as to cast even the title of Carron of Carne into the shade."
Jack nodded. Jim did not seem to regard it as a very hopeful prospect.
"Well," said Jack, as he got up, "we've got quite enough to think over for one night. We're going to the inn. We told them to make up beds for us there. They'll all have turned in at Carne. We'll go along and see Sir Denzil in the morning."
"Come in to breakfast, and I'll go with you. I shall have to explain to him how it comes that I have had to disclose the whole matter to you."
"The boys came down last night, Gracie," was the surprising news that met the Little Lady when she came down next morning.
"The boys? Whatever for, Charlie? There isn't anything wrong with them, is there?" And the startled colour flooded her face and then left it white.
"Nothing of the kind, dear. They wanted to see Sir Denzil on some family matters, and they arrived too late to go there last night, so they went to the inn."
"You're sure they haven't been getting into trouble?"
"Quite sure. They're coming in to breakfast. You'd better go and talk to Mrs. Jex about supplies. Hungry soldiers, you know." And Gracie flew to the commissariat department.
"You dear boys!" was her greeting, when they came striding in, very tall and large in their undress uniforms. "Whathaveyou been doing? Over-studying?--softening of the brain?"--to Jack. "Gambling?--and frivolling generally?"--to Jim.
"Quite out," laughed Jack. "My brain was never better in its life, and Jim's pocket never so full. Mayn't a pair of hungry men come all the way from London to see you without being accused of such iniquities?"
"It is nice to get such good reports from yourselves," laughed Gracie. "I wonder how long you can keep it up."
"It depends upon circumstances," said Jack.
"And what are the circumstances?" asked Gracie incautiously.
"You're one," said Jack boldly.
"Here's breakfast. Charlie gave me to understand you had had nothing to eat for a week."
"Nothing half so good as this," said Jack, with an appreciative look at the cottage loaves and golden butter, and the great dish of ham and eggs Mrs. Jex had just brought in.
"My! but yo' do look rare and big and bonny," said that estimable woman. "I do think I'll cook ye some more eggs."
"Yes, do, Mrs. Jex," said Eager. "They don't get eggs like these in London."
And so they got through breakfast; but Jim was the quietest of the party, and Gracie got it into her head that he was in some dreadful mess, in spite of what Charlie had said. And just before they started for Carne she got hold of him for a minute, and asked:
"Jim, what's the trouble? Is it anything very bad?"
"It's nothing we've done, Grace," he said, with so frank a look in his own anxious eyes that she could not doubt him. "Just some old family matters that have cropped up." And though she could not doubt his word, he was so unlike himself that she watched them go in a state of extreme puzzlement as to what could have sapped Jim's spirits to such an unusual extent.
As a matter of fact, the strange disclosures of the previous night were weighing heavily upon him. With a vague, dull discomfort he was saying to himself that, as between himself and Jack, there could be no possible doubt as to which was the better man; and therefore--as he argued with himself--of the true stock. And, if that was so, he was simply superfluous and in everybody's way. He was not much good in the world, anyway. He felt as if he would be better out of it. If he were gone, Jack would take his proper place--and marry Gracie---- All the same, it was deucedly hard that one's life should be broken up like this through absolutely no fault of one's own. And to surrender all thought of Gracie---- Yes, that was the hardest thing of all. But she would go to Jack by rights, along with all the rest.
"Thank God for this war that is coming!" he said to himself. "There will be my chance of getting out of the tangle and leaving the field clear to them."
So no wonder our poor old Jim was feeling in the dumps, and was quite unable to keep them out of his face.
"Hillo? What's brought yo' home?" asked old Mrs. Lee, as they came into her kitchen.
"Business," said Jack curtly, and she was surprised at the dourness of them all.
But Jack was saying to himself--"That old witch may be my grandmother."
And Jim--"She is most likely my grandmother."
And Eager--"If the old wretch would only speak she could tell us all we want to know."
Under which conditions a certain lack of cordiality was really not very surprising.
"Well, well! How much is it?" asked Sir Denzil, eyeing them quizzically over his arrested pinch of snuff as they came into his room. "And how did you manage to get here at this time of day?"
"We slept at the Pig and Whistle, sir," said Jack. "We got to Wyvveloe too late last night to come on here."
"Most considerate, I'm sure. What have you been up to, to make you so thoughtful of the old man?
"They have run up against the Great Puzzle, sir, as we knew they must sooner or later," said Eager. "They came in to me at ten o'clock last night to ask if I could enlighten them, and I have told them all we know."
"So!" And he absorbed his snuff and stared intently at the boys. . . . "And how do you feel about it?"
"We feel bad, sir," said Jack. "But apparently there is no way out of the tangle."
"We've been trying to find one for the last twenty years," said the old man grimly. "How did it come to you?"
"Ah! I'm surprised at Deseret," he said, when he had heard the story. "He's old enough to know how to hold his tongue."
"How are things shaping? Have they made up their minds to fight?" he asked. And Eager, at all events, knew how that great question bore upon the smaller.
"I think there is no doubt about it, sir," said Jack. "There is talk of some of our men going out almost at once."
"And you are both set on going?"
"Yes, sir"--very heartily from both of them.
"Well," said the old man weightily, "war is a great clearer of the air. Don't trouble your heads any more about this matter till you come home again. If you both come, we must consider what is best to be done. If only one of you comes, it will need no discussion. If neither,"--he snuffed very deliberately, looking at them as if he saw them for the first, or was looking at them for the last, time--"then, as far as you are concerned, the matter is ended. When do you return?"
"To-morrow morning, sir. We could only get short leave."
"Then perhaps you will favour me with your company at dinner to-night. And Mr. Eager will perhaps bring Miss Gracie."
They would very much have preferred the simpler hospitality of Mrs. Jex's cottage, but could not well refuse. With Sir Denzil's words in their minds they could not but recognise that, for some of them, it might well be the last time they would all meet there.
They picked up Gracie by arrangement, and all went off down along for a quick walk round some of their old haunts.
"How well I remember my first sight of these flats!" said Eager, looking with great enjoyment at the tall, clean-made, upstanding figures striding by his side. Jim, he noticed, was rather the taller and certainly the more boyish-looking. Jack had a maturer air, which doubtless came of study. But both looked eminently soldierly and likely to give a good account of themselves. "You two were just little naked savages, and you stole all my clothes but one sock, and I thought I would have to go home clad only in a towel."
"They were good old times," said Jack. "But I'm mightily glad you came. What would we have grown up into if you hadn't?"
"Wild sand-boys," suggested Gracie.
"And what a sight you were, the first time we saw you!" laughed Jack: "in your little red bathing things, with your hair all flying, and your little arms and legs going like drumsticks--a perfect vision of delight."
"What a pity we can't always remain children!"
"You can--in all good ways," said her brother.
"One grows and one grows," she said, shaking her head knowingly, "and things are never the same again."
"They may be better," said Jack, valiantly doing his best to allow no sinking of spirits. "It would be a pretty bad look out if one could only look backwards."
Jim was unusually sober. As a rule, on such an occasion, nonsense was his vogue, and he and Gracie carried on like the children of those earlier days.
"If you askme," said Gracie, venturing a flight towards olden times, "I believe old Jim here has got himself into the most awful scrape of his life, in spite of all your assertions to the contrary.Ibelieve he's been and gone and lost one hundred thousand pounds at cards, and grandpa has quietly cut him off with a shilling over the usual pinch of snuff."
"No, I haven't. I've lost hardly anything, and I've got heaps of money, more than I ever had in my life before. I'll buy you a pony, if you like."
"All right! I don't mind. Sir George has a jolly one for sale; you know--Meg's Paddy. She's got too big for him, and he's just up to my feather-weight."
"We'll go along and see about him when we've been to the Mere and seen Mrs. Rimmer and Kattie. How's Kattie getting on?"
"She's a wild thing and as pretty as a rose. I'm afraid her mother worries about her. But it must be dreadfully lonely living here all the year round. Just look how grim and gray it all is. How would you like it yourself?"
"I'd Like it better than London," said Jim stoutly. "If I hadn't plenty to do I'd get sick of it all--streets and houses and houses and streets, and no end to them."
"But the people! You meet lots of nice people."
"Some are nice, but there are too many of them for me. I can't remember them all, and I get muddled and feel like a fool. I'd swap them all for----"
"For what?"
"Oh--nothing!"
"You flatter them. But you'll get used to it, Jim. It takes time, of course."
"Don't know that I particularly want to get used to it. However, this war will make a change."
"You are certain to go?"
"If we don't, I'll exchange. I want to see some fighting, and to get some."
"Bloodthirsty wretch!"
"No, I don't think I really am. But if there has to be fighting I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's the only thing I'm good for. I'm no good at books, like Jack. But I believe I can fight."
Mrs. Rimmer gave them very hearty welcome, in her surprised spasmodic fashion.
"Ech, but it's good on yo' all to come an' see an old woman," she said, gazing round at them from her bed, with bright restless eyes and a curious anxious scrutiny. "Yo' grow so I connot hardly keep pace wi' yo'. It seems nobbut a year or two sin' yo' lads were running naked on the flats."
"We were just recalling it all as we came along, Mrs. Rimmer, and regretting that we couldn't remain children all our lives," said Gracie.
"Ah--yo' connot do that"--with a wistful shake of the head.
"And how's Mr. Rimmer?" asked Eager.
"Hoo's a' reet. Hoo's at his work."
"And Seth?"
"Seth's away."
"And where's Kattie?" asked Jim.
"Hoo went across to village, but hoo'd ought to be home by now. But once the lasses git togither they mun clack, and they nivver know when to stop."
"Girls will be girls, Mrs. Rimmer," said Eager soothingly, "and Kattie's a girl to be proud of. She's blossomed out like a rose."
"A'm feart she's a bit flighty, an' who she gets it from I dunnot know. Not fro' me, I'm sure, nor from her feyther neither."
"Here she is," said Jim. "I hear the oars." And he jumped up and went to the door, and in another minute Kattie came in, all rosy with her exertions in the nipping air, and prettier than ever.
They chatted together for a while, Kattie's sparkling eyes roving appreciatively over the wonderful changes in her former playmates, and a great wish in her heart that the girls up at Wyvveloe could see her on such friendly terms with two such stalwart warriors.
When they got up to go she went out with them, and offered to put them across the Mere in the boat.
"Yo're going back to London?" asked Kattie of Jim, as they threaded their way through the sand-hills.
"We go back to-morrow. They don't give us long holidays, you see."
"London's a grand place, they say."
"In some ways, Kattie, but in most ways I'd sooner live at Carne."
"Ech, I'd give a moight to see London," she sighed.
"You'd soon have enough of it and want to get home again."
"It's main dull here, year in, year out. I'm sick o' sand and sea," And then they were scrambling into the boat and trimming it to the requirements of so large a party.
They said good-bye to Kattie at the other side of the Mere; and when they waved their hands to her for the last time, she was still standing watching them and wishing for the wider life beyond the sand-hills and the sea.
Sir George and Margaret Herapath gave them the warmest of welcomes, and Jim tackled the master at once on the subject of Paddy.
"But, Grace, where on earth can you keep him?" remonstrated the Rev. Charles. "I supposed it was all a joke when I heard you discussing it before."
"Paddy is no joke, as you will know when you've seen him in one of his tantrums. I shall keep him in my bedroom. He will occupy the sofa," said Miss Grace didactically.
"Was ever inoffensive parson burdened with such a baggage before?"
"You silly old dear, I'll find a dozen places to keep him in the village, and a score of willing hands to rub him down whenever he needs it."
"Of course you will," echoed Jim. "And if you can't I'll come and do it myself. Let's go and look at the dear old boy." And they sauntered off to the stables.
"See here, my boy," said Sir George, slipping his arm through Jim's, "if I'd had the slightest idea Gracie would have taken him I'd have offered him to her long since."
"You'll spoil one of the greatest enjoyments of my life if you do that, sir. Please don't!"
"But----"
"I've got heaps of money. If you've anything that would make a good charger knocking about too, I'm your man."
"Ah--you're sure of going, then?"
"If any one goes, I'm going, sir--if I have to exchange for it."
"You're all alike. George writes just in the same strain. God grant some of you may come back!"
"Some of us wouldn't be much missed if we didn't." And Sir George wondered what was wrong now.
They had no difficulty in coming to terms about Paddy, and Jim's pocket did not suffer greatly, but Sir George would not part with any of his horses to be food for powder.
Jack, feeling just a trifle left out in the matter of Paddy, obtained Gracie's permission to send her from London a new saddle and accompanying gear, and vowed they should all be the very best he could procure.
THE boys were back in London the following night, and Jack expressed a wish to go to Covent Garden to see Mme Beteta, whose fame as a dancer had penetrated even to his den at Chatham, and of whose expressed desire to see him Jim had told him, among the many other novel experiences of his life in the metropolis.
"Why on earth should she want to seeme?" asked Jack.
"No idea. She might not mean it, but she certainly said it. There's a lot of humbug about."
"I'd like to be able to say I've seen her dancing, anyway, though I don't care overmuch for that kind of thing. But every one's talking about her, and most of the fellows have been up to see her."
So they went, and madame's keen eyes spied them out, for, during the first interval, an attendant came round, and asking Jim, "Are you Mr. Carron?" brought him a request from madame that he would pay her a visit in her room and would bring his friend with him.
"I knew it must be your brother," she said, as she greeted them. "Yes, you are much alike."
"We used to be," said Jack, "but we're growing out of it now."
"To your friends perhaps, but a stranger could not mistake you for anything but twin-brothers," she smiled through the dusky plumes of her big fan.
"You, also, are hoping to go to the war?" she asked Jack.
"Oh, we're all hoping to go. It will be the greatest disappointment of their lives to those who have to stop behind."
"You are all terribly bloodthirsty. And yet there are very nice boys among the Russians, too."
"You have been in Russia, madame?"
"Oh yes. I have even met the Tsar Nicholas and spoken with him; though, truly, it was he did most of the talking."
"What is he like?" asked Jack eagerly.
"He is good-looking, very tall, very grand; but--well, that is about all--though, indeed, he was good enough to approve of my dancing. Stay--Manuela!"--to her old attendant--"give me the Russian bracelet out of that little box. I am going out to supper to-night or it would not be here. Yes, that is it. The Tsar gave me that himself, and he tried to smile as he did it. But smiles do not become him. He is an iceberg, and I think he is also a little bit mad. He is very strange at times. Indeed, I was glad when he went away."
"That is very interesting," said Jack; "and this is surely a very valuable present."
"An Imperial present. But I have many such, and some that I value more, though they may not be so valuable."
"You have travelled much, then, madame?"
"I have been a wanderer most of my life----"
Then there came a tap at the door, and an attendant brought in a card. Madame glanced at it and said, "Certainly. Please ask Lord Deseret to come round." And my lord followed his card so quickly that he could not have been very far away.
"Madame is kindness itself," he smiled, as he greeted her. "I saw my young friend here answering a summons, and guessed where I should find him. This"--to Jim--"must be your brother."
"Yes, sir; this is Jack." And the keen dark eyes looked Jack all through and over.
"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, my boy," he said. "I knew your father very well some twenty years ago. You have both of you a good deal of him in you."
"I have to thank you, sir," said Jack, "for my share in your kindness to Jim."
"Oh----?" And my lord looked mystified and awaited enlightenment.
"He sent on to me the half of your very generous gift----"
"Ah! he never told me that. Are you up on leave? You are at Chatham, I think."
"We got three days' leave, sir. We wanted to go down to Carne."
"Ah! I hope you had a good journey. How is Sir Denzil?"
"He is just exactly the same as ever. He has not changed a hair since ever we can remember him."
"I suppose he sticks to the old customs--shaves clean and wears a wig."
"I suppose that is it, sir. He certainly never seems to get any older."
Then madame's warning came, and Lord Deseret carried them off to his box and afterwards to supper.
And he and Jack had much interesting conversation concerning the coming war, and armaments, and so on, to all of which Jim played the part of interested listener, though in truth his mind was busy, in its slow, heavy way, on quite other matters.
"Clever boy, that," said Lord Deseret to himself, as he thought over Jack while his man was putting him to bed that night. "He will probably find his chances in this war and go far. But I'm not sure but what--yes, Jim is a right good fellow. And to think of him sending half that money to the other! I should say that was very like him, though. Now I wonder which, after all,isLady Susan's boy, and how it's all going to work out. If Jack's the man, I wouldn't at all mind providing for Jim. In fact, I rather think I'd like to provide for him. Not a patch on the other in the matter of brains, of course, but something very taking about him. A look in his eyes, I think----"