CHAPTER XXXVICOLONEL LANE APOLOGIZES
It was Mrs. Barrimore who opened Philip’s telegram, for Colonel Lane was quite prostrated.
“What is it?” demanded Uncle Robert excitedly, as his sister kept her eyes glued to the paper.
“Phyllis is all right,” she said hysterically.
“Who sends the wire?” was the next question.
“Philip,” she answered, scarcely audibly.
“Then it is true,” pronounced Uncle Robert. “How are we to tell him?” (He referred to Colonel Lane, who was lying down in the drawing-room. They were in the dining-room.)
“He will know she is safe. That will lessen the other—blow,” said Mrs. Barrimore.
She herself felt the blow acutely. She was forced against her will to condemn her beloved boy. Philip had acted very badly. There was no getting over it. He had caused a scandal all over Hastings. She would never have believed it of Philip—herPhilip. She had thought that of all the world she understood him best. She had smiled when others had said that Philip had forgotten Eweretta—and now this incredible thing had happened.
“How are we to tell him, Robert?” she echoed her brother’s words.
Mr.Burns was facing the open door, and at that precise moment the tall, gaunt figure of the soldier appeared framed there.
“You have news of Phyllis,” he said quite calmly.
Then he advanced towards the others.
Mrs. Barrimore handed him the telegram. What else could she do?
“So they are together,” he said in dangerous tones.
Mrs. Barrimore gazed at the outraged father—the man whom she so tenderly loved—with eyes full of desperate pleading. The culprit was her only son—the son for whom she had sacrificed herself all her life.
Would he be merciful?
The soldier was uppermost in Colonel Lane just then—the soldier, who at duty’s call untwines clinging arms from about his neck, turns a deaf ear to entreaties to stay, though uttered in the voice he loves best.
Philip should be punished, even though he washerson—Philip, who had befouled a name which was adorned with military honors, a name on which there had up to now been no stain.
Phyllis was now a by-word in Hastings. Her conduct was discussed at every tea-table. And this was Philip’s doing—Philip, who had had the impertinence to dictate to his mother—to dictate and criticize.
No, even for Annie’s sake, Philip should not be spared.
Mrs. Barrimore, watching the stern, calm face, saw that she had nothing to hope, and, mother-like, began in her heart to hate Phyllis, who had brought her boy to such a pass. Of course, it was the fault of the girl. She had led Philip on. She had always been a flirt. Surely in justice Colonel Lane ought to remember that!
But she said nothing.
Colonel Lane took his hat and went out.
He walked on the West Hill for hours.
Boys were still playing about on the grass, though their football was over.
The moon, big and round, flooded the sea with silver light.
The riding-lights of the fishing-boats looked like jewels out beyond the harbor.
The Old Town, lying below, with its lamps lit, was like a picture from some old romance. Moonlight lay tenderly on the graves round All Saints’ Church on the side of the East Hill. The ruins of Hastings Castle stood out rugged and bold.
On all this the eyes of the soldier rested in turn, but he saw no beauty in any of it. Rage filled his heart.
It was after eleven o’clock when he at last made his way down the steep path that led home.
Two or three days passed miserably after this, two or three days in which he had never visited the dear fireside at Hawk’s Nest; two or three days in which neither Mrs. Barrimore nor Uncle Robert had seen him, though they had both called.
On the evening of the fourth day he relented and made his way to Hawk’s Nest.
It was after dinner.
A fierce wind was blowing, the sea roared on the shingle.
Entering the familiar dining-room, where Mrs. Barrimore andMr.Burns still lingered, a sense of relief came over the Colonel. It lasted but for a moment, for he was followed into the room—by Philip.
Philip looked haggard and worn. The mother flew to him with outstretched arms.
“Philip! oh, Philip!” she cried.
Colonel Lane looked coldly on. He waited till Philip had freed himself from the clinging arms, then he said: “Annie, leave us, I beg of you!”
Mrs. Barrimore, with her chin on her breast and her eyes streaming with tears, left the room obediently.
Colonel Lane closed the door he had held open for her to pass out; then he folded his arms and advanced towards Philip.
Uncle Robert’s ruddy face had paled.
“Where is my daughter, you scoundrel?” demanded the Colonel.
This was too much for Philip. He had been harassed out of his life these last days. He had done what he honestly believed to be the best for a girl for whom he now felt something akin to contempt—and her father stood there calling him a scoundrel. He was not disposed to at once relieve the old soldier’s tension.
“I have had quite enough of her!” he answered curtly.
“What!” roared the soldier. “Do you mean to tell me that you have left that poor deluded girl, after taking her away! Tell me where she is? Tell me, I say, you contemptible cur!”
Philip was white with passion. “I wish I had never seen your daughter,” he said with feeling, “and I pity the man who has got her.”
Colonel Lane grasped the young man’s shoulder fiercely, while he hissed: “Explain that!”
Philip shook the hand off, and savagely projecting his chin, said:
“I have a good deal to explain, and if you will sit down quietly and listen, then after you have heard, I think you will see the necessity of an apology.”
Colonel Lane sat down rigidly, and Philip slowlyand wearily took the chair that Uncle Robert pushed towards him.
“Phyllis is on her way to Bombay to join her husband,” he said slowly.
A hissing breath came from the Colonel’s throat. He closed his mouth with a snap. His eyes stared. Philip went on:
“Phyllis was married to Captain Arbuthnot before he went out to India. They were married atSt.Clement’s Church. You can see it for yourself in the register. She told me of it almost at once, after obtaining my promise to keep the communication secret. She came to me to get letters from her husband, which were sent under cover to me, and to talk of her various difficulties.
“Well, after that rather unpleasant half-hour at the bungalow, I thought the best thing was to get Phyllis off to her husband, who has come into money. She has gone with Captain and Mrs. Hurst—whom you know by name at least. Now what have you to say?”
The room was going round with Colonel Lane. A great buzzing was in his ears. He clutched at his collar.
Uncle Robert came and loosened it and gave him some brandy.
Philip, apathetic and played-out, toyed with a wine-glass as if unconscious of what was going on.
At length Colonel Lane gave a long sigh and recovered himself, and holding on to the table, rose. “Philip,” he said, “I apologize.” Then a spasm caught his throat.
Philip seemed to rouse out of a kind of stupor. He looked at the old soldier, and a sudden pity seized him. He held out his hand, which the Colonel grasped.
“I am to blame, sir, a good deal to blame, but I am not so bad as you thought me. I was afraid Phyllis was about to wreck her life. I won’t go into particulars about that. To send her to her husband seemed the only thing to do.”
“I know how difficult she is to deal with,” acknowledged the Colonel, “and as she is married, it is best she should be with her husband as quickly as possible. But I should have liked the manner of her going to have been different. I should have liked to say good-bye!”
Philip, remembering how gaily Phyllis had gone off, pitied the father the more.
“Do you know it is all over Hastings that you have eloped with her?” said Uncle Robert.
“I daresay it is,” answered Philip, “but all that can soon be put right. She didn’t go with me at all, but came afterwards and found me out. I had gone to make arrangements with the Hursts. I did not trust Phyllis. I did not know what folly she might commit.”
“All’s well that ends well!” said Uncle Robert. “Let us fetch Annie!”
Mrs. Barrimore came in with tear-stained face, her tender mouth smiling, for Uncle Robert had whispered that all was right.
Then all had to be told over again. Mrs. Barrimore was still somewhat puzzled, remembering her conversation with Phyllis. She had then got the impression that Phyllis was the victim of a hopeless love. Phyllis was unexplainable—an impossible girl!
“You have the letter, mother?” asked Philip.
Mrs. Barrimore produced it.
“Give it to the Colonel,” Philip said. “It is from Arbuthnot, and there is a line from me.”
Colonel Lane opened the letter in which lay confirmation of the amazing story he had just heard.
“Mother, I am so tired,” said Philip.
“And starving, my own boy!” answered Mrs. Barrimore. “You must have a meal instantly.”
The meal was ordered, and the mother sat between her dear friend and her son, looking from one to the other with shining eyes.
“I feel like ‘Mr.Wegg,’” remarked Uncle Robert, “and inclined to drop into poetry.”
But no one listened.