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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 15:38:19 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 15:38:19 -0800 |
| commit | f8d67057e8d4099ee93e7956bfa6caa9ad105c53 (patch) | |
| tree | a7b99cc213081ffa52b2f6f1e98abd467fe8c5c7 /47272-h/47272-h.html | |
| parent | 967faa5c5da7a11dfa1560b3516a91981c748ae1 (diff) | |
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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>THE POTTER AND THE CLAY</title> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-11-02" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1901" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Potter and The Clay" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="Charlotte Harding" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The Potter and The Clay" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="47272" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Maud Howard Peterson" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="The Potter and The Clay" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="/home/ajhaines/clay/clay.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2014-11-03T05:34:24.136469+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47272" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Maud Howard Peterson" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="Charlotte Harding" name="MARCREL.ill" /> -<meta content="2014-11-02" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-potter-and-the-clay"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE POTTER AND THE CLAY</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The Potter and The Clay -<br /> -<br />Author: Maud Howard Peterson -<br /> -<br />Release Date: November 02, 2014 [EBook #47272] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE POTTER AND THE CLAY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-41"> -<span id="it-s-a-storm-he-cried"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*It's a storm!*" *he cried.* (See page 90.)" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">It's a storm!</em><span class="italics">" </span><em class="italics">he cried.</em><span class="italics"> (See page </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">90</a><span class="italics">.)</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics xx-large">The</em><span class="bold xx-large"> -<br />POTTER </span><em class="bold italics xx-large">and</em><span class="bold xx-large"> -<br /></span><em class="bold italics xx-large">The</em><span class="bold xx-large"> CLAY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="x-large">A ROMANCE </span><em class="italics x-large">of</em><span class="x-large"> TODAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">By</em><span class="large"> -<br />MAUD HOWARD PETERSON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">ILLUSTRATED BY -<br />CHARLOTTE HARDING</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LOTHROP -<br />PUBLISHING COMPANY -<br />BOSTON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, -<br />1901, -<br /></span><em class="italics small">By</em><span class="small"> -<br />LOTHROP -<br />PUBLISHING -<br />COMPANY.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">Published May 7, 1901. -<br />6th Thousand, June 11, 1901. -<br />10th Thousand, July 19, 1901. -<br />13th Thousand, Aug. 16, 1901.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Norwood Press: -<br />Berwick & Smith, Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">To -<br />M. C. P. -<br />and -<br />M. T. C.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">WHOSE LIVES -<br />REVEAL THE -<br />POTTER'S TOUCH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">AUTHOR'S NOTE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>The comparatively -unknown rendering -of the verse from the -Rubáiyát of Omar Kháyyám, -quoted on the succeeding -page, is to be found in the -</span><em class="italics">first</em><span> edition of Fitzgerald's -translation of the Persian -poem.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet clay:</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And with its all-obliterated Tongue</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>It murmur'd—'Gently, Brother, gently, pray!'"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">From the Rubáiyát.</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>PERMISSION to use the poem, -"The Potter's Wheel," which appears -on the next page, was granted by the -owners of the English copyright of -Browning's works through Messrs. Smith, -Elder & Co., London, and by -the American publishers of Browning, -Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., -Boston.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="bold large">The -<br />Potter's Wheel</span></p> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Ay, note that Potter's wheel,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>That metaphor! and feel</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,—</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thou, to whom fools propound,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When the wine makes its round,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>"Since life fleets, all is change; the past gone, seize to-day!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>Fool! All that is, at all,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Lasts ever, past recall;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>What entered into thee,</span></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">That</em><span> was, is, and shall be:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>He fixed thee mid this dance</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Of plastic circumstance,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain arrest:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Machinery just meant</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To give thy soul its bent,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>What though the earlier grooves,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Which ran the laughing loves</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Around thy base, no longer pause and press?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>What though, about thy rim,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Skull-things in order grim</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>Look not thou down but up!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To uses of a cup,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The new wine's foaming flow,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The Master's lips aglow!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel?</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>But I need, now as then,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thee, God, who mouldest men;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And since, not even while the whirl was worst,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Did I—to the wheel of life</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>With shapes and colors rife,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Bound dizzily—mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>So, take and use Thy work:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Amend what flaws may lurk,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>My times be in Thy hand!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Perfect the cup as planned!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Robert Browning.</em></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#prologue">PROLOGUE</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#book-one">BOOK ONE</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><em class="italics">The clay takes shape</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#book-two">BOOK TWO</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><em class="italics">The break in the clay</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#book-three">BOOK THREE</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><em class="italics">The Potter's touch</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">LIST </span><em class="bold italics large">of</em><span class="bold large"> ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#it-s-a-storm-he-cried">*"It's a storm!" he cried.*</a><span> (</span><em class="italics">Frontispiece.</em><span>)</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#yousawmethen">"*You—saw—me—then?*"</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#what-right-had-he-to-look-for-a-woman-s-face-in-the-foam">"*What right had he to look for a woman's face in the foam?*"</a></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><a class="reference internal" href="#trevelyan-lay-on-the-floor">"*Trevelyan lay on the floor.*"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="prologue"><span class="bold medium">PROLOGUE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics x-large">The</em><span class="bold x-large"> POTTER -<br /></span><em class="bold italics x-large">and the</em><span class="bold x-large"> CLAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">PROLOGUE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lieutenant's small daughter was -swinging on the railing of the -drawbridge that spanned the moat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her companions, two boys, questioned each -other with their eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says she won't come," said the elder in -what he fondly believed to be an undertone. -"She says she won't play—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never did! So there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The small girl wheeled about suddenly and -descended from her perch and stamped her -foot; her long, straight hair of an indefinite -brown, shaken by the tempest the boy's words -had awakened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but you won't," said Rob, promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an ominous silence; but instead -of the tirade the anxious watchers expected, a -tear appeared on Cary's little nose and quietly -dropped into the waters of the moat. Cary -was nothing if she was not a bundle of -contradictions. Johnny shuffled nervously from one -foot to the other, but Rob grew impatient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, are you coming?" he asked after the -pause in which he had vainly waited for Cary -to smile again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm tired. I hate walking, too," said -Cary peevishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Course not—to walk," said Rob, scornfully. -"We can steal Lieutenant Burden's boat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't dare," said Cary, but her -voice was tremulous with eagerness, and the -tears she had forgotten to wipe away were -still shining on her cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't I, though! Come along and see!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary balanced herself carefully on one foot -and considered. It wasn't well to let Rob -think she didn't have to be persuaded. He -had been so cross too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't got my sunbonnet," she began. -"And I've forgotten the gun I put it in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd just as lieve hunt for it," said Johnny, -politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just like a girl! You don't need -the old thing—anyway I thought you hated -it," retorted Rob, who did not fill the role of -pleader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Course Mammy Amy is 'way—gone for -a week to see her grandbaby. I don't s'pose -I really need my pinafore either—</span><em class="italics">if I go</em><span>!" The -Lieutenant's small daughter hesitated to -watch the effect of the words. Rob apparently -was not to be moved, so she buried her pride -and backed up to Johnny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please undo me," she said, calmly, and the -older boy struggled manfully with the holes -and buttons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be right back—quick as a wink," and -she flew over the drawbridge back to the -fort, her long hair and short dress blowing in -the wind. She hid the pinafore under her arm, -and when she reached the circle of the parade -ground, she sidled up to one of the great guns -captured in the war, and surreptitiously poked -the gingham roll down its mouth. Clothes -were a necessary evil, but sunbonnets and -pinafores were the worst and most evil things of -all—and not to be endured when Mammy Amy -was not around, and the big show guns offered -such a safe and charming hiding place. It -only needed coolness and care to accomplish the -feat without detection. Of course, a thing -once buried in the heart of one of the big guns -was lost forever—which was just as well, -thought Cary, being one less to bother her—since -it was one thing to force the articles -down into the big black mouths and another to -extract the sunbonnets and pinafores, even if -she could have remembered which particular -gun held which particular thing—which she -could never do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hurried back to the drawbridge, and the -sentry, who adored every inch of the "Post -Baby," stood at "attention" and saluted her -with a twinkle in his eye as she passed him. -Cary slowed her walk and inclined her head -graciously in greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evenin', Jones," she said, innocently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she rejoined the boys.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, are you really ready?" said Rob, a -bit crossly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant's small daughter did not -deign to notice him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," she said, condescendingly, "</span><em class="italics">if I -go</em><span>, I'll go 'round by the road way—it's -shorter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "road way" was a good deal longer, -but it was out of the reach of Cary's father and -the fort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wiped her dry eyes on one of Johnny's -handkerchiefs—Johnny always had more than -one, while Rob and herself frequently went -"shares" on a stolen or a borrowed one—and -then she raced Rob to the end of the drawbridge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's conscience was troubling her. She -told herself it was her stomach and the lemon -pie she had appropriated from the pantry shelf, -but it was undoubtedly her conscience, mingled -with a fear that papa-lieutenant or some of the -other officers might loom in sight and inquiring -into the project, carry her off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ahead, thirteen-year old Johnny was moralizing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps we oughtn't to take her—she's so -little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's seven," said Rob, "and what's going -to hurt her?" He kept his eyes away from -the over-clouding sky.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know—" said the cautious Johnny, "but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess we can take care of a small girl like -her. You're thirteen and I'm eleven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the water edge, conscience spoke once -more but was overruled when at Johnny's -question as to the judiciousness of her going, -Rob declared she was afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ain't afraid, so there! Robby Trevelyan! -My papa never said I </span><em class="italics">couldn't</em><span> go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary majestically slipped into the stolen boat, -and seated herself in the bow. Johnny took the -rudder and Rob the oars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy was as much at home on the sea as -he was in his bed at night. Indeed, more so, -since he hated the one and loved the other with -all the passionate strength of a coast-child's -heart. He had been born in inland England, -but had lived most of his life in western -Scotland where the great rocks rise boldly along the -coast—that coast intersected by numerous -sea-lochs, bounded by hills and separated from each -other by mountainous peninsulas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The burden of the deep sea's song of eternal -restlessness had become the controlling passion -of the boy's life. The wild freedom of wild -living things appealed to him and fear was a -word unknown. Not a nearby cliff he had not -climbed; not a nearby, darkened cave, formed -by the overhanging rocks, he had not explored. -The Scottish folk forgot he was an English -lad as his skiff became a familiar feature of -the western sea-bound landscape. There was -scarcely a Scottish boy of double his age who -could outstrip him in swimming, and when the -hated books had been laid to one side and the -tutor had gone away for the summer months, -old Mactier, a retainer of his father's, had taken -the child in charge, carrying him over to the -moorland country and teaching him the -meaning and the use of firearms. His mother had -at first protested, but Trevelyan had only -laughed. "Let the boy alone," he said, and he -gloried with old Mactier at the lad's stocky -build, firm muscles and enduring fearlessness, -knowing that in her secret heart his wife -remembered the traditions of her Scottish clan, -and was glad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Trevelyan's wife had died. The home -on western, rock-bound Scotland had been -closed, until the boy should grow to man's -estate and enter on his mother's heritage. -Trevelyan sent the boy to his sister—Johnny's -mother—living in east Scotland, and then -returned to England. The sudden loss, the still -more sudden change from the wild free life -lived on the western coast to the quietness of -the life lived by the Stewarts, told upon the -child. Mercifully, his healthy training was -stronger than the inroads made by childish -grief, but his mind was ill at ease and homesick. -He hated the flatness of this new eastern -country—the low and shelving coast. This -was not Scotland to him. It was not the -Scotland he had known. It was not Mactier's -Scotland—and his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His aunt was kind—overkind, her own -children sometimes thought when she sat out all -their bedtime hour on the foot of Robert's bed, -instead of theirs—but "auntie" couldn't -understand. All the three children were kind -but they couldn't quite understand either. -Johnny was undoubtedly the best, but Johnny -loved books as passionately as Rob hated them, -and would listen to his father discuss politics -by the hour, if he only had the chance. Robert -loathed politics.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then one day Johnny's mother had a talk -with her husband. It ended in her giving up a -London season and starting with Johnny and -Trevelyan's boy, for America. A long -promised visit to a life friend, who had married a -United States officer, was the excuse. It was -not until years after, when Trevelyan's little -son had grown to manhood that he knew the -real reason for that sudden ocean voyage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The change had the desired effect. He met -new people. He saw new things. He -watched new customs. He knew Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the wistfulness for Mactier was in the -boy's eyes now as he looked over Johnny's head -in front of him, to the long stretch of low sand -country he was leaving. He pulled with long, -even strokes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary was talkative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this—" she waved her arms intending to -designate the new sweep of coast line and of -water, "all this I mean—is it like England or -Scotland?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something," said Johnny slowly. "It's -really quite like home—my home," he added -quickly, seeing that his younger cousin had -stopped rowing and was leaning forward with -hurt eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, the boy drew in his oars, resting -on them and allowing the boat to drift. -"It isn't like my home," he cried passionately; -a wild thrill of homesickness surging over him, -"It isn't like </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> Scotland—one little bit! We -have great big rocks rising out of the water—not -long beaches like this! And the sea beats -and beats and </span><em class="italics">beats</em><span> against them—it doesn't -just lap the sand as it does here—" the boy -drew in his breath quickly, hurrying on, "And -you haven't got our heather and our bracken, -and our country isn't flat—except the -moorlands where Mactier used to take me to hunt, -and even our moors are not like this!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped suddenly; and he buttoned and -unbuttoned his pea-jacket. He wouldn't for -the world have let Johnny see his eyes, but -Johnny was looking at Cary. The child was -leaning forward with angry face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a horrid, horrid boy!" she cried, -"You haven't a single nice thing to say about -us or our flag or—or me! You're impolite and -you're dreadfully rude and I'll never play with -you again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy continued to button and -unbutton his pea-jacket. He didn't care now if -Johnny did see his eyes. Johnny saw them, -too, and he was frightened. One day, Rob's -eyes had had that look when their tutor had -threatened to strike him. He spoke hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rob didn't mean to be rude, Cary," he -said; "but Rob's home was beautiful—a great -deal more beautiful than mine, and—and even -more beautiful than your home, and so you -mustn't—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's anger melted like a mist before the -sun. She slid to the bottom of the boat and -then crept along to Rob on the rower's seat. -She pulled at his sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rob—I'm sorry—I didn't mean—really -truly mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy shook away the child's -clinging fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary drew back; her lips quivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm cold," she said, for Cary never would -have admitted that a boy could hurt her so, -"I'm cold, and—and tired. Can't we go -home, Johnny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, we won't," said Rob, moodily, "the -oars are gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The oars were gone—slipped from the locks -when he had drawn them in, and in the -excitement of the quarrel they had floated away. -The two boys knew that the oars were not the -only things on the surface of the deep, drifting -out to sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind them a bank of storm clouds was -gathering and a sudden stone-color fell upon -the face of the waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The clouds increased in size and swept -toward them, seemingly poised directly overhead. -Then they parted and the rain fell in a great -straight sheet of water. The oarless boat -tossed dangerously, and the rain gathered in -the bottom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary, half rose, beside herself with terror. -The storm had drenched her to the skin, and -her long, straight hair lay, matted with the -wet, close to her small head. Her wide gray -eyes looked out dark against the pallor of her -skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Johnny's voice. Mechanically, the -child obeyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once, years later, he so commanded her, and -she yielded then as now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She cowered in the bow and was silent. -In the stern the elder boy grasped the rudder, -forcing the boat for a time in the direction of -the far-off Point. The rough ropes slipped -through his hands, in spite of effort, and tore -them cruelly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy had crept to the bottom of -the boat, the better to balance it. The wind -swept across his hair, forcing it back from his -forehead, as with a mighty hand. The joy of -an unknown danger was in his blood and the -color was in his cheeks. The wild spirit of the -storm found a challenge in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a being apart from the other two, -and yet sharing their danger. The freedom -and the peril were as elixir to his soul, and yet -he never lost consciousness of the wind cloud -in the distance; and he knew it to be as -merciless as it was strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Steer for the Point," he shouted. Johnny -nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They neared the shore. Then the wind -came upon them and churned the bay into a -white foam. It turned the frail boat around -as on a pivot, heading it for the open sea, and -with the effort the ropes that held the rudder -broke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boys looked at each other. It was -characteristic of both; it was characteristic of their -training and their birth, that the sense of -personal danger did not touch them and that it was -solely for the small girl they thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the face of the older boy was a strong -courage that soothed and sustained the frightened -child; but in the face of Trevelyan's son -was defiance against the might of the storm, -and the sea, and death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ripped open his pea-jacket; he unlaced -his water-soaked boots; he stripped to his -shirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep the boat steady," cried Trevelyan's -son, "I'm going to swim to the Point and get -help!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The older boy caught him by the wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be drowned. I'll go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's son shook him off. He threw -back his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've swum double the distance," he shouted, -"Anyhow, we'll all die here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He balanced himself on the rower's seat. -Then he raised his arms above his head before -he sprang. The joy of the coming struggle -was in the boy's eyes—the joy of testing his -strength against the sea's forces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dived. The boat, lightened of his weight, -rocked, sprang higher in the water and then -righted. From the bow came the sob of a -girl-child's terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's son rose, striking out for shore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary and the elder boy watched him—even -as they drifted seaward.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's son was gaining. The fight had -been a long one and a hard one. The rain had -lessened, but the wind and tide had carried him -a quarter of a mile below the landing he had -intended to make. His thoughts were growing -disconnected. At first, he had only gloried -in his own skill; then he thought of -Scotland—he could scarcely have told why—and of old -Mactier. Then he remembered Cary—and -after awhile, he wondered if he had ever drank -as much salt water before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the wind changed. That was a help. -Once he trod water, looking out over the face -of the sea for a sign of the boat. He saw it. -It was far away and still drifting seaward, but -it was upright and the coast boy knew that -unless the storm began again, it could live in -spite of the long swells that bore it outward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arms began to get numb, and a mist—he -supposed it was the rain—got between him -and his vision. The low banks of clouds on -the horizon, too, assumed strange shapes. They -looked like the gray crags at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once his breath seemed to leave him and his -arms grew suddenly powerless and he sank. -The emersion gave him new energy. The love -of life, the wild thrill of fearless conquest, -swept right over him anew, and he pulled for -shore. After a little he raised his right arm -and sounded. The waters were up to his eyes, -but he touched land. He rose and struck out -again, and again, and—again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he waded in and stood upon the beach, -his face turned seaward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy threw back his head and -laughed at the waters and the storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beat you," he shouted passionately, "</span><em class="italics">I -beat you!</em><span>"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Lieutenant was in his office. It had -been a busy day of petty annoyances and he -was tired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned back in his chair and filled his -pipe, packing it carefully. Then he lighted a -match.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some one fumbled at the door knob in an -uncertain way; hesitated, and tried again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in!" shouted the Lieutenant. The -noise hurt his nerves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened and Rob entered. His -eyes looked shadowy by contrast to the pinched -paleness of his face. He walked with difficulty. -His short legs got tangled up in the -long coat he had gotten from one of the men -of the rescuing party, and he stumbled over it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant rose. The match burned -down to his fingers and he mechanically tossed -it into the fire. Then he laid down his pipe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The short odd figure in the long overcoat -advanced to the middle of the room, facing -Cary's father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary—" he began, and then stopped a -moment and cleared his throat. It seemed still -full of salt water. "I stole Lieutenant -Burden's boat and I took Cary and Johnny out. -The storm came. I knew it was coming, but -I didn't care, and I went. And I lost the oars -and—" The salt water feeling came back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary?" asked Cary's father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy shook the long sleeves away -from his hands, which he pushed down into the -great pockets of the coat, where they hunted -around for themselves. The Lieutenant was -tall and Trevelyan's boy was short, and he had -to look up a long way before he could look him -full in the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's coming," he said, "and so's Johnny. -They both feel sort of sick, but I'm all right, -and so I've come here. I thought we'd better -have it over with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" asked the Lieutenant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, the thrashing! Of course, you'll -thrash me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came forward a step and swayed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's father caught him as he fell and laid -him on the lounge.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That night Cary was ill. The next day she -was worse. She complained of a sharp pain -in her side and toward evening she began to -breathe heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At nine, when the post surgeon came again, -she was burning with fever, and he shook his -head when he listened to her lungs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks confoundedly like pneumonia," he -told the Lieutenant who was standing anxiously -by Cary's little brass bed, and he went -off to look up a nurse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant bent over the child a moment -after the surgeon had left, and then he turned -hastily away and lowered the lamp and shaded -its glare from Cary's eyes. Then he went over -to the window and stood looking out. Below -him stretched the yard of his quarters. It was -Cary's playground. Beyond the garden lay -the parade ground and further off the other -officers' quarters. He could see Cary now, her -long, straight hair flying in the wind as she -tore by the flagstaff to meet him on his return -from duty. Way off in the distance he could -see the dim, dark outline of the Fort's walls, -and beyond, the strip of moonlit sea. He had -used to carry Cary on his shoulders, when she -was a baby, along those walls and she had used -to clap her hands at the sunlight dancing on the -water. Everything spoke to him of Cary. He -turned and went back to the bed and knelt down -by it and buried his head close to the child's—so -close that he could feel her hot breath on his -cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was a fool," he told himself, passionately, -"to fancy I could care for a little flower, but I -couldn't give her up after her mother died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose presently and cautiously heightened -the lamp and wrote a hurried line on a scrap of -paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary is ill. Pneumonia. Mam' Amy is -away. Will you come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He signed the note and then crept down -stairs and gave it to the colored boy. The -colored boy carried it across the parade ground to -the house where the English children were -staying and waited, as he had been bidden, for -an answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant went back to the window. -He could see the house across the parade -ground from there, and presently he saw the -shadowy figure of a woman accompanied by -his colored boy passing the flagstaff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven bless her! I knew she'd come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went down stairs to open the door for -her and it was not until he had closed it -and turned to thank her that he saw it was not -the wife of his comrade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary was away," the exquisitely modulated -English voice fell on his overwrought -nerves like a balm. "I took the liberty of -opening the note, fearing something might be -wrong with your little girl after yesterday's -terrible experience. I have come to nurse her. -I know you won't send me away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John's mother threw off the long cloak she -had flung over her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Mrs. Stewart—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There—please don't! I am the mother of -three children—I once was the mother of -four," the English woman looked down steadily -at her wedding ring, twisting it on her -finger, "I am the adopted mother of -another—" She raised her eyes, smiling gravely, -"We are all alike—we women; be we American -or English. Besides if it hadn't been for -my two boys Cary would never be ill now. -Come, take me to her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was not a nurse to be found, and at -midnight the post surgeon returned, -discouraged from a fruitless search.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sense of order and exquisite peace seemed -to permeate the child's sick room. It -impressed him before he had crossed the -threshold. A woman was sitting by the little brass -bed and he could hear her speaking soothingly -to Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned when she heard his step and rose. -He took in the situation at a glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a trump," he said, concisely, and -went over to the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bad—very bad! Where's the child's father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the next room. He cannot stand seeing -her suffer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph! Shouldn't wonder. She's the -apple of his eye. You know we call her the -'Post Baby'—have ever since her mother died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How're your young rascals?" he inquired, -when he was leaving. "They and the 'Post -Baby' here had a pretty time of it yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God only knows what saved them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I know. It was your two youngsters. -They're both game. The Queen will -have two good soldiers some day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The English woman smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I left Rob in a perfect fury at the foot of -his bed. He woke up when I was getting -ready to come over, and wanted to come, too. -He says Cary belongs to him. I threatened -severe punishment, and—left him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll risk that if he takes it in his head to -come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid he will. I left Johnny consoling him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The two of them called seven times this -afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know—but I never dreamed Cary was -really ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—" The post surgeon hesitated, -"I'll be back after awhile and if the baby's -worse, I'll spend the night with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He closed the front door softly; hesitated -for an instant before he recrossed the shadowy -parade ground, and starting to go on, stumbled -over a dark object on the porch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dark object turned out to be a boy, who -rose and pulled at the surgeon's sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is she? Oh! tell me how she is!" -he asked. His thin, high bred face with the -delicately chiseled features, showed out sharply -in the waning moonlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great Scott!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it's only Johnny Stewart," said the -boy, a faint flash of humor lighting up his pale -face for a moment. "I couldn't sleep—tell -me—is she—worse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's a pretty sick little girl," said the -surgeon, amused at the situation. "Your mother -has been expecting trouble from your quarter, -but she rather looked for it from Rob."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's asleep," said the boy, simply, "I sat -with him until he went to sleep, but—you know -I'm the oldest, and I'm responsible for it all." He -looked up gravely, self-accusing, in the post -surgeon's weather-beaten face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you're a pair of you!" said the surgeon, -looking hard at the flagstaff. "Now, -what do you propose to do with yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You couldn't slip me in, somehow?" -pleaded the boy. "I'd stay down stairs and I'd -be awfully quiet and I wouldn't trouble a soul. -There might be errands—" he broke off, "I'd -like to be near her," he said. "Do you think -you could manage it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon thought he could, and the -post surgeon did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he started once more to cross the -parade grounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he passed the flagstaff and entered the -shadows of the trees, a small whirlwind struck -him. The whirlwind proved to be Rob. He -was only half dressed: his shirt being open at -the throat and devoid of tie. One stocking -had been forgotten in his haste and he was -hatless. The surgeon caught him by his hair and -pulled him back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the whirlwind developed into a small tornado.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go," he cried. "</span><em class="italics">Let me go!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll take you to the guard house if you don't -behave," threatened the surgeon. "Now what -in thunderation are you after?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going to see Cary," said Rob, sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, hey? Well, you're not going to -do anything of the kind. You'd scare any -little girl into a fit. You're going home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'm not," said Rob, rebelliously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come out again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not behind locked doors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes I will, too, through the window."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see to the window."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll climb through the transom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a dive under the surgeon's arm. -The surgeon caught him by the seat of his -small trousers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Johnny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the trouble—is it? Well, Johnny's -a different quantity from you. Johnny's safe -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny's at Cary's house. I know it. I'm -going, too," cried the younger boy, passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you make a sound, I'll thrash you within -an inch of your life," said the surgeon, in -desperation, retracing his steps across the parade -ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd scratch your eyes out if you tried to," -said the boy, a flood of crimson sweeping his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—look out that your noise don't kill -Cary," said the surgeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy caught the surgeon's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I'll try to be good," he said, -earnestly, "if you'll only take me to Cary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stewart opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here's one boy," said the surgeon grimly, -pushing Trevelyan's son over the threshold, -"There's another in the dining-room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a nice one to leave a chap asleep -and then sneak off. I wouldn't have been so -mean!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rob blinked in the glare of the dining-room -lamp, and shifted from the stockingless leg to -the covered one, "I didn't think Johnny -Stewart—" His voice rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Johnny came forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop that shouting!" he commanded, -"Don't you know Cary's very, very sick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rob blinked again. It was a blink of -astonishment. He had never seen Johnny quite so -angry before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Course I know she's sick. That's why -I've come." He sat down on the extreme edge -of a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long, long silence. Johnny sat -at the big table, his chin between his hands and -looked straight ahead of him. Rob looked -moodily into the fire. Once the younger boy -rose and went to the foot of the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you suppose is happening up there?" -he inquired when he came back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose she's dying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The elder boy turned sharply and lowered -the lamp that was smoking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long hours crept away. By and by the -lamp flickered and went out, and the fire died -down, and left only a heap of white ashes on -the hearth. Then the gray dawn crept in and -after awhile the gray was tinged with gold. -Later, the sunrise gun boomed through the -stillness, to be followed by the ringing notes of -the reveille.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upstairs, the post surgeon was leaning over -the little brass bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll spend the night," he had said briefly, -on his last visit. There were symptoms about -Cary's labored breathing and dry cough that he -did not like.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child's sleepless eyes and flushed face -looked wan in the grayness of the early dawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the hours dragged by, Cary became more -restless and her mind began to wander.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't let him, Johnny! Don't let him! -He'll drown! He'll dro——" the voice rose in -a shriek and then trailed off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cry had reached the children below -stairs. A moment later and Rob, wide-eyed -and excited, appeared at the sick-room door. -He was confronted by his old foe the post -surgeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't come in here," said the surgeon -briefly. "It—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but tell her I'm not drowned! Let me -tell her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surgeon took him by the shoulders and -marched him down stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this the way you promise to keep still?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon was skilled in other arts -than his own profession. He had appealed to -the boy's honor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's son flung himself face downward -on the hearth rug and lay motionless. -Johnny went to him and knelt beside him and -touched him on the arm. Something of Johnny's -childhood had vanished in the night, never -to return. He did not say anything to Rob; -he just continued to kneel beside him with his -hand on his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Rob sat up. His wakeful night -had not improved his appearance. His shirt -was a crumpled mass; his hair was disheveled, -and one of his ill-laced boots was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She shan't die!" he cried, passionately, "I -won't let her die! I won't! </span><em class="italics">I won't!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Johnny said nothing. Once, long ago, a -little brother had died, and Johnny still -remembered how vainly he had tried to wake him. -Johnny had seen death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upstairs Cary tossed in her delirium.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny, don't make me keep still! I can't -keep still any longer! The water looks so -cold—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so the day wore on. The dry cough -stopped and the fever ran higher and the breathing -came more labored, and Cary lay wide eyed -and sleepless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The children wandered like little ghosts -through the rooms of the lower floor. They -pleaded that they might see Cary once. The -post surgeon tried an experiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The child's strength is going fast for lack -of sleep," he told Mrs. Stewart, "We'll see -what your boys can do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He brought Rob in first, and Trevelyan's son -stood at the foot of the bed, and was silent as -they had bidden him to be; but they could see -that he trembled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's eyes, bright with delirious fever, -rested on him for a moment. Then she started -up in bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Rob, dear," said Rob's aunt, bending -over her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it isn't!" cried Cary. "No—it—isn't! -Take him away; away—a-w-a-y!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rob let go of the brass railing and rushed -impetuously to the little girl's side and flung -himself down by the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary! Cary! Don't you know me? It's -me! It's only Rob!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Cary shrank back from his touch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm frightened," she moaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant came and lifted the boy and -took him from the room. Trevelyan's son -was crying passionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The excitement proved to be the worst -possible thing for Cary. The fever ran higher -and sapped and sapped her strength and still -she moaned and cried in her delirium and still -sleep did not come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She can't grow much worse and stay alive," -muttered the post surgeon, "And something -has got to be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went down stairs in search of Johnny. -He found the boy standing by the window, his -white face turned toward the sea. Rob, his -passion of tears spent, lay sleeping heavily on -the lounge. The surgeon touched the elder -boy on the arm and motioned him to follow him. -Outside in the little square hall, they faced each -other—the skilled man of science, and the -delicately featured English boy with the firm -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going to take me to Cary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surgeon nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. She wouldn't see Rob, but perhaps -she'll see you. I've an idea she will. She's -been calling your name all day. If I take you -to her, will you be very quiet?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be very quiet," promised the little -Briton, gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And we've got to get her to sleep. Perhaps—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy's firm mouth quivered for an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon let him go into Cary's room -alone, and he motioned the boy's mother and -Cary's father away from the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy went directly to the head of the bed -and stood there looking down at Cary. For a -long while Cary did not notice him. But he -waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stillness of the room grew—broken only -by Cary's piteous moans. After awhile she -became conscious of the boy's slim figure at -her side, and she turned her restless, feverish -eyes to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he stroked her long straight hair timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moans ceased suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Johnny," said the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat down on the edge of the bed and took -one of the child's hot hands in his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the terror of the delirium fell on her -again. She sat up in bed, flinging out her -arms and crying, and still the boy kept that -firm pressure on her hand. The sustaining -touch won her back from the thraldom of the -fever and she threw herself into the boy's arms -and lay there, sobbing—sobbing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so," he muttered from the doorway, -and beckoned the others into the adjoining room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For an hour they sat there. Gradually the -child's sobs grew weaker; after awhile they -caught their echo at long intervals and by and -by they died away altogether.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadows of the dying day crept into the -sick room and the wanness of its departing -struggle was reflected on Cary's small, pinched -face. She still lay in the boy's arms, -quiet—spent with the effort of her delirium. The -boy sat rigidly mute, supporting her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day sank into evening and the post -surgeon came in quietly from the adjoining room. -The boy's eyes met his as he entered. It was -his only movement. Otherwise he might have -been carved of stone. The boy's eyes smiled -and the post surgeon retraced his steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's sleeping. The boy holds her life in -his hands. If he can only remain motionless—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another hour slipped by. The post surgeon -came in again. Cary was sleeping still, her -whole weight resting in the boy's rigid arms. -He was growing white with the strain of his -enforced position. The surgeon looked down -at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you hold out?" he asked, below his -breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon went down stairs noiselessly -to the sideboard where the Lieutenant -kept his wines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rob sat up as he entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's Cary? What time is it? Where's -Johnny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The post surgeon went up and laid his finger -on Rob's mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary's sleeping. If you wake her, you'll -kill her. Don't speak above a whisper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He filled a glass with wine and turned to -leave the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Johnny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With Cary. He put her to sleep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's boy clenched his hands convulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny—with—Cary," he said, slowly, -and then something choked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed the post surgeon to the foot of -the stairs and watched him until he disappeared. -Then he went back to the dimly lighted, lonely -dining-room and hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a passionate cry rose in his throat, -which he smothered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and flung himself on the lounge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear God," he moaned, "Dear God, be -good to a little boy. I want to die! Quick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Upstairs the surgeon held the brim of the -wine glass to the elder boy's white lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The enforced position had become an agony. -Once, the surgeon saw the boy bite his under -lip until a drop of blood appeared. He got a -pillow; two—half a dozen and supported the -boy's stiff back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three more hours dragged away, and then -Cary stirred and woke. Great beads of -perspiration stood out on her thin, drawn little -face, but the fever had been broken in her sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy's grasp suddenly relaxed and Cary -sank back on the pillow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Lieutenant helped the boy to rise; ending, -by picking him up in his arms and carrying -him from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He re-entered Cary's room by way of the -hall. By the light of the early breaking dawn, -he saw something dark lying before Cary's -outer door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stooped over it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Trevelyan's boy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="book-one"><span class="bold large">BOOK ONE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE CLAY -<br />TAKES SHAPE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">BOOK ONE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE CLAY TAKES SHAPE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The six-foot Englishman, with the -military carriage and the rough tweed -cap, continued to stare at the back -of the girl in the brown tailor suit, leaning -over the ship's rail. There was something -in the attitude that recalled a child -swinging on the railing of a fort's drawbridge. -He could not have told exactly why. Perhaps -it was because he so often recalled that picture; -perhaps it was because he had always held fast -to a vague hope that some day he might meet -that child again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl in the brown tailor suit remained -motionless, her face turned toward the Liberty -that was melting into an indistinct blur. The -young Englishman came a little nearer. She -had not been there when he had come aboard. -Of that he was sure. Well, he had probably -missed half of his fellow passengers while he -was changing to his seafaring clothes, and there -had been a couple of letters to be written to be -carried back by the pilot. All that had taken -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl turned. The last faint trace of -Liberty had faded; she might just as well -admit that, and give her attention to the novelties -of ship-board life. She looked curiously down -the long white deck. Passengers were appearing -every moment, clad in ulsters and soft hats; -the deck steward was hurrying to and fro -adjusting steamer chairs and wraps. The -voyage had undoubtedly begun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly the line of her vision was -interrupted by a tall man in a rough tweed cap. -And then she noticed that he had snatched it -from his head and was coming toward her with -both hands outstretched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it—Cary?" he asked, eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl looked into his eyes. Somewhere -in their grave depths a smile was hidden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it's Johnny," she cried, delightedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure it's Johnny! And what do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -mean by sailing under an English flag?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed again, showing her perfect teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it absurd? But Daddy dragged me -into it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which? The Cunarder or the trip?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both. Where in the world have you been -all this time, and oh! how's Rob? I declare -I've so many questions to ask you I don't know -where to begin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're the same old Cary," he said, "Only -a bit taller. Let me find your chair for you. -You're not crossing alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I'd leave my father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not. Where is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, forgive me. I was rude. I'm -afraid I </span><em class="italics">am</em><span> as bad as ever." Cary sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never said that—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Papa's writing a note to be carried -back on the pilot. If he does not come up soon, -I'll have to hunt him up. I'm his shadow. -To tell you a secret; I'm chaperoning him on -this trip!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed!" Stewart's eyes were smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure. Now, about yourself—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your eyes say, 'What have you been doing -in America that you failed to look me up?" -said Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is just what I was thinking, and when -we were going to hunt for you, too, when we -landed! Come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't much to tell," said Stewart, -meeting her eyes squarely. "There have been -a good many years—uneventful ones—of a -pretty steady 'grind', and rather rigid military -training at Woolwich—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an officer? An engineer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know more about our English military -schools than the majority of American girls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget I am an Army woman. Go on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so I'm a member—a young one—of -the Royal Engineers. I was ordered to India, -where I served out my sub-lieutenancy. I was -in a bit of a row there, and after, I took the -jungle fever and got sick leave. They've sent -me over the Atlantic for a sea trip. I'm to be -transferred later. I was only in New York -two days. That's why I couldn't look you up. -You see, I didn't know if you were still at the -old fort down South, or in Texas or Montana -or—any other of your big states." He was -rapidly getting off of the subject of "self." "Now, -where have you been and why didn't -you keep on writing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did write, but you wouldn't answer—sent -the letters to your home in Scotland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! We were traveling; the old place has -been rented almost steadily for years. They -must have miscarried in the forwarding. -Father has preferred London political life, and -mother wanted to be near us boys when at -school and afterwards when we became cadets—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is your mother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well; thanks. She'll be glad to see you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary looked seaward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never forget," she said, "how she -nursed me." She was silent a moment. -"How's Rob?" she asked, presently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm inclined to think he's less changed than -any one of the three of us. He's fiery, fierce, -affectionate, as ever, with a wonderful talent -for getting into scrapes and scrambling out of -them again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is he—a sailor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wanted to go in the navy—bad. Poor -Rob. But my uncle had set his heart on the -army for him. You know he was a great -fighter in his day—retired on a wound that -would have killed most men. He wanted him -to go to Sandhurst, but Rob kicked on that, and -they compromised on Woolwich."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know Rob would ever have brains -enough for the Engineers." Cary laughed and -caught wildly at her hat, which the wind was -trying to tear from her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rob's clever enough—cleverer than most -men, if he'd only study. He leaves Woolwich -in a couple of months now—graduated. How -he has ever stayed there as long as he has is a -marvel. Such doings!" Stewart shook his -head even as he smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe," he said, after a pause, "It's for -his father's sake and my mother's that he has -drawn the line where he has! There isn't an -officer or an instructor who don't like him, -though. He's as straight as a string where -honor is concerned, and as brave—Well! You -know how brave he could be as a child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As for the cadets—they swear by him—every -last boy of them! Rob will be wild -when he hears you are in England, and -will probably take 'French leave'!" Stewart -laughed again. "There! That's the family -history. Now, what about yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl ran her hand thoughtfully along the -railing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa was stationed at the Fort for three -years after you left us. Since then we've been -moving from pillar to post—in regular Army -fashion. You know how it is?" She raised -her eyes to Stewart and Stewart nodded. -"He was ordered to Florida and then to -Arkansas and then to Alaska—" she laughed. -"He sent me to boarding school for a year but -I couldn't stand not seeing him, and he was -even worse about me. After that he taught -me himself—dear, old Daddy—he taught me -everything from calculus to colt riding. It's -been a wild kind of a life, but I've missed the -old Fort and the sea. None of the other places -was ever much like home—" Cary raised her -eyes from the railing and looked soberly toward -the receding shore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart watched her; realizing that while -she had not grown pretty she was possessed of -an indefinable magnetism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Daddy got notions about me—about -my lack of advantages, social and—otherwise," -Cary was laughing again. "He was retired -last month and now he's carrying me off to -Europe, to be polished. Am I such a rough -specimen?" she asked Stewart, suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head so gravely in denial that -she smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! Of course, I was only fooling! -And so I'm going over to your great, beautiful, -strange Old World to be 'finished'—as if -anyone could ever be 'finished' as long as they -live! I'm to see all the celebrated Old Masters -and to visit all the old historic places and see -the old ruins—" she broke off suddenly, "I -think by the time I've finished, I'll be very -tired, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" asked Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, then Daddy and I will return to -America and have a little home somewhere—I -hope near the Fort where I lived as a child; -close by the sea and the capes and the beach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were silent a moment. Behind them -was the merry hum of voices and the rapid -movement of feet hurrying to and fro, but -for that moment they were as much alone as -though they were in the shadow of the old fort wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My home," said Stewart, looking out over -the sea into nothingness. "My home in eastern -Scotland is like that. Some day I hope you -will see it. If you ever grow very homesick -for America let me know, and I'll try to -arrange to run up there for a day with you and -mother. The long beach will remind you of home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said the girl, gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long quiet between them, and -then the young officer's face changed suddenly -and he broke into an infectious laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the guns—</span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you remember the guns, -and the pinafores and the sunbonnets? -Weren't you ever caught?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tall girl joined in with his laugh and the -two—his deep and hers low—mingled and -drifted back to the passers-by who smiled -sympathetically at the sound. Cary shook her -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—that is, not until long afterwards. It -seems that the Department issued orders that -the big show guns should be recast, and when -they were taken away and broken up—they -were found to be storehouses for a small girl's -wardrobe! Lieutenant Burden happened to be -on the spot and the story he tells—" she broke -off, still laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was there anything left of the things?" -asked the Briton, amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed—some were pretty well -preserved! And how poor old Mammy Amy -would worry over the thief who dared to steal -her 'chile's clothes!' It's all too funny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Mam' Amy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead. She followed us out to Alaska, but -she died. I suppose it must have been the -climate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart's face grew a little grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lieutenant Burden—wasn't he the officer -we stole the boat from?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl nodded, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that row! Wasn't that a row we -had that day," he said. "Do you remember -the terrible swim Rob took and how he saved us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. And how you comforted me. I -went to sleep—didn't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; and how ill you were afterwards! -Do you know I've never forgiven myself for -all that. I was thirteen, and the oldest, and -should have had more horse sense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What children we were!" Cary sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you wishing the time back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hardly know—" she hesitated, "No, I -suppose not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They told me that you saved me in that illness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you believe in confessions?" he asked, -with an odd smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That depends. Well—what have you been doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know I kissed you that day when -you fell asleep in the boat—when we were -facing death together—and again when I was -fighting death for you that long night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wretch! Well, it didn't count much -then," Cary's eyes were twinkling, "You were -thirteen and I was only seven. Rob! -Imagine Rob ever kissing me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart laughed a little nervously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look out, Rob may yet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Preposterous! Don't you remember when -you said you lived in Aberdeen and Rob in -Argyll, and I innocently asked whether they -were not near together? How indignant Rob -was! And then I crossly retorted that they -both began with 'a', anyway, and—" she -paused for breath, and Stewart laughingly took -up the story and finished it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And how Rob scornfully answered that so -did 'cat' and 'crow'! He's never deigned to -tell me which applied to which!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was Rob all over!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Late that night the quartermaster at his -lonely wheel, watched a tall man pacing the decks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile the figure paused at the ship's -railing and leaned against it heavily, looking -out over the moonlit sea. The deep throbbing -of the mighty engines came up to him and beat -and beat against his senses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twice," said the Briton, slowly, speaking -to the stillness of the stars and the restlessness -of the ocean, "Twice, as a boy, I kissed her, -when we fought death together. Some day, in -an hour of danger, I shall kiss her again."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ii"><span class="bold large">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Cary was singing. Trevelyan heard her -before he had reached the second flight -of stairs in the lodgings. The clear -contralto voice sifted down into the dark -passage as sunlight sifts into a ravine. It rose; -swelled higher and filled the entrance way. -Trevelyan's pulses kept time to its swinging -measure as he came on up the stairs, and quietly -opened the door of the little sitting room. The -measure died away. Cary finished the running -accompaniment and rose from the piano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravo!" cried Trevelyan from the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have deserted me of late," she said, -reproachfully, coming forward to greet him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible! Let me explain, and all will -be forgiven—" Trevelyan cut his sentence -short, "Why, hello, John, where did you come from?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded indifferently to Stewart standing -by the window, walked over to a table and -began to idly turn over the pages of a book. It -was annoying always to find Stewart hanging -around. The fact that Stewart was his cousin, -and had shared everything he possessed with -him since he had been a child, even down to his -mother, did not count for anything in the world, -just at this juncture. Stewart's mother was -all right; indeed, she was undoubtedly the very -best woman who ever lived, excepting his own -mother who had been dead so long, and -possibly Cary! But against Stewart himself he -bore a well-founded grudge. Stewart had -been the one to meet Cary on the steamer and -bring her and her father to London and help -them get settled in lodgings and introduce them -to his friends. That was bad enough, in all -conscience, but then it had been Stewart, who -had constituted himself a combined walking -Baedeker, and unfailing friend of the American -officer and his daughter. That had been in -those last wretched weeks before he had been -graduated from Woolwich, and Stewart, with -that confounded sick leave, had taken -advantage of the opportunity offered. Even when -Stewart reported for duty again, his transfer -had been to a home regiment, and in the few -times that he, Trevelyan, had seen them before -his graduation, John had always been with -Cary, and Cary had been overflowing with their -mutual experiences. Now John had taken the -Captain and herself to dine at the Albion, in -Russell Street, Covent Garden; and had pointed -out the traditional places occupied by Dickens, -and Sothern, and Toole, and the rest. Now, -it had been a morning ride with John, on -Rotten Row, when Maggie, John's sister, had sent -around her favorite mount. Again, it had -been a trip to Hampstead Heath or Richmond -Park, where, from the famous hill, standing -with John, she had looked toward the towers -of Windsor; or to the left had seen on the -horizon, the bold outline of the Surrey Downs. It -was John—or if John couldn't possibly manage -it—it was John's mother or John's sister who -had taken her everywhere. She had been to -the Derby on the Stewarts' coach; she had been -to Oxford with John's sister, and met Kenneth, -John's younger brother; she had visited -Stratford and seen Kenilworth, and generally -"done" London almost before he had begun to -serve his sub-lieutenancy. And if John had -been unable to think of some new place to show -her, he had walked with her down the Strand -or through Fleet street or Cheapside, and the -two of them had retraced Dickens's or Charles -Lamb's steps, and explored all the little out of -the way shops! That was just like John! -Trevelyan detested such things, and Trevelyan -detested them even more when John and Cary -had done them together, and he had been left out!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That sub-lieutenancy was another thing that -rankled! Stewart had served his, and Stewart -had done good work in that "row" in India, -and had even got an honorable mention. -Stewart always was a lucky dog. Trevelyan -envied Stewart that "mention" more than he -envied any man in the world anything. Cary -thought so much of that "mention," and now -Cary was going away!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wild throbbing resentment against his own -position in the affair; against Cary's leaving -England, rose up within him, as the sea rose up -and beat against the crags at home. He did -not define it, but it possessed him, as did the -memory of Cary's face when he was away from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He let the book fall back heavily on the table -and walked over and leaned his elbows on the -mantel, his head in his hands, and looked -moodily into the open fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once Cary tried to draw him into the -conversation, but Trevelyan refused to be won -from the depths of his own depression, to the -genial atmosphere pervading the little room, -and Cary, used to his ways, let him alone. She -had looked at John and shaken her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't do a thing with him to-night," it -had said, but Stewart, grown wonderfully -quick-witted in regard to Cary, fancied that he -heard her sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the daylight faded and a heavy fog -crept up and fell over the Thames and London -like a pall. Here and there a street lamp -flickered faintly through the mist, and the rumble -of carriage wheels, heard, though unseen, -reached them, and Cary lighted the big red -lamp, preparatory to afternoon tea and the -Captain's return. Once she went to the -window to look for her father, pressing her face -against the glass, but she could not see through -the heavy, yellow mist. Trevelyan could hear -her and John talking in the window recess, -although he could not distinguish what they were -saving. Once Cary laughed. The sound -irritated him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile Cary came back into the room -and began to handle the tea-cups absent-mindedly. -Her table was close to the fire, and Trevelyan, -by turning his head, could watch the -ruddy reflection play over her face. He turned -back to the glowing logs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sugar?" asked Cary suggestively, a little -later of Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Trevelyan, moodily, "No sugar -and no tea!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary shrugged her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're impossible, to-day," she said, -"Bread and butter, John?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile Stewart prepared to leave. -Trevelyan still leaned against the mantel, his -face turned to the fire. He knew Stewart was -going, but he did not move. From the doorway -he could hear Stewart's voice calling out -good-bye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," he called back, shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary returned to the tea table, paused and -looked at Trevelyan's back in an uncertain way. -Trevelyan was acutely conscious of her -nearness. She sat down, resting her intertwined -fingers on the edge of the table and looked -down at them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned at the sound of her quiet -voice and faced her, still resting one elbow on -the mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" he repeated, a touch of sarcasm in -his voice, "It isn't 'well' at all! It's as -confoundedly bad as it can be! Here you're going -to leave London day after to-morrow, to be -gone—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three months," said Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be back before you know it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed bitterly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think so?" Then: "I can tell you -how long two months can be! I learned that -at Woolwich before I graduated, and after I -had seen you." He stopped abruptly and beat -his foot impatiently on the fender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! You're going to be a British -officer. Where's your backbone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've backbone enough—there's no trouble -about that!" Trevelyan laughed oddly. "I -could fight all right. I could face danger. I -could lead a charge into the mouth of the -cannon! I've backbone enough!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had turned to her full as he was speaking. -His face was aflame with the possibilities his -words had awakened. It was transformed -back into the face of the boy who conquered the -storm and the sea and death, and it was burning -with a newer passion still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's eyes fell before the look in his and -rested on her folded hands. After a little she -began to trace an intricate pattern on the table -with her forefinger. A weight of fear was -resting on her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan stood silent looking down at her -for a moment, and then he turned sharply and -went over to the window. The perfume of the -violets she wore possessed him. The clock on -the mantel struck the half hour, and a log broke -noisily on the hearth. Cary looked toward -him. The oppressive fear had passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be a month in Switzerland! -Think of it—the Alps at last! Three weeks -of Paris; three more of Ireland, and two in -Scotland with the Camerons. Did you know -I was going to your Scotland and to Argyll?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned away from the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Since when?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Camerons asked me last week. They -are to have a house party, I think. They asked -John, too—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan bit his lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is John going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for the full time, but he hopes to get -a three days' leave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan came back to the fire and -drummed on the mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When we were children," he said, -suddenly, "down at the Fort, I used to tell you -about Scotland. I am glad you are to see it. -You will like it! And when you watch the sea -beat against the crags, and the breakers tossing -their white heads, you can think of me, -remembering it used to be my home. I hope you will -see a storm," Trevelyan went on, "such a -storm as I used to glory in as a little chap! -They don't have such storms anywhere else, I -think!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped short, and looked hard at the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Camerons' place is within driving distance -of my home. If I can get off for a day -will you let me take you there? I want you to -see it, and to meet old Mactier, and go with me -into the caves where I used to play as a boy, -and climb the crags, way up to their topmost -peaks, and breathe the freedom that is in the air!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary sprang up, flinging out her hands. -There was an odd pulsing in her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go! of course I'll go!" she cried, and then -the pulsing grew and grew, and choked her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At six Trevelyan left. She did not meet his -eyes in parting, and Trevelyan missed her -bantering voice, that usually followed him down -stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Stewart," he told himself with passionate -resentment, and he stumbled over the lower -step and swore at the darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary went back into the empty room, over -to the mantel and looked into the fire, as -Trevelyan had done. She could hear the echo of -the closing front door. Outside, the fog grew -thicker. Inside, the red lamp threw its -coloring on the crimson roses Stewart had brought -that day, making them more glorious still, and -the heat of the fire intensified the odor of the -violets on the woman's breast. Stewart had -brought the violets too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary turned away from the fire, and moved -restlessly about the room, fixing a chair here, -straightening a book there, and fingering some -familiar object. As she passed the open piano, -she hesitated, put out one finger and struck a -key. The sound vibrated through the quiet -room, deep and full and strong. A bar of an -old Scotch song rose in her throat and broke. -She closed the piano hastily. Once she leaned -over the roses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear John," she murmured, and her hands -touched for a moment the violets on her breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she went back to the fire, and stood -wide-eyed and silent, looking into the heart of -it. She was dimly conscious of the violets' -perfume, but it was Trevelyan's face she saw in -the flames.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iii"><span class="bold large">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a storm chill in the air. -Trevelyan readjusted the carriage -robe that had slipped away from Cary, -and turned up the collar of his driving coat. -Now and again he glanced at Cary. The -girl's face was turned away and she was -looking out over the gray crags to the grayer sea -beyond. The last three months had wrought -an indefinable change in her. Trevelyan had -noticed it on his arrival at the Camerons' that -morning. He wondered vaguely if it had -anything to do with travel and the process of -"polishing" to which Cary so often banteringly -referred. Well he was not going to -worry over it. He had only one day and he -meant to make the most of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had written the Camerons he was -coming, and had not even waited for an answer. -He had announced his intention and it was -enough. He had known Tom Cameron since -they wore kilts together, and back of their -friendship, his mother's family had known the -Camerons for generations. Somewhere in the -history of the houses, there had been an -inter-marriage. That had been the enduring seal -on the intimacy. The Scotch are clannish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had taken him hours to reach the Camerons'. -It would take him hours to return. But -this one afternoon, at least, was his. After it, -might come the deluge. After it—probably -would come the deluge! He wasn't feeling -very sure of himself or of his own self power. -After a man has been in torment for three -months—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Cameron's horse knew the road well—almost -as well as Trevelyan did—and kept -up a steady pace, and Tom Cameron's cart was -comfortable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John was expected that afternoon for three -days. Well; Cary would not be there to -welcome him. Cary would be with him. Stewart -might have her—undoubtedly would have -her, for those three days, but to-day—this -afternoon, was his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Camerons, learned in the signs of the -sky, had demurred at the storm chill in the air -and the threatening clouds, when after an early -lunch, Trevelyan and the American girl had -stepped into the cart. Trevelyan, however, had -no intention of having his well laid plans -frustrated, and in his masterful way, had over-ruled -the objections. The storm was a possibility. -His return next morning at daybreak, a -necessity. Let the storm come. He defied it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary shivered. Trevelyan noticed it and -leaned toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are cold?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary turned her eyes away from the gray -crags and the gray sea. Trevelyan's were near -her own. She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she faltered. "It must be Scotland—the -Scotland you told me of as a child. Once, -long ago I fought you about it. If I had -dreamed—if I had known—" her voice faded -into the boom of the nearing surf and she -turned her eyes away from Trevelyan's, -coastward again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The music of her voice and the roar of the -ocean mingled and surged over Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God!" he said under his breath.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="iv"><span class="bold large">IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Trevelyan and the girl drove up the -long entrance way and neared the -house, they could distinguish through -the faint Scotch mist that had fallen, the -outline of Mactier waiting for them at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old retainer hurried forward to welcome them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir, but 'tis gude to see ye! My -heart's been sore for a sight o' thy face this -lang time!" he cried to Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan jumped down from the cart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Mactier!" he cried. "Jove! But -it's good to see </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> again!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he turned to Cary and helped her to the -ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Mactier," he said, as one saying all -that is sufficient. "Mactier, I used to tell Miss -Cary about you when I was a little shaver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aweel ye were ever a mindful lad o' me!" The -old man smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He opened the door for them, and stood to -one side to let them enter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis a bad day ye have for seeing the old -place," he said as they passed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can bring the horse around in an -hour," called Trevelyan as the old man drove -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Trevelyan went back to Cary. The -girl was standing at the furthest end of the -great hall, looking out of the window. She -could hear the beat of the sea on the near-by -crags and through the faint mist catch a -glimpse of the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mactier had opened the long-closed blinds -and the light seemed concentrated around the -figure of the girl. Trevelyan tore his riding -gloves from his hands and bent and unbent his -fingers rapidly. "If I had dreamed—if I had -known—" He reached her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid it's a gloomy day we've struck," -he said quietly, "but I'm in hopes the mist -won't last. On clear days from here you can -see the highest crag of all. It's where I used -to spend half my days, as a little shaver,—up -there on the top. It was my eyrie. I used to -be a robber king and a shipwrecked mariner -and a Viking all rolled in one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed, bending forward and -nearer to her and looked out of the window, as -though to penetrate the mist. Cary leaned -against the frame of the window listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I got a bit older," Trevelyan's voice -fell heavily on the silence of the big lonely hall, -"I used to climb up there—to get away from -everyone, and where no one could find me; and -I would hide up there, and sit by the hour, -looking out at the sea and watching the white -spray breaking below me. And then later I -used to try and think of what love meant—what -love could be—if I should ever love—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned away abruptly and walked up and -down the hall. After a little he came back to -Cary, who had not stirred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And sometimes I used to dream of a woman -who would some day come into my life—and -I used to crawl to the edge of the crag and lean -over and look into the white foam below, until -I got dizzy—looking for her face. It seemed -her face must be in the white foam—foolish, -wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary ran her finger along the ledge of the -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We all have our dreams."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan watched her, as she turned her -face again to the window. The mist outside -increased and seemed to muffle the beat of the -sea and all the sounds of nature, and it hung -around her and softened her face into wonderful -curves. He turned his eyes away from her -suddenly. He could have crushed that face in -his hands, bringing it up to his own—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mactier will be around in an hour," he -said after a while in a matter of fact way, "and -then I'll drive you about the place a bit before -we return. We can easily make it and be back -for dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" asked Cary, absent-mindedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come! Wake up! And look around you! -Isn't this a fine old hall?" But Trevelyan's -voice lacked enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary turned and looked around her. Her -dream spell had passed. The odd throbbing in -her throat, she had felt long ago in London, -the evening she had bidden Trevelyan good-bye, -returned with triple force. A wave of -color swept over the usual pallor of her skin; -her eyes were shining. Cary was transformed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine?" her voice pulsed with the enthusiasm -Trevelyan's had lacked. "It's the finest -old hall in all the world! The dearest old -home! Take me over it—from the top to the -bottom, and show me where you and John and -Tom Cameron used to play!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan led her from room to room; passing -quickly this one, that held memories of his -mother; pausing on the threshold of another, to -tell the story of the Scotch boy's playtime; to -show to her the first stag's head, shot when -hunting with Mactier. Trevelyan told the -story well, for he loved with all the unyielding -strength of an unyielding nature, the memories -his words called up. Now it was how Tom -and he had slipped out of the window one night -and scaled the ivy covered turret wall, that -they might investigate the old cave down at -the water's edge, by the light of the waning -moon. Mactier had told them strange tales of -the happenings in the cave when the moon was -on the wane. Again it was the day he had -stumbled with his gun and the bullet had -entered his thigh; how old Mactier had flung -him across his shoulders, and borne him home -through the darkness of the falling night. -Again it was the morning his mother had died; -how he had been awakened by the hurrying of -many feet, and starting up in bed had found his -father bending over him, calling him by name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Never had the girl known Trevelyan to be so -eloquent; never had she seen him as he was -to-day. Now Trevelyan's voice was blithe with -the blitheness of glad remembered things; now -it broke with feeling, or vibrated with the -passion of reviving scenes long dead to life. He -seemed not to be speaking of himself. He was -telling her the story of an English boy, Scottish -bred; of his wild escapades; of his love of -freedom and unrestricted things; of his dangers -and his hopes; of what he meant to be when -he became a man!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Cary, held fast by the magic of the story, -felt her pulses throb; her being thrill. An -unreasonable regret that she had not been a -Scottish child to follow where he led, up the high -crags or down into the black caves, took -possession of her; and she recalled a picture of a -sea churned into foam; of a boat drifting out -toward the waste of ocean; and above the gray -surface of the stone-hued waters, a boy's head -turned landward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once, in following Trevelyan from one room -to another, she glanced out of the window and -noticed vaguely that the heavy rain drops lay -upon the glass. Later, she was conscious of -the dull booming of thunder, echoing among -the nearby crags and losing itself in the beat of -the surf. Then a flash of vivid lightning lit -up the sudden darkness that had fallen on the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan rushed to the window. The -thralldom of the Scotch boy's story was upon -him still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"It's a storm!" he cried. "It's a storm come -to welcome me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here!" he commanded, "where you -can watch the sea and the storm fight it out -together!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came instantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The darkness increased until they could not -distinguish each other's faces. The thunder -came and beat itself against the crags and spent -itself. Now and again they could see, by the -glare of the prolonged lightning, the waters -lashed into a white fury. Once, by its light, -she looked at Trevelyan's face. It was white -and he was breathing deeply. He was looking -seaward and seemed unconscious of her -presence. Once, he flung out his hand and it -touched hers. It was colder than the storm -chill in the air. Once, she looked at him again, -and he, turning, met her eyes. Some power -as mighty as the storm held her look to his, and -then above the beating of the thunder on the -crags and the booming, of the surf, she heard -his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just you and I and the storm! You and -I in all the world—all that the world holds!" She -felt his hand upon her shoulder; she felt its -coldness through her heavy dress and she -shrank away from him, her voice and her words -broken, with a nameless fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Above the storm she could hear Trevelyan laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let you go, when I've got you at last! -Let you go when your face has haunted me -through all the days and all the nights of the -long months! </span><em class="italics">Let—you—go!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Robert!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you think I'm mad! Well, perhaps I -am for love of you. You haunt me. You -possess me. It was your face I dreamed of in -the foam. There! don't tremble so! I won't -hurt you, child!" The thunder drowned his -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you dream what you are to me or could -make of me? Do you know what it is to hold -a man's soul in your hands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spell of his words lifted. The instinct -of an unknown danger possessed her. She -slipped away in the blackness toward the door. -The silence grew and grew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually the darkness lifted and the thunder -and the boom of the surf lessened and the -lightning came at long and longer intervals. -Cary became acutely conscious of every sound. -Somewhere in the distance she heard voices and -the echo of men's footfalls. She kept her eyes -away from Trevelyan who was standing with -his back to her. Danger lay that way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the spell of Trevelyan's nearness crept -over her again. She tried to fight it off, -trembling. She moved a step toward him, one hand -pressed close to her breast. Then she paused, -arrested by a voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robert! Cary! </span><em class="italics">Cary!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound echoed down the great hall, across -the still deserted rooms, to the study where -they stood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary's hand crept from her breast to her face -and she covered her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan crossed the space between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The woman shrank back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't—you frighten me!" she moaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan caught her by the wrist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary! Cary! Take that back! How -can love frighten? See, I love you—love -you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in his arms and he was leaning over -her, his mouth close to her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary!" he whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down the long hall, through the silence of -the deserted rooms, came the voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary! Where are you? Cary!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wrenched herself out of Trevelyan's arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a coward!" she said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wild tide of passion leaped up in Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dare you call me a coward," he said, -and his lips could hardly articulate, "If you -were not a woman—" he choked and his voice -died away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary moved nearer to the door. Once, she -turned her pale face and looked at Trevelyan. -Trevelyan stood rigid and mute where she had -left him, the knuckles of one hand pressed to -his mouth. She faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary! Cary! Where are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned, her thumb and forefinger -pressing her throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here!" she cried. Then, louder: "Here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan passed her, and strode through -the deserted rooms into the great hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary is in the study," he said to the group -of men he found there, "Hello Tom!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John arrived an hour after you left," said -Cameron, regarding Trevelyan's rigid face -curiously, "and when the storm came up -nothing would do but that he must come for you -both in a closed carriage. I knew you'd be safe -enough—if necessary find shelter with some of -the tenant's wives. But John—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned to old Mactier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can close up the house," he said shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart found the girl standing in the study. -He went up to her and drew her arm through -his and quietly led her down the long dark -passage that connected with the great hall. He -could feel that she was trembling. He patted -her hand soothingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there! child. It's all right. I know!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="v"><span class="bold large">V.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Instead of returning to London from the -Camerons' place in Scotland, Cary and -the Captain went to the south of France. -Just what it was that had suddenly made Cary -so persistent in her desire not to return to -England, was not known. Trevelyan, indeed -fancied that he knew, when he had finished -reading Cary's brief note telling of their change of -plans and their intended prolonged absence -from England, and he cursed the folly that had -separated him from Cary in the long months -that lay ahead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Stewart, and indeed to the world at large, -she gave the old, threadbare excuse—the -London climate. If Stewart ever suspected -otherwise, he kept it to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain, like Trevelyan, fancied he knew -something of the cause, but the Captain was a -wise man, and he asked no more than Cary -chose to impart—which was next to nothing -at all. Still Cary wanted to get away from -London and Cary was not given to whims. -The climate was a sufficiently good excuse. -The fact that it was an excuse made no difference -to the Captain, and to the south of France -they went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were gone all winter, traveling in a -desultory way, since there was no call for haste -and Cary's pleasure was the chief consideration. -And Cary delighted in the quaint old -towns and grew enthusiastic again over the -trifles of life, as she had done as a child down -by the sea-coast fort, or out on the western -plains. Now it was a month at Cette, on the -Gulf of Naples; then it was down to the -Eastern Pyrenees, and over, and a month in Spain, -and back again to France and up to Bayonne -and Bordeaux, and then to Paris by easy stages, -and then on to Calais and to England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were letters from Stewart awaiting -to welcome her, whenever he knew her next -stopping place, and they often enclosed notes -of introduction to people who could add either -to her comfort or her pleasure. Stewart knew -the country like a book. He had toured it on -foot after his Eton days. As for London—London -was duller than he had ever known it; -the fogs were unusually frequent and heavy, -and he was glad that she had escaped them. -He hoped she was enjoying herself; she must -surely see such and such a thing, or take such -and such a drive. He had not taken it in years, -himself, but she would tell him all about it. He -supposed she would be able to brush up his -French when she returned. By the way, when -was she returning to England?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She returned to England in the late spring -and in all that time Trevelyan had not written -her a line. He was at the station to meet her -though, and it was he who took possession of -her while the Captain and Stewart went to see -about the luggage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Indeed, in the weeks that followed, London -observed that it was Trevelyan who monopolized -the American officer's daughter. It was -Trevelyan who dropped in to afternoon tea -with unfailing regularity, and fought with her, -and scolded her, and laughed with her, and took -her driving, or riding on the Row. His -superior officer fretted and speculated at the -change in the young Engineer, until he passed -him one day with Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a brilliant young chap being -ruined," he said crossly to his aide. "Served -out his sub-lieutenancy finely, and has behaved -this winter like an officer and a gentleman. -Now the barracks can't hold him, and he -shirks like a weak-livered chicken. Who's the -girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An American—the daughter of a retired -officer. I fancy you've often seen them -together—elderly man with iron gray hair; sat -next to you, but one, at the Stewarts' dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The aide broke off and looked fixedly after -Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day in danger—" he said, as if to himself.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vi"><span class="bold large">VI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Cary was drumming idly on the piano. -Her attitude was the personification of -listlessness. When the Captain had -spoken of it that morning she said it was "the -spring feeling in the air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain smiled as he walked down the -stairs of the lodgings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's London climate—fog and rain—in -the winter; and it's London sunshine in the -spring!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary continued to drum on the piano after he -left. Then she let her hands fall from the -keys and looked absently about the room. She -supposed Trevelyan would drop in later or -anyhow in the evening. Trevelyan had been -irreproachable since her return—since that day in -Scotland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently she dashed into a popular song and -sung it with a touch of the old gleeful -enthusiasm she had left behind in France. Trevelyan -loathed that song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke off suddenly and twirled around -on her stool. Someone was knocking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," she shouted, not rising, and -thinking it was either Robert or John.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landlady entered bearing a card. Cary -held out her hand for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my father is out. Please tell Captain -Trevelyan—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But miss, the Captain asked for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you must be mistaken, but if you'll -ask Captain Trevelyan up, I'll explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She remained standing by the door of their -little sitting room. She could hear the -English officer tramping slowly and heavily up the -stairs. She remembered Robert telling her of -the charge his father had led at Inkerman, and -how he had gotten that wound in his hip. -After awhile she caught sight of the top of -the officer's white head. She went forward to -meet him and led him into the room and rolled -up a big leather chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Papa's favorite," she said, smiling and -standing with one hand resting invitingly on -the big tufted back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The English officer smiled back from under -his shaggy brows, and sank into the great chair -with a sigh of genuine comfort. Cary drew up -a chair and sat down near him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa is out," she said. "He has only just -gone, too. I'm so sorry. If you care to -wait—and perhaps later let me give you a cup of -tea—" she went on with a certain charming -spontaneity, "John says my tea is almost like -the tea the English girls make—" she -questioned Trevelyan's father with her laughing -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what does my boy say about your -tea?" asked the English officer, watching her -curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robert? Oh, Robert never says anything -nice about it. He never says nice things to -me anyway," Cary pouted. "But I notice he -nearly always drinks three cups when he comes -and after all I believe that counts for a good -deal—don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Undoubtedly—for a good deal of tea! -And does he often come to drink it with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—frequently," she said vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old British officer drew patterns on the -floor with his cane and was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary looked at him stealthily from under -her long lashes. She had only met Trevelyan's -father when he had called formally on -their coming to England, or sometimes when he -stopped by to take the Captain to drive, and -once at the Stewarts', at dinner. He had -always inspired her with a certain awe. It -might have been his lameness which Cary was -wont to regard as a badge of an honor legion, -or simply his brusque manner, not unlike his -son's, but lacking much of his son's odd -charm. She sometimes had fancied she had -seen a physical likeness between them, and -once she had caught herself wondering if the -father had looked like the son in his youth and -if the son would resemble more closely the -father in age. She patted thoughtfully the -arm of her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa will be so sorry to miss you," she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father leaned forward. He -suddenly stopped drawing patterns on the floor -with his cane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not come to see your father," he said, -"I came especially when I knew he was out -and you were in. I am calling on you." He -smiled grimly, forcing the boy's face from his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary stared. Then she recovered herself. -"Yes?" she said politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old officer sat up very straight grasping -his cane, and then he led direct to the object of -his visit, as he had led direct his famous charge -into the center of the enemy's lines, on the -heights of Inkerman, way back in '54.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come to see you about that boy of -mine," he said bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—Robert?" asked Cary slowly, -and for lack of something to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a good enough kind of a chap—" Cary -suppressed a smile, remembering how the -old man adored him, "but he's a bit hot-headed -and reckless, and he's—mad over you, and—" -he broke off. It seemed to him almost as -though he was disloyal to the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary leaned forward with burning cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you hope he won't do anything rash—is -that it?" There was a trace of indignation -in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jove! no, child. I haven't come to plead -for him, but to ask you to be careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand you," said Cary, the hot -flush not fading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! You must not be offended. You -know the boy is the apple of my eye, but he -isn't faultless. He has got good stuff in him -if he is only moulded right, but there would -be the very devil to pay—I beg your pardon—if -he was ever thwarted in anything he'd set -his stubborn mind on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father rose and crossed over to -the window and stood there looking out on the -lengthening English twilight. His son's face -as it had looked years ago as a baby, rose -before him, but the baby had reproachful eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's brave and he's strong and he's every -inch a soldier; but a woman, child, needs -gentleness as well as strength."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The soft dim twilight crept into the room; -passed the rigid form of the old soldier at the -window and stole onward to the chair in which -the girl sat motionless. The outline of her -figure and the whiteness of her half averted -cheek, showed vaguely through the gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a long, long time she rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," she said, and the unconscious -dignity in her voice touched the old warrior -at the window strangely. "It was good of you -to think of me so kindly, even though it is not -deserved and—not necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a little Trevelyan's father turned, and -came toward the shadowy standing figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," he said; and then: "Good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," said Cary, gently, but she did -not offer to shake hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later the Captain came in. -The kettle was not singing, nor the curtains -drawn, nor his chair rolled up in its accustomed -place, with his easy slippers near by, and the -red lamp was unlighted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is she? Where's my baby?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary rose from the big chair that Trevelyan's -father had occupied, and came slowly forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," she said, simply, her voice quiet as -the deepening twilight that surrounded her, and -she rubbed her cheek up and down against the -Captain's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Captain lighted the red lamp, and -turned to look at her, arrested by the vague -trouble in the voice.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="vii"><span class="bold large">VII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's father walked slowly -down the stairs and out into the long -twilight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For all the good I've done, for all I've -saved her, or learned about her real feelings for -the boy, I might have spared myself the call. -Gad! but she has pride though, and damn me if -I don't like it! The boy hasn't got half bad -taste anyway. Heaven bless the boy—and -spare the woman he marries!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he pressed his lips together suddenly as -though all had been said, and he planted his -cane very firmly on the pavement with each -step, swinging it very high when he raised it -again. But he kept on thinking of Robert, -and all the memories he had ever cherished of -him, assailed him now, as though charging -against the breastworks he had raised of duty. -And every memory had those reproachful eyes. -He, his father, had gone to plead with the -woman he loved. What right had he to do -this thing, questioned the eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old officer walked slower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had told him that she thanked him, but -that his call had been unnecessary. How -</span><em class="italics">dared</em><span> she tell him so; how dared she be -indifferent to his son, or sit in judgment on him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, hadn't she a right?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old British officer paused on the corner -and stared at the carriages going by, beating -his cane on the curb.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he loved him, as he was, with all his -faults; he loved him for his faults; and the -whole thing was hard—harder than the charge -at Inkerman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he began to think of Cary, and the -more he thought of Cary, the more resolved he -became on the course to be pursued, and with -the strengthening resolve the reproachful eyes -retreated. The boy was ruining his life here. -His career of which he had once thought so -much had become dwarfed by his love for a -woman. In India—but there, he could prove -the stuff he was made of. An officer who has -seen Indian service is always a bit better than -he was before, or a bit worse. He was never -quite the same again. And Cary—well, that -girl was worth saving, even if the boy was his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The British officer turned into Grosvenor -Square, and went up the broad steps of the -house the Stewarts had rented for the past five -years. He found the older Stewart in his -library, as he knew he would, absorbed in the -latest political news. The Scotchman looked -up as he entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what do you want? I can see it is -something by your face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I want you to use your influence -with the Secretary and get Robert transferred -to the regiment that sails for India next -month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">What?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father flung himself into one of -the big chairs, leaned his elbow on the edge of -the table and shaded his eyes, "It could be -done—I suppose, without his knowing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, y-e-s, but—" Stewart broke off doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father leaned forward, still -shading his eyes and staring hard at his boots.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not much of a talker, as you know, -Malcolm," he said concisely. "And what I've -once done for a man I don't generally remind -him of, but at Inkerman, years ago when you -were a bit of a boy lieutenant, I did you a slight -service—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saved my life," said the Scotchman briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose I did. Well, you are always -harping on that, and a service to me. If you -will get the boy ordered off without his -suspecting—" the older Trevelyan broke off and -then went on, "You're a power in politics and -could do it better than I. Politics count -three-fourths, now-a-days, even with the army."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll do it, but may I know your reason? -I always fancied you liked having Robert -stationed in England—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father dropped the hand that -was shading his eyes, with a dull thud on the -table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have. But the boy's ruining himself. -He will never make even a tin soldier at this -rate. He is throwing his chance of a career -to the winds—and he don't care. He was -reprimanded a month ago for negligence of -duty, and again yesterday," the old soldier -flushed, "and he don't care! It is not the -easiest thing for a man to talk so about his -flesh and blood, but—the boy's whole future -depends on what he makes of his life now; and -I would not give a penny for what it will turn -out to be, if he is not hauled up with a sharp -turn and gotten out of England. The boy will -do the Queen and the Service honor, where -there is danger to be faced and courage needed, -but the idleness of barrack life—" he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The elder Stewart nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is something else that has decided -me. I went to call on the little American this -afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's game, and worth the best fellow born."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is not your Robert good enough for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; but your John is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long silence. Somewhere -outside a carriage drove into the Square, the echo -of its wheels deadened by the heavy curtains. -Somewhere in the house a door closed noisily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I always used to fancy I would want a -Scotch lassie, for John," said the Scotchman -with a slow smile, "but lately I have not been -so sure; not—so—sure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father sat silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out in India," he said after a while, "there -will be something for him to do and think of -besides the little American girl—" he rose, -"You will see to it then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The elder Stewart looked thoughtfully down -at the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since you think it wisest—yes."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Out in India," said Trevelyan's father, to -himself as he paused on the steps of the -Grosvenor Square house, and stared hard into the -darkness, "But, God, how I'll miss the boy."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="viii"><span class="bold large">VIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan had been gone a year. -His orders for Indian service had -been a nine days' wonder to London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course he will get his uncle to work -him back on a home regiment or do something -on the strength of his father's gallant action -at Inkerman and his wound." Tom Cameron -had said. "Of course he won't go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," London had said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be hanged if I'll go," Trevelyan had -exploded to Stewart, and he spent most of his -time between his father's chambers and his -uncle's house, relieved by frantic calls to every -influential man he knew. But the powers that -could have worked in his behalf, remained -passive, and for the first time his father and uncle -refused to help him. Trevelyan wondered -wildly what suddenly possessed them all, and -what had become of his own persuasiveness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jove! I should think you would be -pleased," his father had said, purposely -avoiding his eyes. "As a little chap you were -eternally wanting to grow up and get into active -service. Here you have only been vegetating -in barrack life and now that you have the -chance to win your spurs—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn the spurs," Trevelyan had said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry, but I can't help you," his uncle had -answered when he had made his sixth and last -desperate appeal to him. "I've seen the -Secretary. He says the commander of the -regiment wants just such a fellow—one of the -Engineers. You can't expect to remould the -entire military force of the United Kingdom, -my boy, when you have just about finished -serving your sub-lieutenancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John's an Engineer and has seen Indian -service too," Trevelyan had suggested moodily, -and the elder Stewart had remained silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan continued to fight passionately -against the orders until the hour of sailing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary went down with the family to see the -transport off, and when Trevelyan caught his -last glimpse of her she was standing out -distinctly from the background of the faint fog -that had arisen, with Stewart at her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned his face away sharply and gripped -at the ship's rail. Then a sudden pressure -came against his throat and breast as though -the strength was being crushed from him. He -swallowed hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For once, Fate had conquered Trevelyan.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He wrote to Cary just one time that year—on -the voyage out—a letter that a man does -not often write more than once in his life. In -it were the passion and the love; the strength -and weakness of his nature. On one page he -stripped his heart for her, that she might know -its faults, and fairly judge. On the next, he -tried to vindicate his failings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would be as clay in your hands," he -wrote toward the close, "You could do with -me what you would. I love you more than it -is generally given to a man to love—more -than an English officer should. I would -desert for you, for I love you more than England -and more than my honor—" and then there -came a blot upon the page, that half covered -the last word. The letter ended as a child's -struggle ends—brokenly: and he asked her in -a few disjointed sentences to be his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weeks later when the letter was delivered, -Cary was out with John. On her return she -sat far into the night to answer it, that her reply -might go back to him by the next Indian mail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your love frightens me," she said in part, -"and I cannot bind myself through time and -distance. If I loved you as I should—and -as I </span><em class="italics">could</em><span> love a man—I would say 'yes'—as -it is, I must say 'no.' It lies with you if -my answer ever changes. I do not demand -love that would prove disloyal to an officer's -vow of courage in the service. I do not want -such love. I am an army woman, and army -women, all the world over, have one code of -allegiance—which is absolute. You cheapen -me when you suggest I would be satisfied with -anything less. As for moulding you—a man -moulds himself into the perfect and complete, -or he breaks the clay with his own hands. -When I marry it shall be a man whose nature -is stronger than my own. It is the way of -women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Trevelyan had been gone a year.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ix"><span class="bold large">IX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the end of the twelve months Stewart -got a letter from Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled a bit curiously as he tore -open the travel worn flap. He wondered what -Robert had to say for himself or what he -wanted. It was the first letter he had received -since Robert had been ordered to India, but he -laughed genuinely in the silence of the deserted -club room, at the opening, and characteristic -words:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a damnable hole! It is hot as—well -I won't swear any more—but it is hotter -than I ever imagined a place could be on the -</span><em class="italics">surface</em><span> of the earth. We are miles from any -decent civilization, and how you can talk -decently about the natives and the native -regiments, staggers me! I don't trust 'em, and -what's more I doubt very much if they hold me -in any higher regard. But what is the good -of writing so to you. You know what Indian -service is. Your station was either a good -deal better than mine, or you have a lot more -back bone than I have. The first idea making -me jealous, and the last not being conducive -to self-respect, there don't seem to be any -choice! To move requires a strenuous effort. -The life is stagnation. It is a living death and -the death numbness is creeping into my veins. -They tell me that the natives have not been so -quiet for years, and most of the officers and -men wish they'd stir up a bit and give them -some trouble. I don't. I don't want trouble. -I don't believe I could fight if I had to! -Damned odd, isn't it, when my blood used to -boil and my head throb queer, when I was a -little shaver at home and there was danger -around? I guess I wasn't cut out for the -Service, after all. Mactier would wonder— -* * * I think I'm going mad. As you -may have caught on I am writing all this with -a purpose; for it is only fair for you to know -what this station is, and I'm asking more than -one man ought of another, but if you'd get -transferred out here— There wouldn't be any -trouble about the technical part of it, for the -Engineers are needed bad for surveying. -Your last letter said something about your -getting a commission in the Gordon Highlanders—if -you could only come here instead—I suppose -I am selfish, but I can't get a grip on -things. If—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart looked up from the letter, toward -the window and the street—seriously. Then -he went over to the window and sat down in -a big chair and leaned forward, still looking -out. The noise of the passing carriages and -the stir of the passing crowd crept in to meet -the silence of the empty reading room. He -sat motionless, heedless alike of the noise and -the stillness. Once he thought of Cary, and -his face changed swiftly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he went back to the letter and finished -it, and later he re-read it, and folded it, and put -it in his vest pocket. Then he went back to -his old occupation of looking out of the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd was no longer one big indistinct -blur, and he was vaguely conscious that he -saw his mother's carriage among the others -coming down the street. It came nearer and -he could see that his sister was in it. There -was a girl sitting beside her. The girl was -Cary.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a week before Stewart called again -at the lodgings. Cary firmly expected him the -second day; grew bewildered as the evening -of the fourth came and went without bringing -him; on the fifth grew anxious and on the sixth -wrote to him. Calling on his family just then -for news was out of the question. They had -gone to Brighton for a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came to her the day her letter reached him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would scold you," the girl said, "if it -were not for these. You never forget my -violets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She buried her face in the purple bloom, -before she fastened the bunch on her dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have left the order with the florist," said -Stewart quietly. "He will send you the violets -every week, and when they are gone, I have -told him about your roses. I am going away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up quickly from the flowers she -had just fastened in her dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For long?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart pulled at his gloves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"India," he said briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have received your orders?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I asked for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary went up to him and pulled him by the -sleeve.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—don't—quite—understand," she said. -"I—is it the Highlanders?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it's Rob. He is just about mad -enough to blow his brains out. I'm going to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's sent for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's </span><em class="italics">asked</em><span> me to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart sat with her in the little room all -that long afternoon, and they had tea together, -and they watched the sunset from the windows -together, as they had done almost every day -that year. It would seem strange to drink tea -alone and watch the sunset by herself, thought Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would sometimes write—" he suggested once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course, I will write," she retorted quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the twilight came, he left.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">End of Book One.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="book-two"><span class="bold large">BOOK TWO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE BREAK -<br />IN THE CLAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">BOOK TWO</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE BREAK IN THE CLAY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's face was the first that -greeted Stewart at his journey's end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan had been in the wildest -spirits for days before Stewart's arrival, and -his fellow officers spoke about the sudden -change in him. For the first time in the year -that Trevelyan had served with them, he -became less moody and unsociable and whimsical, -and they grew to think less critically of one who -had never been a favorite. It was probably -only the Colonel, remembering the stock from -whence he sprang, who took the trouble to look -beneath the inertia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy will come around all right in -time—he's only a bit homesick and strange -to the new life now. When there's an opportunity -for fighting he'll show himself up true," -he would say. "Why, his father at Inkerman—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the officer or officers of whom he -had gotten hold, would be obliged to listen all -over again to the story of the charge led by -Trevelyan's father in the Crimea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the story had its unconscious influence -on their treatment of the young Engineer. -They never really cared for him but they -respected him—for what the Colonel believed -he would some day be—which was all that -Trevelyan seemed to desire. After their first -trial at pleasantries which he had met with -ill-concealed indifference, they left him to himself. -They rarely saw him except at mess, or on -duty, and his ungraciousness then did not help -to heal the widening breach of unfavorable -opinion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Toward the end of the year his fellow -officers found out that he was cousin to young -Stewart—Stewart who had won that honorable -mention—and son of Malcolm Stewart -of Aberdeen. That helped matters a little. -They could pardon a chap's unpardonable -moodiness for young Stewart's sake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Months later they heard that young Stewart -himself had re-applied for Indian service, and -that he was coming to them. It was Trevelyan -who told them in confidence, first, and from -then Trevelyan was changed. That night he -joked them at mess, in a dry Scotch fashion, -fostered long ago in the Argyll years; later he -joined them at cards and proposed the toast -to Stewart with a dash and a charm that made -some of them wonder if they had not -misjudged a deuced good chap after all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a matter of course Trevelyan formed one -of the squad of officers and men who rode over -from the Station to meet young Stewart when -he came. It was Trevelyan who got them -started a needless hour before the time; it was -Trevelyan who laughed at the dust and the heat -of the long ride and bribed them, with all he -possessed from the last cent of his pay, to his -helmet and the braid on his uniform, to races -which he always won, swinging himself far -out of the saddle and stooping low to pick up -withered bits of native growth from the -ground as he swept past at a gallop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's two mess companions who had -been with Stewart in the "row" where he had -won his mention, imbibed something of -Trevelyan's spirits, and they laughed at the dust, -in their turn, and the heat, as they rode from -the military station to welcome back their old -comrade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They saw him long before the train had -come to a dead stop and they cheered him now, -in the desolate little way-station, remembering -how they had cheered him that day, but it was -only Trevelyan's bronzed face that Stewart -saw as he descended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Bobby," he said, slapping him on -the back, "You see I've come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan looked at him queerly for a -moment in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew you would. You're a—" he broke -off and turned away, and the officers and men -wondered what had become of Trevelyan's -spirits during the return trip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat up late into the night with -Stewart, listening while he told of England and -the home people. Once or twice Stewart -mentioned Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is she?" asked the younger man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He only alluded to her once again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At midnight he rose to leave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course there isn't anything to say to -you about—your leaving England and—and -all that—to come to me out here in this -devilish hole—" he began disjointedly, "but it's -only fair to try to say something. The fellows -and the men can tell you I've been a different -chap since I heard of the transfer. When I -left England, and for all this year, well—I -haven't much cared what happened. Out -here—the loneliness without her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned sharply on his heel and left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Young Stewart of the Engineers stood still -in the middle of his quarters, listening to -Trevelyan's footsteps growing fainter. Presently -they were lost in the silence of the Indian -night. Now and again came sounds from the -jungle, but Stewart stood motionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly he flung his right arm across his -forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The loneliness without her—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Cary, sleepless in far-away England, -watched the sun rise, wondering what made the -nights so long.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id2"><span class="bold large">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's excitement over Stewart's -coming died away as one monotonous -week followed another, and he -became more moody than before. Stewart tried -to draw him into the life of the station, and the -pastimes by which the officers and men helped -to kill the long inactive days, but Trevelyan -steadily refused to be won from his taciturnity. -A few used to laugh at Stewart for his pains, -but the majority of the mess, grew, while -watching his struggle for Trevelyan, to know -him better and to appreciate him more. Before, -to a few, young Stewart of the Engineers had -been a man with a good name; to the most of -them he had been unknown, but, aside from -his devotion to Trevelyan, his knowledge of -surveying and military niceties, his genial -spirit and his unfailing patience, won for him -the distinct approval of the officers and the -absolute adoration of the rank and file.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He used to try to include Trevelyan in the -atmosphere of approbation that surrounded -himself, but Trevelyan obstinately refused even -his advances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once, indeed, one evening, Stewart got him -to join a game of cards. Trevelyan did more -drinking than he did playing, and three hours -later, Stewart carried him to his own quarters -and nursed him through the long still night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Trevelyan awoke in the dawn of the -early morning, he found Stewart still watching, -and later as the wan grayness of the dawn -turned to deepening gold, Stewart talked to -him as an older man talks to a younger one. -He spoke to him of self-respect and honor and -of self-control. He spoke to him of Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take a brace and redeem yourself with the -mess and the men," he said, as he finished. -"Where's your grit and your hold on things? -You don't think you're growing more worthy -of her; do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat up, supporting himself by his -rigid arms, on the palms of his hands. The -light of the coming sunrise gave to his bronzed -face a strange reddish hue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think!" he exclaimed, "I wish to God I -could stop thinking! Her face haunts and -haunts and </span><em class="italics">haunts</em><span> me! She says my love -frightens her, and that it lies with me -and what I make of myself, if her -answer changes. I can't change my love—it's -all of me; it's the soul of me, and if it -frightens her—!" Trevelyan leaned forward, -"I can't change myself! I can't see her; I -know I'll never win her! How? I can't tell -you, but I know I never shall, and I don't -care what becomes of me or how soon I go to hell!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rigidity of his arms increased and he -stared straight in front of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart sprang up, his firm mouth quivering -with passion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If a man had ever dared to tell me that you -would talk so, I would have knocked him down. -You're not worthy to be born of such a father -and it's a blessing that your mother's dead. -You're not worthy to have had my mother -foster you ever since you were a little shaver. -You're not worthy of the worst woman that -ever lived. You've lost your manhood. You -can be cashiered from the army—and you can -go to hell! You're not worth saving!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Young Stewart of the Engineers turned on -his heel and swung out of the room as he -would have swung, face forward, at the head -of a line, leading into action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later when he returned Trevelyan had gone. -He stood in the doorway of the deserted room -and stared fixedly at where Trevelyan had lain -through the night. He was himself again, -and a great shame at his lost control swept -over him. He had preached of self-control to -Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I'd give my life for the boy's," he -said to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was remarked at mess that night that -Trevelyan did not touch his food, and that he left -earlier even than was his wont. Stewart -followed him out into the stillness of the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trevelyan," he called, following the -quickly moving figure up the steps of his quarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want any more of your talk," he -said. "Good-night!" And slammed the door -in Stewart's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart stood there for a moment tapping -his booted foot against the floor of the piazza. -Then he went to his own quarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come out to this cursed hole to serve -the boy, and I've lost him instead! I've made -a jolly mess of it all, this time!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After that Trevelyan spent all of his "off -duty" time alone. He used to go on long -tramps or wild rides, returning with his horse -flecked with foam and himself worn out, and -his evenings were passed in his own quarters -with no one better than himself for company. -He would walk up and down and down and up -again until he turned in, or he would take to -studying Hindoostanee, or sit idly, staring into -nothingness. At first he fastened his door -against possible intrusion, but no one ever -came, and his solitude was unbroken. Once -his strained ears caught the sound of -Stewart's familiar step outside and he stealthily -crept over to the door and unfastened it and -stood by it listening. The even steady steps -came nearer, and then without halting, passed on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan wiped his moist face. After all, -why should Stewart have tried again? He -had been refused so often—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart pushed back his ponderous volume -on military engineering and stared ahead of -him, his firm lips pressed close together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If there was only some way to help the boy—</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id3"><span class="bold large">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the spring the natives grew restless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're stretching themselves after a -long sleep," said a young subaltern, -knowingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They're planning mutiny," said the Colonel -to himself, and he ordered out a band of men -for investigating the neighborhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little band was delayed seven hours over -the extremest limit set for its return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it came it bore a dead man back to the -Station. The man had been a Briton and of -the regiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the grim spirit of the military station -rose, as the gray, still sea rises at the onsweep -of the gale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>War had come.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id4"><span class="bold large">IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For an hour the Colonel was closeted. -There was a line of attack to be -planned. He would talk it over with -his older officers presently; for the time being -he could think better alone. It was necessary -not to be too hasty—to keep a controlling hand -on the lever of this engine of war, of which -he was in command. It was necessary to -strike decisively, when he did strike, and to the -heart of it. That was it—to the heart! The -natives were on the move, the investigating -band had reported. </span><em class="italics">Where</em><span> to strike? A -surveying officer; an engineer could judge. Who -was the best man to send. It was like ordering -a man into the mouth of death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Colonel leaned his head in his hand -and beat the end of his pen against the deal of -the table. Coolness was wanted; knowledge -of surveying; courage. That was it—courage!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only two faces rose before him and haunted -him, to the exclusion of all others. Of the -two, Trevelyan's was the most persistent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>True, he was young and he was untried, -and he was probably the most unpopular officer -at the Station, but in his veins was the blood -that endures and slays and conquers!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Properly executed the fulfilling of the orders -would mean his proved skill as an officer. If -he failed—the Colonel laid down his pen. -That blood could not fail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was his unusual strength, too, to be -taken in his favor, his strength and his -endurance. He remembered that Trevelyan had -stood intense heat better than any man at the -Station; that he could live on less food, and -had a nicer knowledge of horsemanship than -any officer or trooper in his command; that -technically he was brilliant at surveying. The -majority of commanders would probably -decide between the two in favor of Stewart, but -the Colonel had run the gauntlet to success a -good deal on instinct. The Colonel prided -himself on instinct. It would be Trevelyan!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two hours later Trevelyan received his orders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, sir," "I understand, sir," -"Yes, sir," he had replied, and after he had -left, the Colonel nodded and smiled grimly at -the young engineer's self-control in the face of -an order that might mean death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan walked blindly back to his -quarters. There was a queer singing in his head -and beating at his temples. He stumbled -across the threshold and he sat down on the -edge of his bunk and pressed his hands hard -against his temples to still that mad, incessant -beating. His eyes remained wide and fixed at -one spot on the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had come at last; the test and the -opportunity for which he had blindly, passionately -prayed as a child; for which he had striven and -worked as a boy; it had come and it had found -him unprepared to meet it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of the ride—alone, except for a -trooper—and on the spot of the floor, he -pictured the blackness and the danger, as a man -brings forth a likeness on a dark plate. The -picture came and went, and went and came -again on the spot on the floor and he sprang -up with a choked cry. To go out into that -stillness and darkness; to face the blackness of -death—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They might get back his body—what good -would his body do anyone—and they might -get it home, but they probably wouldn't. The -utter silence in that blackness of death—so -great that her voice could never reach him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his foot over the possessed spot on -the floor, and his leg shook as he did so. He -saw his leg tremble, and he knew it and he did -not care! He had turned coward, and—he did -not care! What was courage when her voice -could not reach him in the blackness of death? -He might live through it, and she might care -more for him, for it, but the chances were -two-thirds for death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man they had brought in that morning! -What a ghastly sight he had been! The eyes -had refused to remain closed and they had -stared at him in all the horror of dead -sightlessness. And the lips had been drawn back -from the teeth and had stiffened so, in the -agony of the death struggle. God! And they -would bring him back like that—like that—</span><em class="italics">like -that</em><span>!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What vision did those staring eyes see but -unutterable, unpenetrable blackness? What -speech could that grinning mouth ever form -again? What sound could pierce the seal laid -on the hearing?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had told him that the trooper had a -sweetheart waiting for him somewhere off in -Ireland. Well, even love could not break the -bonds of death, and make him speak and hear -and caress her as of old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was something mightier than love -after all—mightier even than the love he had -for Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Trevelyan cowered, afraid.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id5"><span class="bold large">V.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mackenzie, the surgeon, lounging in -a big wicker chair, his heels higher -than his head, lazily rolled cigarettes -and winked at the dazzling reflection of the sun -on the walls of the barracks. Off in the -distance he could see the little subaltern walking -energetically down the road. The little -subaltern was gotten up regardless in white linen. -He was evidently on his way to drink tea with -the Colonel's daughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My eyes," said Mackenzie, aloud, "Will -nothing interfere with his afternoon tea! The -devil only knows if he'll be alive this time -to-morrow. Better keep cool when he can. -He's a blank little fool! Thinks Jessica Q -will tumble when he says good-bye—does he? -Tea and love-making </span><em class="italics">now</em><span>!" and the surgeon -fanned himself with his hand. The surgeon -had never taken kindly to the little subaltern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly his feet came down with a crash -and he leaned forward in the wicker chair. -Bennett had stopped the little subaltern and the -little subaltern was talking back excitedly and -kicking up the white dust, regardless of the -fresh linen suit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie rose and stretched himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wonder if the old man has issued orders? -Something's up, sure as a gun, when that kid -forgets Jessica Q and his clothes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Three of the mess who had been talking -earnestly at the end of the piazza, turned at the -sound of voices in the road and joined the two -there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not Trevelyan, you say? It isn't Trevelyan?" -one of them was saying, as Mackenzie -came up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is, too! Jove! If I only had his -chance," sighed the little subaltern, twirling -around distractedly on one heel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! There! That'll do, Baby," said -Bennett, patting him on the head. The little -subaltern squirmed, but he kept listening to -what Bennett was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a rum comrade, but I imagine he can -do it," said Bennett looking toward the -barracks, thoughtfully, "He knows the fine points -of surveying from A to Z, and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—He's got more nerve than any chap I -ever knew," put in Mackenzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the old man going to send an escort with -him? I bet if he does, it'll be Sandy McCann," -said Pearson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this? What's this I hear about -Robert being sent off to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Young Stewart of the Engineers joined the -group hastily. His uniform was covered with -dust and he held his helmet under his arm, -wiping the moisture from his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it's almost certain death. I—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's why we're here—to face death, if -we have to," said the little subaltern, with an -odd new gravity, and Bennett suddenly stopped -short in patting his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True," he said, briefly, running his right -hand up and down the sleeve of his left arm -"but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And it probably won't be any worse than -what we'll have to face to-morrow or next -day," said Bennett, as Stewart paused. "He -hasn't been sociable and over decent to us, but -we'll call on him and wish him luck. Come -along, boys!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The group laughed a little. "All right," -they said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart followed them up to Trevelyan's -quarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, why should he feel it so! It was -Trevelyan's one chance to redeem himself with -the regiment and turn the tide of popularity in -his favor. Fate was not as cruel as she seemed. -And Trevelyan bore a charmed life. And he -knew Trevelyan could do it. Trevelyan would -do it—</span><em class="italics">well</em><span>! Trevelyan might have failed in -the shaping of the details of life this last year, -but in the supreme hour—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For Stewart remembered the climb down the -turret tower and the mad scaling of the crags -in Scotland, and the storm and the white fury -of the waters near the American fort, and the -desperate swim, and the child who had done -these things because of what he would one day -do as a man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little subaltern banged on Trevelyan's door.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id6"><span class="bold large">VI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan, still standing over the -spot on the floor, raised his eyes and -looked vaguely in the direction of the -sound. He remained silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little subaltern banged again, and -Trevelyan heard the echo of voices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his hand up to his collar, loosening it, -and then he crossed the room and flung open -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, you fellows," he cried, "What -d'you want of a chap now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little subaltern tumbled into the room, -the other half dozen members of the mess on -top of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, yourself," they cried, "How d'you -like the job the Colonel's given you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like it!" Trevelyan threw back his head -and his large, well formed throat pulsed as he -spoke, "Why, it's the greatest thing that ever -happened to a chap of my age!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His messmates formed a little group around him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How's your nerve?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed. It was only Stewart, -who stood by silent, listening, who felt vaguely -the jar in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> nerve is all right. How's your -own at the prospect of a row? 'I go to -prepare a place for you'—" he went on in a deep -chant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robert!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I suppose that was a bit in bad taste, -but when a chap's making his last will and -testament, he forgets the teachings of the old -kirk—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure! What time do you start?" from -the little subaltern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fire arms in good order?" put in Bennett.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In an hour. No, I'm not going to trust -any of these oily natives to clean them. I'll see -to them myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan moved away from the group.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll have something on the strength of -it!" said the little subaltern, "A toast: 'To -the Queen—God bless her—and the Queen's -courier!' How's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced conceitedly about the room. The -men of the mess laughed good naturedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, here's my hand on the success of it," -said Mackenzie, a little later, at leaving. He -suddenly regretted he had not been a bit -kinder to the young engineer. A fellow with -such nerve, deserved more than they had all -given him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They filed out after awhile. Stewart alone -remained. He put his hand on Trevelyan's -shoulder, as he had used to do long ago when -they were boys, pacing the great library of a -rainy afternoon, and he walked with Trevelyan -up and down the length of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a risky business, Robert," he said, in -his grave voice, "but I believe you're the man -for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," said Trevelyan, "if it hadn't -been me it would have been Pearson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so, but Pearson couldn't do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither may I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> will," said Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a little, he went on, speaking as though -to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to God—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not finish his sentence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan shook off the hand on his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand, and—I'm grateful, of course, -and all that, but if you'd leave me alone for -awhile. There is a letter or two and—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the door Stewart turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see you before you go," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan listened until his footsteps, faded -away and then he sat down at his small deal -table, his eyes turned away from the spot on -the floor. The vision of that dead, ghastly -face had come back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If it wasn't him it would be Pearson, -probably, or anyhow, some other man—glad of the -chance. Why should he deprive him, whoever -he was, of the chance? A grim smile crept -around Trevelyan's mouth, and then he let his -head fall forward against the edge of the wood; -his arms hanging limp between his long legs -stretched out straight under the table. The -horrible fear had returned, and the darkness -and the blackness of death seemed swallowing -him up. Never to see her again! Never to -touch her hand again, or to hear her footsteps -in passing, or the sound of her voice; to -die—not with other men in the daylight and in -battle—but to be shot down like a dog, alone, in -the darkness—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The steady ticking of the watch he had laid -in front of him on the table, throbbed feebly -like a dying pulse, close to his ear, and he sat, -his forehead against the edge of the table, his -eyes staring down at the shadowed floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile he got up and steadied himself -and went over to the door and flung it open and -looked out. Far off, the little subaltern was -coming his way. He hurried back to the other -end of the room and got out his fire arms and -examined them, and began to polish them -vigorously. The little subaltern looked in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hard at work? Do you want help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan looked up and nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I guess not," he said, pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little subaltern sighed enviously, -hesitated, and then passed on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan drew a deep breath and laid down -his polishing cloth and picked up his revolver. -His hands played nervously over the trigger a -moment. The catch seemed stiff. He tried it -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sudden glare and a loud report, -and Trevelyan sank back, the blood staining the -shoulder of his uniform.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, if one had nerve, it could be easily -done and was soon over!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned sharply and leaned against the -table, facing the window, one hand to his -shoulder. He fancied he heard footsteps receding. -After awhile he wiped the sweat from his -face and staggered across the floor, out into the -gathering dusk, to headquarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was seeing to my fire arms, sir, preparing -for to-night's survey. The revolver was -loaded. I didn't know it—it went off." Trevelyan's -big frame began to sway a little. "I -came to report, sir. If I could have it dressed, -I'd be able to go. Of course, I expect to go. -You won't—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Colonel signaled for his orderly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My respects to Dr. Mackenzie, and will he -come over at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then to Trevelyan:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a most unfortunate affair, but it would -be murder to allow you to undertake the trip. -I'll hear the details later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't question my orders, Lieutenant," -interrupted the Colonel, briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Flesh wound," Mackenzie said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later, when the dressing was done and -Trevelyan was in the hospital, the surgeon looked -down at him curiously. "Odd," he said, "that -shot! I don't understand how—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned his drawn face to the -surgeon's, meeting his eyes squarely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound you! You don't think I shot -myself on purpose, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie sat down on the edge of the bed, -and rubbed his chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—of course, not," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour later he and Vaughan, the assistant -surgeon, returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there goes the best officer in the -service to his death," the younger man was -saying, as he entered, and then as he met -Trevelyan's wide, questioning eyes, he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's that?" asked Trevelyan, sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your substitute."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan picked at the sheet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who did the old man send—Pearson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pearson! Not on your life! Stewart, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan stopped picking at the sheet. He -rose with an effort and sat up in bed, supporting -himself on his elbows and leaning forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The assistant standing at the foot of the bed -nodded. Trevelyan sat rigid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I was never told! And he's gone -without coming to me!" he said, hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He spoke about it, but he said he wouldn't -disturb you—" the assistant broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, Trevelyan flung up his arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! Why couldn't I have gone! I -wouldn't have been a loss to anyone—God!" -he choked, and fell back, his face buried in the -pillow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The assistant left the room and the surgeon -went to the window. Once or twice he -glanced at the great, motionless figure on the -bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jove! that's genuine enough! Guess I -must have been mistaken about the shot!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id7"><span class="bold large">VII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After awhile the surgeon turned from -the window, came back to Trevelyan -and stooping over him, listened to his -breathing, and felt his pulse. Then he went -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan lifted his head slowly and looked -about him. The room was deserted and he sat -up in bed again, grasping its sides. It was as -if everything was slipping away from him, and -the agony in his brain had crept down to his -feet, engulfing and making as nothing the -throbbing in his shoulder, or the heat of the -growing fever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at the shadows cast by the flickering -lamp on the wall opposite. The vision -of the trooper's ghastly face had faded for the -time, but intenser visions appeared and shifted -and reappeared again. First there came the -shadow face of his mother, who had been dead -for years, and then that of his father—his -father who had led that charge at Inkerman. -The face seemed turned away. Then there -came the face of the aunt who had mothered -him so long, and then the shadowy forms -haltered as the fever grew and the wall became a -glowing blank. Later a face appeared, Stewart's, -against the fiery glow. It looked like a -dead face—like the dead, ghastly face of the -trooper; and then there came Cary's face. It -haunted him in a hundred different guises. It -came to him as the child-face, as he had known -it years ago down at the sea coast fort; and it -faded and came again as the face touched with -time's maturity, as he had seen it when she first -came to England; it shifted again and -reappeared as it had been that day of the storm, -when he and she had been housed in the old -Scottish home together, and the tenderness and -the fear were on it; it came again to him as he -had seen it last before the receding transport and -the oncoming mist had stolen it away from him. -And it came once more as he had never seen -it—horror-stricken, wide-eyed, and pale—as he -</span><em class="italics">would</em><span> see it, when she looked at him again, -knowing the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allegiance—which is absolute." So she -had written, and so she would say to him. -And he had betrayed his allegiance, and he had -lied, and he had turned coward, and had sent -Stewart off to die!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His fingers gripped at the edges of the bed -and he stared fascinated at that face of Cary -on the wall—Cary as he had never seen her. -It remained fixed. It would </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> fade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had known life's truths better than he. -Honor, after all, was a tangible thing—as -tangible as the devouring agony in his brain. -And he had lost his honor—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had written that a man moulds himself -into the perfect and complete, or he breaks the -clay with his own hands, and he had not -believed her until now, when the clay lay broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been coming to this all these months, -and he had gone on blindly. Cary had tried -to save him by that letter; John had tried to -save him, and had come out to this accursed -hole to serve him, because he had been a coward -and had written for him—not strong enough to -serve himself—and he had sent John off to -meet the death that he himself deserved. No, -he was not worthy of such a death. Death -would glorify John. It would have redeemed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The irrevocable past that had gone from his -keeping haunted him ghost-like through the -night watches, as did the agony of the future. -If there were but a chance—the shadow of a -chance—of winning back the last hours!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If that face would only fade!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he had thought himself so strong, and -he and death had looked each in the face of the -other so often!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the long line of pictures on the wall -began again, fading and reappearing, but the -face of Cary did not fade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile the personality of the face lost -itself and it became to him but the symbol of -that high living, toward the attainment of -which he had failed, falling in the dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His stiff fingers relaxed on the sides of the -bed, and he sank back with a thud like a dead -weight. The dead trooper could not have -fallen more heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wound in his shoulder was only a flesh -hurt—he had been careful of that—he remembered -with a grim, awful self-accusation. If it -only </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> gone deeper than he had planned. -Before the thought had died he was searching -for his handkerchief and when he had found it -he began to knot it feverishly and pull it around -his throat—sudden strength coming to his -hands. Then, with an oath, he jerked at the -linen band and flung it from him to the hospital -floor, where it lay—a spot of white in the -darkness. The power to move deserted him, -and his arms hung over the sides of the -bed—limp and motionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, remembering Stewart, the agony -in his brain increased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fancied Stewart starting out on the -mission, silent, with the silence that comes with -the realization of danger—grave with the -gravity of its acceptance—the test of courage. -Stewart had never been guided by the heedless, -passionate impulses that had possessed him, -Trevelyan, all his life; but he had held high -the standards of life for a man, and he had -lived up to the standards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan fancied he saw him riding into the -thickness of the black shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He might do it, and come back from the -jaws of death. If a man could do it, he -would, but was it humanly possible?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan beat his hands against his face. -No; no man could do it! The Station -would wait for Stewart, and wait and wait, -and Stewart would not come. They would go -to look for him and they would bring him back -to him, Trevelyan—dead. But he would not -look like the trooper. The vision on the wall -had been a mistake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Long ago, the night that Stewart had saved -Cary as a child, by his vigil; he, Trevelyan, had -crept into the room where they had carried him, -and he was sleeping, exhausted. The peace, -born of a great sacrifice and a purpose -accomplished, had rested on the boy's face. The -peace of it came back to Trevelyan, a gift from -that dead year.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they brought Stewart home to the -Station he would look so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the minutes turned to hours and the -fever increased, and later Trevelyan sank into a -doze. The surgeons came in now and again -and administered medicines of which he was -only dimly conscious, and the fever and the -drowsiness grew, and the long night wore away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the early dawn he was awakened by the -feeling that someone was looking steadily at -him. His eyes, free from the fever that had -gone, met those of the assistant surgeon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before the full consciousness of the night's -agony had come back, the young surgeon spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stewart has returned," he said, quietly, -"but he's been badly hurt and he wants you. -If you feel strong enough—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sprang to the floor. He was -trembling with excitement and the weakness -left by the fever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God, he's safe—" and then as he -looked more closely in the assistant's face, "He -isn't hurt seriously—" his voice trailed off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The assistant got Trevelyan's slippers and -threw a blanket over him and drew his arm -through his, giving him support. It seemed -strange to be supporting Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid he is," he said. "He did the -job all right and reported like the soldier he is. -McCann's game, too, and not hurt. Stewart—" The -assistant was killing time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan wiped the moisture from his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vaughan looked straight ahead of him, to -avoid meeting Trevelyan's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mackenzie is with him," he said, slowly. -"He's doing everything on earth, but the -wound's in the back, and there—isn't the ghost -of a chance—and, he's sent for you."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id8"><span class="bold large">VIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The assistant walked slowly, adapting -himself to Trevelyan's halting steps, -and he braced his arm against the -weight Trevelyan had thrown upon it. He -did not speak again, and Trevelyan did not -question him further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's big frame reeled across the -threshold, when, after what seemed to him an -interminable time, the assistant led him into -the room where Stewart lay. He caught -himself up immediately, however, and stared at -the group around the bed. The Colonel was -there and one of the older officers, and -Mackenzie was leaning over something long and -still that lay stretched on the bed. The dead -weight suddenly increased on Vaughan's arm -and he winced with the pain. The two officers -near the foot of the bed turned at the shuffling -footsteps and Mackenzie looked up for an -instant. Then he went back to feeling Stewart's -pulse, and without glancing around again, -spoke quietly to his assistant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other syringe—this doesn't work just -right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The assistant went away and returned with -the syringe. Trevelyan was left standing -alone in the middle of the room. No one -noticed him. He waited until the hypodermic -stimulant had been administered and Mackenzie -had straightened himself from his stooping -position over the bed. Then he came forward, -and pushed his way past the Colonel and the -officer and Vaughan and Mackenzie, and leaned -over the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The head turned on the pillow slowly, and -Stewart looked up at him. He made an almost -imperceptible motion of recognition with his -head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You sent for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," Stewart said, weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan remained motionless, and no one -spoke. The Colonel, at the foot of the bed, -stirred a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart's hot hands drew the covering up -between his fingers and crushed it with a -sudden strength, born of a terrible agony. He -turned his eyes to Mackenzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could get me more on my side—that's better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie leaned over him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't try to talk to Trevelyan just yet," he -suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must. If you'd all leave us for a little—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't wait?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart looked straight into Mackenzie's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no waiting; there's no 'yet'—is -there?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie stared at the covering on the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're pretty sick," he said, very slowly, -and he tried to say something else, but the -words refused to come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned and went out of the room and -Vaughan and the officers followed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan still remained motionless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have they gone?" Stewart asked, looking -up at him, "I can't turn my head to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They've gone," said Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then sit down on the edge of the bed—carefully, -if you can; jars hurt. I've a good -deal to say and the time's short—Mackenzie -will be back before long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want to give me messages?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Stewart, "It's about yourself. -Why were you afraid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lump in Trevelyan's throat broke, and -something of the old strength came back then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was Cary," he said, hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so. It was a risky thing to have -tried, though—that shooting. It might have -gone deeper, or someone else might have seen you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—saw—me—then?"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 66%" id="figure-42"> -<span id="yousawmethen"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*You—saw—me—then?*"" src="images/img-162.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">You—saw—me—then?</em><span class="italics">"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart nodded. Speaking was exquisite -torture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you realize what you've done—that -you've broken your life—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat motionless on the edge of the -bed, his eyes fixed on a point of the pillow. -The agony of the night before had been as -nothing to this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were an officer and you were afraid of -danger—you! And you were coward enough -to be willing to send another man to his death—" -the young engineer broke off, breathing -with labor. "You were willing to let me die. -Did you think that would make it easier to win -Cary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Trevelyan spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all true," he said, speaking so slowly -that each word fell upon the deathly stillness -in the room, like the slow thud of earth upon a -coffin, "It's—all—true——but that! I was -afraid and I was all you say, coward enough to -let another man die or suffer as you are -suffering now; and I've dishonored the Service and -I've broken my life, but before God, I didn't -know that you'd be sent in my place. As for -Cary—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Cary," said Stewart, "and for your -father and my mother you're to swear to me -to hold your tongue over this business. It's -like you to go and blurt the whole thing out, -but you're to swear you won't open your lips -on the subject—ever; and you're to resign your -commission in the Service as soon as it's -possible without exciting suspicion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan drew back; his throat pulsing. -There was the old, odd throbbing in his head, -and the dimness of vision, too. After awhile -the mist passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! man, but you're hard!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm kind to the home people, and I'm just -with you—am I not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; oh, yes; but to bear it in silence—never -to be able to meet one of the men of -the mess without the dead haunting shadow -of it on me; to leave the Service—that's the -worst of all—never to be able to fight for -England again as a soldier, or redeem myself—as a -man!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose from the bed and went over to the -opposite wall, flinging his bent arm against it -and leaning forward, his face hid. Stewart -watched him from the bed, his eyes reflecting -a great pity. If Trevelyan knew half of what -his judgment cost him! If Trevelyan only -knew how gladly he was dying in his stead! -If only Trevelyan knew that he was more kind -than cruel!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the window, into the absolute quiet -of the room, came the hurrying of feet and the -neighing of horses. The Colonel was sending -out a squad of armed men to strike to the heart -of the native trouble. Somewhere in the -distance a bugler was playing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned, his back to the wall, his -arms flung out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't there any other way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart struggled to a reclining position, -supporting himself on one arm, and he -summoned all his love and all his mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You injured me," he said. "Mackenzie -says I can't pull through the day—but if I -should, I'm injured for life. I have a right to -judge you. There is no other way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The music of the bugle rose, and swelled, -and then melted away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan came back to the bed—passive!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll swear anything you ask."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a little later:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to tell Cary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are to tell Cary or not, as you want -to," said Stewart, looking at him curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there nothing I can say to Cary for -you—when—when I—get back to England?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart shook his head. The weakness he -had fought against so long came back, as did -the agony.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing; but that I thought of her—of -them all. Can you reach that water? Ah!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan flung himself down by the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shan't slip off this way!" he said, -tensely, the pain of his own crushed life -disappearing before the thought of Stewart's ebbing -one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart did not hear him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call Mackenzie," he said, shortly, "Call -Mackenzie—quick!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id9"><span class="bold large">IX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Outside the hurrying and the tramping -and the neighing of the horses -increased and intensified the silence -inside where Stewart lay unconscious, Mackenzie -and Vaughan and Trevelyan working over him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the morning the fighting squad -departed, and over the Station fell a stillness as -great as that which brooded over the hospital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a desperate struggle they brought -Stewart to, and then Mackenzie, happening to -glance at Trevelyan, saw that the dressing had -slipped from his shoulder and that his shirt -was stained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He got him into an adjoining room and -redressed the shoulder and insisted on his lying -down, in spite of Trevelyan's entreaties to get -back to Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything in the world is being done for -him. Keep quiet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep quiet, while his life's slipping -away!" cried Trevelyan, fiercely, "Not while -there's a breath left in my own body. I'll -pull him through or I'll die!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll lie still, just where you are," -ordered Mackenzie. "He's holding his own just -now. He'll need all the strength he's got, and -yours, and all he can get—later. I'll call you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan slept for two hours—heavily, -exhaustively; then Mackenzie woke him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he said, briefly, "Stewart's worse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat up on the lounge and flung -back his head; through his being thrilled the -old lost defiance; the old lost strength. He -went into Stewart's room and sat down by the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long hours crept away and the still shadows -of night gathered, and through the hours -and the shadows Mackenzie and Trevelyan -watched. Stewart continued to sink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At midnight, Mackenzie went over to the -window, turning his back on the bed and Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no hope—but Trevelyan wouldn't -believe it! Stewart was dying, and Trevelyan -obstinately refused to relinquish the fight. -Trevelyan didn't know when he was beaten. -And Mackenzie, grown prematurely gray in -the service of life against death, wondered all -over again why human strength is so weak -when waged against the great, mute Force of -the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat rigid; and he gathered all the -strength of his life and his love; and that -imperishable part that had been crushed by his -crime, but not destroyed, and turned them to -the conquering of this hour, and that grim -Presence that was drawing nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had ceased to think of himself and the -future for the first time since he had fallen. If -it ever once occurred to him, he regarded it -vaguely and indifferently. To-morrow, he -would wake up to the living death that lay -before him, but for the present, he had no -thought beyond the still, motionless form -stretched on the bed. He concentrated all his -passion, all his will strength, and massed them -together, as a breastwork, around Stewart's -ebbing life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The grasp of the hand that was clasping his -grew weaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan did not think to call Mackenzie. -He had forgotten he was over there by the -window; that they three, Stewart and Death and -he, Trevelyan, were not alone together. He -forced stimulant between Stewart's blue lips. -And then he went in search of Stewart's ebbing -life, as a swimmer goes down into the depths -to bring forth a living man, drowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once the chill of the Shadowy Presence -touched him, through the growing chill of -Stewart's fingers; and he rubbed them, beating -back into the icy veins the heat of his nature, -and by and by the Shadowy Presence sullenly -drew back, and back, and </span><em class="italics">back</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a time, Mackenzie, aroused by the -oppressive stillness, turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated, and then came to the bed and -leaned over Stewart's relaxed form. Stewart's -face was turned up to his, drawn and thin and -pinched, in the light of the failing lamp, but he -was breathing regularly. Mackenzie touched -one of his hands. It was moist and warm. -And then, dumbly, he turned to Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan still sat by the bed, rigid; and his -eyes looked back at Mackenzie—dull and spiritless, -and his fingers were cold, with the chill -of the depths.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie touched him on the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan struggled to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could give me a bracer. I'm a bit -gone off—"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="x"><span class="bold large">X.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's hurt shoulder healed -rapidly, and two weeks later, -Mackenzie discharged him, and he -reported for duty again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The row's all over, I hear," he said later, -to the little subaltern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little subaltern nodded ruefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and holy smoke, didn't the chicken-hearted -things run when they caught sight of -us. We gave it to 'em hot, though! Guess -they'll let off their funny business for a time, -and—" the little subaltern grew suddenly -sober, "Of course, you've heard about Pearson -and Bennett and the men?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said, and the little subaltern never -knew how gladly Trevelyan would lay down -his life if he could have Pearson's or Bennett's -chance—or the chance of the men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan went down the long piazza to his -own quarters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been in the hospital having his -shoulder dressed and caring for Stewart, who was -still ill; when they had brought Pearson and -Bennett and the men back to the Station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And through all the years of his life he -would never have Pearson's or Bennett's -chance, or the chance of Pearson's or Bennett's -burial. He would die as other men died, who -had failed in life; he would never be brought -back from the front; he would never fall -defending the Service and England.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A month later he filed his resignation papers, -preparatory to having them endorsed and sent -to the War Office.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Colonel was in a fighting humor when -the matter was brought up to him next day! -The son of Trevelyan of Inkerman fame! -And he sent for Trevelyan and talked to him of -his duty to the Service, and the Queen, and -the colonial policy of England, and a good -deal more; but Trevelyan was firm. The -Colonel grew apoplectic; still, Trevelyan was -unmoved. Then, the Colonel, who had never lost -a battle in his life, retreated ungraciously, -trying to think of some reason why the order -should not be endorsed and—failed. He had -inquired into the shoulder affair, but that was -explained by the little subaltern, who testified -that he had seen and spoken to Trevelyan the -moment before the shot. Trevelyan had been -all eagerness to go. He had not paid any -attention to the report, thinking some of the men -were probably practicing at target. The -Colonel had gone over that matter carefully. -Then, in spite of the injury, Trevelyan had -offered to undertake the survey—the Colonel -could not get around that—even though he was -not fit. Trevelyan might have been unpopular -in the regiment, but he had always done his -duty as an officer of the Service. And so the -Colonel wrathfully saw the application go off -on the next mail to England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Trevelyan waited; waited as a man -waits for the warrant that is to close his lease -on life; and, as though to make the most of the -time remaining, when he was not on duty, or -with Stewart in the hospital, he was with the -younger officers of the mess. They grew, then, -to know a new phase in his character. He no -longer closed the door of his quarters on them; -it was Trevelyan's room to which they flocked; -it was Trevelyan who joked them and teased -them and smoked with them, and who played -tennis with the garrison girls, and drank tea -with the officers' wives; it was Trevelyan, with -his great strength and courage, who shared -their pastimes and helped to kill the long, -inactive days that had settled back over the -Station like a pall. Even the little subaltern -ceased to dress up regardless in white linen and -go and drink tea with Jessica Q, and became -Trevelyan's shadow instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weeks later the official acceptance of the -resignation came. It was handed to him at -mess. He glanced at it indifferently and laid -it to one side. Later, he left. He did not join -the crowd that evening. He went back to his -own quarters and closed the door and drew to -the covering at the window, and he sat down -in the dark and fought it out alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two hours after he went over to the hospital -to make his nightly inquiry for Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart had had a bad day, they told him. -It was a case for time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not go in to see Stewart that night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wished that he could have waited and -taken Stewart home, he thought, as he -retraced his steps to his dark bungalow, but it -might be months before Stewart could bear the -journey, and Stewart would not hear of his -waiting. Perhaps, it was because Stewart was -not strong enough to bear the sight of Trevelyan's -face, with its imprint of despair; it might -have been he fancied something of the despair -would lift when Trevelyan was once again in -Scotland. At any rate, he had ordered -Trevelyan home and Trevelyan had planned to -leave—alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day he dismantled his quarters and -made his preparations. He packed his -uniforms and his helmets and his sword, and sent -them home—to Scotland, to Mactier's care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the morning he put on civilian's clothes -and left the Station.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The stretch of distant land grew clearer with -each throb of the ship engine's heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long voyage was over and Trevelyan -was coming back to England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he had betrayed his allegiance to -England because he had loved! * * *</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned over the ship's rail and looked idly -at the whirling foam, that beat an angry protest -at its birth against the ship's great side, and -then grew less and lost itself in the deep waters -of the Channel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had he loved Cary? he questioned. Had -he not mistaken the baser passion for the -diviner love that alone is built on honor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had told him to mould himself into the -divine and he had broken the clay instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes rested somberly on the long green -line of land. All his honor and allegiance, -with which he had broken faith, came back to -him and filled him with unspeakable emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would stoop and he would gather up the -broken pieces and remould them for the service -of England.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">End of Book Two.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="book-three"><span class="bold large">BOOK THREE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE -<br />POTTER'S TOUCH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">BOOK THREE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE POTTER'S TOUCH</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The long months had swelled into two -years and more before Trevelyan -came home—to England and to Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary and the Captain had spent one winter in -Palestine and on the Nile, and the summers in -travel. When the Captain mildly suggested -Italy or a return to America on the dawning of -the second winter, Cary shook her head and -begged for London and the old lodgings. Cary, -for some reason never spoke of going home -now. And so the Captain took her back to -London, and Cary seemed to enjoy the great -familiar city, better than all the sights and -novelties of Egypt and the Holy Land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The weekly gift of violets or of roses began -again with her return to England. Now and -then, letters came from John, but they were -not frequent, and were, to Cary's critical -judgment, unsatisfactory. Of course, she was glad -to hear of the life of the Station, and what the -men and officers did to pass the off-duty time; -and how the army women spent the days in -India, and how they all kept cool—or tried to. -It was kind of John, too, to think to tell her all -the details, and the account of their hunting -trip and the "man-eater" Trevelyan had killed,—Cary -wondered if the skin was for her—and -what their quarters looked like, but somehow -Cary wanted more. She wasn't quite sure -what she did want; perhaps she told herself -it was some more definite mention of -Trevelyan. Trevelyan never wrote.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She thought of Trevelyan often, and in the -silences of the night she would sometimes -recall the blackness and the thunder of that -Scottish storm, and the terror of the hour without -its charm would come back to her and she -would cower among her white pillows and -shut, very fast, her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the fall the Camerons had asked her to a -house party but for some reason she herself -could not define, she sent regrets. The -Camerons' place was so near his home! She -wondered if it were because he would not be there, -or if she would be afraid when she saw his -home again. When Trevelyan came back—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she was lonelier in the late afternoon -when the Captain had gone to walk, than at any -part of the day, and she would sit with idle -hands folded in her lap and look at the silent -little tea-kettle on the tea-table; or rise and -watch the sunset, quite alone. She wasn't ever -afraid then, she was only unutterably lonely! -Perhaps when Trevelyan came back—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Trevelyan did come back. She -heard it from the Captain one afternoon, and -it was then the Captain told her, gently, of the -delayed accounts of Stewart's and Trevelyan's -part in the native struggle. There were no -details regarding them; it was only known -certainly, that both Stewart and Trevelyan had -been hurt; that Stewart was still ill at the -Station, and that Trevelyan had sent in a -resignation. His return was expected. They would -have to wait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They waited; and Cary grew older in the -waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little details were added to the -story, and she would go around to the Stewarts' -and talk it over with John's mother and -John's sister, and women-like they would try -to fit the ill-formed pieces together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she would go back slowly to the lodgings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had waited so long for Trevelyan to -come home, and she had thought to welcome -him in promotion; she had dreamed that some -day Trevelyan would do something great for -the Service and for England; she had believed -it, and now—Trevelyan was coming home—resigned; -and all her dreams and all her faith -had not been worth while.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id10"><span class="bold large">II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan had landed. The Captain -saw it in the morning paper and -read the item out to Cary. The ship -had gotten in a day before it had been looked for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary pushed back her untasted cup of coffee, -and she remained in doors all day, unconsciously -listening for his footfall on the stairs, -and when night came without bringing him, -she laughed at herself for fancying that he -would come direct to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was three days before he did come and -she met him on the stairs. She was about to -do some delayed shopping, and as she was -going down, she met him coming up. She -turned and they went back to the quiet little -sitting room together, and she ran over to the -window impetuously and flung back the curtains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here," she said, gaily, "I can scarcely -believe it is you, yourself! Come here, and let -me see your Indian tan!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled a little, obeying her, but he did -not meet her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Could</em><span> he ever tell her? he wondered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why you haven't got half the tan I expected! -You're not chocolate at all!" she said -like a grieved child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He forgot the haunting shadow for a -moment and he laughed genuinely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry I don't please you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't please me at all," Cary pouted. -"You're not chocolate, and you haven't -returned a captain, and you're not in uniform -with a medal on your breast, and what is worse -than everything, you've grown chicken-hearted -and turned your back on the Service and run -away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He winced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you're as solemn as a funeral, and you -haven't told me you're glad to see me, -and—you don't please me at all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a nice greeting for a chap!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—you deserve it!" Cary retorted; -then she brightened up, "And you really got -hurt? Did it come just 'within a shade of a -vital spot,' like it always does in the story -books?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got a scratch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good boy! How did it happen? You -must sit down and tell me all about it. Was -it one of those horrid natives?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat down near the window in the -deep shadow of the curtains. He put his hand -to his head and pressed it there tightly for a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, "It wasn't one of the natives. -It was my own revolver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan faltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must you hear the story to-day? Won't -you wait? It's so long since I've seen you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If this brief hour could only be his, -unspoiled, to remember!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be aggravating," said Cary, "I'm -interested, and I want to hear." She could not -have told why a dull weight should suddenly -have laid itself upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First," he said presently, playing with the -tassel of the curtain cord, "first, let me tell you -about John."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flushed. She had forgotten John in -the dread that lay upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, please tell me about John. Is he -coming home soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When he is able to bear the journey—and -I believe a little before. He is sick for a -sight of England." Trevelyan let the last -words fall slowly. He had thought to add -"of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a moment he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had a long talk with Mackenzie—the -surgeon, you know—before I left. He says the -wound hurt something in the back and went -clear through to the lung. He'll have to get -out of the Service."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary rose quickly. She went over to the -piano and stood there pressing her hands -against the top and hiding her face on them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's too cruel," she moaned, "both you -fellows—out of the Service! </span><em class="italics">It's too cruel!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan knit and unknit his fingers, and -was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be all right—in time," he said -slowly, with a dim idea of giving her comfort, -"but he just won't be physically strong enough -again for the army."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you've resigned!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan still sat in the shadows cast by the -curtains. He was massing all his courage and -his strength against his love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cary!" She raised her head from her -arms, and she shivered at the tone of his voice, -without knowing why. "Cary, if you'll come -over here—I'll tell you why—" he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She obeyed him mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did as he bade her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I light the lamp?" she faltered. -"The days are short and—and it's dark—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not yet. Sit here where I can see -your face by the fire. There! Like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he began on the cause and the -details of the native trouble. She moved -restlessly. She did not understand the technicalities -very well, and the odd dread and oppression -would not lift. She was conscious that Trevelyan's -voice filled the room, but she scarcely -heeded his words. And then he told her of -Stewart and something of what Stewart had -tried to do for him, and grew eloquent over it, -and she forgot herself and the dread in listening -to him. Even on the day of the storm in -Scotland, when he had told her the stories of his -childhood, he had not been as eloquent as this. -Then he halted. After a while he resumed. -He did not pause again, but went on rapidly -with the old resoluteness born afresh, now that -he had once begun. He continued steadily, -mercilessly, leading up to the heart of it as he -would have aimed at and hit the bull's eye at -target practice with an unerring hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the Colonel ordered me to make the -survey. It meant danger and probable death, -and—I was afraid. I shot myself to prevent -going. I lied about it. I said the revolver -had gone off. He sent John."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned forward, grim with the grimness -of despair, and the moisture came out on his -face and his throbbing throat, but she did not -see his face, she only heard the words that fell -heavily on the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose to her feet; he could see her, in the -beauty of her height, silhouetted against the -bright firelight. Her breast was rising and -falling quickly with emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe it," she cried. "There is -nothing that will make me believe it! Why, -you're not afraid of anything! You to turn -coward!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, waiting for his denial, and -remained standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose too; came from out of the shadows -and sat down in the Captain's big chair by the -fire, where she could see and read his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid," he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was as if he knew no other word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went over to him and dropped down by -the chair, and looked up at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me that it isn't true," she said. "If -you tell me that it isn't true, I'll believe you -against the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl pressed the palms of her hands -against her cheeks and drew them slowly down, -away from her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly she rose to her feet and leant over, -looking steadily into his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadowy spaces at the ends of the room -grew and came to meet each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked down into his face searchingly -and in silence, and he met her look as a brave -man meets death—squarely. Her hand -dropped from his shoulder and fell at her side -lifelessly. She shrank away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good God," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went over into the shadows, to the -window and stood looking out, motionless. It -seemed to her that she could never look at him -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John saw me," said Trevelyan, over by -the fire, "and he swore me to keep quiet about -it—except to you; he left that to me to -decide—he made me swear to resign. I wasn't fit -to serve England."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke without emotion and briefly, stating facts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile he went over to her in an -uncertain manner. She shrank closer to the -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't come near me," she said in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went back and sat down by the fire. The -minutes passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would say something to me,—" he -began, looking toward her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came out of the shadows into the firelight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> nothing to say," she said, and her -face looked then like the face on the hospital -wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She covered her face with her hands, and -turned quickly and fell down by a chair, -burying her face in its cushions, and sobbing as -though to break her heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan did not move to go to her; he did -not even look at her as she was crying there -over his lost honor. Honor was so much to -her. He had always known it. Perhaps it -was for that he had first loved her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile she moved and leaned one elbow -on the seat of her chair, her cheek in her -hand. She turned her face, looking into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I didn't mean to be cruel," she said, -and her voice caught in sobs as she spoke. "I -was—selfish. I—was only thinking of—myself. -Of—of how I'd trusted you, and—and -that! But oh, I'm—so sorry for—you. -I—" she broke off, impatiently brushing the -tears away with her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan stared into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't talk that way," he said slowly, "I -can bear anything but—that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—what made you—afraid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left the big chair by the fire and came -over to where she was sitting on the floor, and -looked down at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid I should never see you again," -he said. "I—" and he put out his hand as -though to touch her hair, "I wish—well I -wish, I had known there was something -besides you in the world!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She said nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you going to do now?" she -asked after awhile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," he said slowly, "</span><em class="italics">I—don't—know!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned abruptly and picked up his coat -and hat. He did not offer to shake hands in -parting. Cary had used to help him on with -his coat and shake hands, but Cary did not -move to-night. He walked over to the door, -turning to look back at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," he said, in a matter of fact -way, "Good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary sat motionless and she looked up at -him dumbly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye," she said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan took the night train home—to -Scotland and to old Mactier. Perhaps up there, -he would learn "what he was going to do now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary sat motionless, in the shadows, by the -big chair. After awhile she crept over to the -dead fire and stared at the white ashes. It -seemed to her that all her faith was dead.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id11"><span class="bold large">III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After Trevelyan had come and gone, -each day seemed to Cary like the one -before; and they all stretched out, -crushed and dead and lifeless, as a string of -pearls from which the luster has disappeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile there were rumors that -Stewart was coming home; that Stewart was -making a desperate effort to come home—to -England. London was agog—Stewart's part of -London. Everyone by this time had gotten a -pretty clear idea of affairs, and because Stewart -had come up to what they had expected of him, -and had faced danger and death like the soldier -he was, and had generally conducted himself -like a gentleman,—London was pleased. London, -like a woman, derived satisfaction in -saying, "I always knew it. I told you so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little the excitement penetrated -Cary's inertia. After all, it was not quite fair -that because one man had broken her faith and -his honor, she should judge all men by him. -John had not failed her. Perhaps John would -pull things straight again for her, and make -her see life as she ought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The warm days of early spring came—the -English spring and the sunshine, and there was -no need any longer for a fire on the hearth, -and every day brought the ship nearer, and -every fair breeze helped to bring him into port -quicker—John, coming back, sick and wounded -for life, from battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, she had forgotten that part of -it—his part; and his burden that was heavier than -her own, and Trevelyan's burden, that was -heavier than all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile she brought a pity, wholly -womanly and half divine, out of the ashes that -had seemed so dead, and on the awful truth of -these men's lives, broken by the failure of one, -she built the mercy that is stronger than -justice, and the faith that is stronger than doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something, though, remained in the ashes, -dead, never to be rekindled, and woman-like -she used to cry a little over the dead part of it; -not because she could not relight it, but because -it was so dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She grew into a woman in those weeks -lapsing between Trevelyan's call and Stewart's -return—gradually, as clay is moulded in the -hands of a potter, who cuts it on his wheel, to -give to it the finer tracings and the smoothness -of completion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And every day and every fair breeze brought -Stewart nearer, and Cary turned from the ashes -to the sunsets again. Fires would go out, even -with careful tending, but the sunsets were -God's, Cary told herself, and, therefore, eternal.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id12"><span class="bold large">IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Malcolm Stewart went down to -Southampton to meet the ship and -bring John back to London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No excitement," the doctor had said, and -so he had gone alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now that young Stewart had really accomplished -the task of getting back to England, his -false strength deserted him and he became -weaker than before. The two men, the sturdy -father and the wasted son, made the journey -to town, John being carried to and from the -railway carriages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment, when he reached London, -and the carriage was turning into Grosvenor -Square, he rallied a little and insisted on -getting out of the carriage himself, and walking -up the steps, leaning heavily on his father's -arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't frighten the Little Madre," he -had said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tall, womanly figure of the Little Madre. -who had been standing by the window for the -last hour, appeared at the door, silently holding -out her arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile they got him up to his own -room and to bed, and all day the Little Madre -sat by him, tending to his few wants. Once -he fell asleep, and when he awoke the room was -full of flowers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he asked his mother feebly, -"Where did they come from?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From friends," she said, rising and -moving from one great bunch to another. "The -white and pink roses are from Cousin -Kenneth's wife," and so she went on. "The -heather and the bracken came without a name. -I think they must be from Rob—don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, turning to him questioningly. -Stewart swallowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably," he said, in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Camerons sent the lilies, and those -red roses are from the old Major of the -Department—you should read the card," she -smiled proudly, coming back to his bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled at her eagerness, and laid the -card down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's pretty nice, isn't it?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he looked up at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the violets?" he asked slowly. "Who -left the violets?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The violets are from Cary," she replied, -meeting his look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A slow flush mounted over his pale face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please bring them here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did so, holding them close to his face -that he might smell of them before she put the -little vase on the table by him. He took them -out of the water, feebly, and laid them on the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everyone is awfully kind," he said, "and -I don't deserve the fuss. Have—many -inquired—to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All my visiting list," she replied, -laughingly, "and a good many more besides. Why -the officers—" she paused, shaking her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has—Cary called?" he asked, looking -hard at the foot board of the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and left the flowers herself. You -are to see her—" she broke off, anxiously -watching the haggard face that he turned -quickly to her own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In three or four days—if you are stronger. -She shall be the first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother leaned over him, stroking his -hair from his forehead. He met her eyes -gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The late sunlight sifted through the drawn -curtains and touched the flowers; their exquisite -odor crept through the stillness of the room -as the sweet memory of an old song steals -through the silent chambers of the heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love her," he said simply. "I have loved -her always," he said, still looking into her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have known it always," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the four days lengthened into four weeks -before he saw Cary. That night the half -healed wound reopened, and he had a sinking -spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning before the news had had -time to become generally known, Trevelyan -mysteriously appeared at the house on -Grosvenor Square, and went straight to Stewart's -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You go and lie down," he said briefly to his -aunt, who had been up all night, "I guess I -ought to know how to take care of him. I -did it once before in India. I won't leave you -until I've pulled him through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then Trevelyan and Death fought it out -again, and Trevelyan beat back the Shadowy -Presence in the great still London house, as he -had done weeks before in the government -hospital in India. He hardly left the sick room, -and he seemed scarcely ever to sleep. He -would sit for hours at a time, his finger on -Stewart's pulse; quieting his ravings and -forcing back the fever by the might of his own will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Except in the dim sick room where Stewart -lived again in delirium the night of the -perilous ride, over the great Grosvenor Square -house rested the hush of grave sickness and -impending death. The servant stationed at the -door, guarded against the possible ringing of -the muffled bell, and answered inquiries, and -received the cards left, and the offerings of -flowers. None ever reached Stewart's -darkened room except the small bunch of violets -that came daily, and which his mother would -bring up and place on the table by his bed, -hoping in woman-fashion that the perfume might -attract and hold his wandering faculties, or -arouse him from the stupor into which he -would fall from time to time; but it never did. -If she had ever dreamed of the exquisite -torture the flowers and their scent were to -Trevelyan, she would have placed them with -the others down stairs, but Trevelyan never -told, and she never knew the moments in which -the perfume seemed to drive him mad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once she suggested getting a professional -nurse to relieve him, but catching sight of -Trevelyan's face she had stopped short.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! Forgive me," she said. "It is -not that I don't trust you, or am ungrateful or -believe that anyone else could do so well, but I -am afraid for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm all right," Trevelyan had answered shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are unselfish; you are only thinking -of us and of John. You are always thinking -and doing for John."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" he interrupted, and through the -dimness of the room she could see that his face -quivered, and she wondered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could not get along without you," she -went on. "None of us could, and it has been -you who have pulled him through so far."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked toward the long, motionless -figure on the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall pull him through to-night and -to-morrow, and to-morrow again, and next -week—until he is out of danger," said Trevleyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was the day the two doctors had given -Stewart up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crisis came and passed, and Stewart lived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the thralldom and the stupor of the -fever had partly lifted, and before Stewart -came to himself, Trevelyan left and went back -to Scotland and to old Mactier, nor could -anyone persuade him to remain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Days later, when Stewart was sitting up, -he saw Cary for the first time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some one waiting outside whom -you will be glad to see," his mother had said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Cary? You are going to let me see -Cary?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will be good and not talk," she -answered, leaving the door ajar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart turned his face to the door, pressing -his long, thin fingers resting on his knee, close -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came in carrying a bunch of violets, and -stood by his chair, looking down at him. He -looked up at her, and it seemed to him that she -was beautiful, and her voice the sweetest he had -ever heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have waited and wanted so to give you -these myself," she said, "and you have frightened -us all so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke with the simplicity of a little girl, -but there was a quality in her voice that -Stewart had not heard before, and he knew that -Cary had become a woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He clung to her hand in parting with that -pathetic bodily weakness that makes a man, in -illness, like a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't go yet," he pleaded, "You've been -here such a little while. Oh, </span><em class="italics">please</em><span> don't go!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She patted his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will come again," she said, and on her -way to the door, she kept looking back at him -and smiling. He sat motionless until her light -footstep was lost in the distance, and all day -he sat quiet, scarcely speaking, dreaming of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next day he waited, expecting her, but -she did not come; nor the next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's become of Cary?" he asked on the -third day of his mother. "Why don't she come -any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose she thinks you're out of danger -now, and she may have other things to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that isn't just the way of women! Coming -all the time when a chap don't know anything -or anybody, and then just when he needs -cheering—" he broke off, pulling viciously at -the shawl over his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother smiled, knowing better "the -way of women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But two days later, when Cary called again, -she spoke to her of his loneliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He gets tired of the home faces," she said, -"and he isn't strong enough yet to see the men -or strangers. Perhaps if you could read aloud -to him now and then——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, of course I could," said Cary, and -after that she came oftener. They would carry -Stewart down to his mother's cheerful little -sitting room, and there one or more of the -family would gather and Cary would talk or -read aloud. At such times Stewart would lean -back in his chair among his pillows and remain -silent, content to look at her and to listen to her -voice. One day they were left alone together. -He remained quiet, his eyes fixed on her. Presently -she finished the chapter and turned the page.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think that was a pretty strong scene, -don't you?" she asked, pausing for a moment -before she went on, and peering at him gravely -over the top of the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—it was," he answered absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You weren't listening to a word of it," she -exclaimed reproachfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To tell you the truth—no. Put the -wretched old thing down and talk to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laid the book down as he had bidden, -but she played nervously with the leaves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I talk about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, anything—yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Upon my word, but you're polite. There -isn't an earthly thing to tell about myself," -she added, "And I don't know any topic that -would interest you. There's that House of -Commons speech, of course, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I'll talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you </span><em class="italics">mustn't</em><span>!" She looked up startled, -"Sir Archibald said you were not to exert -yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound the old codger, anyway! Does -he expect to keep me tongue-tied the rest of -my life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're cross to-day," she said. "You're -getting better. It's a sure sign."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart leaned forward suddenly; then he -leaned back and traced an outline of a sword -on the leather arm of the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you know," he asked her slowly, -"that as far as the Service is concerned, I'm -done for—that I'll never be well enough for it -again; that I've been injured beyond hope for -the Service; that I've had to resign?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Cary gently, looking hard at -the book in her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thirty and—done for," he said bitterly, -"All the Woolwich years to count for nothing; -all the study; all the ambition, all -the—hope, to count for nothing!" His finger -paused in tracing the outline of the sword.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you mustn't say that," cried Cary, -"you must remember what you've done -already—more than many older officers do in -their whole lives. And then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He interrupted her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds well," he said. "But life isn't -worth much to a man when he's laid on the -shelf just when he's beginning to live— But -the wasted years and the inactive life ahead!" He -went on rapidly, beating the fist of one hand -against the palm of the other. "Oh, think -what inactivity will mean after the life I've -been trained to, and worked for, and loved!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat silent, her heart throbbing with a -great pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To have to think of myself—to look out -for draughts like a sickly, nervous old -man!" Something rose in Stewart's throat, and he -coughed. "Can't ever command the men -again! Can't lead them to battle, or ever feel -the soft earth under me, or see the stars and -the night through the flap of my tent! To -have to give up trying to be something, or do -something—at thirty!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped short.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The book fell from Cary's lap to the floor, -and she stooped to pick it up with swimming -eyes. He caught sight of her face and he -leaned forward; all the anger and all the -resentment gone from his voice—melted by -her tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah!" he said, "That's just about the -fate I'm fit for if I haven't got any more grit -than that! Of course I didn't mean it, and you -must try and forget it. Of course the Service -is out of the question, but I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> make -something of my life! And I'm awfully glad, too, -for what I've had of it, and—been allowed -to do. I'm glad for the Woolwich years -and—and the training—and—all that! Of course it -hasn't been lost. And I'm glad I've done -something for the Service—even in a little way, -and saved—" he caught himself up suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary rose, her tears dried by the burning -fever in her eyes. She finished the sentence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Saved Robert from exposure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I don't understand you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you do too," said Cary, breathing -hard. "You think I don't know all about -it! I do, though!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Robert told me himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart drew a deep breath and looked -away. There was a long silence in the room. -After awhile she went up to the big leather -chair and laid one hand on the back of it and -bent her head, looking down at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up, his firm mouth working.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny, you're the best man that ever lived!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Cary!" he said, and he tried to laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded decidedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I know. Robert told me what you'd -been to him, and—he didn't spare himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart stared straight ahead of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Rob," he said. "Poor boy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary moved off to the window and looked -out, absent-mindedly, folding the edge of the -curtain with her fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all like a terrible dream," she said -slowly, "and I keep thinking I'll awake. It -doesn't seem possible. I keep remembering the -time he saved us in that awful storm, years ago -at home, and—it—doesn't—seem—possible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but it's all too true," said Stewart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary wheeled around, facing the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I am responsible. It was through his -love for me!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You tried to help him. I tried to help -him—all the fellows did, but he just let -himself go. When a man like that wants -something, he sweeps everything out of his way and -rushes on blindly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but it was the love for me!" said -Cary; then suddenly: "How you shielded him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I did right? After all, -perhaps, I wasn't meant for the Service. If I -had done all my duty—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you did right," said Cary, looking -down with grave eyes at her locked fingers, and -she came back into the room and sat down, -"Shall I tell you why I think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No exposure could remedy the hurt he gave -himself—to his own manhood and his own -honor—" she broke off, and then went on -hurriedly. "Oh, if he could only have realized -what that meant—keeping his honor clean—" -she broke off again, and Stewart looked away -so that he might not see her face. She went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The survey was made all right and so it -was not the hurt to the Service it might have -been, but only to himself; and your punishment -in forcing him to resign was severe enough! -His own remorse makes up the rest, and the -two may bring him another chance." She paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart leaned his head on his hand, his -elbow on the arm of the chair, and looked -fixedly off into space.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you're right—I guess you are," -he said, slowly. "I thought something like that -at the time. It may be the saving of him. I -didn't do an officer's whole duty, but I tried to -be just. I tried to spare him and—and—" he -hesitated, "those at home. I suppose another -man might have told. I just held my tongue. -It was an accident—my seeing. I was worried -over the boy and couldn't keep away—" he -was speaking disjointedly. "I loved the -Service. God! how I loved it, and I couldn't bear -that he might really harm it some time, so I -made him get out. But I couldn't disgrace -him; have him court-marshaled and cashiered, -or—or pay the penalty—" he broke off, and -Cary rose to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is paying the penalty," she said. "He -pays it with every breath he draws."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; and they tell me that twice he has -nursed me and saved me, and I never knew!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary looked down thoughtfully at Stewart's -thin hand resting on the arm of the chair, and -Stewart looked at her and the silence grew -and grew. If only he knew whether——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up quickly, as though divining -his thoughts, and she flushed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will keep the secret," she said, "you -and I—won't we? And we will try and help -him? Do you know, I believe he'll take his -ambition and courage and—love," the flush -mounted higher, "and remould his life?" She -hesitated, "Even hopeless love—" and then -she broke off, turning her face away. Stewart -did not speak or move.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it isn't Robert," he said to himself -after she had gone, "Then—it—isn't—Robert!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id13"><span class="bold large">V.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Weeks later, when Stewart was able, -he went around to see Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a dreadful pull—up those -stairs," said Cary, rolling forward a chair and -looking anxiously at Stewart as he stood wan -and breathless, but smiling, in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It never used to be," he panted, sitting down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes wandered about the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jove, but it's good to get back here! And -you haven't changed things a bit—even the -Psyche in her old place! And the little tea -kettle—Jove!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned back restfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed and watched him in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll miss it all like the dickens!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up quickly from the flowers she -was just beginning to arrange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not going away, are you?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded and sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Home—to Scotland. The lease on the -place has run out, and they think country air -will brace me up a bit—so we're going. It'll -seem queer to get back there after all these -years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you're going to give up the Grosvenor -Square house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I suppose, though, we'll come back -every year for the season and take a suite at -the Langham or the Buckingham Gate. Father -has an idea that he'll put me through a course -of politics up there, when we're alone, and -there's nothing going on." Stewart smiled -mirthlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are thinking of going into politics, -when you get strong?" asked Cary for -something to say. A sudden unutterable -homesickness had swept over her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure—it isn't unlikely though. I -suppose that's as good a way to serve the -country as half a man can—perhaps a little -better—to try and help keep one detail of the -government's work clean! Father has set his -heart on the Diplomatic service for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think you'd like that," said Cary. -Talking to-day for some reason was an effort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sure. What are you and the -Captain going to do with yourselves?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary leaned against the back of a chair, -tearing a stray rose leaf to pieces. She looked -down at it as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Papa wants another tramp through the -Alps. I'm not in the mood for tramping, but -he's been so good I can't say a word. When -we've climbed Mont Blanc again and come -down, I think I'll get Daddy to take me home. -I think I'm a little mite homesick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned quickly and buried her face in the -roses. An odd light sprang to Stewart's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you been happy in England?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary lifted her head, her face dyed with the -deep red of the roses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Happy! There's no place like England—except -America," she said. "I love every stone -in England—in the United Kingdom! Months -ago Daddy and I spent a July in Hertfordshire. -I can see it all now; the glorious green of -everything; the undulating country and the woods -and the scattered old cottages, with the -village in the distance and the church spire -showing, and the little river and the cornfields and -the poppies!" She breathed quicker. "There -is only one thing sweeter I know—the old fort -at home and the long beach and the sea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped, and the red of the roses faded. -She went on slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I guess I'm a little bit homesick, for -the beach and the sea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you remember when we were crossing -I asked you to let me take you to my home in -Scotland when the homesickness came?" -asked Stewart. "You might come to us when -the Captain is re-climbing Mont Blanc."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, waiting for an answer, but Cary -was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't you come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She threw the last bit of the torn leaf away -and came toward him and stopped, her hands -on the back of a chair, a smile creeping into her -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might—if I was asked," she said demurely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed like a boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother'll see to that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She'll have to," said Cary, tossing her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'd still be homesick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wrinkled up her forehead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodness, even Scotland isn't America," -she answered. "Why, I suppose I would—some!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart closed the carriage door decidedly. -Then he leaned back and stared into the mirror -opposite, addressing the reflection there. The -odd light had come back to his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's what I've been waiting for," he said, -speaking aloud and slowly; "it's what I've -been waiting for all these years. She's -homesick, and she shall come home—to me."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id14"><span class="bold large">VI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>To Trevelyan, up in Scotland, each day -evolved itself into an eternity. There -were the lonely breakfasts in the -mornings; the lonely walks about the grounds, -or out on the steep, bare crags; the lonely -lunches; the lonely afternoons spent in wandering -around the silent house; the lonelier evenings -in which the unread book would drop -from his hand to the floor, and he would stare -absently into the shadows; the lonely wakeful -nights—it was always loneliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Mactier would often pause in his morning -work and look after the solitary figure and -ponder and shake his head before he went back -to his duties. Trevelyan sometimes used to -stop by him and talk to him a little before he -resumed his walk. Once he carried Mactier -off to the moorlands for a week's shooting and -Mactier was actually conscious that Trevelyan -seemed happier with his gun under his arm -again than he had been since the day of his -mysterious return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Trevelyan, not Mactier, who led the -hunt in those days, and the old man would -press after him, sometimes stumbling with the -fatigue he was too proud to acknowledge, and -glorying in the prowess of the great strong -figure ahead, that he had carried as a child and -in whose hands he had placed the first -firearms—almost before the child was strong -enough to hold the weapon or could pull the -trigger by himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Trevelyan exhausted the old retainer, he -tired himself too, and at night he would drop, -almost too weary to take off his hunting boots, -and go to sleep, and sleep heavily, dreamlessly, -as he had not done for weeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a relief, that, to get away from the -haunting shadow in his dreams; and he blessed -passionately the fatigue that brought even for -so brief a time, forgetfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of the week he and Mactier went -home, and the inactivity and the loneliness and -the sleeplessness grew greater than before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no face of his own kind to greet -him here, in Scotland; the Camerons were his -nearest neighbors, and the Camerons were -away—Tom in Aberdeen. There was no one -to help him, even if they could, to beat back the -blind despair that threatened him with mental -and with moral death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day he ordered out the hounds and rode -across country until the fields and trees and -fences became blurred together by the touch of -twilight. He returned mud stained and -mortally weary and stalked into the dining room -and over to the sideboard, where he locked his -table wines. He took out a decanter and -hunted around for a glass, and carried both -into the library, and sat down. Then he -poured some of the wine and swallowed it at a -mouthful. He filled the glass again and drank -the liquor leisurely, lounging back in his chair -with a sigh of content. After all, he declared, -there was nothing like a bracer when a chap -was fagged out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By and by, he slipped down a little in his -chair and stretched his legs, still encased in -their mud-stained boots, straight out in front -of him and went to sleep. When he awoke it -was quite dark, and he sat still, staring through -the uncurtained window into the night, and -conscious of a delicious languor. Then as his -faculties became more acute and the old spectre -returned to haunt him, he instinctively stretched -forth his hand in the blackness and fumbled for -the decanter and the glass. He drunk deeply -once, twice, three times—and when he raised -the glass for the fourth time his hand shook -and there was an odd rushing sound in his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly he sat forward in his chair, pushed -the glass and decanter from him roughly and -flung out his arms across the table. The odd -rushing sound subsided, and he became aware -that the wine was dripping from the table to -the floor, where he had overturned the decanter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not refill it, and the sideboard -remained unlocked—and empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So the days passed. He would climb up into -the eyrie, as he had done as a child and listen -to the beating sea below. Once the sea had -sung to him of undiscovered lands, whose -shores it touched, bearing the message back to -him; it had sung of wealth and fame gained by -the sword—it was by the sword always—and -it had beaten and beaten, and sung of all that -he would one day like to be; and of what some -day he would be and achieve. Once it had -sung of love—of its mystery and the essence of -its life—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would crawl to the edge of the crag and -peer over into the white foam, holding on to the -edge until the old boyish dizziness came back; -but unlike in the old days, there was never a -woman's face in the foam now. What right -had he to look for a woman's face in the foam!</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 68%" id="figure-43"> -<span id="what-right-had-he-to-look-for-a-woman-s-face-in-the-foam"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*What right had he to look for a woman's face in the foam?*"" src="images/img-222.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">What right had he to look for a woman's face in the foam?</em><span class="italics">"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the song of the sea was the song of -death and dishonor. He might climb the crag -to-day, and to-morrow, and every to-morrow of -his life, and the song would not change. The -sea was a vast organ; he could not change its -tunes back to the old ones; he could not control -it, and it went on, rolling out its fierce, deep -music of dishonor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he would leave the sea and the -crags and go back into the empty house. The -house was only a shade less bad; with its -deserted rooms and its long gallery of dead and -gone Campbells and Trevelyans.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had wandered into the gallery once or -twice. The faces on the canvases, grown -indistinct with the years, seemed to look back at him -without recognition that he was of their race -and line. What claim had they on him or he -on them? The men had been brave and the -women fair—so the history and traditions of -the house had said, even if the stiff painted -figures and the severe painted faces often said -otherwise—the men had always been in the -front wherever they were needed for the -defense of Scotland and her rights, and later they -had defended England too. If they had not -fought for her with the sword, they had with -tongue or pen—if they had not been soldiers, -they had been powers in the government or in -the pulpit. Even the solemn-faced preacher -near the big window at the furthest end of the -gallery, when eloquence had failed, had left the -old kirk to strike a blow for King Charlie. -The women, too, had been brave—brave in the -sacrifice of beauty and wealth for the upholding -of Scottish rights, and the renouncing of -husbands and lovers and sons for Scotland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the other side of the gallery hung his -father's race—the Trevelyans; and opposite -the solemn-faced preacher, near to the window -where the sun struck it in the morning, was the -picture of his mother. It had been taken of -her in the first years of her marriage, soon -after he had been born. People had said that, -as a child, he had held his head proudly, like hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The grave, smiling eyes seemed to follow -him as he turned hastily from the portrait. -She had gloried in the traditions of her race; -she had been proud—justly—of her line. He -thanked God she was dead—that he might -remember her as the portrait had painted her to -be—on the flood tide of her love and her -beauty and her strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was the picture of his father, in his -full regimentals. He had been years older -than his wife, but how they had loved each -other; how proud they had been of each other's -race, and how proud they had been of him. -He was glad that his father was traveling in -the Far East and had not seen him or -demanded explanations since his return. He -would have been obliged to meet the questionings -with silence. It was better so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Between the two portraits hung one of -himself as a child. How his father and mother -had watched the growing of the portrait under -the master's brush, waiting for its completion, -that it might be hung in the gallery. It had -been painted the year his mother had died—a -year before he went to America. The artist -had taken something of the grace and alertness -of the great hound that had rested at the boy's -feet and put it into the supple limbs of the boy -himself. He had painted into the boy's eyes -the reflection of the gray stormy sea, and had -lent them something of the gray sea's strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he had been like that as a child, with all -the promise of a ripe manhood! And now -that he had grown to be a man——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a long stretch of empty wall -space next to the portrait of his father, and his -father had once laughingly told him that his -portrait should hang there, painted in uniform, -when he had left Woolwich and won his spurs -and returned after seeing service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he had returned from service without -the uniform!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had used to come and dream here after -the Woolwich years, whenever he could get off -from duty or was not with Cary. He had -come here often in that winter when Cary was -away in France. And he had planned his -portrait hanging so, in uniform, with hers near -his—even as his mother's was near his father's. -And sometimes when the sun had gone and the -darkness had crept in, the shadows had taken -other forms—the forms of children—who -would troop up and take their places on the -empty spaces waiting for them on the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had dreamed of her—-of Cary—as a -strong passionate nature dreams of its best -beloved. He had fancied her in a hundred -different guises—at the head of his table, moving -around the house, as its mistress, talking to -old Mactier and his tenantry, as the master's -wife; he had dreamed of her, after he and she -had lived together alone for a period of -ineffable bliss, as the mother of his children; -strong sons and fair daughters, that would -reflect her sweetness and his strength—the -completion of their love. He had dreamed of the -time when the house would ring with their -voices, and then of the days when the house -had lapsed into silence again, when learning -love's mystery they had gone to homes of -their own; when he and she would live on in -a love that time could not change, nor age -wither; how later she would lay him in the -tomb of his ancestors, and later still they would -put her close beside him and his people. He -had never dreamed of her dying first, or of -his life without her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now, she had gone from his life, and -the dreams had gone; and he had shattered the -hopes with his own hand. He would never -feel her in his arms, or lean down and rest the -hollow of his cheek against her hair; he would -never see her moving around the house, or -watch her shadow as she passed. She would -never rest beside him in the vault.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The house would remain silent in the years -that stretched ahead, as it had remained silent -in the years that lay behind. There would -never be again even the dream echoes of the -children's voices. His portrait—in -uniform—would never hang upon the wall; the space -where he had dreamed her pictured face would -look down into his living one, would be left -empty; and the shadows would never take the -forms of little children, and only the grim -shadow-curtain of darkness would stretch -across the barren wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he would leave the gallery and go into -the desolate library, where he and she had stood -that day of the storm, and he would sit down -and bow his face on the big, carved table, -wondering what was the answer to the twisted -riddle of his life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had told himself he would pick up the -broken pieces and remould them for England -and the Service, and he had thought to learn -the answer here—at home, in Scotland, by the -crags and sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Scotland had not answered him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id15"><span class="bold large">VII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan let the hand that held -Mackenzie's letter fall between his -sprawling legs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been sitting on the front steps of the -house when Mactier had brought him his mail -and he had opened it there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were the papers, and a half dozen bills, -a wedding invitation, two sets of reception -cards, the announcement of a club meeting, and -a letter from his aunt in eastern Scotland, -begging him to come to them, if only for a week, -and telling him that Cary was with them, -and—Mackenzie's letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had laid it aside to open last. It might -have been he wanted to take his time reading it; -or a dread of hearing from any of the old mess. -At any rate, he hesitated before opening it, even -when he had disposed of the rest of the mail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He read it after awhile, and then he raised -his head and looked hard at the group of trees -near the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so Mackenzie had been transferred to a -distant regiment soon after he, Trevelyan, had -resigned. There were a good many pages -given to the description of the new Station and -the new set of officers and men, that Trevelyan -skipped over hastily. It was only the last part -that had struck him suddenly, like a heavy blow -in the face, and that made him, after awhile, -pick up the letter and re-read the part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We had a cholera scare this season, but we -managed to strangle it, so that it never became -more than local, but it kept Clarke—he's my -assistant, and a good chap he is—and me, on -the jump for a time. The natives won't look -out for the water, and I don't believe the entire -medical and military force of the United -Kingdom combined would be able to make them do -so! And of course it's damnation in this -special spot where there is more or less cholera -every year. I sometimes feel inclined to say if -they're such fools let them drink and bathe and -drown themselves in the water, for they're not -worth saving. But you see, unless the scourge -is stamped out among them it goes on spreading -and threatens the barracks. We can't -spare one of our dandy men. We need 'em all -in the Service—every last mother's son of 'em, -bless their stout old British hearts!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saw a case or two at the old Station, -and you know something of what it means. -But you haven't any idea of an army surgeon's -dread of an epidemic—that is a surgeon who -has been through the cholera mill. I know, for -I've spent most of my term in India, and years -ago I was in the midst of a howling time of -it—men dropping off by the score! I never -want to go through such a thing again. The -horror of it is enough to last a man a good -deal longer than his natural life—and the chaps -who helped me! Well, most of the men who -could—and they were brave men, too—took to -heels, and the handful that buckled to, to nurse, -kept getting sick from fatigue and the vile -water—and then when the men died—the fires—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, you know it, I suppose, or you've -heard of it before. No one </span><em class="italics">knows</em><span> it, until -one's been through it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The natives were pretty good on the whole -a few months ago and so we stamped it out -then. Jove! some of them were sick, though—sicker -than the sickest dog you ever saw—. -There was one fellow—he was worth saving—and -I never worked so hard over a man in my -life, except Stewart when he was hurt at the -old Station. He died, though. All the while -I kept thinking of that time with Stewart, and -how you brought him back from death. I've -never understood that, and I never learned -anything like it in my </span><em class="italics">Materia Médica</em><span>. It was -kind of uncanny, but it did the work. I -wondered if you could have done something for -that fellow. I couldn't. He was a Scotchman, -by the way, of the rank and file."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here the letter stopped. On a fresh sheet -was a postscript.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just came across this in my desk—two -months old. I must have thought I had sent -it and didn't. Guess I'll let it go though. -Now that the immediate cholera scare is over -the natives are playing the dickens again with -the water—as they always do. It begins to -look like trouble. When the spring rains come -it'll play the devil with the Service this time. -Well!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan put down the letter. There was -an odd fullness in his throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He got up and began to walk to and fro. -Once he stopped and kicked at the gravel of -the drive with his heel. The odd fullness in -his throat grew, and it seemed to him as though -an invisible force was impelling him to India.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he gripped at his self-control, and -quieted his throbbing brain by his will. There -should be no impetuous passion to lead him -wrongly here. He would weigh the risks; he -would force himself to think of all it meant—of -all the horror of the details—the horrors that -were unspeakable, almost unthinkable. He -had seen something of them when he was at the -Station. Whatever his decision there should -be no regrets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All day he wandered around the place—preoccupied. -He did not touch his lunch, and he -scarcely touched his dinner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the evening he went into the great library -and thought it out—alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had the dreams come to this? Was this the -answer?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Was it the answer?</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat rigid and mute questioning the -silence, but the silence gave back no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the stars appeared one by one, only -to hide themselves behind the mist that slowly -had arisen, and the cold chill of midnight crept -in through the closed windows. The fire on -the hearth faded from its steady glow of gold -to the red of the dying embers, and the student -lamp on the table flickered and went out. And -still Trevelyan sat rigid and mute, with his -wide eyes questioning the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By and by the silence became alive, and was -peopled with the visions of his thoughts. He -remembered what those cholera cases were, he -had seen in India—the unutterableness of it -all—and there swept over him not so much the -abhorrence of death as of its manifestation. -After all, was it not wholly the close contact -with the disease itself he shrank from? -Death——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why, death was not so bad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Trevelyan's tense features relaxed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After all, he would not go to court death. -He had lived through that desire and conquered -it the night he had lain wounded by his -own hand in the military hospital. Foolhardiness -was not courage, so he had told himself -then, and so he believed now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, it was not likely that he would catch -the plague and die. He had always laughed at -disease; he who had never been ill; and had -not Mackenzie lived through one of the worst -epidemics on record—this promised to be mild, -as compared to it. It was not so much the fear -of death and disease, but was he willing to -accept both if they came?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old passionate love of life he had felt -years ago when a boy, fighting the storm and -the sea and death, shot through him and thrilled -him from his throbbing head to his feet. He -rose and flung out his arms and bent them -backwards and forwards. He could feel the flow -of the blood and the </span><em class="italics">life</em><span> that was there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he thought of Mackenzie's letter and -he pictured the oncoming of the cholera, and -Mackenzie and his little band fighting the -scourge unaided. What was the strength of -his life for if not to serve these; if not to serve -the men who served England! Might he not -so serve England, too, and help to save, -perhaps, the lives of those who fought in her -defense and for her honor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would be service, but it would not be the -service he had dreamed of as a child, and -striven for as a boy and a youth. He had -thought to serve with the sword, and perhaps—so -he had dreamed—meet death in a charge like -the charge his father had made. His blood -had thrilled at the thought of the rally, and the -command he would send down the line!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan fumbled in the dark for his chair, -and sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would never be that. If he should die -serving Mackenzie and England what he had -done would die with him. He might be -mentioned in the Reports, but Reports—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well; why not? What had he done for -England that England should remember him? -He had only served England in dishonor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the men died—the fires—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would not even mean that he could be -brought back here—to Scotland, to his crags -and sea—to rest in the old vault. That last -dream would have to fade even as the other -dreams had faded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He might not serve England gloriously; he -might help the Service only indirectly, but -would not the service and the help be there? -Might he not so pick up the broken pieces?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still the silence gave back no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wan gray dawn stole in through the lifting -mist and found him wide-eyed and sleepless -still.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile he rose again and stretched his -stiff legs and went down the hall to the front -door and opened it. The chill of the early -dawn struck him and he shivered. He walked -down to the sea and stood there, looking out -over the gray, cold waste of waters, and then he -climbed to the eyrie, and looked out over the -waters again. They seemed colder and grayer -than before, and from force of habit he crawled -to the ledge and leaned over. The </span><em class="italics">swish</em><span>, -s-w-i-s-h, of the breakers below reached him, -and through the faint mist he could see the -white foam. The toss of the spray touched -his face in friendly greeting as it had done so -often—so often before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The faintest touch of shell-like pink crept -into the gray sky and deepened, and was -reflected on the sea, and still Trevelyan lingered. -The old passionate strength of the boy-child -came back to him then, as he hung, listening to -the beat of the sea. The self-assurance had -gone from the courage, and had been crushed -beyond restoration when he had broken the -clay; but the courage was there—born -afresh—unyielding and enduring and deep as the -sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose to his feet and he flung out his arms -toward the sea as he had done when he had -beaten it and the storm and death, in Cary's -home, as a child; but he said nothing, for the -odd fullness in his throat. Let death come so, -his heart cried. Death, even when it strikes, -does not always conquer, and Death was not all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he climbed down and went back to the -house, and up-stairs and flung himself on his -bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sea had answered his questionings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Thus</em><span> would he serve the Service.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id16"><span class="bold large">VIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was late in the forenoon when Trevelyan -awoke. He lay still awhile listening -to the beat of the sea on the crags. -The music of the waters had been his reveille -since a child, when he had used to get up with -the break of the day. The old triumphant note -that had been missing in the sea's song so long -was in it to-day. He did not define it, but he -was acutely conscious of its presence, and it -haunted him while dressing and all during his -lonely breakfast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he went up-stairs and got his -Gladstone and rummaged through his bureau -drawers and closets, preparing for a short journey. -Later, he sent for Mactier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man came at once and stood in the -doorway respectful and silent, watching his -master pack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that you, Mactier? Well, I'm off again. -I'm going to run over to Mr. John's. I'll be -back day after to-morrow or the next—sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mactier twirled his cap around and around -with his hands, and looked down at it hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come right back from there," Trevelyan -went on, sorting collars, as he spoke, "and -then I'll go over the accounts with you and see -what the tenants want. I'm going back to -India as soon as I can get there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mactier's stoic Scotch features showed no -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir," he said again, in a low voice, -"'Tis what I've expected this lang time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan looked up from his packing, amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have—have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it the army, sir?" asked Mactier, doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan sat back on his heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, briefly, not meeting -Mactier's eyes, "it's the cholera."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cap Mactier had been twirling dropped -suddenly from his hand and he came a step -forward. The long years in which Trevelyan -had grown to be a man faded from Mactier's -consciousness; the big retired officer of the -Queen's service, was a boy again—the boy -whom he had flung across his shoulder when he -was wounded and brought home through the -darkness of that long moorland night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not the cholera, laddie! O, not the cholera!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just what it's going to be," said -Trevelyan, wheeling around suddenly on his -heel. "Where in thunder is that shirt?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old impetuous decision brought Mactier -back to his surroundings at once. He was -again the old retainer with the respectful -manner and the stoic Scotch face. He stooped and -picked from the floor the shirt that had fallen -from the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here it is, sir," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it. Thanks." Trevelyan gave the -shirt a shake and laid it in the Gladstone. -"I'm just going to look around out there—you -know I never could stay long in one place -at a time, Mactier—and perhaps help the soldiers -a little. I'll be back before you know it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mactier continued to hand him slowly one -by one the articles on the bed, which Trevelyan -put into the Gladstone. The old man was -silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan closed the Gladstone with a snap -and looked up, a quizzical smile in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not afraid I'm going to get the -cholera and die—are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mactier looked down at him adoringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, sir, I fear just that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense! Nothing has ever killed me -yet." He rose and pushed the Gladstone to -one side with his foot. "When I get back from -Aberdeen, we'll fix everything up for the year. -If anything goes wrong or you want any -advice, you can refer to Mr. Granger as usual. -He'll come up from Edinburgh if necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Veera gude, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess that's about all for the present. -You'd better tell James to have the trap around -in plenty of time to get me to that afternoon -train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan reached the Stewarts' the next -morning. They were not expecting him, and -the little country station was deserted. He -hired a carriage and a man, and was driven the -seven miles that lay between him and the house. -He looked out over the long stretch of familiar -road with indifferent eyes, and the liveryman -who had known him ever since the year his -aunt had brought him to Aberdeen county, -when his mother had died, wondered at his -silence. Trevelyan's heart throbs kept time to the -revolving of the carriage wheels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are taking you to her," they cried again -and again—maddeningly. "You are to see -her again," they cried, and his heart was in -his throat as the carriage turned in at the big -twisted iron gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He caught sight of her a long distance off, -and before the noise of the approaching wheels -had attracted attention. She was a little apart -from the group that was gathered on the side -piazza Malcolm Stewart had added years ago -to the rambling old house. She was seated on -a step, her big shade hat covered with wild -flowers, lying at her feet, and adding a touch of -color to the pale effect of her gray dress. Her -hands were resting in her lap and she was looking -off absent-mindedly toward the stretch of -sunlit beach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stewart was reading aloud, now and -then putting out her hand to stroke John's, that -rested on the arm of the big garden chair drawn -close to hers. He was looking steadily up at the -white clouds sailing overhead and smiling to -himself—not listening to the reading. Tom -Cameron was teasing Maggie's collie because -he did not dare tease Maggie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all about the group the noonday sun of -autumn lay as warm and bright as it might -have done in summer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Maggie who first heard the carriage -and who caught sight of its approach around -the curve in the long drive. She scrambled to -her feet, and gathering up her skirts tore down -the steps and drive to meet it, Tom Cameron -at her heels and the collie bringing up the rear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Rob," she shouted, breathlessly, and -tripped suddenly and lay sprawling on the -ground, the collie barking frantically and -whirling around her in the dust of the gravel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan flung the reins to the liveryman -and jumped down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hello, Maggie," he cried, picking her up -before Cameron could reach her. "Hello, -Tom! There, don't bark yourself mad, Bruce! -Hello, everybody!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They gathered around him, and his aunt -kissed him affectionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're a good boy," she said, the charm of -a rare smile lighting up her eyes. "But why -did you not wire you were coming so that we -could have met you? Your boxes are coming later?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thought I'd surprise you all. Here's my -box now." He motioned to the liveryman, -who was lifting his Gladstone out of the trap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That?</em><span>" said Maggie scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed, conscious the while that -Cary was coming toward him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's good to see you again," she said simply, -putting her hand in his and looking straight -into his eyes, "But I said you wouldn't come!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you?" he asked, forgetting the group -around him as he looked at her. "Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hardly know. I suppose because I -thought you wouldn't leave home and your old -crags and your big thunder storms. We're so -much quieter here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan turned sharply and beat his big -hand softly against John's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you, old man?" he asked, not -raising his eyes from his own hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine. I'm getting on my feet again. I -drive myself now, and ride a little and walk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good. Hello, Maggie—going on breaking -Tom's heart?" he pulled disrespectfully at -one of Maggie's stray curls, while Cameron -fumed inwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maggie nodded cheerfully and beckoned -Cameron to come and wipe the dust from her -dress with his handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They bore Trevelyan back with them to the -piazza, and Mrs. Stewart sent for some lunch, -which he ate out there in the midst of them. -Stewart flung himself back in his big garden -chair a little distance away and shaded his eyes -with his hand, studying Trevelyan's face. -There was something in it he could not -understand and it haunted him. He continued to -watch it all the morning, and when Trevelyan -was playing tennis with Cameron. And later -his eyes would wander from Trevelyan to Cary, -sitting over with his sister at the tea table. He -noticed with a great pain at his heart that Cary -was watching Trevelyan too, and that there -rested over her face an expression that he, who -had studied her every mood, had never seen -before, and he wondered suddenly if he had -been a fool—living in a fool's paradise of late. -Perhaps it was Trevelyan after all—perhaps—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps, too, the light that had sometimes -crept shyly into her eyes during these last -days—as shyly as a sunbeam creeps into gray wells -of beauty—had not dawned for him. And all -their walks upon the beach; and all their drives -together; and all their watching of the rising -moon had been nothing to her after all. And -they had been </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All night he lay awake, suffering dumbly, -not knowing that Trevelyan in the adjoining -room lay stretched across the bed, his face -buried in the pillow, wondering passionately -how he was to say "good-bye" to her to-morrow—without -her knowing! Without her knowing!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id17"><span class="bold large">IX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At dawn Trevelyan got up and waited -at the window for the sunrise. By and -by he could hear the servants moving -below stairs. The long minutes passed. -From a turn in the drive he could see Martin -returning with the mail that had come in late the -night before. He watched him curiously as he -paused to speak with McGuire, the gardener, -and he wondered in an indifferent sort of way -what he was saying that caused the latter to -suddenly grow so excited. He rose and went -down stairs, meeting Martin at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martin jerked off his cap awkwardly, and -handed him the mail and the papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's them Gordon 'Ighlanders, sir," he said. -"If you'll look at the paper—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan opened the sheet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Martin watched him from a respectful -distance. He saw Trevelyan crush the paper -suddenly in his hand and turn sharply on his -heel, and go into the library and close the door. -"I thought that there would stir Master -Robert up," he muttered. "Law! that was awful -fine, an' won't Betty stare an' hollow!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An hour later the family assembled in the -breakfast room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Robert?" asked Mrs. Stewart, -sitting down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His room's empty. Must be taking a walk. -What has become of the morning paper?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan appeared suddenly in the doorway. -He held the paper in his hand, and his -face was as white as the sheet. His uncle rose -hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great heavens, boy! What's the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Matter?</em><span>" Trevelyan's voice rang out -excitedly. "Read that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half a dozen hands reached out for the -paper. Trevelyan snatched it hungrily back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me read it to you! It's the Gordon -Highlanders." Trevelyan's words stumbled -over each other. "They've assaulted the -Dargai Hill! The Gurkhas, Dorsets and -Derbys couldn't take it! Then General -Kempster ordered the Gordon Highlanders and the -Third Sikhs to reinforce the fighting line. The -pipers played the 'Cock of the North,' and then -the mixed troops—the Highlanders and the -Dorsets and Gurkhas and Derbys and Sikhs -swept across! God! Look at the list of the -dead!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan tossed the paper to John and -turned away and leaned against the sideboard, -his elbows on it, his head in his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Young Stewart caught the paper and sat -down at the table and spread it out in front of -him with nervous fingers, and began to read, -the rest gathering around him. The -Highlanders of Aberdeen!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The breakfast stood untouched, growing -colder every minute, but no one thought of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Young Stewart's voice got husky now and -then, and when he was half way through the -sheet, he pushed it over to Cameron and rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess you'd better finish it," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was hard to forget that if it had not been -for that India transfer, he would have been -with the Highlanders!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan came forward suddenly, and -leaned over Cary's chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't it splendid," he said. "That's the way -we Scotch fight—" he broke off abruptly, -recoiling before the consciousness that he had not -fought so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's grand," cried the American girl, her -breath coming quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The elder Stewart looked up for a moment -from the paper he was reading over Cameron's -shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to have been there, Robert! -That's just your kind of work!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to God I had!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Stewart crossed the room and went -over to where John was sitting at the furthest -end of the table, his chin in his hand. She -sat down by him and leaned forward to speak to -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it's hard," she said, "but think how -I would have felt!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart drew outlines on the cloth with the -breakfast knife he had picked up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't talk of it," he answered, and he -turned his face away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother said nothing, and by and by she -rose and went back to the group. Something -in her face as she came up to them attracted -Trevelyan and he stopped short in his excited -talk and looked toward the solitary figure at the -end of the table. His grasp suddenly relaxed -on Cary's chair and he went up to Stewart and -sat down on the arm of his chair and gripped -hard at his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a brute," he said in a low voice, and he -kept his grip on Stewart's arm, and it was he -who by and by led the others to calm down and -eat their breakfast after some sort of a fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was to leave at midnight, and he had -come especially to see Cary, but he scarcely -saw her throughout the length of the long day. -After that he devoted himself to Stewart, -forcing him to think and speak of other things -besides the great excitement of the hour. He -laughed with him; he talked to him, and they -went over their boyhood again. It was as it -had once been between them, before they had -grown to men. Once in the twilight -Trevelyan spoke of Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things are all going to pull straight -between you," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Stewart, remembering the look on -Cary's face, when she had been watching -Trevelyan the day before, shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until Trevelyan went to dress for -dinner that he realized that the real hardness of -the task lay undone. He would leave at -midnight, and only God knew when he would -come to Aberdeen again—and God was silent. -To-night would mean "good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After dinner he went up to Cary as she was -sitting at the piano in the music room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you come for a walk on the beach?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up, flushed, and her hands fell -back upon the keys discordantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—I don't know. Isn't it too cold?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't cold," he said, picking up a white -cashmere shawl and flinging it across her bare -shoulders. "Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tone in his voice caught and held her -wavering and turned it to decision. She rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They passed Stewart in the hall, on his way -to the music room, his flute in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're going down to the shore for a little -while," said Trevelyan, pausing before moving on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, all right. Don't get cold, Cary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he went on to the deserted music room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan led her down the little path to -the beach. He talked in a matter of fact way -on indifferent subjects, as though to set her at -her ease. He smiled grimly to the darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's afraid I'll forget myself," he kept -thinking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came from out of the strip of woods -and its shadows to the beach, stretching away -on either hand in the distance, and sloping -ahead of them into the sea that kissed it and -then receded, holding it at arm's length before -it embraced it again, as a lover does his -sweetheart. The slow creeping up and retreating of -the waters came faintly and soothingly to their -ears. Far off a faint light appeared in the -heavens, marking the rising moon. The burden -of the day and the excitement of the battle crept -off and were lost in the shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't seen the moon rise on the beach -since I was a youngster," said Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's beautiful," said Cary. "I always get -near the moonlight when I can."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you? Well, it pays one. It is beautiful. -I don't believe I ever quite appreciated -the moon and the beach here when I was a -little chap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your aunt once told me how unhappy you -were when they brought you here—to Aberdeen county."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fancy that's pretty straight. I never took -kindly to the level beach. I wanted my crags -and my breakers and old Mactier. Mactier -and the crags and the breakers were always -associated together in my small mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so; but it's so peaceful here—" Cary -broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but do you know I've a notion that -some day or other, you'll come often to the old -place in Argyll and you'll love it as I love it -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary looked up at him quickly. Could it be -that he still hoped that some day—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's beautiful," she said, "but it's terrible! -The beat of the sea on the crags always seems -to be chanting something that I can't -understand. It's a foolish idea, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan walked down to the water's edge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's been chanting to me ever since I was -born," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked out over the quiet waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sea here don't talk to me," he went -on. "It never did. It isn't like my Scotland! -Come, we'd better walk a little; you'll get cold -standing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gathered the cashmere that had slipped -from her shoulders around her, and brought it -up, covering her head. Her face white as the -white moonlight looked out from its folds. -Once a wave bolder than its fellows, crept up -and wet her feet and the edge of the long skirt -she was holding with one hand. She scarcely -noticed it. Once she turned her face away -from Trevelyan's and looked out across the -shining sea, to where it lay dark against the -horizon. A great pity and a great awe, of -something she could not define, lay heavy upon -her and made her silent. It was as if this -"good-bye" was to be the longest she had ever -said. From the house, showing through the -trees, came a stream of light. It was from -the music room and it mingled with the -white radiance that lay across the sea. And -then through the quiet, there stole the first, -faint notes of John's flute. The music began -softly and caressingly, and rose and filled the -spaces all around them. It sobbed and moaned -and called entreatingly to her, and then it sank -into a marvelous crescendo; only to throb again -against the silence—still entreating her to -return, before it faded slowly and died away altogether.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sobbing and the moaning of it pulsed -in Trevelyan's brain. This was good-bye. It -was good-bye as he had never dreamed it. He -could have fallen down before that white -moon-touched face and cried the good-bye out, -clinging to her feet. He could have cried it -out, his head upon her breast; he could have -cried it out, with her resting in his arms, but -silence laid its seal on him instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out in India, with Mackenzie, in the awful -shadow of the plague, he would remember her -so, with her white moon-touched face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What had he done to hope for such a -good-bye? Only a man who has won a woman -could cry out his heart's fullness so; and he had -lost her! What right had he to tell her that -he was going away, hoping so to wrest from -her some word of approbation or of pity? -Might she not say something that she would -regret afterwards? He could go back home, -and he could write her briefly. Then she -would remember this night. Then, whatever -he had said or left unsaid to-night or in the -note, she would understand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As for him—out in India with Mackenzie, -in the awful shadow of the plague, he would -remember her so, with her white moon-kissed -face. He would hear again, louder than the -moans of sufferings, the wondrous love music -of Stewart's flute and the song of the sea. It -seemed to him he would hear it and see her so, -if he were dying. And yet, he told himself, -he would have given up his life right there -before she should think that he had done this -thing because of her approbation or her pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he could only have been with the Highlanders -at the assault! If—well, death would -never come to him so. He had fought that out -in the hospital and again the other night at -home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The music sobbed itself into silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The old beach is a good deal prettier by -night than I ever used to fancy it could be, as -a little chap," he said after awhile. "I'll -remember it when I'm back in—Argyll."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why in the world are you in such a hurry -to get back?" asked Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there are some things to be looked out -for, and accounts to be gone over with -Mactier. I couldn't do without him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed. You're going to stay there -during the winter, I suppose. You'll go back -to London for the season?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess not this year," he said. "I'm not -much on the society act."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll be lonely—won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan stopped and beat his foot against -the sand and looked down at it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I've been a lonely kind of a chap all -my life," he said in a matter of fact tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary caught her breath quickly, turning -away that he might not see her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's all my own doing," he went on. "I -know it. I never was very sociable. I fancy -I was born cross and horrid and crooked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary turned to him and she put out her -hand and for a moment it rested on his sleeve. -He looked down at her upturned face, on which -the moon was shining. A faint smile was -folded around her mouth, hiding the pity -beneath. She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, you're not!" she said. "You're -brave and you're strong, and some day—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked into her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—and 'some day'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're going to do something fine!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head in denial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lost my chance," he said slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have another," she said, the hope -of all the world in her voice. "We all have -our second chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not like that—not like those Highlanders—" he -broke off and his hands came up swiftly -to either side of the lifted, moon-lit face. He -could have crushed it, white and radiant as it -was, between his hands; he could have kissed -and kissed and kissed it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then his hands came up slowly, and he -held her face as gently as the Captain would -have done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to take you back to the house," -he said, looking down at her. "You are -shivering. I might have known you would -take cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrank back, trembling from the dumb -anguish in his eyes, and covered her own with -her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why couldn't he have been with the Highlanders?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew one of her hands slowly down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't," he said; "Don't act so. Did I -hurt you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised the hand he held to his lips and -he kissed it passionately, holding it close -against his mouth for a moment, as though to -seal the kiss there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm awfully glad you believe in me," he -said, "I'm awfully glad for that 'some day' -you think of. Shall I tell you about a 'some -day,' too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, 'some day' you'll marry just -like all the girls do, but you'll marry some out -of sight fellow—" he broke off, and retraced his -steps to the house, adjusting his military walk -to her slower one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pulled at the edge of her shawl. She -was thinking if it had not been for Trevelyan, -Stewart would have been at the Dargai Hill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head as she entered the strip of -wood, and the twigs felt out caressingly and -touched her dress as she passed. The breath -of the one red rose on her bosom came up to her -like the voice of love, and over her white face -there stole the faintest color of the rose, and -she breathed quicker, remembering the music of -the flute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart turned from the long window. He -could see them emerging from the darkness of -the wood into the moon-lit open. Trevelyan -had spoken to him of Cary but what if Cary -cared for Trevelyan after all! And he laid the -silent flute away.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="id18"><span class="bold large">X.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At midnight Trevelyan stumbled blindly -into the railway carriage, without a -backward glance at Stewart, who had -insisted on taking the long, dark drive to the -station to see him off. Once in the darkness -Trevelyan had put his hand heavily on Stewart's -knee, and leaned back and stared into the -blackness ahead. All that Stewart had ever -been to him—all that they had ever been to -each other, swept across him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out there with the plague and Mackenzie, -his eyes would ache for a sight of Stewart's -strong, kind face, but Stewart would not know. -Out there, in the shadow of death, he would -remember Stewart, and his heart would cry out -passionately for him, but Stewart would not -know. And he would think of Cary—how he -would think of her—of her and Stewart. He -would think of them together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he might only tell Stewart what this -parting meant—that it was longer than he -dreamed—and that he was not merely seeing -him off to Argyll.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But what right had he to speak? Stewart -could not change his decision now; nor his -uncle, nor his aunt, nor his father, were he -home, nor all London, nor—Cary. They -would grieve when the letters came to them, -but they would be spared the pain of parting. -It was better so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was toward the evening of the next day -when he reached home, and after he had -finished his dinner he went into the big library, -walked over to his desk and unlocked it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for it," he said briefly, and he sat -down and began sorting papers, preparatory to -going over them the next day with Mactier and -his barrister, Mr. Granger, whom he had wired -to come from Edinburgh and meet him at home -the next morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He worked far into the night, and the next -day it was the same. Literally he set his house -in order. Granger returned to Edinburgh on -the evening train, and Mactier received his -instructions—in silence, shifting his old cap -between his fingers, but not looking up to meet -Trevelyan's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then Trevelyan had dinner. After the meal -was over he tried to rest but he could not, and -he went out into the hall and began to walk -up and down—swiftly. There was no other -sound in all the house but his rapid walking. -Solitude enveloped him and the home of his -people. Once he stopped and looked at the -armor on the wall; once he opened the front -door and stood on the steps staring into the -night. The Pleiades were brighter and further -off he remembered, thinking afterwards, than -he had ever seen them; but the rest—the stretch -of winding drive and lawn and trees lay -wrapped in profound shadow and appeared -unreal; only the Pleiades and the beating of the -surf against the crags, seemed the things that -existed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night air was cold and he went in and -back to the library, and put another log upon -the flickering blaze, and as the wood caught -fire warmed his hands with the heat. After -awhile he lighted his candle and went upstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next morning he said good-bye to the -tenantry; in the afternoon he packed his grip -and the few things needed for the coming -journey. In the evening he wrote half a dozen -letters—brief notes telling his father and his -aunt and uncle of his intended return to India. -They were all worded much the same. The -old spirit of restlessness was on him. He -wanted excitement. He was running out to -India for a time to watch Mackenzie fight the -cholera. They were not to worry. He expected -to have a great time of it. His note to -John was even briefer, but it was more serious -in tone.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"DEAR OLD JOHNNY:—" it ran:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye. I'm off for India again. You -see I can't keep away from it. I suppose it's -on the order of a man wanting to return to the -scene of his murder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a lucky dog, and of course I expect to -return, but the plague isn't always considerate -of persons, and there's the hundredth chance. -I expect to come back and live at home myself. -Still Granger has the will. If I don't you're to -have the old place. You'll come to it -sometimes—hey; and have an eye on Mactier?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess you were about right about my -quitting the Service. I wasn't fit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, if I hadn't turned coward and -lost my grip on myself, you'd have been with -the Highlanders at the Dargai Hill, and -Cary—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that don't excuse me. I don't mean -it as an excuse. I've never been worth a -shilling or made anything of my life, but I've -thought a lot of you—always.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good-bye,</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"ROB."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And then Trevelyan drew forth a clean sheet -of paper and stared hard at it. What was there -to say to Cary!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dipped his pen in the ink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My Love," he wrote, and then stopped -short, and stared at the words. Then he -crumpled the sheet fiercely in his fingers and -flung it into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Cary," he wrote, trying again, -and then he laid down his pen and laughed -harshly. The black letters stared back at him -like small demons, grinning derisively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The third time he started without a heading.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I've written to the rest," it began, "and -they will tell you of my plans. To you, -however, I want to say something more. Now, -that I am writing, there seems little to say to -you, and yet, I'm human enough—if you will, -coward enough still—to have you, at least, -know that I have not been altogether candid -with the others. I understand the danger. It -is because of the danger that I am going. -There's no glory in it, and I don't want any -fuss, but there are our men in want—it's -something for the Service. You understand—don't -you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid of making you sad that night -on the beach if I told you, and I selfishly, too, -wanted you to myself, as you always were, and -untouched by worry. I shall think of that -walk with you, and the moonlight on your face, -and the music—! After all, Johnny's the only -fellow fit for you. You don't mind my saying -so—do you?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sea was quiet that night—as quiet as -you were, and my heart was the only tempestuous -thing on the beach; and your face, oh, -Cary,—your face!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's no telling, of course, but I've a -queer notion I'm not coming back—ever any -more, as we used to say as children; but the sea -will go on beating against the crags here—home -on the Scottish coast, and perhaps by and -by you'll be able to understand the song?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you, but I don't love you as I did. -It's the Service, first, somehow. Am I building -up the broken pieces, do you suppose? It's -a job—isn't it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my heart is breaking over this letter!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There! I don't want to make you sad. -There's nothing to be sad over. The tangle -is just getting unsnarled; and you know there's -an end to every thread—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a big empty space on the wall of -the gallery here. If you would </span><em class="italics">let</em><span> Johnny -hang your picture there! If you'd give him -the right! And the sword—would you mind -keeping my sword?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's getting late. I make an early start -to-morrow. I enclose Mackenzie's letter. I got -it less than a week ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall never forget you. I think that is all.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"ROBERT TREVELYAN."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xi"><span class="bold large">XI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After Trevelyan left, the household in -Aberdeen settled back again into its -usual state of placidity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The second day after his departure was -threatening, and Cameron and Maggie killed -time by pretending to play billiards. Malcolm -Stewart had driven into the village in the -morning to be gone all day; his wife was busy -writing to Kenneth, her youngest son, who was -tramping it through Normandy with a couple -of old classmates. Cary was curled up in the -window seat in the library, absently watching -McGuire, the gardener, rake the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the book so absorbing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary turned suddenly and met Stewart's -laughing eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I didn't know you were there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it seems. I've been sitting here for the -last quarter of an hour watching you—read!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary flushed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a stupid old story, anyway," she -complained, tossing the book to him. "What have -you been doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Offered to help Tom and Maggie with -billiards, but they were so deuced ungrateful -I left."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were a wise man," said Cary, and she -laughed. Then she began to drum on the -window. "If you could do anything you liked -what would you do, just at this minute?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart twirled the book he held indifferently. -"I'd kiss you," he thought, but aloud -he said meekly, "I'll watch you, please ma'am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense!" answered Cary, turning her -head uneasily and looking out of the window -at McGuire again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stifled a yawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a lazy day, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure it's the day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course! What a suggestion. Is it -near lunch time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How about a walk afterwards," he said. -"It's clearing and the sun's coming out. We -might go to the Point and watch it set," he -added quickly, seeing her waver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary clapped her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly? You really mean it; you'll take -me to the Point at last?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll go then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I'll go! I'll get on a short skirt -this minute. See me run!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She jumped down from the window seat like -a delighted child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart caught at her hand as she passed -and detained her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't the right to ask," he said quickly, -looking up into her face with his grave Scotch -eyes, "but were you thinking of Robert when -I spoke to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Cary, not looking at him. "I've -been thinking of him all day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart let her hand drop suddenly, but Cary -made no movement to be gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I can't just tell you why," she said, -pressing her hand tightly over the one Stewart -had held, and keeping her eyes fixed on a bust -of Burns, "but I feel—somehow, and I suppose -it's foolish—we—we won't see him again -for a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart leaned forward, looking up again at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't the right," he said, "and you -needn't answer me, but—</span><em class="italics">is</em><span> it Robert, Cary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long shaft of breaking sunlight came -through the window and touched her shoulders -and her hair. The quiet of the room was -absolute. She still pressed the hand he had held -with the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't Robert," she said, and her voice -was lower than its wont, and she did not meet -Stewart's eyes, "I—" and then she ran swiftly -from the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would not meet his eyes all during lunch, -and she insisted on devoting herself to -Cameron, much to Maggie's inward amusement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something in the air," Maggie -confided to Cameron after lunch; "I just feel it -pricking—like pins. It's something to do with -John and Cary. Now what </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you suppose it is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed, meeting Cameron's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you suppose it is!" he repeated -banteringly. "I'm </span><em class="italics">sure</em><span> I don't know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Johnny's taking her to the Point this afternoon!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cameron sighed heavily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that means 'good-bye' to Johnny!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maggie wheeled around suddenly on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a way to talk!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cameron pulled her to him gently by the -shoulders, until he could look down into her -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps—that is—will you go with me to -the Point to-morrow, Maggie?" he asked.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Is it not too late in the year to try the -Point?" asked John's mother anxiously, as -he and Cary started out. "The days are -shorter now, and then there is the tide, and the -danger of a mist, you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart studied the skies critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems straight enough, but, of course, -if you're going to worry, Little Madre—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, of course not. I'm just foolish. Go -along with you both," and she pushed them -gently away from her with a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't stay long on the Point," Stewart -said when they were well on their way. "It -would be a nasty thing to be caught in a mist -out there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary pushed a small stone along with the -toe of her walking boot, and was silent. -Indeed she scarcely spoke all during the walk to -the Point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> been at the Dargai Hill, she kept -thinking, if—he—had!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She followed Stewart out to the extreme -end of the peninsula, and she stood quietly -listening as he pointed out to her, how in high -tide the waters met across the narrow neck and -isolated it from the mainland. Sometimes, he -told her, the waters swept across the island so -left, and he showed her where they had come -up and left their mark upon the trunks of the -trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the spell of her silence fell upon -him and they stood quiet and motionless, -looking out to sea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They waited so, for the sun to sink slowly -behind the distant line of the horizon, and they -watched the big white clouds change and -clothe themselves in the pink and purple of the -coming sunset, like air nymphs getting ready -for a ball. The quietness of the day's death -was on them. Once or twice they spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It reminds me of the Point, at home," said -Cary once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew it would," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat down on a big rock at the end of the -Point and looked up at the changing clouds. -He walked a little way down to the water's -edge and then he came back slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vision of the Highlanders and the -Dargai heights, that had haunted him since -Trevelyan had gone, faded. There seemed to -be nothing in the world that mattered except -her sitting there on the big gray stone, with -the water lapping at her feet, and the glow of -the sunset on her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He watched her as she looked toward the -sinking sun, and after it had disappeared he -stole up behind her and stooped over her, -calling her by name, softly, as though afraid the -sea and pines would hear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up, and then her eyes went back -quickly to the afterglow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The incoming tide lapped softly against the -rocks on the shore, and drew nearer. The pink -and purple of the clouds changed to a delicate -gray, that deepened as the moments passed; -and from the sea there stole landward a thin -white vapor, as exquisite as a bride's veil, but -growing thicker and thicker as it came nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart, following the direction of her eyes, -straightened himself suddenly with the -alertness that comes with the consciousness of -danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the mist," he said, briefly. "Come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hand and held it, and when she -would have drawn it away, he tightened his hold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need my help," he said sharply. -"We've got to get out of this just as quick as -we can!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The white vapor, grown thicker, crept up -behind them, and Stewart changed their rapid -pace into a run, but the mist caught up with -them, and by and by surrounded them and hid -the sea behind them and on either side, and the -narrow neck in front. He urged her on over -the two miles that lay between them and the -mainland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile he felt her hold on his arm relax.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—can't—go—so fast," she panted. "I—I—" -and her voice trailed off and was lost in -the heaviness of the mist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped and began to talk rapidly, and -he rubbed her cold hands as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must," he said sternly. "We can't -stop here. Don't you know the sea may cover -the peninsula, and that the tide is coming in, -and is cutting off the neck?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try again, oh, I will try!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She staggered on—blindly, clinging to him. -He could feel the cold, tense pressure of her -fingers, and it thrilled him. She could feel the -strong touch of his hand, and it reassured her. -Neither could see the face of the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And still the tide crept in on either side of -the narrow peninsula. It was the only thing -he was conscious of—except her presence and -her danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he could lead her from out of this mist! -If he could save her! If he could reach the -neck in time! His heart burnt within him, -and cried out in passionate protest that he -seemed so powerless—he who loved her so!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her hand closer and he bent over -her for a moment, his face near to her own. -They could see each other's faces so,—faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear," he whispered, and his heart was in -his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She clung to his hands, trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he would only tell her that he loved her, -the waters might sweep over the narrow neck -before they two reached it! But he did not -speak again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The land tapered off, leading to the neck, -and he felt the ground grow moist beneath his -feet. He went forward, keeping her at arm's -length, but afraid to let go her hand, lest he -should lose her in the mist. He put down his -foot and he could feel the water creeping up -around his boot and filling it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The tide is covering the neck," he said -briefly, stooping down and unfastening his -boots, after which he stood upright, breathing -deeply, to gather all his strength. Then he -came closer to her and stooped and raised her -in his arms and rose again, pressing forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pressed her hands on his shoulders, and -struggling, tried to push herself free.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afraid of you!" and she laughed, but the -laugh was swallowed up in the mist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you must let me carry you across."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think I am?" she asked -fiercely. "Let you carry me with that wound -in your back! I am as strong as you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She struggled again to free herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, you're not," he cried gladly, "and -you'll be safer so!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do I care for safety when your life -is in danger? We'll face it together. Let me -down and you—you—I'll let you lead me -through—" her voice broke in a sob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silence of the years was broken by her -sob. He let her slip down, holding her closely -still, and then he drew her face to his, and -kissed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," he whispered, "I love you," -and he laid his cheek against her own, cold with -the damp of the mist, and then he drew her -nearer to the waters. "Come on, dear," he -said brokenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They could feel the tide creeping around -their feet, and it came up almost to the woman's -knees. Still she clung, struggling, panting, to -his hand, as he led her into the deeper waters. -Once she brought his hand that was leading -her up to her face, and he felt her lips upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," she said clearly, and the words -pierced the mist, reaching him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, dear," he said again, and still -brokenly, leading her to where the tide ran -swiftest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The waters were up to her waist, and she -was chilled and benumbed, and her clothes -dragged on her, and she was weary with the -weariness of death, but she did not know it. -She still clung to his hand. And then as the -waters grew deeper:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it hurt?" she asked, and when he -did not answer her, "There! I am not afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice was stronger than he had ever -heard it, and sweeter; but the strength and the -sweetness of it, were like crushing weights -upon his heart and brain. She could speak -so—when the waters were growing deeper! Moisture -not of the mist or the sea sprang to his face -and bathed it. And then the agony her words -had caused—lifted. She did love him then; -loved him with a deathless courage. Let the -waters cover them, and the mist draw the folds -of its mantle over the level sea!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly he stopped and lifted his head, -breathing quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The ground's higher," he cried. "We've -reached it—the mainland!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not call back to him, but she placed -her free hand over his that held hers, and he -could feel the added pressure of thanksgiving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Little by little they could feel the waters -receding. Now they were down to his knees -again; now they were at his feet—conquered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew her into his arms and he called her -by name. She did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you going to speak to me?" he -asked, bending over her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stroked the shoulder of his coat slowly -with her cold, wet hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I—what must I say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What I have been waiting all these years -to hear—what you said a little while ago—that -you love me," he answered, looking into her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bent her head and laid her cheek against -her hand on his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," she said. "I love you—" her voice -broke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," she repeated, clinging to him. -"I have loved you for months. I have been -foolish for you! I have been frightened to -have you out of my sight; to have you do -anything when I was not along for fear you would -get hurt in some way! I've imagined all kinds -of things that could happen to you—I am so -foolish—I love—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words came up to him, choked, and he -had to lean closer over her to hear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She faltered, lifting her face from her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Yes?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dreamed last night you were at the -Dargai Hill—that you were killed, and I awoke -sobbing in the darkness. I am—so foolish. -I knew it wasn't true—" she turned her face -away and wiped her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you love me—like that?" he asked slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind them the tide crept in, covering -portions of the peninsula and all of the narrow -neck. Around them the mist lay heavy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you were not frightened a little while -ago and you were in danger then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; I was with you—we were together," -she answered him simply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stroked her damp hair, unconscious alike -of the tide and the mist, drinking in her words -thirstily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it isn't Robert!" he said more to -himself than to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said again. "I think it has been -you always—and I didn't know it. I think I -have been waiting for you always. Robert -showed me that it was you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent, waiting for her to go on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it hadn't been for your danger when you -were ill from the wound, I mightn't have ever -known. And if you'd been at the Dargai -Hill—" she stopped and stretched out her arms, -and put them around his neck, and looked into -his eyes. "Oh! I couldn't have borne that! -I'm selfish, but I couldn't have spared you even -for the Service!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vision of the desolate years he had -planned and thought of—the years devoid of -service—and the memory of the useless uniforms, -hidden away, and the sabres, useless too, -crossed on the wall at home, faded, and he laid -the dead memories at her feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This compensates—" he broke off, kissing -her in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile he drew her arm through his -and started to walk slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must get home and get on dry -clothes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he helped her up the steep embankment -and into the road that led home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tide reached its flood and turned. The -sea's low song came to them muffled by distance, -and was lost in the darkness behind them. -The heavy mist lifted slowly, and through the -rifts, one by one, the stars appeared, peeping -down at them like little children peeping from -the coverings of their cribs; and by and by the -moon stole from behind a cloud and moved -slowly between the twinkling stars, as a nurse -steals from behind a shadowy curtain and -moves softly from bed to bed, to see if the -children sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led her in silence through the great -wrought-iron gates and up the drive, toward -the lighted house, looking down into her -uplifted face with his grave eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he kept looking at her all during dinner. -Once she looked across at him—and smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later she complained of being tired, and she -rose to go to bed. Stewart lighted her candle -and waited for her at the foot of the stairs, -after the fine old custom of his people. Not -even Malcolm Stewart, as the elder host, ever -thought of lighting Cary's candle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart handed it to her as she came up to -the great stairway and stopped. To-night he -did not offer to shake hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took the candle and then slipped by him -quickly. He called her back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you going to say 'good-night' to -me?" he asked, a smile creeping around his -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—yes. Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned over her and kissed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night," he said, and his voice was -suddenly grave. "I hope your dreams will -be sweet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sighed—a sigh of happiness, and she -looked down at the burning taper in her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then they will have to be of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not speak for a moment; afterwards -she lifted her eyes from the burning -taper and looked into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," she said again, and she -repeated the words over and over as a master -plays over and over a bar of sweetest music, -and she put out her hand and pressed her -fingers against his cheek. They rested -there—closely—for a minute. "I love you so!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she gathered up her long silk skirts -and began slowly to mount the stairs, the taper -lifted carefully before her. She did not look -back, but he could see her face, even in the -shadow of the grim armor, by its light. And -on her white face there rested a perfect peace. -Once a draught caught the flickering taper and -nearly extinguished it. She stopped and, -dropping her long skirts that fell back upon the -oaken stairs with a silken rustle, she shielded -the taper with her hand. So would she shield -the light of her pure life and her wifehood -from the world's breath, he thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood leaning against the bannister, -watching her until she vanished, and he stood -there after the soft silken rustle of her skirts -and her faint footfall were lost, staring at the -last turn in the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in western Scotland, Trevelyan sat, his -head bowed upon the letter he had just -finished to Cary.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xii"><span class="bold large">XII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was spring before Trevelyan could push -forward into the lowland section, and -on to the interior and Mackenzie. The -reports of a threatened cholera scare had -reached down as far as Patna. There were -Britons coming every day from farther inland -to Patna, grateful enough for the privilege of -having passed the government line of precaution, -and being allowed to stay there; but a -British subject, who was neither ordered there -by command of the War or Colonial Offices, -was another matter, and Trevelyan was -regarded with a blank curiosity by those who -knew his proposed destination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were a good many technicalities and -difficulties to be surmounted, too, in the -question of getting inward as far as the precaution -lines, that would have discouraged anyone less -determined than Trevelyan. It had seemed -simple enough—to get there—after the journey -had once been begun, but the actual reaching -Mackenzie was another matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delay, under which he fretted inexpressibly, -only brought more serious accounts of the -spread of the disease. A score of natives had -sickened and died—traced directly to the -foulness of the water used—and later there were -contradictory reports as to the appearance of -the scourge within the barracks. The waiting -days became a torture to Trevelyan, and it was -not until he had scaled the wall of obstacles, -and was well on the other side, pressing onward -to Mackenzie, that the torture lifted. The -fear—half formed and never acknowledged—of -possibly not getting to Mackenzie, fell from -him as mile after mile took him further from -Patna and nearer to the garrison, and once or -twice he laughed a little as he kept picturing -to himself Mackenzie's surprise at this personal -answering of his letter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were other pictures that would force -themselves on him at this time, but he fought -them from him with a strength grown with -much usage. There were pictures of Cary's -face—white with the whiteness of the moon upon it -and sweeter than the fairest flower—there were -pictures of home and old Mactier, mourning -for him, and visions of the sea beating against -the high, gray crags. It seemed to him he -could hear and see it even then, inland as he -was, until he would force himself back to -present things and the desolate waste land through -which he was journeying; the stricken section -to which he was going; the cholera and -Mackenzie. And he would hold his wandering -thoughts sternly in check, as years ago he had -held in check the stallion he had conquered and -was wont to ride. And so the day would pass -in a desperate struggle against self, or his -desire to press onward to Mackenzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had needed all his powers of eloquence; -all his strategy; all the hard discipline of -repression taught by the Woolwich years, to get him -so far on his journey, and he had thought with -a certain grim satisfaction that all the -Woolwich years were paying back their debt to him, -at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was early in the morning when he reached -the small inland Station. His presence caused -a good deal of comment among the troopers -he passed on his way to Mackenzie and the -improvised hospital that had been erected a -long distance from the barracks. The whole -thing was strange; the new faces that he met; -the awful sense of a growing horror that -brooded like a bird of prey over the Station with -its handful of men—placed out here by order -of government officials far away and safe -enough in London—struggling against the -threatened devastation to the ranks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found Mackenzie in the small ill-constructed -apothecary shop and he stood still a -minute, studying his friend's haggard face and -heavy eyes, before the surgeon was aware of -his presence. Mackenzie was weighing -morphia, and three times Trevelyan saw his hand -shake and spill the white powder before he was -able to divide it in correct proportions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mackenzie," he said evenly, not wishing -to startle him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surgeon turned sharply and looked at -him. Then he leaned against the table, his -back to it, his hands gripping its edge. He -leaned forward a little, frowning. He had had -a hard night of it, but—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mackenzie—it's I—Trevelyan. Don't you -remember me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan went forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie's long, lean fingers suddenly -relaxed their grip on the edge, and he sat back -against the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good heavens!" he said, slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan went up and slapped him on the -shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got your letter and it just stirred up my -fighting blood. I packed my grip—and, -presto! here I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come; haven't you anything to say to a -chap who has been traveling thousands of miles -to get here? Aren't you glad to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Glad to see you?</em><span>" Mackenzie lifted his -haggard eyes from the floor to Trevelyan's face, -"</span><em class="italics">Glad to see you</em><span>—in this pest house? You're -the maddest fool God ever made!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan drew down the corners of his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I am," he said, "but I've come; -and I've come to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie laid a heavy hand on his shoulder -and Trevelyan could feel the pressure of the -long thin fingers through his coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not going to stay one hour," he -said, in a low voice, "not—one—hour; do you -hear? There're new cases breaking out every -day; it's going to play the devil! If you're -thinking of suicide, go back to London and -blow your brains out, or throw yourself into -the Thames—that's more romantic, still. -There's nothing romantic about dying of -cholera. It isn't a pretty way to die!" Mackenzie -laughed, harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan put his hand up to his shoulder -and forced away Mackenzie's grip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not hunting suicide or death either," -he said briefly, "and I'm not mad. I know -perfectly why I'm here—and what I'm here for, -and I'm going to stay." He paused a moment -and then went on hurriedly, forcing back the -tension in his voice. "Do you think I've been -traveling and squandering money for weeks, -and 'pulling strings' to get here, and being -delayed at Patna, to be turned back now like a -whipped boy turned out of school?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't know what it's like—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess I'll find out quick enough. Look -at you—ready to drop, and then refusing help!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie put his hand up wearily to his -forehead and pressed it there tightly. The -lines cut by lack of sleep on his haggard face -relaxed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing. I'll be all right when I've -gotten some sleep. You're not needed. There's -Clarke, and the orderlies—" he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie bit his cheek and brought down -his hand heavily on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't need you. Will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie turned and went back to the -morphia scales. Something in the work he was -doing and the way he was doing it struck Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's the apothecary?" he asked briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie balanced the scales carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sick," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's Clarke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie added a fraction of morphia to -the scales.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sick," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the helpers—the orderlies?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie put down the scales, suddenly, -and stared at them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Half sick," he said.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiii"><span class="bold large">XIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The long days crept slowly by at the -Station and through the infected district. -as horses driven by Death, mercilessly, -tired by their task, and yet urged on continually -to break through the breastwork of care -and precaution raised by Mackenzie and -Trevelyan, so that the course of their charioteer -might sweep onward to the outlying districts -and turn the scourge, local as yet, into a -devastating epidemic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything to keep the barracks clear of it," -Trevelyan had thought and said, and Mackenzie, -grown silent with the effort of the fight, -nodded without speaking, forcing away from -him the remembrance of the epidemic he himself -had been through, and the stories once told -him by his father, who had helped beat back the -scourge on the Ganges in '63.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each hour was freighted with unspeakable -horrors, and Trevelyan learned to know the -course of the disease almost as well as -Mackenzie himself. He knew the first symptoms; -he knew with an instinct that rarely failed, just -the cases that were liable to pull through, and -those that were liable not to; he could foretell -the signs of the </span><em class="italics">collapse</em><span>, when the face would -become cold and gray, the finger tips and lips -and nose livid; the eyes deeply sunk and -bloodshot with the dark rings beneath; the breath -without any sensible warmth when caught on -the hand; the scarcely audible beating of the -heart;—the apathy that was itself a death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The haunting shadow of his crime was -driven back and back by the absorbing matter -of the hour, and even Cary's face—moon-kissed—seemed -indistinct and far away, as he went -about his tasks. It seemed developed on a -plate, hidden in the dark room—the innermost -recesses of his soul—to be produced and -worshipped now and then when courage weakened -and the heart languished and grew sick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would recall it, at night sometimes, -when he had flung himself down for a few -hours of rest, and he would press his fingers -over his eyes as though to hide from sight the -memories of the day's horrors and the day's -deaths, and the face would come to him then, -and his soul would look upon it as on some -dream of heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then the memory of her face would -fade, and he would let it slip away from him, -as though knowing it had no place here—midst -the cholera scourge, and he would fall -off to sleep and sleep exhaustedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The days held but one purpose, but one -thought—his service to the men, and he -sometimes wondered how even the service of the -hour had a power to hold him, stronger than -the memory of her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In those days, when each morning saw another -man added to the inmates of the hospital, -it was all reality—grim, terrible and as strong -as the death he fought; and he and Death kept -on the fight, and even when Death won, his -triumph seemed petty and incomplete because -of this man's courage, which he could neither -break nor bend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was when Death had seemingly withdrawn -his presence a little way that Mackenzie, one -morning motioned to Trevelyan to come outside -to the entrance of the hospital. He spoke -to the point—a necessity taught him long ago -when he had first joined the army and helped -fight the Asiatic scourge for the men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Five cases have broken out ten miles -in-country. You know what that means—a -general mowing down and spread of the disease -unless it is strangled right away! I can't leave -the men here, or go any distance from the -barracks for fear—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan looked at him squarely and nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not, and you want me to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Clarke isn't fit yet, and I couldn't let him -go anyway. Could you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And take charge of things? I'll send you -some helpers, and perhaps run over for an -afternoon later to see how you're getting on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right. When am I to start?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you go to-day—now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan brought his hand up to his forehead -suddenly in the old salute, a shadow of a -smile in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie looked away and stood silent a -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It hardly seems as though I could spare -you," and then quickly, "You understand -about the calomel and how to use it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Trevelyan—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan stopped suddenly as he was walking -away, and turned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And just when the morphia's needed, and -when it's judicious to give the opium, calomel -and white sugar—and about the salt -injections in the veins?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Trevelyan—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan wheeled around, stopping short -again. Mackenzie was still looking away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, for God's sake, be careful!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xiv"><span class="bold large">XIV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was one thing to help fight the scourge -with Mackenzie in the military hospital, -crude as it was, where things were -carried on with a certain nicety and regard to -military discipline that was stronger than even -the demoralizing dread of the hour; but it was -another matter to fight it, and crush it, and -stamp it out, alone, in the midst of half a -hundred panic stricken natives, who knew neither -military discipline nor paid proper attention -to the precautionary measures of the disease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan had never possessed the quality -of conciliation; it had been either one side of -the line or the other. He had always reduced -things to their smallest denomination at once, -with no intermediate measures. And the quality -became now a practical and living thing, as -he forced the natives to bow before him in -obedience, and brought order out of chaos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not altogether the exact application -of the military organization learned at -Woolwich, or the inspiration of the rally he had -dreamed of, that would fire his men, he told -himself grimly, as he worked among these people, -but it answered for it, and it brought them -into subjection to his will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held them in control, as the pilot holds -in control the ship he steers, guiding it -through the madness of the gale, and they -never dreamed of mutiny, because they feared -him more than they feared the cholera.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And by and by when they saw that he held -the scourge in check, his hand upon its throat, -they fell down before him in all the pitifulness -of ignorance and superstition, as before a being -mightier than they had ever conceived of, -worshiping him. But they were at his feet always.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie, shrewd and silent-tongued, took -in the situation at a glance, when he rode over -for an afternoon, a fortnight later, to see how -Trevelyan was getting on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's the biggest man I ever knew," he -said to himself as he followed the orderly who -was leading him to Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found Trevelyan stooping over the small -rigid figure of a native baby, his hand still -resting on the tiny wrist where the pulse had just -stopped its slow beating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie came in and stood on the other -side of the child, and Trevelyan raised his head. -He showed no surprise at Mackenzie being -there. In his face was all the unutterableness -of the horror; in his voice was all the passionate -protest, all the crushing dread, all the grief, -that he had never shown before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">It—is—awful!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xv"><span class="bold large">XV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Three weeks later, when it seemed as -though the battle had been won, -Trevelyan got a hasty scrawl from Mackenzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been carried by a man of the regiment, -who had ridden the ten miles on a dead -run, and now stood exhausted before Trevelyan, -his face twitching with the fright born -of the tidings he had brought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan took the note in silence and he -looked hard at the man's face before he opened -the message. Then he bent his head and -forced the paper open, still without comment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Eight cases broken out in barracks. If -you can leave—come. Mackenzie."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He crushed the note in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My respects to Dr. Mackenzie," he said -quietly, raising his head and meeting the eyes -of the trooper, "and I will be with him to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spent the morning in arranging matters -and leaving orders with his chief helper, who -was to remain for a time, more as a precautionary -measure than for anything else, and -then made his own scant preparations in haste -to get to Mackenzie before nightfall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had thought first of slipping away, -fearful of what the knowledge of his going might -bring, but the more he thought of it the more -he put the idea from him. After all the truth -was the wisest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He called all those of the half hundred -natives together who had been spared of the -scourge—most of whom he had fought death -for, and he addressed them in Hindostanee. -He spoke to them simply and briefly; he told -them what they must do—not why they must -do it, but simply because he ordered them to, -and expected their obedience—relying on the -worshipful fear with which they regarded him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I hear of your disobeying me—and I -shall hear it, for my ears are long and sharp—I -shall come back and I will kill the dog who -dared to disobey my commands, and you are -to obey and do just what the </span><em class="italics">Sahib</em><span> I leave -here tells you to do—do you understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A low murmuring of assent greeted him, -and one or two of the women held their babies -up that they might look upon the great </span><em class="italics">Sahib</em><span> -who was leaving them for a time; who was -wise enough to know ten miles off if anyone -disobeyed him; who was strong enough to kill -the dog who tried to disobey his great commands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the murmuring of their voices followed -him as he rode away from them later, and the -echo of their "</span><em class="italics">Sahib! Sahib! Sahib!</em><span>" haunted -him, not knowing that in the years that lay -ahead, the native mothers would tell their -babies of the greatness of the Sahib who once -had come to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadows, the children of the sunset, lay -thick upon the road, over which he journeyed -back to Mackenzie, and in the silence he began -to think of England and of Scotland, and of Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of them all then, in the pause -that came between the struggle he had just -passed through and the struggle that lay ahead, -as he had not had the time or peace to think of -them since he had left Patna. Nor did he try to -force the thoughts from him as he had done -on leaving Patna, but he went in search of them -as a father goes in search of little truant -children hiding in the dark, and brings them back -and holds them close with caresses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He brought the vision of Mactier forth so, -and he went over every familiar gesture, every -tone of Mactier's voice he knew; he called up -the mother-face of his aunt, the soft pressure -of her hand; and he thought of his uncle and -Maggie and Kenneth, and of Stewart—lingeringly—and -of his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he brought forth the picture plate, -buried in the dark room of his soul, and he -thought of her; and he thought, and thought -of her! He held the dream picture up -between him and the light of the dying day, and -once he put out his hand slowly and it rested -lightly in the air, but in his dream it rested -on Cary's head. Once he raised his head -suddenly and sharply, and he breathed quicker -than his wont. The night shadows crept up -and peered into his thin, lined face with the -dark-circled eyes; and though he was alone -with only the air touching him, in his dream -his face was close to hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And back of the dreams was the echo of the -ocean on the crags. But the dreams and the -echo faded as he came within sight of the -military hospital, and the thoughts receded back -and back into the darkness before the new -necessity of the hour; but the truant children were -not lost, only hiding from him, and peering at -him from the shadows and waiting for him to -come and look for them and take them home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dismounted, hardly conscious of the -greetings the men gave him as they crowded -around him, and he went at once to Mackenzie, -as an officer reporting for duty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie looked at him sharply as he -entered. The full beard he had grown had -changed him, and would have hidden the loss -of flesh and the haggard lines to any other -than Mackenzie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't look fit to go on with the job, -boy," he said concisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's absurd, don't you know? I'm all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's more than you look—you're all pulled down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're dreaming! Tell me about the barracks!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Mackenzie told him—briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All night he and Mackenzie and Clarke -worked over the new cases, resting by turns, -and in the morning two other men were brought -in. One was the trooper who had borne the -summons to Trevelyan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cases developed slowly, and with an -effort that had in it something of the -supernatural, they kept it from spreading into the -mow down of an epidemic. But the men were -sick—sicker than any had yet been, and out of -the proportion stricken, the mortality was -frightful, and Death's twin brother, Fear, laid -his heavy hand upon the district.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The men were good, on the whole, as to -precautionary measures, for they held Mackenzie -and even Clarke in wholesome awe, but they -regarded Trevelyan with something greater -still. They were ashamed before him—ashamed -to mention their fear, or even think it, -as he came and went among them, silent, -commanding, and unmoved by fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie or Clarke could not have spoken -so to them—silently. They were at their own -business. They were supposed and expected -to meet disease and death, daily, hourly if -necessary, and not be afraid. But Trevelyan was -not a surgeon; he had come out to them to serve -them in their extremity—voluntarily—without -military command, and they grew to think -of the scourge after a while as they would have -looked upon a hostile tribe to be conquered—as -an enemy to be vanquished for the Queen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And as though the lessening of their panic -was the sign for the dying out of the scourge, -the cholera cases decreased as the days wore -themselves away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was toward the end of the desperate fight -that they had made that Mackenzie came in -one day at dawn, to relieve Trevelyan's watch -over the half dozen cases in his wing of the -hospital. He noticed that Trevelyan looked -oddly white, and that there was a drawn -expression about his mouth and face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it," he asked. "Aren't you feeling well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, yes; what made you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the daylight and the sickly candle," -Trevelyan answered shortly as he rose to leave. -"McHennessy, here, has put in a night of it. -See you later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once outside in the narrow passage Trevelyan -leaned up stupidly against the wall. His -head was hurting him violently and was colder -than the hand he pressed against it, and a -sudden deadly nausea seized him. He stared hard -at the wall opposite and made a movement as -though to call Mackenzie. Then he drew back -and waited. A numbness crept into his legs, -and it seemed to him to deaden all his power. -After awhile the seizure passed and he -stumbled over to the apothecary's room, and he -began to measure out the old prescription of -the morphia and calomel and white sugar. -What was the good of calling Mackenzie when -Mackenzie could do nothing more for him -than he could do for himself? Then he went -into an empty room kept for emergency cases -at the end of the building, and flung himself -down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After awhile the deadly nausea returned and -he sat up and crawled to his feet, and went back -to the apothecary's room and measured out -the prescription again—three hours was the -limit between doses, and his watch said that -the three hours had passed. He believed the -watch had lied, and that it was thirty hours -instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie opened the door and stood transfixed -on the threshold. Trevelyan conscious -of the movement turned and started violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing?" Mackenzie's -voice was terrible in its hardness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan held up the scales with a -trembling hand, and he made an odd sound in his -throat that was intended for a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Measuring morphia! What do you suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie came up close to him, and his -horror-stricken eyes looked straight into -Trevelyan's sunken ones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answer me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan shook his head piteously, and a -ghastly pallor crept slowly up over his face -and into the hollows of his temples and his -cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're ill, and you didn't call me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was the good——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan swayed forward. When he spoke -again there was an apology in his hoarse voice -because he was ill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the nausea," he said simply.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvi"><span class="bold large">XVI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mackenzie went in search of Clarke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drop everything and come with -me," he said. "It's Trevelyan—Trevelyan's -got the cholera."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke took a long breath. Then he called -to two passing orderlies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie led the three of them back to -the apothecary's shop, as a soldier would have -led a squad of men forward to meet an enemy, -his face hard with the control he had put upon -it, but it changed suddenly as they reached -Trevelyan and picked him up and bore him -down the hall. He allowed them to do so -unresistingly, falling back into their arms a dead -weight. They staggered under it. He made -no comment until they reached the door of the -surgeons' room. Then he shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not there," he said. "Take me in with the men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll be ever so much more -comfortable here," said Clarke, still breathing quickly -under the weight of his portion of the burden.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better let us take you in here, lad," -said Mackenzie, bending over him. "You'll -get well twice as quick and it's quieter, and the -nausea will pass——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the cholera," said Trevelyan, in a clear -calm voice. "Take me in with the men."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xvii"><span class="bold large">XVII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>All day Mackenzie sat by Trevelyan, -scarcely leaving him, except to make -his rounds; Clarke and the orderlies -taking charge of the two small wards and the -needs of those there. And all day Mackenzie -sat stoically looking off into space or turning -to feel Trevelyan's pulse or watch the change -of his face. There was not a shadow of a -change he did not watch and note. Trevelyan's -great form lay motionless—deadened by -morphia, the occasional twitching of the limbs and -the heavy breathing, the only signs of life. -Now and then, as the effect of the morphia -lifted, he would turn his head restlessly and -murmur incoherent things, or call for water, -and Mackenzie would force a teaspoonful at -a time of the cool liquid between the rigid lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once Trevelyan's hand went up with a -spasmodic motion to his throat, and the -movement pulled and tore aside the covering across -his chest, and exposed to view the white scar -on his shoulder. Mackenzie leaning over him -to replace the covering, was attracted by the -sight of the old wound, and he hesitated and -leaned a little nearer, examining it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden death-like quiet brooded over the -ward, and the minutes lengthened and still -Mackenzie leaned over the unconscious figure, -his eyes fixed on the scar. By and by he -looked at Trevelyan's gray and sunken and -unconscious face, and a swift change passed over -his own impenetrable features, and he drew the -covering quickly over the scar, as though he -were ashamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke came in and Mackenzie straightened -himself and turned to meet him, his hand upon -the covering that hid the scar. There was -something defiant in the attitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke came up and stood on the other side -of the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of it?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to think anything about it," -Mackenzie answered shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But his chances?" asked Clarke after a -little. "Has he got any show?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got a damned bad case," said -Mackenzie, "and no strength to fight it with. I -knew it would be just this way if he ever got -it—he'd have it </span><em class="italics">bad</em><span>! There's nothing half way -about him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke tapped his foot against the floor and -looked down at it..</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How he could have loved some woman," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie turned his head slowly and -looked at Trevelyan. Once he had seen a look -in Trevelyan's eyes— When he spoke it was -as if he were thinking aloud. "How he loved -some woman!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan moved restlessly and opened his -eyes, and looked at Mackenzie and Clarke and -then back to Mackenzie. There was nothing -in his face that led them to suppose he had -heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie leaned over him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deuced bad," Trevelyan said slowly, and -then the nausea returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man in the next bed began to moan a -little. Trevelyan turned to Mackenzie, a frown -upon his face, as though he was trying to place -the sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he asked. "What's that noise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's McHennessy—you'd better let us -move you into our room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose it's a blamed silly notion, but -I'd rather be with the men." And then he -stretched out his cold hands suddenly and -grasped Mackenzie's convulsively, "The pain," -he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie looked up at Clarke and nodded -to the question in the other's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie took out his handkerchief and -wiped the great beads off Trevelyan's forehead. -When Clarke returned with the morphia, the -nausea had come again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan waved Clarke aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want it," he whispered hoarsely. -"I couldn't keep it down anyway, -and—I—don't—want it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when he was not to be persuaded -Mackenzie let him back slowly on the pillow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All night the nausea lasted, but in the early -morning there came cessation for a time, and -Mackenzie left Clarke with him, and went to -snatch a bit of sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke watched by him in silence—dumb -with the terribleness of it all; dumb with his -own powerlessness to help—and Trevelyan -was grateful for the cessation and the silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the cessation came his thoughts went -out to Cary, and they drew the memory of her -face to him. It was in truth a dream of -heaven—and real, untouched by the thralldom of the -morphia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was growing weaker—he could feel the -ebbing of his strength—and he did not care. -In the morning he had fought against it, as he -had fought everything all his life—passionately, -but now with the cessation and the -coming of the dream face, he did not care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He clung to the vision of the dream though, -fiercely, as though fearing it would escape him -and be lost forever. He had loved her, and -he loved her still!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His love for her had been as a mountain -that has been stripped in a storm of its fairest -foliage; that has been wrecked by a great fire -which has swept it of all its rarest beauty, -leaving only the bareness of the boulders, but -withstanding the wreck of the storm and the fire. -So his love had stood and endured as a sample -of the Eternal Handiwork—a basis of his life, -as is love the basis of the life of the Everlasting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was conscious of the clasp of Clarke's -fingers on his wrist, and the sudden appearance -of a frightened orderly with the intelligence -that Burns, in the next ward, was worse, -and would he come at once; and he was dimly -conscious of Clarke's bending over him and of -his telling him to go to Burns, but he still -clung to the vision of the dream face. -Desperately he clung to it, even when the blessed -cessation suddenly ceased, and it seemed as -though he was being engulfed in a great abyss -of unspeakable agony, and he kept his thoughts -upon it as a crusader would have kept his -dying thoughts upon the unattainable quest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then he became dimly conscious of a -low moaning sound and he lay still trying, to -place it, because Mackenzie was not there to -tell him what it was, and he had forgotten -what Mackenzie had said it was, but he still -tried to concentrate his thoughts on the dream -face that was growing faint and fainter. The -effort was a complete failure, and the low -moaning increased. He fixed it slowly as -coming from the next bed. He turned his head -toward it weakly. The incoherent ravings -became a piteous and conscious cry for water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gray dawn crept in slowly and up to -the trooper's bed, and by its light Trevelyan -could see him turning his head restlessly from -side to side. Still the cry for water reached -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It did not seem to affect him much at first, -or pierce the consciousness of pity, but it -annoyed him, and it kept coming between him -and the dream face he was struggling so -desperately to hold. And then it struck on him -suddenly like a blow and he awoke to the man's -anguish and the man's need—how often he had -answered to that need and cry before! He -looked toward the farthest corner of the room -where an orderly lay sleeping from exhaustion. -The man was half sick anyway, from -a recent attack of the scourge. He did not -want to call him; but if he would only -awaken—if he only would.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited. There was no sound from the -corner; there was no movement in the hall that -would tell of Clarke's return, and the low cry -went on. Since the day he had joined -Mackenzie he had followed and responded to that -cry as the soldier follows and responds to the -first low notes of the bugle. He pushed -himself over to the edge of the bed and tried to sit -up but the motion increased his agony and he -lay still. He wondered blindly if he could do -it. Then he let himself roll over the side of -the bed and his big frame fell with a dull thud -on the rough boards of the floor. He lay there -a second, but there was no movement from the -corner. He pulled himself up, took half a dozen -steps toward the water bucket in the near -corner, and then the cramp came back again -in his legs, and he fell forward, and began to -creep toward it on his hands and knees. The -dream face was fading and being swallowed up -in a breaking crest of white sea foam, and there -seemed to be nothing in the world but the man's -cry and his own pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reached the bucket and he dipped in the -glass that stood near and filled it, and then -began his slow journey to the man's bed. By the -deepening light in the east the man could see -the great creeping figure approaching, and he -drew back, afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only I, McHennessy. I've got some -water—" the voice trailed off, but the trooper -caught the word "water" and he struggled to -a reclining position and waited. The figure -moved so slowly and his throat was a burning -sheet of flame! Why didn't he come faster—what -was the matter that he didn't come faster; -and McHennessy's blood-shot eyes were -riveted on the slowly moving figure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan reached him at length and pulled -himself up with a supreme effort, with the glass -balanced very carefully in his hand. He was -striving—striving too—after that elusive -dream face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned over McHennessy with the water, -and McHennessy with a sigh of ecstasy struggled -up in his bed and leaned forward to touch -his parched lips to the glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan brought it up nearer and his hand -wavered. He controlled it with a great effort -of will for a moment, and then the glass -trembled and its contents were spilt over -McHennessy, and the glass crashed into shivers -as it fell to the floor beside the bed. Trevelyan -flung out his arms suddenly, groping for -the dream face that had gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The orderly, awakened by the crash, started -up and ran over to where Trevelyan lay on -the floor by the side of McHennessy, who was -swearing over the unexpected bath, and as he -staggered beneath Trevelyan's weight, -Mackenzie came quickly forward from the threshold -of the door. Together they carried Trevelyan -back to bed and Mackenzie silently drew the -coverings over his rigid body and stood -looking down at the livid lips and listening to the -slow, feeble breathing. Once he picked up the -hand that lay on the outside of the covering -and examined it, and then laid it back in its -resting place.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-44"> -<span id="trevelyan-lay-on-the-floor"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*Trevelyan lay on the floor.*"" src="images/img-324.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">Trevelyan lay on the floor.</em><span class="italics">"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Clarke who had heard the glass break, -hurried in from the adjoining ward. Mackenzie -looked up as he entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Collapse?</em><span>" asked Clarke briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie did not seem to hear him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring the salt—it's just a chance," he said.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xviii"><span class="bold large">XVIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The light deepened in the east and the -sunrise crept into the ward of the -hospital and turned its search light -curiously on the group in the furthest corner -of the ward, and on the still figure on the bed. -All morning the sunlight lingered around there -as though it wanted to help Mackenzie in his -fight, and impart into the chill of the rigid -figure, some of its own warmth, and when the -afternoon shadows came and drew it off, it -retreated lingeringly, loath to say "good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadows deepened and the quietness of -midnight fell over the weary Station and the -outlying cholera hospital. Mackenzie -continued to sit by the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The quietness outside crept in to meet the -silence of the ward, and the night lamp cast -strange shadows on the wall, at which -Mackenzie stared. Once or twice he got up and -visited the other beds and leaned over the men. -Most were pulling through and were sleeping. -McHennessy was drowsy with the morphia. -Then Mackenzie would go back and sit down -again by Trevelyan's bed. At midnight, -Clarke, with eyes heavy with sleep, came in. -He did not speak but he looked down at -Trevelyan and then up questionally to Mackenzie, -and at the syringe and the salt lying near by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It didn't work," said Mackenzie. "If -you'll listen to the lungs you'll know -why—pneumonia."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better go and rest a bit. I'll -stay—I won't leave him," said Clarke, blinking -at the light and wondering at the quietness of -his own voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie looked hard at the flickering -night lamp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said slowly. "I guess not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After Clarke had gone back to their room, the -surgeon riveted his eyes on Trevelyan's sunken -face, and once he put his hand out quickly and -pressed it over the bloodshot eyes, but the lids -opened again and would not remain closed. -The slow labor of the feeble breathing went -on. The almost imperceptible rise and fall of -the great chest fascinated Mackenzie, and he -found himself watching for it feverishly, -hoping and yet dreading for it to cease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While it was still dark he rose and went -over to the window and looked out fixedly at -the impenetrable pall of blackness that lay over -the Station and the hospital. It seemed as -though the heaviness of the blackness was over -all the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By and by the night pall lifted a little, and -a dull grayness crept into the heavens and -rested on the station. He could dimly -distinguish the outline of some of the military -buildings. He turned away and went over to -the lamp that was smoking and lowered it. -From the trooper's bed came a low moaning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused to speak to him and then he went -back to Trevelyan, and looked down at him, -his eyes fixed on the great chest, watching for -its slow rise and fall. Somehow he could not -see the rise and fall—they did not seem to be -there. He bent over him quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trevelyan!" he called sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trooper in the next bed ceased moaning -and raised himself on his arm painfully, and -looked over to where Mackenzie was standing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie knelt down suddenly on one knee, -and his hand passed rapidly from Trevelyan's -forehead to his pulse. The trooper in the -next bed began to moan again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mackenzie laid his ear down quickly to the -heart, an expectant look upon his face. Then -he raised it slowly and bit his lip and stared -hard through the window to where the -barracks were defined against the paling -grayness of the sky.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xix"><span class="bold large">XIX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The sunshine of the early summer lay -heavy like a cloth of gold across the -rolling Scottish country, and Stewart -turned away abruptly from its brightness and -stared down at the floor of the railway -carriage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All night he had lain awake, grasping -fiercely at the bit of paper that had summoned -him to the office of the Secretary for India, -while his brain with equal fierceness refused to -accept the tidings which had met him there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was dumbly grateful, however, for the -friendship and the kindly interest that had -led the Secretary, for his father's sake, to send -for him, and for the time that busy man had -taken, and the consideration that had shielded -him from seeing the latest cholera reports -pasted up at the Office or in the columns of the -press.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some day he would thank the Secretary as -he should. Just now it seemed to him his -brain had become a burning blank, and that -the fire was as unquenchable as it was mighty, -forbidding thought. Once, twice, a dozen -times he tried to picture Trevelyan as he had -known him, but Trevelyan's face would not -come. He could not recall one line of it—he -could not recall his voice—his slightest -gesture; and he vaguely wondered if he were -going mad, and when the rumble of the iron -wheels would cease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was conscious of being grateful for the -stopping of the noise, when he descended -from the carriage, in the early light of the new -day, to make his last connection with the local.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The local was late some two hours—it -seemed to him twenty—and a feverish -impatience came upon him to reach home and have -it over with. The new faces around him were -strange and looked at him curiously. There -was a lean Scotch collie that sniffed at his heels -and tried to make friends with him, and a small -Scotch laddie, rosy-cheeked and freckled, who -regarded him wonderingly from a safe -distance, his forefinger in his mouth. Stewart -noticed it was clean; he supposed it was too -early for it to be covered with the conventional -coat of dirt. The boy looked a little sleepy -too. He wondered why he felt so wide awake -himself. The collie licked at his boot. He -neither encouraged nor rejected the familiarity. -He simply ignored it. The morning sun was -growing warm, and a bright patch of it -touched the dress of the child. * * *</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The local came around the curve and he -got into the carriage, mechanically picking out -his usual seat near the window. Force of -habit is strong. There was a bit of rolling -hillside and an old kirk down by a little -stream he always looked out for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was alone and he was glad. The train -jerked and backed a little and then fairly -started on its run. It passed the hillside and -the old kirk at the foot of the slope, and the bit -of water that for a moment flashed the brightness -of its sunlit surface upon his vision, and -was gone. For the first time the landscape -failed to please. Beyond the old kirk was -another slope—a slope of heather, just putting -forth its early pink; and though he could not -see it he knew that just where the old road -curved up to the kirk, the bracken grew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the reaction came and his inertia broke -and the burning blank became a sheet of -memory. Trevelyan had loved the bracken and the -heather so. As a laddie he had played among -them and hidden himself—short kilts and -all—beneath their bloom. Once he had gotten lost, -and they had vainly searched for him, but -Stewart slipping away unnoticed, and led by -unerring instinct, had found him fast asleep -down there—his head pillowed on the bracken -and a faded scrap of heather in his small moist -hand. And now the bracken might bloom on, -and the sun might shine upon it by day and the -stars smile down upon the heather slope by -night, and the mist rest upon it, turning it to a -mystical sheet of grayness and of silver—but -Trevelyan would never walk across the slope -again, and Stewart leaned his head against the -window and closed his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All night the train had moved so slowly and -he had dumbly longed that the iron wheels -would hasten that he might reach home soon; -and now that the home station in Aberdeen was -nearly in sight, a sudden sickness seized him -and he prayed for a delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had wired ahead for Sandy to meet him -with the trap instead of the cart in which he -usually came for the mail. He had sent the -message to Sandy instead of the family, and -had bidden the Scotchman be silent about his -unexpected return from London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a comfort, he reflected, that Sandy -could be trusted to hold his tongue. He felt -he could not bear to have them meet him at -the station. He could not tell them there, -neither could he play a part so long—until they -should reach home. He was trusting to that -seven mile drive to collect himself. He hoped -Maggie would not come with Sandy—as she -sometimes did—to get the mail, especially when -Cameron was away. Well, he would trust to -Cameron's being there, and to Sandy now—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He remembered the mail and the papers -would arrive with him—he was glad for that -in a dull way—if he could only reach home -before the papers, he had thought before -leaving Waterloo Station.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His father was in Glasgow with Kenneth. -He could not spare them. There would be -the Little Madre to be told, and Maggie and -Tom Cameron, and Mactier—poor old -Mactier—and Cary—he wiped the moisture from -his mouth—and Trevelyan's father lately -returned from the far East—God help him. God -help them all!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The local stopped. Through the window -he could see Sandy waiting for him with the -trap on the other side of the track, quieting -the restless horses; Maggie had not come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He got out—how he never afterwards -remembered—and he stored his Gladstone safely -away beneath the back seat, waited for the mail -bag to be put in, and then climbed up with a -nod to the red headed Scotchman and a "how -are they all?" mechanically asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Scotchman looked at him curiously, -as the child and the collie had done, and he was -distinctly annoyed at being stared at.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blacks, with their heads turned homeward, -made good progress over the road—too -good, Stewart thought, and once he sharply -bade Sandy draw them in. Then as if -ashamed of his impatience he inquired as to -Sandy's daughter, who had been ill. Sandy -answered the question briefly, realizing that -talking came amiss to-day, and then gave his -attention to checking the rapid pace of the -blacks, who were eager to get home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning sun beat down upon them, -but it seemed to Stewart that he was turned to -ice and that he would never feel any warmth -again. The station lay five miles or more -beyond the point of home, and when he repassed -the slope of heather and the old kirk road -where the bracken grew, he turned his eyes -away. It seemed to him he could never look -upon or touch either the bracken or the heather -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the old road! Once they used to -travel it together; they had traveled it in their -earliest babyhood and again that dark night -when Trevelyan had been brought from Argyll -to make his home with them—a little, lonely, -motherless lad of ten. They had crossed the -old bridge so often; they had crossed it -together that last time—</span><em class="italics">the last time</em><span>—and he -had never known! He held on fast to the -back of the seat in front, and moved his head a -little—restlessly—as though it hurt. -Henceforth there would be no more "togethers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sandy cleared his throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's naething wrong, I hope, sir?" he -asked a little timidly, but unable to bear the -silence longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no answer. They were passing -the heather slope and speech was not. And -then Sandy, with an instinct not unusual in his -race turned half around and blurted out:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tis bad news ye've had from India, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart looked past Sandy to the big fir that -marked the boundary line of home, and nodded; -and then he suddenly dropped his eyes and ran -his finger, shaking as though with palsy, along -the patent leather strip that bound back the -corduroy of the seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Trevelyan's ill," asserted Sandy, -unwilling to acknowledge the thought that came -to him and which he knew was true. "You're -going to bring him back to Aberdeen—" Sandy -hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart looked away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Trevelyan will not come back to -Aberdeen, Sandy—" he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blacks trotted briskly over the road and -the warm sunshine rested on the meadows and -brightened everything but the big dark fir -ahead. Somewhere in the copse near by a bird -was singing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long home avenue was deserted except -for McGuire, who was carefully clipping in his -precise way the border of the walks, and -McGuire leaned upon his shears, wondering why -the young master had passed him with no sign -of greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no one else around. The house -stood big and still in the sunshine, and the -deserted terraces sloped away—like a vast piece -of greenest velvet. Some of the windows -were open, and from one of the upstairs -casements a white curtain was fluttering in the -breeze. It was his mother's room. A -restful quietness brooded over everything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no one in the hall, flanked with -its weapons and armor and paintings, and no -sound from the breakfast room. Breakfast, he -supposed, was long over. He had had none -himself, but he was not conscious of the lack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Someone was coming down the stairs. -Stewart paused, a sudden heat replacing the -chill that had possessed him until now. The -sound came nearer and he recognized the -halting step of Trevelyan's father—Trevelyan's -father, who still bore that scar from Inkerman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="xx"><span class="bold large">XX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trevelyan's father stopped when -he reached the foot of the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, hello, boy, when did you -get back? Thought you were in London for -a fortnight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought so, too, sir, but you see, I—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho-ho, that's it, is it?" His uncle laughed. -"Well, I can't blame you. She isn't here, -though—out with Maggie for a walk." He -looked up quizzically into his nephew's face, -and then he looked away abruptly. Robert, -too, loved the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she?" asked Stewart absently, and he -turned toward the library, conscious that in the -morning it was deserted, and that he could tell -him there without fear of interruption. "The -fact is, sir—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father stopped short and looked -his nephew over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it? What's the trouble?" he -asked concisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who—with me, sir? Nonsense; I'm all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it Sir Archibald or that bit of -diplomatic work?" The old man smiled grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Archibald! I'm dismissed from his -books long ago, sir. The diplomatic work -promises well. By the way, have you heard -the latest from Essex—" He sat down -easily on the arm of a big leather chair and -lounged across it; his face in shadow—. "It's -reported that Davidson is going to raise that -dead and buried claim again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'A fool and his money—'" said the old -officer, and sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's the Little Madre?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out listening to Margie's woes. If her -rheumatism don't carry her off soon I'll be -inclined to do the job myself. Your mother is -turning into her slave!" said his uncle testily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margie's rheumatism isn't any worse than -Ann Grafton's stiff knee or Sam's lame back," -replied Stewart, swinging one foot against the -side of the chair. "Mother always has been at -the mercy of the tenants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How was he to begin, he wondered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He mechanically commenced to pull off his -gloves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, John—" he glanced up quickly -at Trevelyan's father sitting in a black walnut -chair carved a hundred years ago, his face -shining out weather-beaten and grim from the dark -background, and his voice more decided than -Stewart had ever heard it—"Why did Robert -leave the army?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A glove dropped and lay at Stewart's feet -unnoticed. He moved restlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why shouldn't he? He had served his -sub-lieutenancy. He got his commission—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To resign it. Exactly! Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He never liked the Army, sir; it was -always the Navy with him from the first—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he with the Navy now?" The old -officer tapped the floor impatiently with his -heavy stick. "Why is he in India doing an -orderly's work instead of in the line?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever know Robert to stick to -anything very long, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only one," said the old Briton shortly, and -he thought of Cary. "You haven't answered me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart rose, and his tone was final.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, sir, it is not for me to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father clasped his hands over the -knob of his stick, rested his chin on them and -looked up at Stewart from under his shaggy -brows—curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—well, since you won't, you won't, I -suppose! I'll have to wait until Robert comes -back—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart wheeled abruptly and went over to -the east window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, the boy is his own master," -Trevelyan's father said. "He's whimsical and -headstrong, too—" he broke off—"Everything -was all straight, though—his getting out, -I mean?" The deep eyes peered anxiously -from the old officer's weather-beaten face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart remained at the window, looking at -the stretch of lawn. For the first time since -his interview at the Secretary's, his voice was -broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not be ashamed of Rob."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Briton drew a deep breath and he -laughed a little—"After all, nothing else -matters! I was sure of it!" and then again, -"I—was—sure—of—it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart began mechanically to count the -number of rose bushes at the end of the -terrace, and he made a great effort to steady his -voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way, this last idea of Robert's—this -cholera business—is a risky thing. Do -you ever feel anxious, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy's foolhardy, but he's got sense—" -the Briton frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But even sense sometimes——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was still. A bit of summer -sunlight sifted through the oriel window. From -the distance crept in the murmur of water -breaking on the sand. McGuire was busy at -the rose bushes near the terrace and the decided -"click" of his shears and the soft music of the -sea, were the only sounds that broke the quiet -of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">John!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father rose and stood rigid by -the old carved chair. Young Stewart turned -and leaned against the woodwork. He grew -afraid and trembled. He could not look upon -that face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Robert!</em><span> That is why you have come back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sunlight still sifted through the -windows and played fitfully around the walnut -carvings of the room and touched for a brief -moment a bronze paper weight of the Dying -Gaul. Someone standing in the open casement -window at the south, stirred a little, and -then Cary came swiftly down the length of -the long room. A bit of heather from the -armful she had gathered on the slope slipped -from the bunch. The rest she threw upon the -table as she passed it, and it lay there—its first, -faint pink shining out against the black walnut. -She went and stood by Trevelyan's father, -resting her hand upon his arm, and she looked up -into his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I left Maggie—I came ahead—I overheard—" -she began disjointedly, "Robert—the -cholera—Robert—?" and then as neither -of the men spoke, she cried, "Oh, sir, indeed -it may be a mistake—sometimes, you know the -names—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father looked down at the girl, -and into her eyes full of unshed tears, and on -the small white hand on his arm he placed his -own—the one that had held the sabre at -Inkerman. It was an old hand, thin and vividly -veined, and it trembled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The report was signed by Mackenzie," -said Stewart at last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some mistake—there </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> be—the -letters—" cried Cary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will have to wait for the letters, -child." Trevelyan's father turned away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart came up to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was at the India Office yesterday—the -Secretary—after all—" he broke off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked from one to the other, but she -still stood by Trevelyan's father. Suddenly -she sat down in the high backed chair he had -occupied, clinging to his hand, her eyes on his -face. Stewart went back to the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But think what he did——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trevelyan's father looked down at her again -and his face twitched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was always a brave laddie," he said, -and his face was wet with tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cary raised the hand she was holding and -pressed it to her cheek, and she held it -there—brown and thin and heavily veined—against -the delicate texture, and caressed it in the way -that women have.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was a great soul. I always knew -it! I—always—knew—it—" she told them -brokenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was a Briton," said the old officer of -the Empire. "I didn't always understand -him—I blamed him for doing an orderly's work. -I'm proud of him—but if it had been anything -but the cholera—I saw it once myself in -Bombay; I ran away from it—" he raised his head, -"anything but </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>! But—I'm proud of him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart still stood by the oriel window leaning -against his arm flung over his head, and he -was crying—hardly and bitterly as a man cries. -The stillness of the outside world increased. -The sun crept into the corner of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't quite take it in—" said the old man -slowly, looking past the girl to a far-off field of -thistle and staring at the purplish bloom. "It's -hard to think of Robert—gone!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't think of the rest—the details—" he -clenched his hands fiercely, "the pain—the -thirst—" and his eyes came back to Cary. -"There! There! There's something about it -all that we can't understand, I fancy, but there -is the honor—that thing which does not perish -with the using!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned abruptly, and when Cary, half -fearful for him, would have followed, he -motioned her away, and went out alone on the -back terrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart had not moved from the window, -and Cary went and stood beside him, gravely -looking out at the sunlight shifting on the -lawn. She did not say anything, but as though -conscious that they were alone, he spoke, his -face still hidden on his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did it," he said at last in a broken voice -of confession. "I </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> think to help him best by -making him get away from the old crowd and -the regiment—but it was because I thought of -the Service, too—and I judged </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>——!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited, and she did not speak, but she -slipped one of her hands into the pocket of his -tweed coat and held on to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I broke his life—he loved </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> better than -that—" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you call a life that ended </span><em class="italics">so</em><span>—broken?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He raised his face from his arm and looked at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—no—I didn't mean that—but think of -my judging him! All last night it came back -to me—I thought I was going stark mad." And -he brushed away the tears clumsily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It all hurts </span><em class="italics">so</em><span>! But, by and by—" she -looked straight out of the oriel window, and -she spoke disjointedly, and somehow she -thought of western Scotland, and his sword. -"I knew when we got those letters from -Argyll—when I got my letter—Rob wasn't coming -back to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stewart drew her to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! Cary, tell me that it doesn't mean to -you all—all that it might have done! -Lassie—tell me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are foolish," she told him. "You -know I love you," and then looking into his -eyes—"It is only you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hid his mouth against the soft coil of her -hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Last night, I was almost jealous of the -dead," he whispered, "and then when I passed -the heather fields to-day—and the bracken—" -his voice broke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," she said simply. "It is always the -bracken and the heather—and Rob—isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the south window the sun poured into -the room and lighted up the heavy carvings of -black walnut. The bit of heather still lay upon -the floor and withered there. A silent linnet -perched itself upon the window sill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somewhere from beyond the turn in the -wooded drive, Maggie was coming home, singing:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Some talk of Alexander,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And some of Hercules,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Of Hector and Lysander,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And such great names as these!"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A man's heavy halting step came from the -back terrace. In the stillness they could hear -him mount the stairs.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"But of all the world's great heroes—</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>There's none that—"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Somewhere upstairs a door closed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics medium">Selections from</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY'S</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">List of Books</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">D'ri and I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second -<br />War with the British; being -<br />the Memoirs of Colonel -<br />Ramon Bell, U.S.A.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By IRVING BACHELLER, author of "Eben -Holden." With six illustrations by F. C. YOHN. 12mo, -cloth, rough edges, gilt top, decorated cover, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Following the marvellous success of "Eben -Holden," Mr. Bacheller gives to the public -another stirring and delightful story of the North -Country he loves so well. It is a tale of the days -when the French </span><em class="italics">emigrés</em><span>, fleeing from the Reign of -Terror, built their chateaux and mansions in the -northern counties of New York; the days when England -tried issue again with the young republic, and when -Darius Olin, "quaint, rugged, wise, and truthful," with -young Ramon Bell, two types of the men who have -helped to make America, rode into the Lake Champlain -region to adventure, love, and danger. It is a -rare story of Yankee valor, Yankee humor, and Yankee -pluck.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">Eben Holden</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Tale of the North Country</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By IRVING BACHELLER. Bound in red silk cloth, -decorative cover, gilt top, rough edges. Size, 5x7¾. -Price, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The most popular book in America.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within eight months after publication -it had reached its two hundred and fiftieth -thousand. The most American of recent -novels, it has indeed been hailed as the -long looked for "American novel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>William Dean Howells </span><em class="italics">says of it</em><span>: "I have -read 'Eben Holden' with a great joy in -its truth and freshness. You have got -into your book a kind of life not in -literature before, and you have got it -there simply and frankly. It is 'as pure -as water and as good as bread.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Edmund Clarence Stedman </span><em class="italics">says of it</em><span>: "It is -a forest-scented, fresh-aired, bracing, and -wholly American story of country and -town life."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">When the Land was Young</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">Being the True Romance of Mistress Antoinette -<br />Huguenin and Captain Jack Middleton</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By EMILY LAFAYETTE McLAWS. Bound in green -cloth, illustrated cover, gilt top, rough edges. Seven -drawings by Will Crawford. Size, 5x7¾. Price, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Among the entertaining romances that are -based upon the colonial days of American -history this novel will take rank as one of the -most notable. It is picturesque in location, -environment, and action; charming in detail and -motive; dramatic in method; virile in -characteristics; and altogether absorbing in plot and -surprises. The hero, Captain Middleton, of -Charleston in the Carolinas, is a real man; the -heroine, Antoinette Huguenin, a beauty of King -Louis' Court, is one of the most attractive figures -in romance; while Lumulgee, the great war -chief of the Choctaws, and Sir Henry Morgan, -the Buccaneer Knight and terror of the Spanish -Main, divide the honors with hero and heroine. -The time was full of border wars between the -Spaniards of Florida and the English colonists, -and against this historical background Miss -McLaws has thrown a story that is absorbing, -dramatic, and brilliant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">A Carolina Cavalier</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Romance of the Carolinas</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">By GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bound in red silk cloth, Illustrated cover, gilt top, rough edges. -Six drawings by C. D. Williams. Size, 5 x 7¾. Price $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A strong, delightful romance of Revolutionary -days, most characteristic of its -vigorous author, George Cary Eggleston. -The story is founded on absolute happenings -and certain old papers of the historic -Rutledges of Carolina. As a love story, it is -sweet and true; and as a patriotic novel it is -grand and inspiring. The historic setting, -and the fact that it is distinctively and -enthusiastically American, have combined to win -instant success for the book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Louisville Courier Journal: "A fine story of -adventure, teeming with life and aglow -with color."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Cleveland World: "There is action, plot, and -fire. Love and valor and loyalty play a -part that enhances one's respect for -human nature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baltimore Sun: "The story is full of movement. -It is replete with adventure. It is -saturated with love."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">J. Devlin—Boss</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Romance of American Politics</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">By FRANCIS CHURCHILL WILLIAMS. 12mo, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This is a story of the typical figure in the shaping of -American life. "Jimmy," shrewd, strong, resourceful, -clean-hearted, is vital; and the double love story -which is woven about him gives an absolutely true and -near view of the American boss. The revelations of political -intrigue—from the governing of a ward to the upsetting -of the most sensational Presidential Convention which -this country has seen—are, as sketched in this romance, -of intense interest; the scenes and characters in them are -almost photographic. But above all of these stands Jimmy -himself, unscrupulous as a politician, honorable as a -man—Jimmy, the playmate, the counselor, and the lover -of the winsome, clear-eyed Kate, the stanch friend of -herself and of her son—Jimmy, with a straight word -always for those who are true to him, a helping hand -for all who need it, and a philosophy which is irresistible.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">A Princess of the Hills</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Story of Italy</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By MRS. BURTON HARRISON. Bound in Green -Cloth, Decorative Cover, Gilt Top, Rough Edges. Four -Drawings by ORSON LOWELL. Size, 7¾ x 5. $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mrs. Burton Harrison is a charming story-teller. -Unlike her other novels, "A Princess -of the Hills" is not a romance of New York society, -nor of Colonial times, but is a story of Italian life. -An American tourist retreats from a broken engagement -at Venice to that section of the North Italian -Alps known as the Dolomites. Here he encounters -a daughter of the soil, the last of a noble race, but -now a humble peasant girl,—a real princess of the -hills. The complications of the situation; the aroused -interest of the American; the rival lovers, English, -American, and Italian; the fierceness of the feud -this love engenders; the struggle for possession and -its unexpected outcome and denouement,—are told -with masterly skill and with an interest that remains -unflagging to the end.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">The Kidnapped Millionaires</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A Story of Wall Street and Mexico</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By FREDERICK U. ADAMS. 12mo, cloth, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One of the most timely and startling stories -of the day. A plan to form a great -Newspaper Trust, evolved in the brain of an -enterprising special correspondent, leads to the -kidnapping of certain leading Metropolitan -millionaires and marooning them luxuriously on -a Mexican headland; the results—the panic -in Wall Street, the search for the kidnapped -millionaires, their discovery and rescue are the -chief motives of the story, which has to do also -with trusts, syndicates, newspaper methods, and -all the great monetary problems and financial -methods of the day. The story is full of -adventure, full of humor, and full of action and -surprises, while the romance that develops in its -progress is altogether charming and delightful.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">The Famous Pepper Books</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">By MARGARET SIDNEY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">The Adventures of Joel Pepper</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bound in green cloth, decorative cover. Thirteen -drawings by Sears Gallagher. Size, 5 x 7¾. Price, -$1.50</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As all the world knows, the Peppers grew up long ago, -but some of the -deeds of Joel are not recorded in the Pepper books, -and hence this -new one.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">The Stories Polly Pepper Told</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One volume, 12mo. Illustrated by Jessie McDermott -and Etheldred B. Barry, $1.50</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A charming "addenda" to the famous "Five Little Pepper Stories."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">Five Little Peppers and How They Grew</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated, $1.50</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A genuine child classic."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">Five Little Peppers Midway</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>12mo, illustrated, $1.50</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every page is full of sunshine."—</span><em class="italics">Detroit Free Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">Five Little Peppers Grown Up</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, $1.50</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="large">Phronsie Pepper</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated by Jessie McDermott. 12mo, cloth, $1.50</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This closing book of the now world-famous series -of the "Five Little -Pepper Books" has been enthusiastically welcomed -by all the boys -and girls of America to whom the -Five Little Peppers have been dear ever -since they first appeared in the "Little Brown House."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>Lothrop Publishing Company - - Boston</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE POTTER AND THE CLAY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47272"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47272</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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