CHAPTER XLI "TWO YEARS AFTER"

"Colonel Sir Francis Devereux to see you, sir."

I turned away from the window of my room, whence I had been gazing idly into the dreary barrack square below, and advanced to greet the stately, grey-headed old man who stood in the doorway.

"Surprised to see me, Hugh, eh?" he asked, sinking into my one easy chair.

"I didn't expect you in town again so soon," I acknowledged. "But I'm very glad to see you. You know that."

"Are you?" he said shortly. "Then why the devil can't you come and see me sometimes? A nice thing to bring an old man over seventy years of age a couple of hundred miles whenever he wants to have a word or two with his grandson! Damn it, sir, you're as obstinate as a mule!"

I did not answer him. He knew very well why I would not go to Devereux. What was the use of treading all over the old ground again?

"More rumours in the Times this morning, I see, about Burton Leigh and Mr. Arbuthnot," he remarked, after a short silence. "They say they've been handed over to the Mahdi now. Don't believe a word of it!"

"I hope to God that it's not true," I groaned; "but in any case they must be in terrible danger. The Mahdi is gaining fresh followers every day, and they must be in the very centre of the most perilous district. Why on earth the Government doesn't make a decided move, I can't imagine!"

Sir Francis looked at me for a moment, half sadly, with an expression on his face which I scarcely understood. Then he sighed.

"I have brought you news, Hugh," he said slowly.

"News!" I repeated; and then a sudden light flashed in upon me. "Tell me quick," I cried. "You have been with Lord Cannington?"

My grandfather nodded.

"I left him only a quarter of an hour ago, at Whitehall, and came down here as fast as a hansom could bring me. The 17th, 19th, and 21st are ordered out. 'Twill be in to-night's Gazette."

I could have shouted, done any mad thing, in my great joy. But I sat quite still in my chair, grasping its sides, and struggling to conceal my excitement.

"Thank God!" I murmured fervently, "this is what I have prayed for. I am sick of playing at being a soldier, of lounging about here, whilst he—others—were in such mortal peril."

He sat looking at me, nodding his head slowly.

"He! others! Ah, well. But I have more news for you, Hugh. Who do you think is appointed to the colonelcy of the 18th?"

"Utterson? Haigh?"

He shook his head.

"Your Uncle Rupert."

I was not surprised, for I had heard rumours that it might be so. But it seemed very strange when I thought it over. Were we three to meet again? I wondered.

"Yes," my grandfather went on with a shade of sadness in his tone, "I am to be left quite alone again, you see."

"Miss Devereux will be with you, I suppose?"

"Maud! Oh, yes, Maud will be with me. What's come to her I don't know. She's refused Lord Annerley and Captain Bryant, and I don't know how many others, and seems settling down into an old maid. Hugh, I'm getting a nervous old man, I think, but I shall have no peace till you get back again. When I think that if anything happened to you—which God forbid—that dissipated, low young cub of a nephew of mine would be my heir, it makes me feel sick. I'd burn Devereux Court above my head rather than that should be."

"It is not likely that anything will happen to me, grandfather," I said, bitterly. "There is one who should be dearer to you than I, who stands in greater peril."

He shook his head sadly.

"He is nothing to me—nothing. He is your father, Hugh, and I have never blamed you for——"

"And he is your son," I interrupted.

Sir Francis looked at me sternly.

"He is nothing to me. I disowned him."

"Ay, disowned him! I know that. You disowned him. You believed that accursed lie against your own son's words."

"I believed in the decision of the court-martial," he said, with all his old severity of tone and manner. "And if the same thing were to happen over again with you, Hugh, I should do exactly the same. I would never look upon your face again."

"I am in no danger," I answered bitterly. "I have no younger brother who would gain a fortune by my ruin."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"What I say. 'Tis simple enough! I tell you now, what I have told you before, that your son Rupert forged that lie against my father that he might take his place as your heir. It was done in a mad impulse of jealousy, and thank God his conscience has punished him for it! Look at his life! Can't you see that there is something amiss with it? Has he not always seemed like a man haunted by some guilty shadow? From one career he has passed to another, never satisfied, never happy. He made two great speeches in Parliament, and then resigned his seat to travel abroad. He became famous as a writer and a novelist, and now never touches a pen. Can't you see it written into his face—a guilty conscience? Why, if it had not been for that, I should have killed him, on my word and honour, grandfather. I have heard him with his own lips acknowledge it, and in my desk there is the confession of John Hilton, whom he bribed. Grandfather, chance may bring him and me together before long. You know in your heart that the man who is braving all the worst terrors of death amongst a fanatical people to save them from bloodshed and to urge them against a hopeless struggle, you know that this man is not a coward! Go into the clubs and listen to what they are saying about these two Englishmen who have pushed their way alone into an unknown country amongst a savage people. Say that you believe Burton Leigh's companion to be a coward, and you will be ridiculed. Grandfather, if he escapes—they say that escape is almost impossible for them—but if fate does bring us together again, may I take him a message from you—one word?"

"You may not."

The words came with a hard and cutting distinctness. I drew back chilled and bitterly disappointed.

"You are blinded, Hugh, by your love for your father. I do not blame you for it, but I am sorry that you re-opened this subject. When a court-martial shall reverse the decision of five-and-twenty years ago, then and then only will I crave my son's pardon, and welcome him back to Devereux. Enough of the subject."

Proud, obstinate old soldier. For a moment my heart leaped with anger, but it died away again almost immediately. Surely it was more his misfortune than his fault that his military training and instincts should have made him a soldier first and a father afterwards, and I thought of his long, cheerless life, and of the agony under which he had writhed because of the blot upon the name which he loved, and I pitied him.

"Will you dine with me at the Army and Navy, Hugh?" he asked, in an altered tone. "I must see as much as I can of you now."

I shook my head.

"Dine away from mess to-night? Why, not a man will do that with this glorious news to talk about! You must mess with us, sir!"

He smiled grimly.

"Glorious news, indeed! Because you're going out to cut a lot of half-naked savages to pieces! Well, well, perhaps it's a good thing it's nothing more serious. The more chance of seeing you home safe and sound. Yes, I'll mess with you if you like, and if your mess will not mind an old fogie like me."

He spoke lightly, for no one knew better than he that Colonel Devereux, V.C., would have been a welcome and an honoured guest at the table of any regiment in Great Britain.

"Give me your arm down these infernal stairs, Hugh," he said, rising and making his way to the door. "I have some commissions to do for Maud, and I want to see my lawyer, so I must be off. I'll be back before seven."

I watched him cross the square, with his head thrown back and his shoulders very slightly stooped, notwithstanding his seventy-five years. Then I returned to my rooms to think over the great news.