The Coming Conquest of England Part 28

"I thank you for waiting for me," she said, "but we cannot stay here, for we should not be safe from surprise for a moment. Let us go into my room."

Heideck followed her with hesitation. But he knew that Edith would feel insulted if he expressed any scruples at her request, for her firm confidence in his chivalrous honour relieved her of all apprehension.

Only the moon, s.h.i.+ning faintly, shed a dim light over the room. The clock on the tower of the neighbouring university struck twelve.

"Destiny is playing a strange game with us," said Edith, who had seated herself in one of the little basket chairs, while Heideck remained standing near the door. "I confess that since the arrival of the news of the victory I have spent some terrible hours, for the Kennedys have, in consequence, abandoned their idea of leaving, and seem to take it for granted that I shall remain with them in India."

"And would you not, in fact, be forced to do so, my dearest Edith?"

"So then you have already reckoned with this contingency? You would not, surely, think of travelling without me? But perhaps you would even feel relieved at being freed from me?"

"How can you say such things, Edith, which, I am sure, you do not believe?"

"Who knows? You are ambitious, and we poor women are never worse off than when we have to do with ambitious men."

"But there is probably no necessity for us to torment ourselves with the discussion of such contingencies. I have never for a moment believed in any alteration of our arrangements for the journey."

"That is to say you doubt the trustworthiness of the report of the victory?"

"To speak frankly, I do. I did not wish to mortify the old gentleman and spoil his shortlived joy. That is the reason why I did not express my distrust in his presence. But the despatch does not really convey the impression of being true. It does not even contain a more exact statement of the place where the battle is said to have taken place.

It must, at least, strike the unprejudiced observer as being very suspicious."

"But who would take the trouble to obtain the melancholy satisfaction of deceiving the world in such a manner for a short time?"

"Oh, there are many who would be interested in doing so. In the course of every war such false reports are always floating about, in most cases without their origin being known. It may be a money-market manoeuvre."

"So you think it quite impossible that we can beat the Russians?"

"Not exactly impossible, but extremely improbable--at least while the military situation remains what it is. Again, it is the absence of definite information that surprises me. A victorious general always finds time to communicate details, which the vanquished is only too glad to defer. I am convinced that the bad news will soon follow, and that, as far as our plans for the journey are concerned, everything will remain as before."

Edith was silent. Her belief in Heideck was so unbounded that his words had completely convinced her. But they did not restore the joyful confidence of the last few days.

"Everything will remain as before?" she said at length. "That means you will leave us at Brindisi."

"Certainly. There is no other way for me to reach the army."

"And suppose you abandon the idea of returning to the army altogether?

Have you never thought that we might find another foundation on which to build our future happiness?"

Heideck looked at her in amazement.

"No, dearest Edith, I have not thought of it. It would have been a useless and foolish idea, so long as my duty and honour prescribe most definitely what I have to do."

"Duty and honour! Of course, I ought to have known that you would at once be ready again with fine words. It is so convenient to be able to take shelter behind so una.s.sailable a rampart, if at the same time it falls in with one's own wishes."

"Edith! How unjust the melancholy events of the last few weeks have made you! If you think it over quietly, you will see that my personal wishes and my heart's desires are not in question at all. And really I do not understand what you think I could possibly do."

"Oh, there would be more than one way of sparing us the pain of a separation, but I will only mention the first that occurs to me.

Couldn't we very well remain together in India? If it is the question of money that makes you hesitate, I can soon make your mind easy on that point. I have enough money for both of us, and what is mine is yours.

If we retire to a part of the country which the war cannot reach, a hill station such as Poona or Mahabeleshwar, no one will trouble you with questions or think of following you. And if you live there and devote yourself to your love instead of slaying your fellow-men, it will be more acceptable to G.o.d."

In spite of the seriousness with which she spoke, Heideck could not help smiling as he answered: "What a wonderful picture of the world and its affairs is sometimes drawn in a pretty woman's little head! It is really fortunate that we sober-minded men do not allow our heart to run away with our head so easily. Otherwise we should come badly off, for you yourselves would certainly be the first to turn away from us with contempt, if we tried to purchase the happiness of your love at any price--even at the price of your respect."

Edith Irwin did not contradict him. Silent and sorrowful, for a long time she looked out upon the bright moonlight Indian night. Then, when Heideck approached her, to take leave of her with tender words, she said in a voice which cut him to the heart: "Whether we understand each other or not, in one thing at least you shall be under no delusion. Whereever you may go--into a paradise of peace or the h.e.l.l of war--I will not forsake you."

With pa.s.sionate impetuosity she flung herself into his arms and pressed her burning lips upon his. Then, as if afraid of her own heart's pa.s.sion, she gently pushed him towards the door.

XXIII

HOMEWARD BOUND

As Heideck had foreseen, the announcement of the victory was followed by disastrous tidings for the English. Up to noon on the following day Bombay had waited in vain for confirmation of the despatch and fuller particulars. Very late in the evening, amidst a general feeling of depression, the Governor published the following despatch from the Commander-in-Chief:--

"The enemy having been reported in great force yesterday to the north of Delhi, our army took up a favourable defensive position, and a battle was fought with great honour to the British arms. The Russians suffered enormous losses. The approach of darkness preventing us from following up the advantages we had gained, I ordered the main body of the army to carry out a strategic retreat on Lucknow, chiefly along the railway.

Simpson's brigade remained behind to defend Delhi. The heavy guns of the Sha, Calcutta gate, and north gate bastions were very effective.

All arms distinguished themselves, and deserve the highest praise. The bridge over the Jumna is intact and affords direct communication with General Simpson."

While Mr. Kennedy was sitting pondering over this despatch, Heideck came up to him.

"A decisive defeat, isn't it, Mr. Heideck?" said he. "As a military man, you can read between the line, better than I can. But I know Delhi. If the Jumna bridge batteries have been firing, the Russians must be on the point of capturing this pa.s.sage. The north gate bastion is the head of the bridge."

Heideck was obliged to agree; but he had read more in the despatch, and drew the worst conclusions from the general's retreat on Lucknow.

No more despatches from the theatre of war were published during the day, since the Governor was desirous of concealing the melancholy state of affairs from the people. But Mr. Kennedy, who had been in Government House, knew more. He told Heideck that the English army had fled in complete disorder, having lost 8,000 killed and wounded, twenty guns, and a number of colours and standards. The Government had already abandoned all hope of saving Delhi, for General Simpson could not possibly hold it. "We have lost India," sorrowfully concluded Mr.

Kennedy. "It is the grave of my last hopes."

The Caledonia was moored in Victoria Dock, which formed part of the magnificent harbour on the east coast of the peninsula. In the midst of a seething crowd the pa.s.sengers were making their way on board.

Many wounded and sick officers and soldiers were returning on the fast steamer to England, and filled the places intended for pa.s.sengers. No travellers to Europe on business or pleasure were to be seen. All the women on board belonged to the families of the military. The general feeling was one of extreme melancholy.

Before embarking Heideck had discharged his faithful servant. Morar Gopal, with tears in his eyes, had begged him to take him with him, but Heideck was afraid that the European climate would be the death of the poor fellow. Besides, he would have been obliged to part with him on active service. So he gave him a hundred rupees--a fortune for Morar Gopal.

The great steamer moved slowly out of the basin of the harbour, past English merchantmen and the white s.h.i.+ps of war, which had brought troops and war material.

As the Caledonia, continually increasing her speed, made her way through the outer harbour, Heideck saw some twenty men-of-war in the roadstead, including several large ironclads. English troops from Malta were being landed in boats from two transports, the decks of which glistened with arms.

The Caledonia proceeded with increasing rapidity into the open sea. The city and its lighthouses disappeared in the distance, the blue mountains of the mainland and of the island were lost in a floating mist. A long, glittering, white furrow followed in the wake of the steamer.

It was a wonderful journey for all whom a load of anxiety had not rendered insensible to the grandeur of Nature. Heideck, happy at being at last on the way home, enjoyed the beauty of sea and sky to the full.

The uneasy doubts which sometimes a.s.sailed him as to his own and Edith's future were suppressed by the charm of her presence. Her impetuosity caused him perpetual anxiety, but he loved her. Ever since she had declared that she would never leave him she had been all devotion and tenderness, as if tormented by a constant fear that he might nevertheless one day cast her off.

So they sat once again, side by side, on the promenade deck. The azure billows of the sea splashed round the planks of the vessel. The boundless surface of ocean glittered with a marvellous brilliancy, and everything seemed bathed in a flood of light. The double awning over the heads of the young couple kept off the burning heat of the sun, and a refres.h.i.+ng breeze swept across the deck beneath it.

"Then you would land with me at Brindisi?" asked Heideck.