As We Sweep Through The Deep Part 22

Then he solemnly placed the letter in the fire, and it was cremated.

Sir Digby made himself as comfortable as possible in the Fleet. Richards did not think it safe he should come out. Gerty was a strange girl. Her heart bled for the poor man, as she called him. For sake of her father's memory, there was no denying that she might even yet sacrifice herself.

D'Orsay paid many visits to Sir Digby in prison. He really acted like a true friend, and did all he could for him. He had even gone to see his old brother, and come back, figuratively speaking, with a finger in his mouth.

"No good in that quarter," he told Sir Digby bluntly. "Says you're a spendthrift and a ne'er-do-weel, and that he means to live for twenty years yet; and 'pon honour, Digby, he looks as if he could. I did hear too that he was looking out for a wife."

"I shall go and see my hero in his dark dungeon, in his prison cell, in his chains and misery."

These are words spoken by Miss Gordon heroically to herself in the mirror one morning. She had strange ideas of the Fleet.

She was astonished to find her hero in a flowered dressing-gown, smoking a Havana, which he threw into the fire when he saw her, and living in a handsomely-furnished room.

She went again and again. I do not know how she managed it, but I do know that in a month's time Sir Digby was a free man, and married to Miss Gordon.

This event took place just two days before Jack's s.h.i.+p staggered wearily into Plymouth Sound.

While he still sat by his open port, gazing sadly landward, Tom Fairlie came in with a rush and a run. He too had a copy of the _Times_.

"Listen, Jack," he cried, "and I'll read something that will astonish you."

"Don't, Tom, don't. I have already seen the awful announcement. I am a broken and crushed man!"

"Broken and crushed fiddlestick!" said Tom. "Listen, listen: 'At St.

Nicholas' Church, on the 5th inst., by the Rev. Charles Viewfield, Sir Digby Auld to Miss Gertrude Gordon, daughter of--'"

"Hurrah!" cried Jack, springing from his seat and overturning the chair.

"Hurrah for the Rev. Charlie! Tom, shake hands, my dearest and best of friends. You've made me the happiest man in the British Islands.

Hurrah!"

In a week's time the _Tonneraire_ was paid off and safe in dock, and a carriage with postillions might have been seen tearing along the road that leads from Plymouth to Tor Bay.

The carriage contained Jack Mackenzie and his friend Tom Fairlie.

CHAPTER XXIV.

BY THE OLD DIAL-STONE.

"So heroes may well wear their armour, And, patient, count over their scars; Venus' dimples, a.s.suming the charmer, Shall smooth the rough furrows of Mars."

DIBDIN.

General Grant Mackenzie was lounging at breakfast one morning in his private rooms in the big barn-like barracks of C----. At his right hand sat one of his captains, with whom he was talking--languidly enough, it must be confessed.

"You are right, Moore. By Jove, you're right; and to-day I send in my resignation. Here have we been lying waiting the French for more than a year, and the rascals won't show front. No; I shall go in for club life in London now."

"We'll miss you, general."

"Ah, Moore, it is good of you to say so; but what _can_ a fellow do?

When I rejoined the service, I expected to see some fighting.

Disappointed. And now I'm parted from my daughter, and lying in this old barn positively getting mouldy. Besides--"

"Some one to see you, sir," said the servant.

"Why, Richards, my dear old boy, who could have expected to see you?

Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"No, everything right--more than right. Prepare to hear news that--"

He glanced at the captain.

"My friend Captain Moore. No secrets from him--knows everything.--Captain Moore, Mr. Richards, my family lawyer, and, bar yourself, the best fellow in existence."

Richards bowed.

"Well, Jack's come. Had terrible fighting. I hurried over to tell you."

"But not for that alone?"

"Nay, friend. Now sit down, or catch hold of something. I'm going to startle you. Your old uncle is dead."

"What, the man that disinherited me?"

"The same; only--you are heir to Glen Pollok. It is all yours--a cool 10,000 a year."

The general could not speak for a moment; then he grasped the kindly old solicitor's hand once more, and with tears in his eyes.

"G.o.d in heaven bless you, Richards," he exclaimed, "and his name be praised. Poor Jack and dear Flo, they will not now be beggars!"

"And, Richards," he added, "Flora shall be wedded with all the pomp and glory due to a daughter of the proud house of Grant Mackenzie."

"Ah!" laughed Richards, "there is the old reckless Celtic blood a.s.serting itself again. Don't forget, my friend, that even 10,000 a year can be spent, and that right easily too."

"I won't, I won't; you shall be my guide."

"And then, you see," continued Richards, "there is the mortgage to pay off on Grantley Hall."

"Grantley Hall! why, isn't that sold long ago?"

Richards laughed heartily now. "O bother," he cried. "I've let the cat out of the bag, and I didn't mean to. I meant to give you such a pleasant surprise. Well, well, well,--