Sir Brook Fossbrooke Volume I Part 60

When they arose from the table, the old Major, dropping behind the line of those who lounged into the adjoining room, caught a young officer by the arm, and whispered some few words in his ear.

"What a sc.r.a.pe I 'm in!" cried the young fellow as he listened.

"I think not, this time; but let it be a caution to you how you talk of rumors in presence of men who are strangers to you."

"I say, Major," asked a young captain, coming up hurriedly, "isn't that Sewell the man of the Agra affair?"

"I don't think I 'd ask him about it, that's all," said the Major, slyly, and moved away.

"I got amongst a capital lot of young fellows at my end of the table--second battalion men, I think,--who were all new to me, but very agreeable," said Sewell to Cave, as he sipped his coffee.

"You'd like your rubber, Sewell, I know," said Cave; "let us see if we haven't got some good players."

"Not to-night,--thanks,--I promised my wife to be home early; one of the chicks is poorly."

"I want so much to have a game with Colonel Sewell," said a young fellow. "They told me up at Delhi that you hadn't your equal at whist or billiards."

Sewell's pale face grew flushed; but though he smiled and bowed, it was not difficult to see that his manner evinced more irritation than pleasure.

"I say," said another, who sat shuffling the cards by himself at a table, "who knows that trick about the double ace in picquet? That was the way Beresford was rooked at Madras."

"I must say good-night," said Sewell; "it's a long drive to the Nest You 'll come over to breakfast some morning before you leave, won't you?"

"I 'll do my best. At all events, I 'll pay my respects to Mrs. Sewell;"

and with a good deal of hand-shaking and some cordial speeches Sewell took his leave and retired.

Had any one marked the pace at which Sewell drove home that night, black and dark as it was, he would have said, "There goes one on some errand of life or death." There was something of recklessness in the way he pushed his strong-boned thoroughbred, urging him up hill and down without check or relief, nor slackening rein till he drew up at his own door, the panting beast making the buggy tremble with the violent action of his respiration. Low muttering to himself, the groom led the beast to the stable, and Sewell pa.s.sed up the stairs to the small drawing-room where his wife usually sat.

She was reading as he entered; a little table with a tea equipage at her side. She did not raise her eyes from her book when he came in; but whether his footstep on the stair had its meaning to her quick ears or not, a slight flush quivered on her cheek, and her mouth trembled faintly.

"Shall I give you some tea?" asked she, as he threw himself into a seat.

He made no answer, and she laid down her book, and sat still and silent.

"Was your dinner pleasant?" said she, after a pause.

"How could it be other than pleasant, Madam," said he, fiercely, "when they talked so much of _you?_"

"Of _me?_--talked of _me?_"

"Just so; there were a set of young fellows who had just joined from another battalion, and who discoursed of you, of your life in India, of your voyage home, and lastly of some incidents that were attributed to your sojourn here. To me it was perfectly delightful. I had my opinion asked over and over again, if I thought that such a levity was so perfectly harmless, and such another liberty was the soul of innocence?

In a word, Madam, I enjoyed the privilege, very rarely accorded to a husband, I fancy, to sit in judgment over his own wife, and say what he thought of her conduct."

"Was there no one to tell these gentlemen to whom they were speaking?"

said she, with a subdued, quiet tone.

"No; I came in late and took my place amongst men all strangers to me. I a.s.sure you I profited largely by the incident. It is so seldom one gets public opinion in its undiluted form, it 's quite refres.h.i.+ng to taste it neat. Of course they were not always correct. I could have set them right on many points. They had got a totally wrong version of what they called the 'Agra row,' though one of the party said he was Beresford's cousin."

She grasped the table convulsively to steady herself, and in so doing threw it down, and the whole tea equipage with it.

"Yes," continued he, as though responding to this evidence of emotion on her part,--"yes; it pushed one's patience pretty hard to be obliged to sit under such criticism."

"And what obliged you, sir? was it fear?"

"Yes, Madam, you have guessed it. I was afraid--terribly afraid to own I was your husband."

A low faint groan was all she uttered, as she covered her face with her hands. "I had next," continued he, "to listen to a dispute as to whether Trafford had ever seriously offered to run away with you or not. It was almost put to the vote. Faith, I believe my casting voice might have carried the thing either way if I had only known how to give it." She murmured something too low to be heard correctly, but he caught at part of it, and said: "Well, that was pretty much what I suspected. The debate was, however, adjourned; and as Cave called me by my name at the moment, the confidences came to an abrupt conclusion. As I foresaw that these youngsters, ignorant of life and manners as they were, would be at once for making apologetic speeches and such-like, I stole away and came home, _more domestico_, to ruminate over my enjoyments at my own fireside."

"I trust, sir, they were strangers to your own delinquencies. I hope they had no unpleasant reminders to give you of yourself."

"Pardon, Madam. They related several of what you pleasantly call my delinquencies, but they only came in as the by-play of the scene where you were the great character. We figured as brigands. It was _you_ always who stunned the victim; _I_ only rifled his pockets--fact, I a.s.sure you. I'm sorry that china is smashed. It was Saxe,--wasn't it?"

She nodded.

"And a present of Trafford's too! What a pity! I declare I believe we shall not have a single relic of the dear fellow, except it be a protested bill or two." He paused a moment or so, and then said, "Do you know, it just strikes me that if they saw how ill--how shamefully you played your cards in this Trafford affair, they 'd actually absolve you of all the Circe gifts the world ascribes to you."

She fixed her eyes steadfastly on him, and as her clasped hands dropped on her knees, she leaned forward and said: "What do you mean by it? What do you want by this? If these men, whose insolent taunts you had not courage to arrest or to resent, say truly, whose the fault? Ay, sir, whose the fault? Answer me, if you dare, and say, was not my shame incurred to cover and conceal _yours?_"

"Your tragedy-queen airs have no effect upon me. I 've been too long behind the scenes to be frightened by stage thunder. What is past is past. You married a gambler; and if you shared his good luck, you oughtn't to grumble at partaking his bad fortune. If you had been tired of the yoke, I take it you 'd have thrown it behind you many a day ago."

"If I had not done so, you know well why," said she, fiercely.

"The old story, I suppose,--the dear darlings upstairs. Well, I can't discuss what I know nothing about. I can only promise you that such ties would never bind _me_."

"I ask you once again what you mean by this?" cried she, as her lips trembled and her pale cheeks shook with agitation. "What does it point to? What am I to do? What am I to be?"

"That's the puzzle," said he, with an insolent levity; "and I 'll be shot if I can solve it! Sometimes I think we 'd do better to renounce the partners.h.i.+p, and try what we could do alone; and sometimes I suspect--it sounds odd, does n't it?--but I suspect that we need each other."

She had by this time buried her face between her hands, and by the convulsive motion of her shoulders, showed she was weeping bitterly.

"One thing is certainly clear," said he, rising, and standing with his back to the fire,--"if we decide to part company, we have n't the means.

If either of us would desert the s.h.i.+p, there 's no boat left to do it with."

She arose feebly from her chair, but sank down again, weak and overcome.

"Shall I give you my arm?" asked he.

"No; send Jane to me," said she, in a voice barely above a whisper.

He rang the bell, and said, "Tell Jane her mistress wants her;" and with this he searched for a book on the table, found it, and strolled off to his room, humming an air as he went.

CHAPTER XLV. THE TIDELESS Sh.o.r.eS

They who only know the sh.o.r.es of the Mediterranean in the winter months, and have but enjoyed the contrast--and what a contrast!--between our inky skies and rain-charged atmosphere with that glorious expanse of blue heaven and that air of exciting elasticity,--they, I say, can still have no conception of the real ecstasy of life in a southern climate till they have experienced a summer beside the tideless sea.

Nothing is more striking in these regions than the completeness of the change from day to night. It is not alone the rapidity with which darkness succeeds,--and in this our delicious twilight is ever to be regretted; what I speak of is the marvellous transition from the world of sights and sounds to the world of unbroken silence and dimness. In the day the whole air rings with life. The flowers flaunt out their gorgeous petals, not timidly or reluctantly, but with the bold confidence of admitted beauty. The buds unfold beneath your very eyes, the rivulets sing in the clear air, and myriads of insects chirp till the atmosphere seems to be charged with vitality. This intense vitality is the striking characteristic of the scene; and it is to this that night succeeds, grand, solemn, and silent, at first to all seeming in unrelieved blackness, but soon to be displayed in a glorious expanse of darkest, deepest blue, with stars of surpa.s.sing size. To make this change more effective, too, it is instantaneous. It was but a moment back, and you were gazing on the mountain peaks bathed in an opal l.u.s.tre, the cicala making the air vibrate with his song; a soft sea-breeze was blowing, and stirring the oranges amongst the leaves; and now all is dim and silent and breathless, as suddenly as though an enchanter's wand had waved and worked the miracle.