About Peggy Saville Part 22

"Arthur, my boy, what is it? What does it mean? You told us you were first. How can you possibly be plucked?"

"My--my eyes!" said Arthur faintly. He raised his head from Peggy's shoulder and looked round with a haggard smile. "The medical exam.

They would not pa.s.s me. I was rather blind when I was here before, but I thought it was with reading too much. I never suspected there was anything really wrong--never for a moment!"

"Your eyes!" The vicar pressed his hand to his forehead, as if unable to grasp this sudden shattering of his hopes. "But--but I don't understand! Your eyes never gave you any trouble when you were here.

You were not short-sighted. One knew, of course, that good sight was necessary; but there seemed no weakness in that direction. I can't imagine any cause that can have brought it on."

"I can!" said Arthur drearily. "I got a bad knock at lacrosse two years ago. I didn't tell you about it, for it wasn't worth while; but my eyes were bad for some time after that. I thought they were all right again; but I had to read a lot of things across a room, and made a poor show of it. Then the doctor took me to a window and pointed to an omnibus that was pa.s.sing.

"'What's the name on that 'bus?' he said. 'What is the colour of that woman's hat? How many horses are there?'

"I guessed. I couldn't see. I made a shot at it, and it was a wrong shot. He was a kind old chap. I think he was sorry for me. I--I came out into the street, and walked about. It was very cold. I tried to write to you, but I couldn't do it--I couldn't put it down in black and white. No V.C. now, little Peg! That's all over. You will have a civilian for your brother, after all!"

He bent down to kiss the girl's cheeks as he spoke, and she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him pa.s.sionately upon his closed eyelids.

"Dear eyes!" she cried impetuously. "Oh, dear eyes! They are the dearest eyes in all the world, whatever anyone says about them. It doesn't matter what you are--you are my Arthur, the best and cleverest brother in all the world. n.o.body is like you!"

"You have a fine career before you still, my boy! You will always fight, I hope, and conquer enemies even more powerful than armed men!"

cried Mrs Asplin, trembling. "There are more ways than one of being a soldier, Arthur!"

"I know it, mater," said the young man softly. He straightened his back and stood in silence, his head thrown back, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with emotion, as fine a specimen of a young English gentleman as one could wish to meet. "I know it," he repeated, and Mrs Asplin turned aside to hide her tears. "Oh, my pretty boy!" she was saying to herself. "Oh, my pretty boy! And I'll never see him in his red coat, riding his horse like a prince among them all! I'll never see the medals on his breast!

Oh, my poor lad that has the fighting blood in his veins! It's like tearing the heart out of him to turn Arthur Saville into anything but a soldier. And the poor father--what will he say at all, when he hears this terrible news?" She dared not trust herself to speak again; the others were too much stunned and distressed to make any attempt at consolation, and it was a relief to all when Mellicent's calm, matter-of-fact treble broke the silence.

"Well, for my part, I'm very glad!" she announced slowly. "I'm sorry, of course, if he has to wear spectacles, because they are not becoming, but I'm glad he is not going to be a soldier. I think it's silly having nothing to do but drill in barracks, and pretending to fight when there is no one to fight with. I should hate to be a soldier in times of peace, and it would be fifty thousand times worse in war. Oh, my goodness, shouldn't I be in a fright! I should run away--I know I should; but Arthur would be in the front of every battle, and it's absurd to think that he would not get killed. You know what Arthur is!

Did you ever know him have a chance of hurting himself and not taking it? He would be killed in the very first battle--that's my belief--and _then_ you would be sorry that you wanted him to be a soldier! Or, if he wasn't killed, he would have his legs shot off. Last time I was in London I saw a man with no legs. He was sitting on a little board with wheels on it, and selling matches in the street. Well, I must say I'd rather have my brother a civilian, as you call it, than have no legs, or be cut in pieces by a lot of nasty naked old savages."

A general smile went round the company. There was no resisting it.

Even Arthur's face brightened, and he turned his head and looked at Mellicent with his old twinkling smile.

"Bravo, Chubby!" he cried. "Bravo, Chubby! Commend me to Mellicent for good, sound commonsense. The prospect of squatting on a board, selling matches, is not exhilarating, I must confess. I'm glad there is one person at least who thinks my prospects are improved." He gave a little sigh, which was stifled with praiseworthy quickness. "Well, the worst is over, now that I have told you and written the letter to India.

Those were the two things that I dreaded most. Now I shall just have to face life afresh, and see what can be made of it. I must have a talk with you, sir, later on, and get your advice. Cheer up, Peggikens!

Cheer up, mater! It's no use grieving over spilt milk, and Christmas is coming. It would never do to be in the dolefuls over Christmas! I've got a boxful of presents upstairs--amused myself with buying them yesterday to pa.s.s the time. You come up with me to-night, Peg, and I'll give you a peep. You look better than I expected, dear, but fearsome scraggy! We shall have to pad her out a bit, shan't we, mater? She must have an extra helping of plum-pudding this year."

He rattled on in his own bright style, or in as near an imitation of it as he could manage, and the others tried their best to follow his example and make the evening as cheery as possible. Once or twice the joy of being all together again in health and strength conquered the underlying sorrow, and the laughter rang out as gaily as ever; but the next moment Arthur would draw in his breath with another of those short, stabbing sighs, and Peggy would s.h.i.+ver, and lie back trembling among her pillows. She had no heart to look at Christmas presents that night, but Arthur carried her upstairs in his strong arms, laid her on her bed, and sat beside her for ten minutes' precious private talk.

"It's a facer, Peg," he said. "I can't deny it's a facer. When I walked out of that doctor's room I felt as weak as a child. The shock knocked the strength out of me. I had never thought of anything else but being a soldier, you see, and it's a strange experience to have to face life afresh, with everything that you had expected taken out of it, and nothing ahead but blankness and disappointment. I've been so strong too--as strong as a horse. If it hadn't been for that blow--well, it's over! It's a comfort to me to feel that it was not my own fault. If I'd been lazy or careless, and had failed in the exam., it would have driven me crazy; but this was altogether beyond my control. It is frightfully rough luck, but I don't mean to howl--I must make the best of what's left!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. You have begun well, for I think you have been wonderfully brave and courageous about it, Arthur dear!"

"Well, of course!" said Arthur softly. "I always meant to be that, Peg; and, as the mater says, it is only another kind of battle. The other would have been easier, but I mean to fight still. I am not going to give up all my dreams. You shall be proud of me yet, though not in the way you expected."

"I never was so proud of you in my life!" Peggy cried. "Never in all my life."

Long after Arthur had kissed her and gone to his own room she lay awake, thinking of his words and of the expression on his handsome face as the firelight played on moistened eye and trembling lip. "I mean to fight."

"You shall be proud of me yet." The words rang in her ears, and would not be silenced. When she fell asleep Arthur was still by her side; the marks of tears were on his face. He was telling her once more the story of disappointment and failure; but she could not listen to him, for her eyes were fixed on something that was pinned on the breast of his coat-- a little cross with two words printed across its surface.

In her dream Peggy bent forward, and read those two words with a great rush of joy and exultation.

"For Valour!"

"For Valour!" Yes, yes, it was quite true! Never was soldier flushed with victory more deserving of that decoration than Arthur Saville in his hour of disappointment and failure.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS!

Arthur kept his word, and tried manfully not to let his own disappointment interfere with the enjoyment of Christmas Day.

The party at the vicarage was smaller than usual, for Rob and Oswald had both gone home for the festive season, and he knew well that the knowledge that "Arthur was coming" had seemed the best guarantee of a merry day to those who were left.

Peggy too--poor little Peg, with her bandaged hands and tiny white face--it would never do to grieve her by being depressed and gloomy!

"Begone, dull care!" cried Arthur to himself then, when he awoke on Christmas morning, and, promptly wrapping himself in his dressing-gown, he sallied out on to the landing, where he burst into the strains of "Christians, awake!" with such vigorous brush-and-comb accompaniment on the panels of the doors as startled the household out of their dreams.

"Miserable boy! I was having such a lovely nap! I'll never forgive you!" cried Mrs Asplin's voice, in sleepy wrath.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" shouted the girls; and Peggy's clear pipe joined in last of all. "And many of them! Come in! Come in! I was lying awake and longing to see you!"

Arthur put his ruffled head round the door and beamed at the little figure in the bed, as if he had never known a trouble in his life.

"What a wicked story! I heard you snore. Merry Christmas, Peg, and a Happy New Year! And don't you go for to do it again never no more!

It's a jolly morning. I'll take you out for a toddle in the garden when we come home from church, if you are a good girl. Will you have your present now, or wait till you get it? It begins with a B. I love my love with a B, because she's a--"

"Oh, Arthur!" interrupted Peggy regretfully. "I haven't half such a nice present for you as I expected. You see I couldn't work anything, and I couldn't get out to the shops, and I hadn't nearly as much money as I expected either. If Rob and I had won that prize, I should have had ten pounds; but the stupid editors have put off announcing the result week after week. They say there were so many compet.i.tors; but that's no consolation, for it makes our chance less. I do hope it may be out next week. But, at any rate, I didn't get my ten pounds in time, and there I was, you see, with little money and practically no hands-- a--er--a most painful contingency, which I hope it may never be your lot to experience. You must take the will for the deed."

"Oh, I will!" agreed Arthur promptly. "I'll take the will now, and you can follow up with the deed as soon as you get the cash. But no more journeys up to London, my dear, if you love me, and don't use such big words before seven o'clock in the morning, or you'll choke. It's bad for little girls to exert themselves so much. Now I'm going to skate about in the bath for a bit, and tumble into my clothes, and then I'll come back and give you a lift downstairs. You are coming down for breakfast, I suppose?"

"Rather! On Christmas morning! I should just think I was!" cried Peggy emphatically; and Arthur went off to the bathroom, calling in at Max's room _en route_, to squeeze a sponge full of water over that young gentleman's head, and pull the clothes off the bed, by way of giving emphasis to his, "Get up, you lazy beggar! It's the day after to-morrow, and the plum-pudding is waiting!"

Peggy was the only one of the young folks who did not go to church that morning; but she was left in charge of the decorations for the dinner-table, and when this was finished there was so much to think about that the time pa.s.sed all too quickly.

Last year she and Arthur had spent Christmas with their mother; now both parents were away in India, and everything was strange and altered. As Peggy sat gazing into the heart of the big gloomy fire, it seemed to her that the year that was pa.s.sing away would end a complete epoch in her brother's experiences and her own, and that from this hour a new chapter would begin. She herself had come back from the door of death, and had life given, as it were, afresh into her hands. Arthur's longed-for career had been checked at its commencement, and all his plans laid waste. Even the life in the vicarage would henceforth take new conditions, for Rob and Oswald would go up to Oxford at the beginning of the term, and their place be filled by new pupils. There was something solemnising in the consciousness of change which filled the air. One could never tell what might be the next development. Nothing was too unexpected to happen--since Arthur's success had ended in failure, and she herself had received Rosalind's vows of love and friends.h.i.+p.

"Good things have happened as well as bad," acknowledged Peggy honestly; "but how I do hate changes! The new pupils may be the nicest boys in the world, but no one will ever--ever be like Rob, and I'd rather Arthur had been a soldier than anything in the wide world. I wish one could go on being young for ever and ever. It's when you grow old that all these troubles and changes come upon you." And Peggy sighed and wagged her head, oppressed with the weight of fifteen years.

It was a relief to hear the clatter of horses' hoofs, and the sound of voices in the hall, which proved that the church-goers had returned home. Mr and Mrs Asplin had been driven home from church by Lord and Lady Darcy, and the next moment they were in the room, and greeting Peggy with demonstrative affection.

"We couldn't go home without coming to see you, dear," said Lady Darcy fondly. "Rosalind is walking with the rest, and will be here in a few minutes. A merry Christmas to you, darling, and many, many of them.

I've brought you a little present which I hope you will like. It's a bangle bracelet--quite a simple one that you can wear every day--and you must think of me sometimes when you put it on."

She touched the spring of a little morocco case as she spoke, and there on the satin lining lay a band of gold, dependent from which hung the sweetest little locket in the world--heart-shaped, studded with pearls, and guarding a ring of hair beneath the gla.s.s s.h.i.+eld.

Lady Darcy pointed to it in silence--her eyes filling with tears, as they invariably did on any reference to Rosalind's accident, and Peggy's cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"I can't thank you! I really can't," she said. "It is too lovely. You couldn't possibly have given me anything I liked better. I have a predilection for jewellery, and the little locket is too sweet, dangling on that chain! I do love to have something that waggles!" She held up her arm as she spoke, shaking the locket to and fro with a childlike enjoyment, while the two ladies watched her with tender amus.e.m.e.nt. Lord Darcy had not spoken since his first greeting, but now he came forward, and linking his arm in Peggy's led her to the farther end of the room.