V
THE FIRST EVENING AT GRAYSBROOKE
"Sit down, boy, sit down," said Colonel Bristo, "and let us have a lookat you. Mind, we don't know yet that you're not an impostor. You shouldhave brought proofs."
"Here are five-foot-ten of them," said Dick, laughing.
"To believe that, we must put you through examination--andcross-examination," the Colonel added with a glance at his daughter;"although I half believe you really are the man you profess to be. Whatdo you say, Alice?"
"I have a strong case--" Dick was beginning, but he was cut short.
"It is Dick," said the oracle sweetly.
"You take his word for it?" asked her father.
"No, I identify him," Alice answered with a quiet smile; "and he hasn'taltered so very much, when one looks at him."
Dick turned his head and met her eyes; they were serene and friendly."Thank you," he said to her, with gratitude in his voice. And, indeed,he felt grateful to them all; to the Colonel for his ponderouspleasantry, to Alice for her unembarrassed manner, to Mr. Miles for thegood taste he showed in minding his own business. (He had strolled overto the window.)
"And when did you land?" inquired the Colonel.
"This morning."
"Only this morning!" exclaimed Alice; "then I think it was too good ofyou to come and see us so soon; don't you, papa?"
Very kind of him indeed, papa thought. Dick was pleased; but he thoughtthey might have understood his eagerness. Alice, at any rate, should nothave been surprised--and probably was not. "I couldn't put it off," hesaid, frankly.
There was a slight pause; then the Colonel spoke:
"That's kindly said, my boy; and if your mother knew how it does us goodto see you here, she would scarcely grudge us an hour or two thisevening--though grudge it you may depend she does. As for ourselves,Dick, we can hardly realise that you are back among us."
"I can't realise it at all," murmured Dick, aloud but to himself.
"I won't worry you by asking point-blank how you like Australia," theColonel went on, "for that's a daily nuisance in store for you for thenext six months. But I may tell you we expect some tough yarns of you;our taste has been tickled by Miles, who has some miraculous--why, whereis Miles?"
Miles had vanished.
"What made him go, I wonder?" asked Alice, with the slightestperceptible annoyance. Dick did not perceive it, but he thought thequestion odd. To disappear seemed to him the only thing a stranger, whowas also a gentleman, could have done; he was scarcely impartial on thepoint, however.
Alice took up the theme which her father had dropped.
"Oh, Mr. Miles has some wonderful stories," said she; "he has had sometremendous adventures."
"The deuce he has!" thought Dick, but he only said: "You should taketravellers' tales with a grain of salt."
"Thanks," Alice instantly retorted; "I shall remember that when you tellyours."
They laughed over the retort. All three began to feel quite at ease.
"So you kept up your sketching out there, and drew bush scenes for ourillustrated papers?" said the Colonel.
"Two or three times; more often for the Colonial papers."
"We saw them all," said Alice, graciously--"I mean the English ones. Wecut them out and kept them." (She should have said that she did.)
"Did you, though?" said Dick, delighted.
"Yes," said Alice, "and I have a crow to pick with you about them. That'Week in the Sandwich Islands'--it was yours, wasn't it?"
Dick admitted that it was.
"Oh, and pray when were you in the Sandwich Islands?"
He confessed that he had never seen them.
"So you not only cheated a popular journal--a nice thing to do!--butdeceived the British public, which is a far more serious matter. Whatexplanation have you to offer? What apology to 'One who wasDeceived'--as I shall sign my 'Times' letter, when I write it?"
"Alice, you are an inquisitor," said Colonel Bristo. But Alice repliedwith such a mischievous, interested smile that Dick immediately ceasedto feel ashamed of himself.
"The fact is," he owned, "your popular journal doesn't care a figwhether one has been to a place so long as one's sketches of it areattractive. I did them a thing once of a bullock-dray stuck up in themud; and how did it appear? 'The War at the Cape: Difficulties inReaching the Front.' And they had altered the horns of my bullocks, ifyou please, to make 'em into South African cattle! You see, just thenAfrica was of more interest to your British public than Australia.Surely you won't be so hard on me now? You see you have made me divulgeprofessional secrets by your calumnies."
Alice said she forgave him, if all that was true; but she added, slyly:"One must take travellers' tales with a pinch of salt, you know!"
"Come, Alice," said her father, "if you insist on pitching into ourartist, he shall have his fling at our photographer. Dick, she's takento photography--it's lately become the fashion. Look on that table,under the lamp; you'll find some there that she was trimming, orsomething, when you dropped in our midst."
"May I look at them?" Dick asked, moving over to Alice.
"Certainly; but they're very bad, I'm afraid; and since you artistsscorn photography--as so inartistic, you know--I suppose you will be asevere critic."
"Not when this is the subject," said Dick, in a low voice, picking up aprint; "how did you manage to take yourself?"
He was sitting beside her at the little table, with the lamp betweenthem and the Colonel; he instinctively lowered his voice, and a grain ofthe feeling he had so far successfully repressed escaped into his tone.
"Someone took off the cap for me."
"Oh. Who?"
"Who? Oh, I get anybody to take the cap off when I am so vain as to takemyself--anybody who is handy."
"Mr. Miles, for instance?" It was a stray question, suggested by noparticular train of thought, and spoken carelessly; there was no traceof jealousy in the tone--it was too early for that; but Alice looked up,quick to suspect, and answered shortly:
"Yes, if you like."
Dick was genuinely interested, and noticed in her tone nothing amiss.Several of the photographs turned out to be of Alice, and they charmedhim.
"Did Mr. Miles take all these?" he asked, lightly; he was forced tospeak so before her father: the restraint was natural, though hemarvelled afterwards that he had been able to maintain it so long.
Alice, however, read him wrong. She was prepared for pique in her oldlover, and imagined it before it existed. She answered with markedcoldness:
"A good many of them."
This time Dick detected the unpleasant ring in her words--he could nothelp but detect it. A pang shot to his heart. His first (and only)impression of Miles, which had fled from his mind (with all otherimpressions) while talking to her, swiftly returned. He had used theman's name, a minute ago, without its conveying anything to his mind; heused it now with a bitterness at heart which crept into his voice.
"And don't you return the compliment? I see no photographs of Mr. Mileshere; and he would look so well in one."
"He has never been taken in his life--and never means to be. Now, Dick,you have seen them all," she added quite softly, her heart smiting her;and with that she rolled all the prints into one little cylinder. Dickwas in that nervous state in which a kind word wipes out unkindness themoment it is spoken, and the cloud lifted at once from his face. Theywere silent for more than a minute. Colonel Bristo quietly left theroom.
Then a strange change came over Dick. While others had been in the room,composure had sat naturally upon him; but now that they were alonetogether, and the dream of his exile so far realised, that armour fellfrom him, and left his heart bare. He gazed at his darling withunutterable emotion; he yearned to clasp her in his arms, yet dared notto profane her with his touch. There had been vows between them whenthey parted--vows out of number, and kisses and tears; but no betrothal,and never a letter. He could but gaze at her now--his soul
in thatgaze--and tremble; his lips moved, but until he had conquered hisweakness no words came. As for Alice, her eyes were downcast, andneither did she speak. At length, and timidly, he took her hand. Shesuffered this, but drew ever so slightly away from him.
"Alice," he faltered, "this is the sweetest moment of my life. It iswhat I have dreamt of, Alice, but feared it might never come. I cannotspeak; forgive me, dear."
She answered him cunningly:
"It is very nice to have you back again, Dick."
He continued without seeming to hear her, and his voice shook withtenderness: "Here--this moment--I can't believe these years have been; Ithink we have never been separated----"
"It certainly doesn't seem four years," said Alice sympathetically, butcoolly.
Dick said nothing for a minute; his eyes hung on her downcast lids,waiting for an answering beam of love, but one never came.
"You remember," he said at last, in a calmer voice, "you remember theold days? and our promises? and how we parted?" He was going on, butAlice interrupted him by withdrawing her hand from his and rising fromher chair.
"Dick," said she, kindly enough, "don't speak of them, especially notnow--but don't speak of them at all. We can't have childhood over again;and I was a child then--of seventeen. I am grown up now, and altered;and you--of course you have altered too."
"Oh Alice!"--the turning of the door handle made him break off short,and add in a quick whisper, "I may speak to you to-morrow?"
"Very well," she answered indifferently, as there entered upon them alittle old lady in rustling silk and jingling beads--an old lady with asallow face and a piercing black eye, who welcomed Dick with a degree offussy effusiveness, combined with a look and tone which discounted herwords.
"Delighted to see you back, Mr. Richard--a pleasure I have often lookedforward to. We don't welcome conquering heroes every day," were inthemselves sufficiently kindly words, but they were accompanied by aflash of the beady eyes from Dick to Alice, and a scrutiny of the youngfellow's appearance as searching as it was unsympathetic; and when asmile followed, overspreading her loose, leathery, wrinkled skin, theeffect was full of uncanny suggestion.
"Yes, it is jolly to be back, and thanks very much," said Dick civilly;"and it is charming to find you still here, Mrs. Parish."
"Of course I am still here," said the leathery little lady brusquely: asif Colonel Bristo could live without his faithful domestic despot, as ifGraysbrooke could stand without its immemorial housekeeper! This Mrs.Parish was ugly, vain, and old, and had appeared as old and as vain andas ugly when, more than twenty years ago, she first entered theColonel's service. She had her good points, however, and a sense of dutyaccording to her lights. Though it be no extravagant praise, she was abetter person at heart than on the surface.
She now inquired with some condescension about Dick's Australian life,and how he liked it, and where he had been, and how he should likeliving altogether out there. She congratulated him on his success (shecalled it "luck"), which she declared was in the mouths of everybody. Onthat he felt annoyed, and wondered if she knew any details, and whatfigure she would bid for some--of, say, his first year--in the localgossip market.
"Of course you will go back," said the old woman with conviction; "alllucky Colonists do. You will find England far too dull and slow foryou." At this point Colonel Bristo and Mr. Miles came back, chatting. "Iwas saying," Mrs. Parish repeated for their benefit, "that of course Mr.Richard will soon return to Australia; he will tire of England in sixweeks; it is always the way. Mr. Miles is the happy exception!" with asmile upon that gentleman which strove to be arch--with doubtfulsuccess.
"I never said I meant to make 'Home' my home," said the Australian, withthe drawl of his race, but in tones mellow and musical. His long framesank with graceful freedom into a chair beside Mrs. Parish, and hisclear blue eyes beamed upon them all--all except Dick, whom he forgot tonotice just then.
"I don't think Dick means to go back," said the Colonel cheerily. "Thatwould be treating us all abominably; in fact, we could never allowit--eh, Dick?"
Dick looked gravely at the carpet.
"I mean to settle down in England now," said he; and he could notrefrain from a sly glance at Alice. Her eyes, bent thoughtfully uponhim, instantly filled with mischief.
"You mean to stay at home, yet sketch the ends of the earth; is thatit?" Her tone changed swiftly to one of extreme kindness. "Well, itwould be dreadful if you didn't stop at home now. Whatever you do" (hechanged colour; she added calmly), "think of Mrs. Edmonstone and Fanny!"
A little later, Alice and her father told Dick all the news ofthemselves that they could think of--how they had been in Italy lastyear, and in Scotland the year before, and how they had taken ashooting-box in Yorkshire for this year. And Alice's manner was verycourteous and kindly, for she was beginning to reproach herself forhaving been cruel to him on this his first evening, and to wonder howshe could have had the heart. She asked him if he had forgotten how todance, and said he must begin learning over again at once, in order todance at her ball--her very own party--on the second of July.
Poor Dick's spirits once more rose high, though this time an uneasysediment remained deep in his heart. Without the least intention in theworld, Alice was beginning a very pretty game of coquetry with hersweetheart--alas! her quondam sweetheart. While they talked, Mr. Miles,at the other side of the room, kept up an entertaining conversation withMrs. Parish. At the same time he observed Dick Edmonstone verynarrowly--perhaps more anxiously than he need have regarded an oldfriend of his friends'; though perhaps with no more than a social lion'sinnate suspicion of his kind. At last Dick rose to go.
Colonel Bristo went out with him, and thrust his arm affectionatelythrough the young man's as they crossed the lawn.
"Dick," said he, very kindly, "I thought I would wait till I saw youalone to congratulate you most heartily on having made your way sosplendidly. Nay, don't interrupt me; your way in the world is alreadymade, and nobly made. I think you showed your sense--and more--instopping short, and coming home to follow up the career you love. Thatwas the intention expressed in your letter, I think?"
"Yes, sir. And that letter?" said Dick anxiously. He had felt misgivingsabout it ever since the heat of triumph in which it was written andposted in Melbourne.
"I liked it," said the Colonel simply; "it was manly and frank, and tothe point. You shall have my answer now; and I, too, will be frank. Fouryears ago, more or less, I was forced to answer in a certain way acertain question--there was no alternative. Dick, think seriously--youare both four years older; are you, for one, still of the same mind?"
"I am; indeed I am," said Dick, earnestly.
"Then take your chance!" said Colonel Bristo. "I cannot say more; Idon't understand women; I find it bitter to say this much, I that am tolose her. But you deserve her; come here as often as you will; you willbe very welcome. And if you both wish now--both, mind!--what you bothwished then, when for obvious reasons I could not hear of it----"
"You were right enough, sir," Dick murmured sadly.
"Then," continued the Colonel, "I frankly tell you, I shall like it.That's all; good-night!"
Dick looked up from the dewy grass, and his lips formed a gratefulsentence, though no words could express his feeling just then. He lookedup, but the honest, simple-hearted soldier was gone. He who had facedthe Russian shot and shell had retreated cowardly before honest Englishthanks!
The young man stepped into his boat, undid the painter, and floated outupon the broad moonlit river. Ah, how kind of Colonel Bristo! But onlyto think what those words would have been to them four years ago! Yes,to them; for then Alice besought the consent that had just been given;besought it as wildly as himself. And now did she even desire it? He hadfound her so passionless, so different from all he had fancied, orhoped, or feared. Once she had been cruel, but anon so kind; and thenshe had ridiculed him in pure friendliness. Alas, fatal friendliness!Had she but been awkward or shown him downright coldness-
-anything butthat. As to this Miles, no need to think about him yet. The question waswhether Alice Bristo still loved Dick Edmonstone, not whether there wasanother man in the case; time enough for that afterwards. Yet a fewshort hours ago the question--faced so calmly now--would have stunned ormaddened this ardent lover.
Down with the stream came peace and hope, with the soft, soothing touchof the moonbeams; they stole into the heart of Dick Edmonstone; theyheld it for one brief moment. For a sound broke on his ears which madehim stare and tremble, and drove out the sweet influences almost beforetheir presence was felt. Yet the sound of itself was sweet; the verysame sound had thrilled poor Dick as he leapt ashore; it was the voiceof Alice--singing to Mr. Miles!
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