The Lost Heir

  CHAPTER VI.

  JOHN SIMCOE.

  General Mathieson was on the point of going out for a drive with hisniece, who was buttoning her glove, when a servant entered the drawingroom and said that a gentleman wished to speak to him.

  "Who is he? Did he give you his name or say what was his business?"

  "No, sir. I have not seen him before. He merely asked me to give you hismessage."

  "I suppose I had better see him, Hilda."

  "Well, uncle, I will get out of the way and go downstairs when he hascome in. Don't let him keep you, for you know that when I have put youdown at your club I have an engagement to take Lina Crossley to do someshopping first, and then for a drive in the park."

  "I don't suppose that he will be five minutes, whoever he is."

  Hilda slipped away just in time to avoid the visitor. As the manservantopened the door the General looked with some interest at the stranger,for such it seemed to him his visitor was. He was a tall man, welldressed, and yet without the precision that would mark him as being amember of a good club or an _habitue_ of the Row.

  "You don't remember me, General?" he said, with a slight smile.

  "I cannot say that I do," the General replied. "Your face does not seemunfamiliar to me, though I cannot at the present moment place it."

  "It is rather an uncommon name," the visitor said; "but I am notsurprised that you do not remember it or me, for it is some twenty yearssince we met. My name is Simcoe."

  "Twenty years!" the General repeated. "Then it must have been in India,for twenty years ago I was in command of the Benares district. Simcoe!"he broke off excitedly. "Of course I knew a gentleman of that name whodid me an inestimable service; in fact, he saved my life."

  "I don't know that it was as much as that, but at least I saved you frombeing mauled by a tiger."

  "Bless me!" the General exclaimed, taking a step forward, "and you arethe man. I recognize you now, and had I not believed that you had beenlost at sea within a month after you had saved my life I should haveknown you at once, though, of course, twenty years have changed you agood deal. My dear sir, I am happy indeed to know that the report was afalse one, and to meet you again." And he shook hands with his visitorwith the greatest warmth.

  "I am not surprised that you did not recognize me," the latter said; "Iwas but twenty-five then, and have been knocking about the world eversince, and have gone through some very rough times and done some veryhard work. Of course you saw my name among the list of the passengers onboard the _Nepaul_, which went down with, as was supposed, all hands inthat tremendous storm in the Bay of Bengal. Happily, I escaped. I waswashed overboard just as the wreck of the mainmast had been cut away. Awave carried me close to it; I climbed upon it and lashed myself toleeward of the top, which sheltered me a good deal. Five days later Iwas picked up insensible and was carried to Singapore. I was in hospitalthere for some weeks. When I quite recovered, being penniless, withoutreferences or friends, I shipped on board a vessel that was going on atrading voyage among the islands. I had come out to see the world, andthought that I might as well see it that way as another. It would take along time to relate my after-adventures; suffice it that at last, afternumerous wanderings, I became chief adviser of a powerful chief inBurmah, and finally have returned home, not exactly a rich man, but withenough to live upon in more than comfort for the rest of my life."

  "How long have you been in London?"

  "I have been here but a fortnight; I ran down home to see if I hadrelatives living, but found that an old lady was the sole survivor of myfamily. I need scarcely say that my first business on reaching Londonwas to rig myself out in a presentable sort of way, and I may say thatat present I feel very uncomfortable in these garments after beingtwenty years without putting on a black coat. I happened the other dayto see your name among those who attended the _levee_, and I said tomyself at once, 'I will call upon the General and see if he has anyremembrances of me.'"

  At this moment a servant entered the room with a little note.

  "MY DEAR UNCLE: It is very naughty of you to be so long. I am taking the carriage, and have told them to put the other horse into the brougham and bring it round for you at once."

  For more than an hour the two men sat talking together, and Simcoe, onleaving, accepted a cordial invitation from the General to dinner on thefollowing day.

  * * * * *

  "Well, uncle, who was it?" Hilda asked, when they met in the drawingroom a few minutes before the dinner hour. "You said you would not befive minutes, and I waited for a quarter of an hour and then lostpatience. I asked when I came in how long he had stayed, and heard thathe did not leave until five o'clock."

  "He was a man who had saved my life in India, child."

  "Dear me! And have you never heard of him since, uncle?"

  "No, dear. I did my best to find out his family, but had no idea of everseeing the man himself, for the simple reason that I believed that hedied twenty years ago. He had sailed in a vessel that was reported aslost with all hands, so you may well imagine my surprise when he told mewho he was."

  "Did you recognize him at once, uncle?"

  "Not at first. Twenty years is a long time; and he was only aboutfive-and-twenty when I knew him, and of course he has changed greatly.However, even before he told me who he was I was able to recall hisface. He was a tall, active young fellow then, and I could certainlytrace the likeness."

  "I suppose he was in the army, uncle?"

  "No; he was a young Englishman who was making a tour through India. Iwas in command at Benares at the time, and he brought me letters ofintroduction from a man who had come out in the same ship with him, andalso from a friend of mine in Calcutta. A few days after he arrived Iwas on the point of going up with a party to do some tiger-shooting inthe Terai, and I invited him to come with us. He was a pleasant fellowand soon made himself popular. He never said much about himself, but asfar as I understood him he was not a rich man, but he was spending hismoney in seeing the world, with a sort of happy confidence thatsomething would turn up when his money was gone.

  "We were out a week and had fair sport. As you have often heard me say,I was passionately fond of big-game shooting, and I had had many narrowescapes in the course of my life, but I never had so narrow a one ashappened to me on that occasion. We had wounded a tiger and had losthim. We had spent a couple of hours in beating the jungle, but withoutsuccess, and had agreed that the brute could not have been hit as hardas we had believed, but must have made off altogether. We were withinfifty yards of the edge of the jungle, when there was a sudden roar, andbefore I could use my rifle the tiger sprang. I was not in a howdah, buton a pad; and the tiger struck one of its forepaws on my knee. With theother he clung for a moment to the pad, and then we went down together.The brute seized me by the shoulder and sprang into the jungle again,carried me a dozen yards or so, and then lay down, still holding me bythe shoulder.

  "I was perfectly sensible, but felt somewhat dazed and stupid; I foundmyself vaguely thinking that he must, after all, have been very badlyhit, and, instead of making off, had hid up within a short distance ofthe spot where we saw him. I was unable to move hand or foot, for he waslying on me, and his weight was pressing the life out of me. I know thatI vaguely hoped I should die before he took a bite at my shoulder. Isuppose that the whole thing did not last a minute, though to me itseemed an interminable time. Suddenly there was a rustling in the bush.With a deep growl the tiger loosed his hold of my shoulder, and, risingto his feet, faced half round. What happened after that I only know fromhearsay.

  "Simcoe, it seems, was riding in the howdah on an elephant behind mine.As the tiger sprang at my elephant he fired and hit the beast on theshoulder. It was that, no doubt, that caused its hold to relax, andbrought us to the ground together. As the tiger sprang with me into thejungle Simcoe leaped down from the howdah and followed. He had only hisempty rifle and a large hunting-knife. It was no easy work pushing his
way through the jungle, but in a minute he came upon us. Clubbing hisgun, he brought it down on the left side of the tiger's head before thebrute, who was hampered by his broken shoulder, and weak from hisprevious wound, could spring. Had it not been that it was the rightshoulder that was broken, the blow, heavy as it was, would have hadlittle effect upon the brute; as it was, having no support on that side,it reeled half over and then, with a snarling growl, sprang upon itsassailant. Simcoe partly leaped aside, and striking again with thebarrel of his gun,--the butt had splintered with the first blow,--so farturned it aside that instead of receiving the blow direct, which wouldcertainly have broken in his skull, it fell in a slanting direction onhis left shoulder.

  "The force was sufficient to knock him down, but, as he fell, he drewhis knife. The tiger had leaped partly beyond him, so that he lay underits stomach, and it could not for the moment use either its teeth orclaws. The pressure was terrible, but with his last remaining strengthhe drove the knife to the full length of its blade twice into thetiger's body. The animal rolled over for a moment, but there was stilllife in it, and it again sprang to its feet, when a couple of ballsstruck it in the head, and it fell dead. Three officers had slipped downfrom their howdahs when they saw Simcoe rushing into the jungle, andcoming up just in time, they fired, and so finished the conflict.

  "There was not much to choose between Simcoe and myself, though I hadcertainly got the worst of it. The flesh of his arm had been pretty wellstripped off from the shoulder to the elbow; my shoulder had beenbroken, and the flesh torn by the brute's teeth, but as it had notshifted its hold from the time it first grasped me till it let go toface Simcoe, it was not so bad as it might have been. But the wound onthe leg was more serious; its claws had struck just above the knee-capand had completely torn it off. We were both insensible when we werelifted up and carried down to the camp. In a fortnight Simcoe was about;but it was some months before I could walk again, and, as you know, myright leg is still stiff. I had a very narrow escape of my life; feverset in, and when Simcoe went down country, a month after the affair, Iwas still lying between life and death, and never had an opportunity ofthanking him for the manner in which, practically unarmed, he went in toface a wounded tiger in order to save my life. You may imagine, then, myregret when a month later we got the news that the _Nepaul_, in which hehad sailed, had been lost with all hands."

  "It was a gallant action indeed, uncle. You told me something about itsoon after I came here, when I happened to ask you how it was that youwalked so stiffly, but you did not tell it so fully. And what is hegoing to do now?"

  "He is going to settle in London. He has been, as he says, knockingabout in the East ever since, being engaged in all sorts of adventures;he has been for some time in the service of a native chief some way upnear the borders of Burmah, Siam, and China, and somehow got possessionof a large number of rubies and other precious stones, which he hasturned into money, and now intends to take chambers and settle down to aquiet life, join a club, and so on. Of course I promised to do all in mypower to further his object, and to introduce him into as much societyas he cared for."

  "What is he like, uncle?"

  "He is about my height, and I suppose about five-and-forty--though helooks rather older. No wonder, after such a life as he has led. Hecarries himself well, and he is altogether much more presentable thanyou would expect under the circumstances. Indeed, had I not known thathe had never served, I should unhesitatingly have put him down as havingbeen in the army. There is something about the way he carries hisshoulders that you seldom see except among men who have been drilled. Heis coming here to dine to-morrow, so you will see him."

  "That relieves me of anxiety, uncle; for you know you had a letter thismorning from Colonel Fitzhugh, saying that he had been unexpectedlycalled out of town, and you said that you would ask somebody at the clubto fill his place, but you know you very often forget things that youought to remember."

  "I certainly had forgotten that when I asked him to come, and as I camehome I blamed myself for not having asked someone else, so as to make upan even number."

  A month later Mr. Simcoe had become an intimate of General Mathieson'shouse. It had always been a matter of deep regret to the General that hehad been unable to thank the man who at terrible risk to his life hadsaved him from death, and that feeling was heightened when the news camethat his preserver had been drowned, and that the opportunity of doingso was forever lost. He now spared no pains to further his wishes. Heconstantly invited him to lunch or dinner at his club, introduced him toall his friends in terms of the highest eulogium, and repeated over andover again the story of his heroic action. As his own club was amilitary one he could not propose him there, but he had no difficultyin getting friends to propose and support him for two other clubs ofgood standing.

  Several of the officers to whom he introduced Simcoe had been at Benaresat the time he was hurt. These he recognized at once, and was able tochat with them of their mutual acquaintances, and indeed surprised themby his knowledge of matters at the station that they would hardly havethought would be known to one who had made but a short stay there. Oneof them said as much, but Simcoe said, laughing, "You forget that I waslaid up for a month. Everyone was very good to me, and I had generallyone or two men sitting with me, and the amount of gossip I picked upabout the station was wonderful. Of course there was nothing else totalk about; and as I have a good memory, I think I could tell yousomething about the private affairs of pretty nearly every civilian andmilitary man on the station."

  Everyone agreed that Simcoe was a very pleasant and amusing companion.He was full of anecdotes of the wild people that he had lived among andof the adventures and escapes he had gone through. Although none of theBenares friends of the General recognized Simcoe when they first methim, they speedily recalled his features. His instant recognition ofthem, his acquaintance with persons and scenes at and around Benares wassuch that they never for a moment doubted his identity, and as theirremembrance of the General's visitor returned they even wondered thattheir recognition of him had not been as instant as his of them. As tohis means, not even to the General had Simcoe explained his exactposition. He had taken good apartments in Jermyn Street, gave excellentlittle dinners there, kept undeniably good wine and equally excellentcigars, dressed well, and was regarded as being a thoroughly goodfellow.

  The General was not a close observer. Had he been so, he would speedilyhave noticed that his niece, although always polite and courteous to Mr.Simcoe, did not receive him with the warmth and pleasure with which shegreeted those who were her favorites. On his part the visitor spared nopains to make himself agreeable to her; he would at once volunteer toexecute any commission for her if she happened to mention in hispresence anything that she wanted. One evening when she was going to aball he sent her an expensive bouquet of flowers. The next day when shesaw him she said:

  "I am very much obliged to you for those lovely flowers, and I carriedthe bouquet last night, but please do not send any more. I don't thinkthat it is quite nice to accept presents from anyone except very nearrelations. It was very kind of you to think of it, but I would reallyrather that you did not do it again. Uncle gives me carte blanche in theway of flowers, but I do not avail myself of it very largely, for thescent is apt to make me feel faint, and beyond the smallest spray Iseldom carry any. I made an exception last night, for those you sent mewere most lovely. You don't mind my saying that, do you?"

  "Not at all, Miss Covington; and I quite understand what you mean. Itseemed natural to me to send you some flowers. Out in the PacificIslands, especially at Samoa and Tahiti, and, indeed, more or lesseverywhere, women wear a profusion of flowers in their hair, and nopresent is so acceptable to them."

  "I fancy flowers do not cost so much there as they do here, Mr. Simcoe?"

  "No," the latter laughed; "for half a dollar one can get enough torender a girl the envy of all others."

  * * * * *

  "I think you we
re right to ask Mr. Simcoe not to repeat his present,Hilda," the General said. "I particularly noticed the bouquet that youcarried last night."

  "Yes, uncle, there was nothing equal to it in the room; it must havecost three or four guineas."

  "I don't think that you quite like him; do you, Hilda?"

  "I like him, uncle, because he saved your life; but in other respects Ido not know that I do like him particularly. He is very pleasant andvery amusing, but I don't feel that I quite understand him."

  "How do you mean that you don't understand him?"

  "I cannot quite explain, uncle. To begin with, I don't seem to get anynearer to him--I mean to what he really is. I know more of hisadventures and his life than I did, but I know no more of him himselfthan I did three months ago when I first met him at dinner."

  "At any rate you know that he is brave," the General said, somewhatgravely.

  "Yes, I know that, of course; but a man can be brave, exceptionallybrave, and yet not possess all other good qualities. He did behave likea hero in your case, and I need not say that I feel deeply grateful tohim for the service that he rendered you; still, that is the only sideof his nature that I feel certain about."

  "Pooh! pooh! Hilda," the General said, with some irritation. "What doyou know about nine-tenths of the men you meet? You cannot even tellthat they are brave."

  "No, uncle; I know only the side they choose to present to me, which isa pleasant side, and I do not care to know more. But it is different inthis case. Mr. Simcoe is here nearly every day; he has become one of ourinner circle; you are naturally deeply interested in him, and I am,therefore, interested in him also, and want to know more of him than Ihave got to know. He is brave and pleasant; is he also honest andhonorable? Is he a man of thoroughly good principles? We know what hetells us of his life and his adventures, but he only tells us what hechooses."

  The General shrugged his shoulders.

  "My dear child, you may say the same thing of pretty nearly everyunmarried man you meet. When a man marries and sets up a household onedoes get to know something about him. There are his wife's relations,who, as a rule, speak with much frankness concerning a man who hasmarried their daughter, sister, or cousin. But as to bachelors, as arule one has to take them at their own valuation. Of course, I know nomore than you do as to whether Simcoe is in all respects an honorablegentleman. It is quite sufficient that he saved my life, almost at thesacrifice of his own, and whatever the life he may have led since is nobusiness of mine. He is distinctly popular among those I have introducedhim to, and is not likely in any way to discredit that introduction."

  That Hilda was not entirely satisfied was evident by the letter shewrote when her uncle had, as usual, gone up one afternoon to his club.

  "MY DEAR NETTA: I have told you several times about the Mr. Simcoe who saved uncle's life out in India, and who is so intimate at the house. I can't say that either my acquaintance with or my liking for him increases. He does not stand the test of the system, and the more I watch his lips the less I understand him. He talks fluently and quickly, and yet somehow I feel that there is a hesitation in his speech, and that his lips are repeating what they have learned, and not speaking spontaneously. You know that we have noticed the same thing among those who have learned to speak by the system but are not yet perfect in it, so I need not explain further what I mean, as you will understand it. For example, I can always tell at a public meeting, or when listening to a preacher, whether he is speaking absolutely extemporarily or whether he has learned his speech by heart beforehand.

  "I really strongly misdoubt the man. Of course I know that he saved my uncle's life; beyond that I know nothing of him, and it is this very feeling that I do know nothing that disquiets me. I can no more see into him than I can into a stone wall. I can quite understand that it is of very great importance to him to stand well with the General. He came here a stranger with a queer history. He knew no one; he had money and wanted to get into society. Through my uncle he has done so; he has been elected to two clubs, has made a great number of acquaintances, goes to the Row, the Royal Academy, the theaters, and so on, and is, at any rate, on nodding terms with a very large number of people. All this he owes to my uncle, and I fail to see what else he can wish for. It would be natural with so many other engagements that he should not come to us so often as he used to do, but there is no falling off in that respect. He is the tame cat of the establishment. I dare say you think me silly to worry over such a thing, but I can't help worrying. I hate things I don't understand, and I don't understand this man.

  "Another thing is, Walter does not like him. He constantly brings the child toys, but Walter does not take to him, refuses absolutely to sit upon his knee, or to be petted by him in any way. I always think that it is a bad sign when a child won't take to a man. However, I will not bother you more about it now; I will keep him out of my letters as much as I can. I wish I could keep him out of my mind also. As I tell myself over and over again, he is nothing to me, and whether he possesses all the virtues or none of them is, or at any rate should be, a matter of indifference to me. I can't help wishing that you had come over here two months later, then I should have had the benefit of your advice and opinion, for you know, Netta, how accustomed I was for years to consider you almost, if not quite, infallible."