CHAPTER XX.
A LAST RIDE.
He turned his charger as he spoke Upon the river-shore; He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said 'Adieu for evermore, My love! And adieu for evermore!'
Sutton, who was practising '_La ci darem la mano_' with Maud when thetelegram arrived, glanced at its contents without stopping the duet andslipped it into his pocket before Maud had even seen it. '_Andiam,Andiam, Andiam,_' she sang joyfully; '_Andiam, Andiam, Andiam_' pealedSutton's pleasant tenor tones; '_d'un innocente Amor_' sang the twotogether; so the performance came smoothly to its close. 'And now,'Sutton said, 'I am afraid we must stop our practice for this morning, asI have to go to the Viceroy. I will come and see you on my way back. Imay have to go down to Dustypore this afternoon.'
'Down to Dustypore!' Maud cried, in a tone that bespoke the pang ofdisappointment that shot into her heart, 'I thought that you were tostay all the summer?'
'And so did I,' said her companion; 'but unluckily some of my naughtyboys on the Hills out there have been getting into too good spirits, andI must go and look after them. And now for his Excellency.'
Before Sutton had been gone many minutes Desvoeux came galloping up thepathway, and found Maud still standing in the verandah, where she hadwished Sutton farewell, and where in truth she had been standing in abrown study ever since he went. Desvoeux was in the gloomiest spirits,far too much concerned about himself to pay much attention to Maud'stroubled looks. 'Have you heard the dreadful, dreadful news?' he said.'All our holidays are over for the year. There has been an outbreak onthe frontier. The troops are already on the march. The Agent is closetedwith the Viceroy and goes down this afternoon, and of course poor I haveto go along with him. Sutton is to command the expedition, and, Idaresay, is off already. Every soldier in the place will be ordereddown; and meanwhile what is to become of the fancy-ball?'
'And the moonlight picnic?' cried Maud, suddenly conscious of thenecessity of concealing a feeling which she would not for the worldhave had Desvoeux suspect, namely, that Sutton's absence would be toher a calamity which would go far to render balls and picnics alike amatter of indifference.
'Yes,' Desvoeux said, with bitter vehemence; 'life is sometimes toounendurably disagreeable, and things go so provokingly as one does notwant them. And we were just having such a happy time! And then, Isuppose, to make our farewell the sadder, you have chosen this morningto look your loveliest. As for me, the only bits of life I care aboutany longer are those I spend with you.'
'And with Mrs Vereker,' cried Maud. 'Come, Mr. Desvoeux, confess, now,have you not been there just this minute saying the very same thing toher? I'll ask her this afternoon and we will compare notes as to ouradieux!'
'Profane idea!' said Desvoeux. 'But you are always mocking. You know Icare a great deal more about you than you do about me.'
'Impossible,' cried Maud. 'Did I not tell you just now that I wasbroken-hearted about the picnic? I meant to sit by the waterfall andmake you sing us "Spirito Gentil" in the moonlight. It is a crueldisappointment.'
'You are very unkind and very heartless,' said Desvoeux in no mood forbanter.
'Come, come,' said Maud, 'do not be cross; we will not quarrel just aswe are parting.'
'Well, then, be serious.'
'I am serious,' said the other; 'and, seriously, I am sorry that we areto lose you. Poor fellow!'
'Give a poor fellow a present,' said Desvoeux, beseechingly; 'thatcherry riband that binds the loveliest neck in the world.'
'No, I won't,' said Maud; 'it cost me two rupees only the day beforeyesterday. There, you may have this rose. Take it, take it, andremember----'
'You are enough to drive a fellow mad,' said Desvoeux. 'Who will be thelucky man to find out where your heart is, and whether you have gotone?'
Then Desvoeux cantered off and Maud retired to her bedroom, lockedherself in, threw herself on a couch and indulged in the unusual luxuryof a thoroughly good cry. Sutton, quite unconsciously, had made greatadvances in the occupation of her heart. He had been constantly with herand Felicia; and the more Maud saw of other people, the more convincedshe became that he was the paragon of men and with him the only chanceof happiness for her. And now he would come back presently, Maud knew,and say a kind, feeling farewell to Felicia and a word or two ofpoliteness to her, and go away on his expedition and take all thesunshine of existence with him, and never have a suspicion of the achingheart he left behind and of the treasure of devotion waiting for him ifhe chose to have it. Surely there must be something wrong in theconstitution of a world where such woes could come to pass.
So while Desvoeux, in a sort of half-rage, was hustling his pony downthe hillside as if he really did mean to break his neck once for all andhave done with a life in which Maud could not continually figure, Maudherself was in affliction for quite another cause; and Sutton, his mindtoo full of warlike schemes to think of love, was busy with a map spreadout on the Viceroy's table, pointing out exactly the route through theHills which the expedition was to take. Sutton and the Viceroy were thebest of friends. They had ridden and shot and slaughtered tigers andbears in each other's company, and each knew and liked the other as adaring, enthusiastic and thoroughgoing sportsman. The Viceroy, himselfno mean performer, had seen Sutton dispose of a big boar, turned to bay,on more than one occasion in a way which had filled him with admirationand delight; and when, in rare intervals of business, the Ruler of Indiaallowed himself a day's holiday for a walk through the forest in searchof bears or jungle pheasants, no more favourite companion than Suttonever helped to fill the bag. Each trusted the other thoroughly, and theViceroy now spoke of the expedition with a cheerful confidenceindicative of his conviction that it was in the proper hands. The mainplans had been actually settled. The force was to be pushed on as farinto the Hills as was practicable. Two strong mule-batteries wereprovided to keep the mountain-sides clear of a hovering enemy. When theyreached the high table-land which lay beyond, a dash was to be made at avillage where one of the rebellious tribes was known to be entrenched inforce; and when this was seized and destroyed and the rebels for thetime dispersed, the little army was to be encamped for a few weeks, byway of demonstration of military power to the refractory mountaineers.'Good-bye, Sutton,' said the Viceroy, 'and good luck to you and speedyreturn!' And then, as he went out, kind ladies met him in the hall andwished him a fresh farewell; and Sutton went away, in a glow ofexcitement and pleasure, to make his preparations for the afternoon'sgallop, unconscious of all the sentiment in another person's heart whichhis departure was stirring into life. He would be gone a fortnight orthree weeks, and was, in truth, not sorry for an excuse for a return tohis dear soldiers after a month's idleness and holiday-making.
When he came to the Vernons', an hour later, he found Maud's pony atthe door, and herself ready-equipped.
'Would you like a companion for the first stage of your journey?'Felicia said; 'if so, Maud will ride with you, and the children and Iwill start later, and meet her on the way home.' This was, in fact, akind device of Felicia's--one of the rash things which people do whenthey are completely perplexed, in a sort of wild hope that some good maycome of it, rather than with any precise design. Felicia had come withdistressing distinctness to recognise the full gravity of the positionand to feel how dreadfully she had been to blame. She had done all thatone woman can to lead another to fall in love, and she had succeededonly too well. Her little scheme of happiness for her two friends wasmarred by an impediment which she had altogether overlooked. Sutton'sobduracy had never occurred to her as a serious impediment, yet now heseemed hopelessly unimpressible. Bitterly Felicia reproached herself forall her part in the transaction; but of what use was self-reproach?There was the terrible result, beyond the reach alike of penitence orredress. Maud's heart, Felicia knew instinctively, was lost--her verysilence on the topic betrayed the consciousness of something to conceal.There was a sort of entreating air about her that seemed to cry forpity. More than once Felicia had t
aken her to her arms and embraced hertenderly--she could not have said why, but yet she knew. Maud, with herjoyousness gone, and battling with a silent sorrow, seemed to her tohave a touch of pathos which roused all the latent melancholy ofFelicia's nature into activity. It was one of those sad things in lifebefore which her fortitude completely failed. Ruefully did she vow, nowthat vowing was of no use, that her first attempt at match-making shouldbe her last. At any rate she sent the two riders off together on thislast ride, in the faint hope that something might occur to bring thetardy wooer to a right frame of mind.