CHAPTER XXII.
LOVE IS BEGUN.
Love is begun--thus much is come to pass; The rest is easy.
Sutton rode onward in a condition of happy bewilderment. He recalled theconversation, every word Maud had spoken--her look, her tone: and as hedid so the result of the whole seemed to take a deeper hold upon hismind. An afternoon's ride with a pretty girl--what was there in it to aman like Sutton, the experienced companion of so many who had both thepower and the will to charm? What was there in this child to whom he hadshown the mere ordinary good-nature due to her circumstances, that allof a sudden, he hardly knew whether by her doing or his own, he shouldfind himself completely fascinated? How was it, too, that the firstwoman with whom he really felt in love should be so different from theideal which all his life he had set before himself of what wasespecially lovable? In his childhood he had loved Felicia with thespontaneous and unconcealed attachment of a near relation. Then hadfollowed years of school, long expeditions abroad, a life which soonbecame adventurous, grave cares, anxieties and interests at a time whenmost lads are still trifling over their lessons. Sutton had not only topush his own way in life, but to keep guard over others less capablethan himself, of whom he found himself, while still a boy, constitutedthe natural protector. His mother, suddenly left a widow, had looked tohim unhesitatingly for counsel, protection and--so Sutton's account bookwould have testified--supplies, which he was ill able to contribute.Brothers had had to be set a-going, and kept a-going, in thattroublesome and anxious process of making a livelihood in a world whereno one is in the least want of one's services. Then Fortune and Valourhad combined to push Sutton forward as a soldier, and one or twoadventures, brilliant because they were not disastrous, made him areputation which secured him constant employment. When, years later, hehad met Felicia again, a newly-arrived bride, in the Sandy Tracts,though he felt towards her the same affection as ever, it had notoccurred to him to envy the man who was now lawful possessor of that towhich he might have seemed, had circumstances allowed, a naturalpretender. He had remained the loyal friend of both. None the less wasFelicia the typical conception in his mind of what a woman ought to be.Her grave, refined serenity; her unstudied dignity of form and gesture;her mirthfulness flashing all about a melancholy mood; her sorrows soacutely felt, so bravely borne, so sedulously concealed; the promptexcitability that made the world full of pleasures and interests to her,and her a moving influence in the world; the tenderness of sympathywhich, beginning in the little home centre, spread in increasing circlesto all who came within her range of thought or action and enthroned hermistress of a hundred hearts,--made up the type which his imaginationhad adored. Now he was startled to find himself kneeling at quiteanother shrine, adoring quite another deity, and adoring it, as he wasconstrained to confess to himself, with a sudden, vehement devotion,characteristic rather of boyish enthusiasm than of the mature sobrietyof middle age.
Anyhow, as Sutton rode into the yard of the little inn where dinnerawaited him, he wished, for the first time in his life, that thecampaign was well over and himself safe back again at the pacificpursuits on which duty was just now sternly calling him to turn hisback.
Here he found the Agent and Desvoeux, who had been busy all theafternoon with despatches and were waiting now for the moonlight toallow them to get forward on their journey.
Desvoeux, as was always the case in times of difficulty, had risen tothe occasion and fully justified the confidence of those who placed aseeming fop in a responsible position. He had been working all day likea slave, and he was now dining like an Epicurean, and in higher spiritsthan Epicureans mostly are. The Agent, who kept him in thorough orderand got an inordinate amount of first-rate work out of him at times,rewarded him by a generous confidence and a liberty of speech inprivate, which no other subordinate enjoyed. A jaded, weary official,with an uncomfortably lively scepticism as to the usefulness of himselfand his system to the world, forced into all sorts of new anduncomfortable conditions, could not but be grateful to an assistantwhose spirits, like Desvoeux's, were always in inverse ratio to thedarkness of surrounding things, whose cynicism was always amusing, andwhose observations on the world around and above him, if frequentlysomewhat impertinent, were never without good sense and insight.
At present both Desvoeux and his master were abusing Blunt over anexcellent bottle of champagne. Sutton was soon installed at the banquet,which presently began _da capo_ on his account.
'We shall have no moon till eleven,' said the Agent; 'so Desvoeux and Iare amusing ourselves by inveighing against poor Blunt for the kettleof fish he has set a-boiling down below; and which you and yourtroopers, Sutton, must dispose of as best you can. It is anotherinstance of that bane of the service--zeal. Tallyrand was quite right toinsist on no one having any of it.'
'Yes, sir,' said Desvoeux; 'Enthusiasm, Experience and Principle may besaid to be the three rocks on which we get shipwrecked--enthusiasm,because it gives us affairs like this of Blunt's; experience----'
'Experience and principle require no illustration,' said the Agent,filling up Sutton's glass and his own. 'I feel how disastrous they arein my own case. But, seriously, one of the difficulties in dealing witha matter is that you always have to rescue it from the clutches of someone who knows too much by half about it, and who takes a host of detailsfor granted of which nobody but himself has the faintest glimmer ofunderstanding. You are right, Desvoeux, in naming experience as one ofyour banes; I qualify it by the addition of an epithet--inarticulate.'
'Oh!' cried Desvoeux, gaily, 'one takes that for granted. If menpossessed the art of making themselves understood, there would be nodifficulty in governing at all.'
'Yes,' said the Agent; 'officials and their reports remind one ofcuttle-fish, beings capable of extruding an inky fluid for the purposeof concealing their intentions. And now, Sutton, king of men, tell ushow soon you mean to lead the bold Acheans to the fray.'
'As fast as I can march the bold Acheans up. In three days at thefurthest I hope to be well into the enemy's country; the mule batterywill, I expect, do wonders in bringing about a loyal state of mind, andI may rely on the mules and camels for my commissariat?'
'You may rely,' said the Agent; 'I sent word to Boldero yesterday.' AndSutton knew that on that score, at any rate, he might feel secure.
'Boldero,' cried Desvoeux, 'has no doubt by this time impressed everydonkey in the province and has a cavalcade of camels awaiting us. Thejob will, it is to be hoped, have driven Miss Vernon out of his poorbleeding heart. Here is to her good health.'
'And here's to Mrs. Vereker's,' cried Sutton, who felt an urgent need ofan immediate change in the conversation.
'Cruel, cruel Sutton,' cried Desvoeux, 'to suggest the mournful thought.Let me see; it is half-past ten. I left at noon. I grieve to think thatI have been forgotten an entire afternoon. Mrs. Vereker's recollections,I believe, never survive a repast. Luncheon, no doubt, swept me from herthoughts.'
'Desvoeux,' said the Agent, 'you are a very unfeeling young man. Ibelieve I am rather in love with Mrs. Vereker myself.'
'Then, sir, I presume you will wish me to transfer my attentionselsewhere; but meanwhile let me dream of the paradise I have quitted--
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye An angel guard of loves and graces lie; Around her knees domestic duties meet----'
'So that,' interposed the Agent, 'as you look at her face, and not ather knees, you naturally see more of the loves and graces than of thedomestic duty.'
'Indeed, sir,' cried Desvoeux, 'she is all that a wife and mother shouldbe.'
'Very well,' said the Agent; 'then go and order the horses and let us beoff.'