XVI
NEWS FROM HUGH
I thought he looked ill at ease, and I noticed that he was less ruddyand more careworn than when I had first met him.
I am afraid I greeted him rather coldly, for I remembered what had takenplace at our last meeting.
"I hope I do not intrude," he said.
"It is very kind of you to call," was my reply.
"Not at all, I ought to apologize for coming."
"Have you heard from Hugh?" I asked, for I was determined, as far aspossible, to make him feel his duty to his son.
I saw his lips shut, and his eyes and face grow harder, as I spoke.
"I have heard nothing," he replied. "I do not expect to, neither do Iwish to."
I was silent at this, for it was not for me to interfere in hisrelations with his son, but I could not help feeling angry. But therewas pity in my heart too, for I could not help seeing that the man wassuffering. Why he was suffering I could not tell, but suffering he was.
"You have not been to see us lately," he said. "I hope what you saidwhen we last met is not final. I--I should be sorry if the neighborlyrelations which I had hoped were established came to an end."
"I have been nowhere," I replied. "The weather has been very wet lately,and I have scarcely ventured out of doors."
"You must be very lonely here."
"Life is not very gay," I said. "It can scarcely be."
"I suppose friends come to see you?"
"Yes, a friend came down last week and spent three days with me," Ireplied, wondering what was in the man's mind.
"The newspapers do not bring us very good tidings."
"No, I am afraid we shall have a great deal of bad tidings before thegood comes."
After that there was an awkward silence for some time.
"I am a lonely man myself," he went on. "Of course I have my business,and my public work, but I should be very glad if you would come up tosee us sometimes. If you would let me know when you would come, I'dalways send a car for you."
"What is in the man's mind?" I asked myself. "Surely he did not comehere simply to say this."
"Naturally I did not think my presence would be welcome after our lastinterview, and----"
"Nothing of the kind," he interrupted, almost eagerly. "I hope you willforgive me for coming so informally, but my wife and I were wonderingwhether you would come up to-night. Could you? Of course I will send acar for you."
I reflected a few seconds before replying. It is true I had told him ina fit of anger that I should refuse his hospitality in future, but Iwondered whether he was not repenting of his action towards Hugh;wondered, too, whether by going I could not bring about a betterrelationship between them and soften his heart. After all, I owed it toHugh. But, if the truth must be confessed, there was another reasonwhich made me long to go. I knew it was weakness on my part, knew, too,that I was a madman to encourage such feelings. As I have repeated inthis history so many times, with dreary monotony, I had received mydeath sentence, and as I looked at my face each morning in the glass,and saw it become thinner and thinner, I had no misapprehension aboutthe truth of the doctor's words. Therefore it was worse than madness forme to think about Isabella Lethbridge as I did; and yet--let me repeatit again--I was not in love with her.
"I wish you would come up to-night," urged Josiah Lethbridge. "Ours is avery quiet household."
"Are you giving a dinner-party or anything of that sort?" I asked.
"Oh no, no. I believe Bella is having one or two friends; but nothing inthe shape of a dinner-party. Come, will you?"
I wanted to accept his invitation more than words can say, and yetsomething held me back.
"Have you heard anything about your son's wife?" I asked.
Again the old hard look came into his eyes, and he seemed to bestruggling with himself.
"I have no son," he replied. "I know nothing about the woman you speakof."
"Pardon me, Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "but you have. Your son may nothave fallen in with your wishes, but he is your son. Nothing can undothat fact. As for his so-called disobedience, he acted according to hisconscience, and----"
Josiah Lethbridge held up his hand, as if in protest.
"We will not speak of that, if you don't mind," he said. "I do not oftenalter my mind when it is once made up."
Again there was a silence, and I was on the point of refusing hisinvitation, when he, as if anticipating me, broke out almost eagerly.
"But you must come up to-night, Mr. Erskine," he said. "My wife is soanxious that you should. She is very fond of you. I never saw her taketo a stranger as she has taken to you. Naturally, too, she is veryanxious."
I tried to read his heart, tried to understand something of the thoughtswhich were surging through his mind.
"I suppose," he went on, "that you, who know influential people inLondon, know nothing more of this ghastly business than we do. That is,you know nothing more than what appears in the papers."
"No," I replied; "but what has appeared in the papers has surely made usfeel proud that we are Englishmen. You have seen that we have againrepulsed the German attack at Ypres?"
"Wholesale murder, I call it!" and his voice became hard as he spoke."But there, we will not talk about that any more. I shall expect youto-night, then, and will send down the car at a quarter to seven. No,no, I shall accept no refusal. That is settled. I dare not face my wifeif I had to go back and say you would not come." And a wintry smilepassed over his face.
"I am like a moth fluttering in a candle," I said to myself as I put onmy evening clothes that night. "Why should I be going to this man'shouse? Why should I eat of his dinner? Why should I throw myself intothe society of this girl? She is nothing to me, never can be; in a way Ipositively dislike her, and yet I am always thinking about her."
"I am glad you are going out to-night, sir," said Simpson, as he helpedme on with my fur-lined coat. "It must be very lonely for you nightafter night, sir, with no one to speak to. I hope you will have apleasant evening, sir."
"It must be a little lonely for you too, Simpson, and I am afraid I tryyour patience sometimes." For the man had been with me for so long, andhad served in our family for so many years, that I regarded him more asa friend than as a servant.
"No, sir, it is always a pleasure to serve you, sir."
He lit the lantern and walked ahead of me, as we went along the pathwaythrough the copse.
"Shall I wait up for you, sir?" he added, as he held open the door ofthe car.
"I think you may as well, Simpson," I said. "I shall not be late."
A few minutes later I had reached Josiah Lethbridge's house, and wasgreeted warmly by Mrs. Lethbridge. I heard the sound of merry voices inthe drawing-room close by, and was made somewhat angry that Mr.Lethbridge had asked me this evening, especially as, in spite of what hehad said, they were evidently giving a dinner-party that night. When Iwent into the drawing-room, however, I found only three people. A youngman and woman, whom I took to be brother and sister, were the onlyguests besides myself. They were the son and daughter of the managingdirector of one of the Cornish banks, and had motored some twenty milesin order to be present. The man, Edward Barcroft, was a young fellow ofabout five-and-twenty, and I knew him to be a rich man's son. There wasnothing striking about him. He was of medium height, somewhat stoutlybuilt, and carried himself with an air of confidence. I did not likehim, however. He seemed to be too sure of himself, too aggressive. MissBarcroft was one of those placid, even-tempered girls who made me thinkof a German frau.
Before the evening was very far advanced, I could not help concludingthat Edward Barcroft was a suitor for Isabella Lethbridge's hand, while,as it seemed to me, she was much flattered by his attentions. I do notthink I had ever seen her look so handsome as she looked that night. Iwas never able to describe a woman's dress, but I could not helpnoticing that her clothes fitted her to perfection. They seemed a partof her. She was very gay, too. She laughed frequently, but herpleasantries
grated upon me. Why, I could not tell. She paid me verylittle attention; indeed, she did not treat me as her guest at all. Ihad simply come there at the invitation of her father and mother, whileshe devoted all her attention to young Barcroft.
I have said that I had never seen Isabella Lethbridge looking sohandsome as she did that night; on the other hand, she had neverrepelled me more, even while she fascinated me. I understood, as I hadnot understood before, young Prideaux's description of her. She was aflirt. I saw that young Barcroft was greatly enamored with her; noted,too, that she laughed at his feeblest jokes, and, as far as I couldjudge, made him believe that she was as interested in him as he was inher. Yet I could not help realizing the artificiality of her every wordand action.
As for poor Hugh, he was never mentioned. He might never have existed,although I knew by the look on Mrs. Lethbridge's face that she wasconstantly thinking of him, constantly grieving about what had takenplace.
I could not tell why it was, but in spite of the fact that every oneexcept Isabella Lethbridge was very kind and courteous to me, I wasangry, and felt a sort of contempt for the self-assertive, unpleasantyoung Cornishman who made himself so much at home in Josiah Lethbridge'shouse.
"The war will soon be over, don't you think, Mr. Erskine?" he said.
"What makes you think so?" I asked.
"Why, the Germans have been able to do nothing for months," was hisreply. "Never since their first blow have they been able to hurt us. Seehow we have been able to hold them up at Ypres. At present we are notready to strike our decisive blow, but when we have more guns andammunition, we shall be able to drive them like a flock of sheep.Besides, they are financially bankrupt, you know."
"Indeed," I said.
"Yes. It is a matter of robbing Peter to pay Paul with them now. Theylive by taking in each other's washing; but that will soon come to anend. On the other hand, the war hasn't been such a bad thing for us."
"No," I said. "How?"
"Oh, it has been good for business. Money has been circulated as it hasnever been circulated before. Instead of it meaning a financial crash tous, it has meant a boom. Have you not found it so, Mr. Lethbridge?"
"Money has certainly been circulated freely," was the older man's reply,"but I do not wish to talk about it. The whole thing is a crime." Andboth his face and voice hardened.
At that moment a servant entered and brought Mr. Lethbridge anofficial-looking document, which he opened eagerly. He read it throughtwice, and then calmly and deliberately folded it again and placed it inthe envelope.
"What is it about, Josiah?" asked Mrs. Lethbridge.
I thought he looked pleased, but I could not tell. He did not answer hiswife's question.
"Is it about Hugh?" she asked.
Still he was silent.
"Josiah, Josiah, tell me, is he wounded, killed?"
"No. I--I suppose it is all the other way. It is nothing to me. There,you can read it if you like."
With trembling hands Mrs. Lethbridge took the letter and read it.
"Oh, Hugh, my darling boy," she sobbed.
"What is it, mother?" asked Isabella. "What has he done?"
"He has received some order, some distinguished order for bravery.There, there, read it! Isn't it splendid? I was afraid he was killed orhurt or something. I didn't expect this. Oh, isn't it glorious? But itis just like him."
Josiah Lethbridge rose from the table.
"Shall we go into the library for our coffee and cigars?" he asked. Heseemed to be making an effort to be calm.
"We must tell Mary," said Mrs. Lethbridge.
"You must do nothing of the sort," said her husband. "When I said, oncefor all, that we would have nothing to do with that woman, I meant it.Will you come this way, Barcroft and Mr. Erskine? Oh yes, the ladies cancome with us if they do not mind tobacco smoke."
A few minutes later we were all in the library, where, in spite of Mr.Lethbridge's chagrin, we were not able to suppress our desire to talkabout Hugh and what he had done. It appeared by the document receivedthat he had, by his coolness and bravery, not only saved the life of anofficer, but that he had rendered such important service to hisbattalion that a possible disaster had been turned into a victory.
"Ah!" I said. "How I envy him!"
"Envy him! In what way?" asked Barcroft.
"Envy his being able to serve his country," was my reply. "How a manwith health and strength can stay in England at a time like this I can'tunderstand."
"Are you referring to me?" he asked. And I noticed there was an angrylook in his eyes.
"I was not referring to any one," was my reply. "I was simply statingwhat I felt."
"For my own part, I believe that a man who is looking after the financesof the country may be doing more for his nation than by wearing khaki,"he replied. "Don't you think so, Miss Lethbridge?"
"I think too much is made of the so-called heroism of soldiers," shesaid, evidently with a desire to please him. "Of course it was grand ofHugh to do what he did, but he was always like that." And she lookedsmilingly into Barcroft's face.
Again the girl angered me, and in my heart of hearts I despised her. Butwhy should I be angry? Why should I care about her evident desire toplease this young Cornishman? And then, realizing that my words werebordering on discourtesy, said:
"I expect the War Office will have written to his wife. Anyhow, I willsee that she knows to-morrow that her husband is a hero."
At this, Isabella Lethbridge looked at her father and laughed, while he,having given me an angry look, talked about something else.
The evening, as far as I was concerned, was painful; and yet I was gladI had accepted the invitation, glad I had been there when the news ofHugh's bravery had arrived. Shortly after ten o'clock I took my leave,vowing to myself as I did so that I would never go there again. Indeed,as I reflected on what had taken place, I could see no reason for mybeing asked. I had nothing in common with Josiah Lethbridge, while, inspite of everything, Isabella Lethbridge was farther removed from methan ever.
"I hope you spent a pleasant evening, sir," said Simpson, as he helpedme off with my coat.
I did not answer him. Why it was I could not tell, but my mind and heartwere full of strange, tumultuous thoughts and feelings.
The next morning, I was on the point of sending Simpson for a carriageto take me over to John Treleaven's farm when Hugh's young wife burstinto the room with a radiant smile upon her face.
"Have you seen this, Mr. Erskine? Have you heard about it?" And shelaughed and sobbed at the same time. "It is about Hugh. He has got theD.C.M., and they have actually written to me about it, and I have got aletter from Hugh too! Oh, Mr. Erskine, I am proud and happy!"
"It is splendid," I said, "simply splendid!"
"Did you know about it?" she asked. "I only got the letter last night."
"Yes, I knew," I said, before I had time to think of the meaning of mywords.
"Has he written to you? Have you heard from the War Office?"
"No, I have not heard from Hugh for weeks," I said, "neither have Iheard from the War Office, but I was up at Trecarrel last night."
"And have they heard up there?"
"A letter came while we were at dinner."
"And were they pleased? Oh, Mr. Erskine, I am so proud and happy, andyet I am miserable too. You see, I am constantly wondering whether I didright. I cannot bear to think about it, although I am so happy."
"Think about what?" I asked.
"About Hugh being disinherited. His father has never written him once,and--and--and you know what I mean, sir."
"I hope it will all come right in the end, Mrs. Lethbridge," I said.
"Oh, but you mustn't call me Mrs. Lethbridge; you must call me Mary. Youare Hugh's friend. Do you really think it will all come right? I pray ahundred times a day that it may. Somehow I think it will, because Godhas answered my prayer in keeping Hugh in safety. Oh, Mr. Erskine, Inever prayed in my life as I have been praying lately. Somehow I neverfelt
the need of prayer as I do now. Now that Hugh has gone and left mealone, and while he is in such terrible danger, I am obliged to pray.God has become more real to me lately; and seeing that He has answeredmy prayer in keeping Hugh safe, perhaps He will do the other also. Why,Mr. Erskine, his father cannot keep a hard heart against Hugh when he issuch a hero! Have you seen the paper this morning? They have told allabout it. Hugh did wonderful things, simply wonderful! Oh, he can't helpbeing proud of his son when he reads it, can he?"
I did not reply, because when I remembered the look on JosiahLethbridge's face I felt I could give her no comfort.
Still, Mary's visit did me good. Her simple trustfulness and her devotedlove were such a change from the atmosphere at Trecarrel that herpresence seemed like a ray of sunshine on a dark day.
After this, days and weeks passed without anything happening which needsrecording. We had become used to the war, and while we still read ourpapers anxiously, there was not the great excitement there had been inits early stages. Our hearts thrilled at the story of the battle ofYpres, especially when, presently, the details of that terrible strugglebecame known; but the keen excitement and feverish desire to read whathad taken place somewhat subsided.
Meanwhile, as all the country knows, the spy fever became prevalent. Onevery hand we heard that agents of the German Secret InformationDepartment covered our country like a plague, and even here, inCornwall, all sorts of stories were afloat concerning people who weresuspected of giving information to Germans. Personally, I paid butlittle attention to these stories. I did not see how we, situated as wewere, away in the extreme end of the country, could be in any wayutilized by the enemy. Neither did I see how any one in Cornwall couldrender them service.
I was soon to be undeceived in this matter, however.