*VIII.*
It was late in the forenoon when Trevelyan awoke. He lay still awhilelistening to the beat of the sea on the crags. The music of the watershad been his reveille since a child, when he had used to get up with thebreak of the day. The old triumphant note that had been missing in thesea’s song so long was in it to-day. He did not define it, but he wasacutely conscious of its presence, and it haunted him while dressing andall during his lonely breakfast.
Then he went up-stairs and got his Gladstone and rummaged through hisbureau drawers and closets, preparing for a short journey. Later, hesent for Mactier.
The old man came at once and stood in the doorway respectful and silent,watching his master pack.
"Is that you, Mactier? Well, I’m off again. I’m going to run over toMr. John’s. I’ll be back day after to-morrow or the next—sure."
Mactier twirled his cap around and around with his hands, and lookeddown at it hard.
"Ay, sir."
"I’ll come right back from there," Trevelyan went on, sorting collars,as he spoke, "and then I’ll go over the accounts with you and see whatthe tenants want. I’m going back to India as soon as I can get there."
Mactier’s stoic Scotch features showed no surprise.
"Ay, sir," he said again, in a low voice, "’Tis what I’ve expected thislang time."
Trevelyan looked up from his packing, amused.
"You have—have you?"
"Is it the army, sir?" asked Mactier, doubtfully.
Trevelyan sat back on his heels.
"No," he said, briefly, not meeting Mactier’s eyes, "it’s the cholera."
The cap Mactier had been twirling dropped suddenly from his hand and hecame a step forward. The long years in which Trevelyan had grown to bea man faded from Mactier’s consciousness; the big retired officer of theQueen’s service, was a boy again—the boy whom he had flung across hisshoulder when he was wounded and brought home through the darkness ofthat long moorland night.
"Not the cholera, laddie! O, not the cholera!"
"That’s just what it’s going to be," said Trevelyan, wheeling aroundsuddenly on his heel. "Where in thunder is that shirt?"
The old impetuous decision brought Mactier back to his surroundings atonce. He was again the old retainer with the respectful manner and thestoic Scotch face. He stooped and picked from the floor the shirt thathad fallen from the bed.
"Here it is, sir," he said.
"That’s it. Thanks." Trevelyan gave the shirt a shake and laid it inthe Gladstone. "I’m just going to look around out there—you know I nevercould stay long in one place at a time, Mactier—and perhaps help thesoldiers a little. I’ll be back before you know it!"
Mactier continued to hand him slowly one by one the articles on the bed,which Trevelyan put into the Gladstone. The old man was silent.
Trevelyan closed the Gladstone with a snap and looked up, a quizzicalsmile in his eyes.
"You’re not afraid I’m going to get the cholera and die—are you?"
Mactier looked down at him adoringly.
"Ay, sir, I fear just that."
Trevelyan laughed.
"Nonsense! Nothing has ever killed me yet." He rose and pushed theGladstone to one side with his foot. "When I get back from Aberdeen,we’ll fix everything up for the year. If anything goes wrong or you wantany advice, you can refer to Mr. Granger as usual. He’ll come up fromEdinburgh if necessary."
"Veera gude, sir."
"I guess that’s about all for the present. You’d better tell James tohave the trap around in plenty of time to get me to that afternoontrain."
Trevelyan reached the Stewarts’ the next morning. They were notexpecting him, and the little country station was deserted. He hired acarriage and a man, and was driven the seven miles that lay between himand the house. He looked out over the long stretch of familiar road withindifferent eyes, and the liveryman who had known him ever since theyear his aunt had brought him to Aberdeen county, when his mother haddied, wondered at his silence. Trevelyan’s heart throbs kept time tothe revolving of the carriage wheels.
"We are taking you to her," they cried again and again—maddeningly."You are to see her again," they cried, and his heart was in his throatas the carriage turned in at the big twisted iron gates.
He caught sight of her a long distance off, and before the noise of theapproaching wheels had attracted attention. She was a little apart fromthe group that was gathered on the side piazza Malcolm Stewart had addedyears ago to the rambling old house. She was seated on a step, her bigshade hat covered with wild flowers, lying at her feet, and adding atouch of color to the pale effect of her gray dress. Her hands wereresting in her lap and she was looking off absent-mindedly toward thestretch of sunlit beach.
Mrs. Stewart was reading aloud, now and then putting out her hand tostroke John’s, that rested on the arm of the big garden chair drawnclose to hers. He was looking steadily up at the white clouds sailingoverhead and smiling to himself—not listening to the reading. TomCameron was teasing Maggie’s collie because he did not dare teaseMaggie.
And all about the group the noonday sun of autumn lay as warm and brightas it might have done in summer.
It was Maggie who first heard the carriage and who caught sight of itsapproach around the curve in the long drive. She scrambled to her feet,and gathering up her skirts tore down the steps and drive to meet it,Tom Cameron at her heels and the collie bringing up the rear.
"It’s Rob," she shouted, breathlessly, and tripped suddenly and laysprawling on the ground, the collie barking frantically and whirlingaround her in the dust of the gravel.
Trevelyan flung the reins to the liveryman and jumped down.
"Hello, Maggie," he cried, picking her up before Cameron could reachher. "Hello, Tom! There, don’t bark yourself mad, Bruce! Hello,everybody!"
They gathered around him, and his aunt kissed him affectionately.
"You’re a good boy," she said, the charm of a rare smile lighting up hereyes. "But why did you not wire you were coming so that we could havemet you? Your boxes are coming later?"
"Thought I’d surprise you all. Here’s my box now." He motioned to theliveryman, who was lifting his Gladstone out of the trap.
"_That?_" said Maggie scornfully.
Trevelyan laughed, conscious the while that Cary was coming toward him.
"It’s good to see you again," she said simply, putting her hand in hisand looking straight into his eyes, "But I said you wouldn’t come!"
"Did you?" he asked, forgetting the group around him as he looked ather. "Why?"
She smiled slowly.
"Oh, I hardly know. I suppose because I thought you wouldn’t leave homeand your old crags and your big thunder storms. We’re so much quieterhere."
Trevelyan turned sharply and beat his big hand softly against John’sshoulder.
"How are you, old man?" he asked, not raising his eyes from his ownhand.
"Fine. I’m getting on my feet again. I drive myself now, and ride alittle and walk."
"Good. Hello, Maggie—going on breaking Tom’s heart?" he pulleddisrespectfully at one of Maggie’s stray curls, while Cameron fumedinwardly.
Maggie nodded cheerfully and beckoned Cameron to come and wipe the dustfrom her dress with his handkerchief.
They bore Trevelyan back with them to the piazza, and Mrs. Stewart sentfor some lunch, which he ate out there in the midst of them. Stewartflung himself back in his big garden chair a little distance away andshaded his eyes with his hand, studying Trevelyan’s face. There wassomething in it he could not understand and it haunted him. Hecontinued to watch it all the morning, and when Trevelyan was playingtennis with Cameron. And later his eyes would wander from Trevelyan toCary, sitting over with his sister at the tea table. He noticed with agreat pain at his heart that Cary was watching Trevelyan too, and thatthere rested over her face an expression that he, who had studied herevery mood, had n
ever seen before, and he wondered suddenly if he hadbeen a fool—living in a fool’s paradise of late. Perhaps it wasTrevelyan after all—perhaps—
Perhaps, too, the light that had sometimes crept shyly into her eyesduring these last days—as shyly as a sunbeam creeps into gray wells ofbeauty—had not dawned for him. And all their walks upon the beach; andall their drives together; and all their watching of the rising moon hadbeen nothing to her after all. And they had been _his_ life!
All night he lay awake, suffering dumbly, not knowing that Trevelyan inthe adjoining room lay stretched across the bed, his face buried in thepillow, wondering passionately how he was to say "good-bye" to herto-morrow—without her knowing! Without her knowing!