Part 31 (1/2)

”My head is clear enough,” the colonel replied, ”although I felt stunned, at first. Did you never hear of my having lost my child?”

”No, indeed,” Colonel Shepherd replied, more and more surprised--for he had at first supposed that some sudden access of fever, or delirium, had seized his friend. ”You will remember that, a week or two after you were married, my regiment was moved up to the north; and we remained three years longer in India. When I got back to England, I heard that you had lost your wife, a short time before, and had returned. I remember our s.h.i.+ps crossed on the way.

When we met again, the conversation never turned on the past.”

”I will tell you the story,” the colonel said, ”and you will see that, at any rate, the boy may be my son and, that being so, the double likeness proves to me, incontestably, that he is.

”I had, as you know, been ill before I left India. I had not been home for fifteen years, and got two years' leave. As you may know, I had a good fortune, irrespective of the service; and I took a place called Holmwood Park, near Dawlish and, as I had thought of retiring, at the end of my leave, I was put on the commission of the peace. My boy was born a few months after I got home.

”Soon after I took the place, some gipsy fellows broke into the poultry yard, and stole some valuable chickens--which were great pets of my wife. I chased them and, finally, brought home the guilt of the theft to one of the men, in whose tent a lot of their feathers were found. He had been previously convicted, and was sentenced to a term of penal servitude.

”Before the trial his wife--also a gipsy--called upon me, and begged me not to appear against her husband, This, of course, was out of the question, as he had already been sent to trial. When she found that her entreaties were useless she, in the most vindictive tone, told me that I should repent it; and she certainly spoke as if she meant it.

”I heard nothing more of the matter, until the boy was sixteen months old. Then he disappeared. He was stolen from the garden. A clue was left, evidently that I might know from whom the blow came.

The gipsy had been convicted partly on the evidence of the feathers; but princ.i.p.ally from the fact that the boot, which he had on, had half the iron on the heel broken off, and this tallied exactly with some marks in my fowl house. An hour after the child was gone we found, in the center of the drive, in the park, a boot, conspicuously placed there to catch the eye; and this boot I recognized, by the broken iron, as that which had transported the gipsy.

”That the woman had stolen the child, I had not the least doubt; but neither of her, nor it, could I ever gain the slightest clue. I advertised in every paper in the kingdom, I offered a reward of 1000 pounds, and I believe the police searched every gipsy encampment in England, but without success.

”My wife had never been strong and, from that day, she gradually sank. As long as there was hope she kept up, for a time. I hoped all would go well; but three months afterwards she faded rapidly and, ere six months had pa.s.sed from the loss of the child, I buried her, and came straight out to India. I went home once, for two or three months, upon business connected with my property there, some seven years since. That was when we last met, you know, at the club. With that exception, I have remained here ever since.”

”The trouble will be, I fear,” Colonel Shepherd said, ”for you to identify him. That vindictive gipsy woman, who stole your child, is not likely to have left any marks on its clothing by which it might be identified at any future time, and her revenge on you frustrated.”

”Thank G.o.d!” the colonel said, earnestly, ”if it be my son, he bears a mark by which I shall know him. That was one of his poor mother's greatest comforts. The child was born with an ugly blood mark on its neck. It used to bother my wife a good deal, and she consulted several surgeons whether it could not be removed; but they all said no, not without completely cutting out the flesh--and this, of course, was not to be thought of. After the child was lost I remember, as well as if it had been spoken today, my wife saying:

”'How strange are G.o.d's ways! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck; and now, the thought of it is my greatest comfort and, if it shall be G.o.d's will that years shall pa.s.s away, before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. No other child can be palmed off upon us as our own. When we find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be.'

”Listen, Shepherd! That is his step on the stairs. May G.o.d grant that he prove to be my son!”

”Be calm, old friend,” Colonel Shepherd said. ”I will speak to him.”

The door opened, and Will entered.

”I am glad you have not gone, colonel--I was afraid you might have left, for I have been longer than I expected. I just heard the news that the 66th are in orders this evening to march, the day after tomorrow, for Kurrachee; to sail for England, where we are to be reorganized, again.”

”Gale, I am going to ask you a rather curious thing. Will you do it, without asking why?” Colonel Shepherd said, quietly.

”Certainly, colonel, if it is in my power,” Will said, somewhat surprised.

”Will you take off your patrol jacket, open your s.h.i.+rt, and turn it well down at the neck?”

For a moment, Will looked astounded at this request. He saw, by the tone in which it was made, that it was seriously uttered and, without hesitation, he began to unhook his patrol jacket. As he did so, his eye fell upon Colonel Ripon's face; and the intense anxiety, and emotion, that it expressed caused him to pause, for a moment.

Something extraordinary hung on what he had been asked to do. All sorts of strange thoughts flashed through his brain. Hundreds of times in his life he had said to himself that, if ever he discovered his parents, it would be by means of this mark upon his neck, which he was now asked to expose. The many remarks which had been made, of his likeness to Colonel Ripon, flashed across his mind; and it was with an emotion scarcely inferior to that of the old officer that he opened his s.h.i.+rt, and turned down the collar.

The sight was conclusive. Colonel Ripon held out his arms, with a cry of:

”My son, my son!”

Bewildered and delighted, Will felt himself pressed to the heart of the man whom he liked, and esteemed, beyond all others.