Part 45 (2/2)

A bundle of letters and telegrams lay on his covered knees; and going slowly through them, he came presently to one from Elbert Carstairs, arrived only that morning:

”MY DEAR BOY:

Words are feeble things at their best, and I know of none that would convey to you my great joy at the news that you are out of danger. By the same mail, I have learned that my other dear sick one in Hunston is quite herself again, and I say to G.o.d in grat.i.tude upon my knees that my cup is full.”

A pause in the reading here. The long hand of the nurse's clock on the window-sill had crawled half around the dial before Varney raised the letter again from his blanketed lap:

”There is much in my heart to tell you, much to beg your forgiveness for, but I shall keep it to say to you face to face. Just now the keenest point in my grief is that all this suffering I have brought upon you has been worse than unnecessary. Light has come to me in these sleepless nights, and I see now that there was a much better way to seek what I sought, a far happier path.”

The letter slipped down upon the swathed knees again, and he lay staring at the blown and sunny tree-tops. Presently the door at his side opened; a man started to come through it, stopped short, and stood motionless on the threshold.

Varney slowly turned his head. In the doorway, to his dim surprise, stood Mr. Stanhope's man, Henry, bowing, un.o.btrusive, apologetic, ready to efface himself at a gesture like the well-trained servant he was.

”Why--is that you, Henry?”

”Harskin' your pardon for the hintrusion, sir,” said Henry with a wooden face. ”I didn't know you were 'ere, sir. 'Opin' you are feeling improved to-day, sir--if you please, Hi'll withdraw--”

”Henry,” said Varney, ”that is no way for you to speak to me--after the way you stood up for me that night. Come here.”

And he disentangled from his covers and held out a rather maimed-looking hand.

Then he saw the soul of the man whip through the livery of the menial like a knife, and Henry, stumbling forward with a working face, clasped that hand proudly in his strong white one: only he dropped on one knee to do it, as if to show that, though gentlemen might be pleased to show him kindness now and then, he perfectly understood that he was not as they.

”Ho, sir,” he broke out in a tone very different from his well-controlled voice of service, ”I never seen a pluckier thing done, nor a gamer fight put up. You make me too proud, sir, with your 'and--man to man ... I was shamed, sir, till I couldn't bear it when I came to and learned that I 'ad not stayed with you, sir, to the end.

Three of them closed in on me, sir, and harskin' your pardon, sir, I was whippin' hof 'em to standstill when one of them tripped me from be'ind, sir,--”

”Stand up, Henry,” said Varney, rather agitated, ”like the man you are.”

Henry stood up, with a jerky ”Thank you, sir,” striving with momentary ill-success to get a lackey's mask back upon that quivering face.

”I'll always remember you,” said Varney with some difficulty, ”as a good and brave man. I don't think I'll ever forget how you disobeyed an order--to try to save me. And now tell me--what became of your master?”

”'E's in the village, sir,” said Henry rather bothered by his throat ”I'm expecting 'im in any moment, sir--”

”In the village?” repeated Varney, surprised. ”Mr. Stanhope is in Hunston?”

”_Mr. Stanhope_!” said Henry with an insufferable contemptuousness for which he at once apologized. ”Harskin' your pardon, sir--I thought you inquired for my master. Mr. Stanhope, I 'ave 'eard, sir, has sailed for Europe.”

”Well, who's your master, then?”

”Mr. Maginnis is my master, sir.”

Varney deliberated on this, and slowly smiled. ”Well, you've got a good one, Henry.”

”Thank you, sir. That's 'im now, sir. I 'ear 'is motor in the road. If you'll excuse me, sir--I'll go and let 'im in.”

And he bowed and went away, only pausing in the entry to attend a moment to his blurred eyes with the back of a supple hand.

Peter stepped out into the porch with a cheery greeting and dropped into a rocking-chair, looking worn and tired. The instant his heavy anxiety over Varney was relieved, he had thrown himself back into the fight for reform with a desperate vigor which entirely eclipsed all his previous efforts.

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