Part 84 (1/2)
That night the Major proposed punch, and, after Mrs. Buckley had gone to bed, Sam sang a song, and Desborough told a story, about a gamekeeper of his uncle's, whom the old gentleman desired to start in an independent way of business. So he built him a new house, and gave him a keg of whisky, to start in the spirit-selling line. ”But the first night,” said Desborough, ”the villain finished the whisky himself, broke the keg, and burnt the house down; so my uncle had to take him back into service again, after all.” And after this came other stories equally preposterous, and we went rather late to bed.
And the next morning, too, I am afraid, we were rather late for breakfast. Just as we were sitting down, in came Captain Brentwood.
”Hallo,” said the Major; ”what brings you back so soon, old friend.
Nothing the matter I hope?”
”Nothing but business,” he replied. ”I am going on to d.i.c.kson's, and I shall be back home to-night, I hope. I am glad to find you so late, as I have had no breakfast, and have ridden ten miles.”
He took breakfast with us and went on. The morning pa.s.sed somewhat heavily, as a morning is apt to do, after sitting up late and drinking punch. Towards noon Desborough said,--
”Now, if anybody will confess that he drank just three drops too much punch last night, I will do the same. Mrs. Buckley, my dear lady, I hope you will order plenty of pale ale for lunch.”
Lunch pa.s.sed pleasantly enough, and afterwards the Major, telling Sam to move a table outside into the verandah, disappeared, and soon came back with a very ”curious” bottle of Madeira. We sat then in the verandah smoking for about a quarter of an hour.
I remember every word that was spoken, and every trivial circ.u.mstance that happened during that quarter of an hour; they are burnt into my memory as if by fire. The Doctor was raving about English poetry, as usual, saying, however, that the modern English poets, good as they were, had lost the power of melody a good deal. This the Major denied, quoting:--
”By torch and trumpet fast array'd.”
”Fifty such lines, sir, are not worth one of Milton's,” said the Doctor.
”'The trumpet spake not to the armed throng.'
”There's melody for you; there's a blare and a clang; there's a----”
I heard no more. Mrs. Buckley's French clock, in the house behind, chimed three quarters past one, and I heard a sound of two persons coming quickly through the house.
Can you tell the step of him who brings evil tidings? I think I can. At all events, I felt my heart grow cold when I heard those footsteps. I heard them coming through the house, across the boarded floor. The one was a rapid, firm, military footstep, accompanied with the clicking of a spur, and the other was unmistakably the ”pad, pad” of a blackfellow.
We all turned round and looked at the door. There stood the sergeant of Desborough's troopers, pale and silent, and close behind him, clinging to him as if for protection, was the lithe naked figure of a black lad, looking from behind the sergeant, with terrified visage, first at one and then at another of us.
I saw disaster in their faces, and would have held up my hand to warn him not to speak before Mrs. Buckley. But I was too late, for he had spoken. And then we sat for a minute, looking at one another, each man seeing the reflection of his own horror in his neighbour's eyes.
Chapter XL
THE STORM BURSTS.
Poor little Cecil Mayford had left us about nine o'clock in the morning of the day before this, and, accompanied by Charles Hawker, reached his mother's station about eleven o'clock in the day.
All the way Charles had talked incessantly of Ellen, and Cecil joined in Charles's praises of his sister, and joked with him for being ”awfully spooney” about her.
”You're worse about my sister, Charley,” said he, ”than old Sam is about Miss Brentwood. He takes things quiet enough, but if you go on in this style till you are old enough to marry, by Jove, there'll be nothing of you left!”
”I wonder if she would have me?” said Charles, not heeding him.