VI
Sir Eustace did not go straight back to the Albany, but, calling a
hansom, drove down to his club.
"Well," he thought to himself, "I have played a good many curious
parts in my time, but I never had to do with anything like this
before. I only hope George is not much cut up. His eyes ought to be
opened now. What a woman----" but we will not repeat Sir Eustace's
comments upon the lady to whom he was nominally half engaged.
At the club Sir Eustace met his friend the Under-Secretary, who had
just escaped from the House. Thanks to information furnished to him
that morning by Bottles, who had been despatched by Sir Eustace, in a
penitent mood, to the Colonial Office to see him, he had just
succeeded in confusing, if not absolutely in defeating, the
impertinent people who "wanted to know." Accordingly he was jubilant,
and greeted Sir Eustace with enthusiasm, and they sat talking together
for an hour or more.
Then Sir Eustace, being, as has been said, of early habits, made his
way home.
In his sitting-room he found his brother smoking and contemplating the
fire.
"Hullo, old fellow!" he said, "I wish you had come to the club with
me. Atherleigh was there, and is delighted with you. What you told him
this morning enabled him to smash up his enemies, and as the smashing
lately has been rather the other way he is jubilant. He wants you to
go to see him again to-morrow. Oh, by the way, you made your escape
all right. I only hope I may be as lucky. Well, what do you think of
your lady-love now?"
"I think," said Bottles slowly--"that I had rather not say what I do
think."
"Well, you are not going to marry her now, I suppose?"
"No, I shall not marry her."
"That is all right; but I expect that it will take /me/ all I know to
get clear of her. However, there are some occasions in life when one
is bound to sacrifice one's own convenience, and this is one of them.
After all, she is really very pretty in the evening, so it might have
been worse."
Bottles winced, and Sir Eustace took a cigarette.
"By the way, old fellow," he said, as he settled himself in his chair
again, "I hope you are not put out with me over this. Believe me, you
have no cause to be jealous; she does not care a hang about me, it is
only the title and the money. If a fellow who was a lord and had a
thousand a year more proposed to her to-morrow she would chuck me up
and take him."
"No; I am not angry with you," said Bottles; "you meant kindly, but I
am angry with myself. It was not honourable to--in short, play the spy
upon a woman's weakness."
"You are very scrupulous," yawned Sir Eustace; "all means are fair to
catch a snake. Dear me, I nearly exploded once or twice; it was better
than [yawn] any [yawn] play," and Sir Eustace went to sleep.
Bottles sat still and stared at the fire.
Presently his brother woke up with a start. "Oh, you are there, are
you, Bottles?" (it was the first time he had called him by that name
since his return.) "Odd thing; but do you know that I was dreaming
that we were boys again, and trout-fishing in the old Cantlebrook
stream. I dreamt that I hooked a big fish, and you were so excited
that you jumped right into the river after it--you did once, you
remember--and the river swept you away and left me on the bank; most
unpleasant dream. Well, good night, old boy. I vote we go down and
have some trout-fishing together in the spring. God bless you!"
"Good night," said Bottles, gazing affectionately after his brother's
departing form.
Then he too rose and went to his bedroom. On a table stood a battered
old tin despatch-box--the companion of all his wanderings. He opened
it and took from it first a little bottle of chloral.
"Ah," he said, "I shall want you if I am to sleep again." Setting the
bottle down, he extracted from a dirty envelope one or two letters and
a faded photograph. It was the same that used to hang over his bed in
his quarters at Maritzburg. These he destroyed, tearing them into
small bits with his strong brown fingers.
Then he shut the box and sat down at the table to think, opening the
sluice-gates of his mind and letting the sea of misery flow in, as it
were.
This, then, was the woman whom he had forgiven and loved and honoured
for all these years. This was the end and this the reward of all his
devotion and of all his hopes. And he smiled in bitterness of his pain
and self-contempt.
What was he to do? Go back to South Africa? He had not the heart for
it. Live here? He could not. His existence had been wasted. He had
lost his delusion--the beautiful delusion of his life--and he felt as
though it would drive him mad, as the man whose shadow left him went
mad.
He rose from the chair, opened the window, and looked out. It was a
clear frosty night, and the stars shone brightly. For some while he
stood looking at them; then he undressed himself. Generally, for he
was different to most men, he said his prayers. For years, indeed, he
had not missed doing so, any more than he had missed praying
Providence in them to watch over and bless his beloved Madeline. But
to-night he said no prayers. He could not pray. The three angels,
Faith, Hope, and Love, whose whisperings heretofore had been ever in
his ears, had taken wing, and left him as he played the eavesdropper
behind those blue velvet curtains.
So he swallowed his sleeping-draught and laid himself down to rest.
* * * * *
When Madeline Croston heard the news at a dinner-party on the
following evening she was much shocked, and made up her mind to go
home early. To this day she tells the story as a frightful warning
against the careless use of chloral.
