Bindloss Harold
Blake's Burden

CHAPTER XIX
CHALLONER'S DECISION

The morning was mild and Challoner paced slowly up and down his shrubbery. Bright sunshine fell upon him, the massed evergreens cut off the wind, and in a sheltered border spear-like green points were pushing through the soil in promise of the spring. Challoner knew them all, the veined crocus blades, the tight-closed heads of the hyacinths, and the twin shoots of the daffodils, but, fond as he was of his garden, he gave them scanty attention, and by and by sat down in a sheltered nook lost in painful thought. He had a careworn look and had left the house in a restless mood with a wish to be alone in the open air.

Mrs. Chudleigh's revelation had been a shock. With his sense of duty and family pride, he had, when the news of the frontier disaster first reached him, found it almost impossible to believe that his nephew had been guilty of shameful cowardice; and now it looked as if the disgrace might be brought still closer home. Bertram would presently take his place and, retiring from active service, rule the estate in accordance with Challoner traditions and perhaps exert some influence in politics; he remembered that Mrs. Chudleigh had laid some stress on this. She had, however, told him that Bertram, from whom so much was expected, had shown himself a poltroon and, what was even worse, had allowed an innocent man to suffer for his baseness. Challoner had spent the last few days pondering the evidence she had offered him and had seen one or two weak points in it. By making the most of these, it might, perhaps, be rebutted, but his honesty rendered such a course out of the question if she were right in her conclusions, and he was forced to admit that this was possible. Bertram had shown timidity in his younger days – Challoner remembered that they had had some trouble in teaching him to ride – and there was no doubt that his was a highly-strung and nervous temperament. He had not the calm which marked the Challoners in time of strain. Then Dick Blake was recklessly generous and loved his cousin; it would be consistent with his character if he were willing to suffer in Bertram's stead. Moreover there were reasons which might have had some effect in inducing Bertram to consent, because Challoner knew the affection his son bore him and that he would shrink from involving him in his disgrace. What Bertram would certainly not have done to secure his own escape he might have done for the sake of his father and the girl he was to marry.

Admitting all this, Challoner could not take his son's guilt for granted. There was room for doubt, and soon after leaving Mrs. Chudleigh he had cabled a friend in Montreal asking him to spare no effort to trace Blake. If the latter could be found, he must be summoned home and forced to declare the truth. By and by Challoner heard a footstep and looking up saw Foster approaching. He stopped and regarded the Colonel with surprise, for it was seldom Challoner was to be seen sitting moodily idle.

"I'm taking a short cut through your grounds to the fir spinney," he said. "As I was leaving home Mrs. Chudleigh asked me to give you this note, and when I looked in at the house Miss Challoner said she didn't know where you were and a telegram had just come in. Thinking I might find you, I brought it along." Handing the other two envelopes he added: "Sorry to see you're not looking as brisk as usual."

"There's not much the matter," Challoner replied, forcing a smile. "Still, I do feel a trifle slack, and I've had something to worry me."

Foster gave him a sympathetic nod. "Worry's bad; make a rule to avoid it when I can. But will you walk as far as the wood?"

He went on when Challoner said he would sooner remain, and the latter eagerly opened the telegram. It was in answer to his cable and read —

"Blake and two others left Sweetwater settlement. Destination supposed far North."

This implied the impossibility of learning anything from his nephew for some time, and Challoner could not recall his son, who was then in Japan and must shortly rejoin his Indian regiment. Besides, if Bertram were blameless, it would be a cruel blow for him to find that his father had suspected him of a shameful deed, while if he were guilty, something must be done. This would probably lead to a disastrous change in their relations and compel Bertram to leave the army. Though the suspense was hard to bear, Challoner, as Mrs. Chudleigh had foreseen, was beginning to feel afraid to learn the truth and inclined to temporize.

Then he opened her note and read —

"As I hear you expect Mr. Greythorpe, shortly, I venture to believe that now you have had time for reflection you will see that it would be better for everybody if you did as I suggested. This would be a great favour and you could count upon my gratitude and discretion."

Studying it carefully, Challoner saw a threat as well as a promise that she would keep his secret if he complied, but he tore the note up and trod the fragments into the soil. So far as the African appointment was concerned, he was not to be influenced. He would not offer a bribe for her silence, nor would he derive a personal advantage from a piece of jobbery. On that point his mind was made up.

A little later Mrs. Keith opened a neighbouring gate and came towards him.

"The fine morning tempted me out, and as Lucy Foster was passing with the car, I thought I'd look your sister up," she said. "But I'm afraid you're in trouble. The last time we met you had a downcast air and you don't look much brighter to-day."

"It's unpleasant to think I'm in the habit of showing my feelings so plainly," he answered.

"You don't, but your moody calm has its meaning. I've known you long enough to recognize it. You can't deny that something is disturbing you."

"No," said Challoner. "I'm not clever enough to hide it from your keen eyes."

"They're very friendly, as you know. I'll strain a friend's privilege far enough to guess that your perplexities began the last time you and Mrs. Chudleigh met."

He wondered how much she knew and longed to confide in her. She was very staunch, but his secret must be kept until he had learned the truth.

"I'm sorry, Margaret, but I can't tell you what is troubling me."

She made a sign of acquiescence. "You would if it were possible and I won't press you, but you know I can be trusted if you need me. I was afraid of that woman; I felt she threatened you."

Their glances met and lingered, and Challoner felt that the reason for his grief was but thinly veiled from her. Still, for his son's sake, he could not confirm her suspicions, and he broke into a dry smile.

"I believe you tried to protect me, and it certainly wasn't your fault that you failed. I appreciate it, Margaret, but after all there may be less cause for anxiety than I imagine, and we'll talk about something else. Will you come up to the house?"

They walked slowly across the lawn, and though his companion chatted about indifferent matters Challoner knew he had her sympathy. When they reached the door she stopped.

"I needn't bring you in, because I have something to ask Hilda. No doubt, it's unnecessary, but you won't mind my warning you not to be influenced by anything that woman said."

"I had already decided to disregard it."

A look of gratified confidence came into her eyes. "That is what I expected; you are not easily swayed, but I see signs of strain. There is some crisis you must face, and I think it is connected with Greythorpe's visit."

"You have guessed correctly."

"When one is in difficulties the easiest way out is not always the best. But you know that."

"I have learned it. One has often to chose between the right and the most prudent thing."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Keith, "I believe they are generally the same in the end; that is, if one has the courage to choose the former."

Challoner bowed. "You have never failed me, Margaret, and you give me good counsel now."

She went in, and he turned away, feeling encouraged; but a reaction followed, and he spent the rest of the day in troubled thought. A day or two later Greythorpe arrived and in the early evening sat with his host in the library. Though dusk was closing in, a window near them stood open and a single shaded candle burned upon a neighbouring table. Presently Greythorpe opened some papers.

"We have not settled the African appointment yet," he said. "The matter, of course, is not altogether in my hands, but my recommendation will have weight, and I should be glad of your opinion before making it. You will find the names and qualifications of the candidates here."

Challoner studied the papers, and then gazed out of the window without speaking. It was not quite dark, and he could see the great oaks in the park, and the sombre masses of the woods rolling back up the valley. In the foreground, a sheet of water shone with a pale gleam. It was a rich and beautiful countryside and much of it belonged to him. Though his wife had brought him money, Sandymere had long been the property of the Challoners, and the old house had a picturesque stateliness, while every field and farmstead had been well cared for.

In process of time it would all be his son's, and, in that sense, Bertram had more than an individual importance. He was one of a line of men who had served their country well in court and field, and any disgrace that fell upon him would taint a respected name and reflect upon his children, for the family honour was indivisible, a thing that stretched backwards to the past as well as forward. Now, however, it was threatened by an unprincipled woman who claimed the power to drag it in the mire; but Challoner recognized that he could not allow this to influence him. His private affairs must not count where the interests of his country were concerned.

"Well," he said at length, "the matter seems difficult to decide. You have two men of excellent character, whom I know something about, and a third who has shown ability in a subordinate post."

"Sedgwick? Your manner leads me to believe that you don't quite class him with the others."

"There is a difference. The first two are honest and reliable but not brilliant men. Sedgwick is obviously more capable than either, but I suspect that self-interest is his strongest motive. I knew a major in his regiment. He might use this appointment to force himself into prominence."

"It's possible, but that needn't prove a great drawback."

"Is the Cabinet ready to embark upon a bold course of Colonial expansion?"

"No," said Greythorpe with a smile, "not so far as I'm acquainted with their views, but we would like the strip of unoccupied territory, and Sedgwick seems alive to its importance."

"He'll probably get it for you if you give him a chance, but I imagine he won't stop there. In fact, he may take you much farther than you wish to go. Suppose he brings off some sensational coup in which you would have to support him at the expense of France?"

"There might be some risk of that, but he's undoubtedly an able man."

"I think so," Challoner agreed. "It's his disinterestedness I suspect."

"Then if the post were at your disposal, you would not offer it to him?"

Challoner was silent for a few moments. It looked as if Greythorpe were disposed to favour Sedgwick's claim and to concur might save a good deal of trouble. Even then, it did not follow that Sedgwick would be chosen, because there were higher authorities to be consulted. Challoner thought he would not be blamed if they refused the man the post, because he did Mrs. Chudleigh the justice to believe that she would not doubt his assurance that he had done his best and that she would afterwards put no further pressure on him. It was her lover's promotion she wished to secure. For all that, easy as it would be to humour her, he had been asked for his opinion by a man who trusted him, and he must give it honestly.

"No," he said with a resolute air, "I should prefer either of the others. On the whole, I believe I'd select the first on your list."

"You seem to have thought it well over."

"That's true. It's a rather grave matter," Challoner answered drily.

"Well," said Greythorpe, "my idea is that Sedgwick should be left in charge a month or two longer. Then if we send out another man, we'll try to find him something else."

He changed the subject and Challoner lighted a cigar and listened, sitting back in the shadow where his companion could not see him. He felt weary, because he had borne a heavy strain during the last few days, and the course he had taken had cost him a good deal. Now he knew that if Sedgwick were not appointed Mrs. Chudleigh would hold him responsible.

CHAPTER XX
MRS. CHUDLEIGH MAKES A FRESH ATTEMPT

Next evening Challoner and Greythorpe dined at Foster's with several other guests, and the Colonel was placed next to Mrs. Chudleigh, while Mrs. Keith sat opposite. He found his position uncomfortable, because when he looked up he saw that his old friend was watching him, and, though she chatted carelessly, there was now and then a hint of tension in his companion's manner. It was a relief when Mrs. Foster rose, but he afterwards felt that opposing influences were being brought to bear on him. When the party dispersed, as was usual at Hazlehurst, some to play billiards and some to the drawing-room, Mrs. Keith engaged him in casual talk and stuck to him determinedly for a time. He had no doubt that her intentions were good, since he noticed Mrs. Chudleigh hovering in the background, but he wished that she would leave him alone. By and by their hostess took Mrs. Keith away, but then Millicent, whom he suspected had been told to do so, came up and spoke to him. It looked as if he were to be saved from his persecutor, even against his will, for he was anxious to meet her and get the unpleasant business over, but he liked Millicent and courtesy demanded that he should listen. Presently she rather hesitatingly mentioned his nephew.

"Have you heard anything from Mr. Blake since he left Montreal?"

"Nothing," said Challoner with a trace of grimness. "He does not correspond with me."

"Then I suppose you don't know where he is?"

"I took some trouble to find out, but nothing came of it. I merely learned that he had left a small settlement on the Western prairie and started for the North." He gave her a sharp glance. "Are you interested in my nephew?"

"Yes," she said frankly. "I don't know him very well, but on two occasions he came to my assistance when I needed it. He was very tactful and considerate."

"Then he's fortunate in gaining your good opinion. No doubt, you know something about his history?"

"I daresay my good opinion is not worth much, but I feel that he deserves it, in spite of what I've been told about him," she answered with a blush. "It is very sad that he should have to give up all he valued, and I thought there was something gallant in his cheerfulness; he was always ready with a jest."

"Have you met his companion? I understand that he is not a man of my nephew's stamp."

Millicent smiled. "Hardly so, from your point of view."

"Does that mean that yours is not the same as mine?"

"I have had to earn my living, which changes one's outlook; perhaps I'd better not say enlarges it. However, you shall judge. Mr. Harding is a traveller for an American paint factory and had to begin work at an age when your nephew was at Eton, but I think him a very fine type. He's serious, courteous, and sanguine, and seems to have a strong confidence in his partner."

"Ah!" said Challoner; "that is not so strange. The Blakes have a way of inspiring trust and liking. It's a gift of theirs."

"Your nephew undoubtedly has it. He uses it unconsciously, but I think that those who trust him are not deceived."

Challoner regarded her with a curious expression. "After all," he said, "that may be true."

Then Greythorpe came up in search of Millicent, and when she went away with him Challoner saw Mrs. Chudleigh approaching. Obeying her sign he followed her to a seat in the recess in the hall.

"Mr. Greythorpe came down yesterday," she said. "I suppose you have already had a talk with him."

"Last night. As you anticipated, he asked my opinion about the African matter. Several names have been submitted; trustworthy men."

"Come to the point," she told him sharply. "What did you do about Captain Sedgwick?"

Challoner gravely met her insistent gaze. "I felt compelled to suggest that he was not the best man for the post."

Mrs. Chudleigh's eyes sparkled and the blood swept into her face. Her pose grew tense and she looked dangerous, but with an obvious effort she controlled her anger.

"Then if I were a revengeful person, I would warn you that you must take the consequences."

"I suppose that follows, but I would prefer to think you are fair enough to make allowances for a man who tried to do the right thing in a difficult situation."

She was silent for a moment, watching him with a curious, half-ashamed feeling. Then she made an abrupt movement.

"It's hard to do so. A word or two, which you would not speak, would have led to the appointment of the most talented man. I'm not a saint; you mustn't expect a higher standard from me than I'm capable of."

She dismissed him with an angry gesture and got up as Mrs. Foster came in with Greythorpe. When the latter left his hostess she beckoned him and led him to a seat near the hearth.

"How far does Colonel Challoner's opinion go with you?" she asked boldly.

"That depends," he answered, smiling. "On some matters it goes a long way."

"On the choosing of a West African officer, for instance?"

"Ah!" said Greythorpe, "now I begin to understand. If I am not indiscreet in mentioning it, I thought my old friend was rather in disgrace with you."

"You are keen," she told him. "I must warn you that Challoner is prejudiced."

"If that is so, there is probably a reason for it."

"There is," she said coolly. "I'm afraid it is my fault. I made a mistake in trying to force the Colonel to speak in favour of one of the candidates."

"It was unwise," Greythorpe agreed. "Our friend is by no means amenable to treatment of the kind."

"Still you would not let a good officer suffer because of my tactlessness?"

"Certainly not; the only thing that could count against any of the men we are considering is some shortcoming of their own."

"Then I must try to remove a wrong impression and my task is difficult because you know Challoner better than I do. We can, however, agree that he is honest."

"Eminently conscientious," Greythorpe remarked.

"Then you must allow for a reaction against the injudicious course I took. I urged him to speak for a friend of mine, which was, no doubt, very wrong, and it seems I went too far. Can you not imagine his resenting it and being so determined not to be influenced that he became hypercritical?"

Greythorpe thought this clever, since it was the best means of lessening the value of Challoner's opinion that she could use.

"I gather that you put too severe a strain upon his friendship."

"I'm afraid there's a breach between us now, but that is not the point."

"No," said Greythorpe. "In a general way, your reasoning is logical, but I hardly think it applicable to Challoner. He might resent your action; but it would not make him unjust. I presume the man you favour is Captain Sedgwick?"

"He's much the best of the three you have in view."

"Then you know something about the matter? We thought it was secret."

She laughed. "Secrets are not always well kept. I know the other men, and though there is nothing that can be urged against their character, they are plodders, men of routine, without much foresight or enterprise."

"Allowing that you are right, isn't there something to be said for the steady plodder?"

"I daresay he's useful," Mrs. Chudleigh agreed with a touch of scorn. "But for the vacant post you want a bold determined man who can see ahead."

"To some extent, I must agree. You believe Captain Sedgwick is such a man?"

He felt a certain tempered admiration for her. She made no secret of her aim, though he supposed she must find it embarrassing to plead for her lover, since he did not doubt that she loved Sedgwick. She had courage and cleverness and he listened with close attention while she spoke about the man's exploits and abilities. Then she looked up with an eagerness which somewhat moved him.

"Have I convinced you?" she asked.

Greythorpe smiled. "That Sedgwick is a dashing and intrepid soldier? Yes. But there are other points to take into account, and the matter does not entirely rest with me. Still, I think if he serves us well, we may find some use for him."

It was a guarded promise and by no means all that she desired, but she knew she must be content with it.

"Then I have accomplished something and will remember the consideration and patience you have shown," she said, and when some of the other guests came in moved away to join them.

In the meanwhile, Millicent had been sitting alone for a few minutes at the opposite end of the hall. Somebody was singing in the adjoining drawing-room, the door of which stood open, and she could see several people gathered about the piano, though she was herself partly secluded by a screen. By and by Lieutenant Walters came in, and as he made his way towards her after looking round she felt tempted to change her place, but could not do so without making her retreat too marked. Now and then he suffered from a relapse, and she felt compassionate as she noticed the heaviness of his movements and his pinched expression. Still his eyes had been eager as he searched the room, and this had caused her some alarm, because he had lately shown a noticeable preference for her society. When he stopped he laid his hand, as if for support, on the back of a chair and glanced towards a window that opened into the conservatory.

"I've been hanging about since dinner trying to get hold of you, but you were in too great demand," he said. "Shall we slip out to the seat among the palms yonder for a quiet talk?"

The conservatory looked inviting with the coloured lamps hanging among the flowers and screens of trailing plants throwing their shadows across warm, scented nooks. Walters, however, had framed his question injudiciously, because it implied a mutual desire to escape observation and confidential relations which did not exist.

"I think not," said Millicent. "I may be wanted."

"Mrs. Keith's talking to Challoner and won't ask for you," Walters objected. "Be good-natured; it's quiet yonder. That fellow in the drawing-room can't sing and the piano makes my head ache."

"It really oughtn't to. The girl who's accompanying him plays well, but I'm afraid you're not feeling very fit to-night."

"I'm not; I suppose it's weak, but when I seem to be going back instead of picking up, I get depressed. That's partly why I came for you; you know how to cheer one."

"I feel flattered," Millicent rejoined, smiling. "But you shouldn't be downcast. You're making excellent progress."

"Oh! well," he said irritably, "don't let us talk about my ailments; I'm tired of them. But this light's glaring. Take pity on me and come in among the flowers, where it's quiet and dim."

Millicent was tempted to agree. She liked the man and felt sorry for him; he was frank, rather handsome, and generally a pleasant companion, but she thought their friendship was ripening too fast and was not prepared to see it change to something deeper Indeed, since it was pleasant to be sought after, she feared she had allowed herself to drift too far, and now the time to pull up had come.

"No," she said, "I must stay here."

He looked at her rather hard, for there was decision in her tone and he was not dull. She was very attractive; he liked her thoughtful expression and her gentle firmness. Half-consciously he compared her with the highly polished, clever woman, who had at first fascinated him, and his appreciation of the girl grew stronger. Mrs. Chudleigh, who did not improve upon close acquaintance, had been inclined to leave him alone of late, and though he could not resent this he had an unflattering suspicion that he had somehow been made use of and had served his turn. Miss Graham was different; she was genuine, which was the word that occurred to him, and he was growing fond of her.

"As you wish, of course," he said. "Am I allowed to remain?"

She indicated a place on the corner seat and when he took it began to talk, carefully avoiding any personal topic, but after a time he interrupted her —

"I heard Mrs. Keith say she was going to the Vivians in Durham later. I suppose she will take you?"

Millicent said she believed so, and he continued: "It's possible I may turn up there."

He watched her closely, but could see nothing that suggested satisfaction.

"Do you know the people?" she inquired.

"I used to know Herbert Vivian, though I haven't seen him for some time. No doubt, if he got a hint he'd ask me down."

"It's a high, bleak place," said Millicent. "We were nearly frozen on our last visit, and I'm afraid you wouldn't find the cold good for you. Were you not recommended to stay in Devonshire?"

Walters gave her a half-indignant glance. "When that brute of a hill man knocked me out I'd no suspicion how much his shot would cost me. Anyhow, I'm not going to Devonshire, and I ventured to think you might have been glad to see me at the Vivians'."

"Why should I wish you to do an unwise thing?" Millicent asked.

"That's an evasion," he answered bluntly. "I'll be candid. This place won't be the same after you have gone."

Millicent was silent a moment. She knew he wanted a tacit admission that their acquaintance need not end with her visit to Hazlehurst, but he would be right in attaching some significance to her action if she made it. The man, who had only known her a few weeks, could go no further yet, and he was eminently likeable, but she would not lead him on.

"That," she said, "was very nice of you, but you will soon get used to the change."

"You may," he replied with rather bitter humour.

"After all," said Millicent, "one meets pleasant people here and there, and though one regrets it has to part from them."

Looking at her fixedly, he understood. Her expression was quietly resolute, and he recognized that their friendship must shortly come to an end. The girl knew her mind and had obviously made it up.

"Well," he said in a resigned tone, "you won't be forgotten. I must get back to India as soon as I can."

By and by he went away and Mrs. Keith joined Millicent.

"What have you been saying to Walters?" she asked. "I met him going out, and he looked very crestfallen."

"He hinted that he might follow us to the Vivians' and I suggested that it was too cold a place for him," Millicent answered with a blush.

"I see," remarked Mrs. Keith, who was sometimes blunt. "Well, I daresay you were wise; though I'm told he'll be captain shortly, and he has his good points, Jimmy is no catch. You certainly might do better."

Millicent turned her head, half-indignant, half-embarrassed, and Mrs. Keith laughed.

"My dear," she resumed gently, "I'm glad you have some sense. It's perhaps not impossible for the wife of a young Indian officer to live upon her husband's pay, but unless they're exceptional people it's apt to lead to disaster."

"It wasn't that," Millicent protested, unwilling to be suspected of a mercenary mind, and Mrs. Keith's eyes twinkled.

"Then what was it that influenced you?"

As the girl did not answer, she turned away and left her to face the question. It proved troublesome, for Millicent was not daunted by poverty and could find no fault with Walters; indeed, she was sensible of some esteem for him. Then, though she would not admit that this was her reason for checking his advances, her thoughts centred on another man. He was in disgrace, but she remembered how chivalrously and adroitly he had come to her rescue in London and had again been of assistance on the St. Lawrence steamer. He was prompt in action, pitiful and humorous. She remembered his gay buoyancy, she could imagine his facing his troubles with a laugh. It was characteristic of him that he had gone up into the wilds of the frozen North with an inexperienced companion on a rash search for fortune, which she gathered would probably elude him. Still, she knew that he would struggle gallantly against the perils and hardships he might have to face. Then she remembered that by sitting alone with an abstracted air she might excite curiosity, and rousing herself, went to look for her hostess.