"So you have come back," said Mrs. Keith, giving him her hand. "How was it you didn't go straight to Sandymere, where your uncle is eagerly waiting you?"

"I sent him a telegram as soon as the steamer was boarded, but on landing found there was an earlier train. As he won't expect me for another two hours, I thought I'd like to pay my respects to you."

"It sounds plausible," Mrs. Keith rejoined with rather dry amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Well, I'm flattered, and as it happens I've something to say to you."

Then Mrs. Foster joined them, and it was some time later when Mrs.

Keith took Blake into the empty drawing-room.

"I'm glad you have come home," she said. "I think you are needed."

"That," said Blake, "is how it seemed to me."

His quietness was rea.s.suring. Mrs. Keith knew he was to be trusted, but she felt some misgivings about supporting him in a line of action that would cost him much. Still, she could not be deterred by compa.s.sionate scruples when there was an opportunity of saving her old friend from suffering. Troubled by a certain sense of guilt but determined, she tried to test his feelings.

"You didn't find waiting for us tedious," she remarked. "I suppose you were telling Millicent about your adventures when we came in; playing Oth.e.l.lo, and she seemed to be listening as Desdemona did."

"I expect she was exercising a good deal of patience," Blake rejoined with a laugh. "Anyway, since you compare me to the Moor, you must own that I've never pretended to be less black that I'm painted."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Keith with marked gentleness, "you needn't pretend to me. I have my own opinion about you, and if it doesn't agree with other people's, so much the worse for theirs. I knew you would come home as soon as you could be found."

"Then you must know what has been going on in my absence."

"I have a strong suspicion. Your uncle has been hard pressed by unscrupulous people with an end to gain. How much impression they have made on him I cannot tell, but he's fond of you, d.i.c.k, and in trouble.

It's a cruel position for an honourable man with traditions like those of the Challoners' behind him."

"That's true; I hate to think of it. You know what I owe to him and Bertram."

"He's old," continued Mrs. Keith. "It would be a great thing if he could be allowed to spend his last years in quietness, but I fear that's impossible, although, perhaps, to some extent, it lies in your hands." Then she looked steadily at Blake. "Now you have come back, what do you mean to do?"

"Whatever is needful; I'm for the defence. The Colonel's position can't be stormed while I'm on guard; and this time there'll be no retreat."

"Don't add that, d.i.c.k; it hurts me. I'm not so hard as I sometimes pretend. I never doubted your staunchness, but I wonder whether you quite realize what the defence may cost you. Have you thought about your future?"

"You ought to know that the Blakes never think of the future. We're a happy-go-lucky, irresponsible lot."

"But suppose you wished to marry?"

He smiled at her. "It's a difficulty that has already been pointed out. If I ever marry, the girl I choose will believe in me in spite of appearances. In fact, she'll have to; I've no medals and decorations to bring her."

"You have much that's worth more!" Mrs. Keith exclaimed, moved by his steadfastness. "Still, it's a severe test for any girl." Then she laid her hand gently on his arm. "In the end, you won't regret the course you mean to take. I have lived a long while and have lost many pleasant illusions, but I believe that loyalty like yours has its reward. I loved you for your mother's sake when you were a boy; afterwards when things looked blackest I kept my faith in you, and now I'm proud I did so."

Blake looked confused. "Confidence like yours is an embarra.s.sing gift.

It makes one feel one must live up to it, and that isn't easy."

Mrs. Keith regarded him affectionately. "It's yours, d.i.c.k; given without reserve. But I think there's nothing more to be said, and no doubt you're anxious to get away. Besides, the Colonel will be expecting you."

"He used to be seriously annoyed if he had to wait for dinner, and I've been here some time," Blake answered, laughing, and went out to take leave of Mrs. Foster.

CHAPTER XXIX

BLAKE HOLDS HIS GROUND

Dinner was finished at Sandymere, Miss Challoner had gone out, and, in accordance with ancient custom, the cloth had been removed from the great mahogany table. Its glistening surface was only broken by a decanter, two choice wine-gla.s.ses, and a tall silver candlestick.

There were lamps in other parts of the room, but Challoner liked candles. Lighting a cigar, Blake looked about while he braced himself for the ordeal that must be faced.

He knew the big room well, but its air of solemnity, with which the heavy Georgian furniture was in keeping, impressed him. The ceiling had been decorated by a French artist of the eighteenth century and the faded delicacy of the design, bearing as it did the stamp of its period, helped to give the place a look of age. Challoner could trace his descent much further than his house and furniture suggested, but the family had first come to the front in the East India Company's wars, and while maintaining its position afterwards had escaped the modernizing influence of the country's awakening in the early Victorian days. It seemed to Blake, fresh from the new and democratic West, that his uncle, shrewd and well-informed man as he was, was very much of the type of Wellington's officers. For all that he pitied him. Challoner looked old and worn, and there were wrinkles that hinted at anxious thought round his eyes. His life was lonely, and his unmarried sister, who spent much of her time in visits, was the only relative who shared his home. Now that age was limiting his activities and interests, he had one great source of gratification; the career of the soldier son who was worthily following in his steps. His nephew determined that this should be saved for him, as he remembered the benefits he had received at his hands.

By and by Challoner filled the gla.s.ses. "d.i.c.k," he said, "I'm very glad to see you home. I should like to think you have come to stay."

"Thank you, sir. I'll stay as long as you need me."

"I feel I need you altogether. It's now doubtful whether Bertram will leave India after all. His regiment has been ordered into the hills where there's serious trouble brewing, and he has asked permission to remain. Even if he comes home, he will have many duties, and I have n.o.body left."

Blake did not answer immediately, and his uncle studied him. d.i.c.k had grown thin, but he looked very hard, and the evening dress set off his fine, muscular figure. His face was still somewhat pinched, but its deep bronze and the steadiness of his eyes and firmness of his lips gave him a very soldierly look and a certain air of distinction. There was no doubt that he was true to the Challoner type.

Then Blake said slowly, "I must go back sooner or later, sir; there is an engagement I am bound to keep. Besides, your pressing me to stay raises a question. The last time we met you acquiesced in my decision that I had better keep out of the country, and I see no reason for changing it."

"The question must certainly be raised; that is why I sent for you.

You can understand my anxiety to learn what truth there is in the stories I have heard."

"It might be better if you told me all about it."

"Very well; the task is painful, but it can't be shirked. We'll take the woman's tale first." Challoner carefully outlined Mrs. Chudleigh's theory of what had happened during the night attack and Blake listened quietly.

"Now," he said, "you might give me Clarke's account."

Challoner did so and concluded: "Both these people have an obvious end to serve, and I daresay they're capable of misrepresenting things to suit it. I'll confess I found the thought comforting; but I want the truth, d.i.c.k. I must do what's right."

"In the first place, Clarke, who once approached me about the matter, will never trouble either of us again. I helped to bury him up in the wilds."

"Dead!" exclaimed Challoner.

"Frozen. In fact, it was not his fault we escaped his fate. He set a trap for us, intending that we should starve."

"But why?"

"His motive was obvious," Blake rejoined. "There was a man with us whose farm and stock would, in the event of his death, fall into Clarke's hands, and it's clear that I was a serious obstacle in his way. Can't you see that he couldn't use his absurd story to bleed you unless I supported it?"

Challoner felt the force of this. He was a shrewd man, but just then he was too disturbed to reason closely and failed to perceive that his nephew's refusal to confirm the story did not necessarily disprove it.

That Clarke had thought it worth while to attempt his life bulked most largely in his uncle's eye.

"He urged me to take some shares in a petroleum syndicate," he remarked.

"Then I believe you missed a good thing, sir." Blake seized upon the change of topic. "The shares would probably have paid you well."