The Major, having escorted them to his park gates, stood to watch that slender, shapely form out of sight, then, sighing, limped slowly housewards lost in happy dreams. As he went he remembered with an odd relief that the Viscount was in London and would remain there several days. Presently he came upon the Sergeant who bore a rake "at the trail" much as if it had been a pike: and the Sergeant's face was beaming and his bright eye almost roguish:

"Ha, Zeb," said the Major, halting to view him over, and his own eyes were shining also, "why Zeb, how deuced smart you look!"

"My best clothes, sir, new ones being on order as commanded, sir."

"Aye, but 'tis not your clothes exactly, you seem--younger, somehow."

"Why, sir," said the Sergeant, a little diffidently, "I took the liberty o' powdering my wig,--no objections I hope, your honour?"

"None at all Zeb, no, no! Egad, 'tis like old times!" So saying, the Major smiled and pa.s.sed on to the house, whistling softly as he went.

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THE MAJOR LOST HIS YOUTH AGAIN

It was a night of midsummer glory; an orbed moon rode high in queenly splendour filling the world with a radiance that lent to all things a beauty new and strange. Not a breath stirred, trees, tall and motionless, seemed asleep, so still were they.

Thus the Major, on his way to bed, paused to lean from the open cas.e.m.e.nt of his study and to gaze, happy-eyed, upon the radiant heaven and to dream of the future as many a man has done before and since.

All at once he started and stared to behold Sergeant Zebedee abroad at this witching hour. But the Sergeant was there for other things than dreaming, it seemed, for upon his shoulder he bore a blunderbuss, a broadsword swung at his thigh, and from one of his big side-pockets appeared the heavy, bra.s.s-mounted b.u.t.t of a long-barrelled pistol.

Wondering, the Major stepped out through the cas.e.m.e.nt and followed.

Sergeant Zebedee marched with elaborate caution and was keeping so sharp a lookout before that he quite overlooked the Major behind him; but all at once a stick snapped, round wheeled the Sergeant, blunderbuss at "the ready" but, seeing the Major, he immediately lowered his weapon and stood easy.

"'S'noggers, sir," said he, "I thought you was it!"

"It, Zebedee?"

"Aye, your honour, it, him, or her. If it ain't a him 'tis a her and if it ain't a her it's an it--or shall us say a apparation, sir. Same being said to walk i' the orchard o' nights lately----"

"An apparition--in the orchard, Zeb? Have you seen it?"

"Why no, sir, not exactly, but what I did see was--hist!"

The Sergeant halted suddenly, crouching in the shadow of a hedge; they were close on the orchard now and, upon the stilly air was a soft rustle, a faint sc.r.a.ping sound and, parting the leafy screen, the Major saw a dark figure silhouetted above the wall, a nebulous shape that seemed to hang suspended a moment ere it vanished over the wall into my lady's garden.

"That weren't no apparation, sir!" whispered the Sergeant, looking to pan and priming, and, hurrying forward, pointed to a footprint in the soft, newly-turned soil. "Never heard as spectres wore shoes, sir."

The Major, staring at that slender footprint, felt suddenly cold and sick, and wondered; then, as the Sergeant prepared to climb the wall, checked him:

"Wait--wait you here!" he muttered. "Make way!" Reaching up, the Major swung himself astride the coping and silently mounted the wall.

Before him was a flagged walk which, as he remembered, led to the arbour; this walk he avoided and, stepping in among the bushes, began to advance cautiously, eyes and ears on the strain, for the shadows lay dense hereabouts. Thus he was close upon the arbour when he stopped suddenly, arrested by the sound of a man's voice, low and m.u.f.fled.

"... 'tis you now, Bet, and only you----"

"... Ah G.o.d, how may I? And yet ... my own dear, have I ever refused thee ... I've yearned for thee so..." Here the sound of pa.s.sionate kisses.

It was her voice indeed, but so tender, so full of thrilling gentleness! The Major shivered and a sudden faintness and nausea seizing him, leaned weakly against a tree, and ever, as he leaned thus, their voices reached him--his low and eager, hers a-thrill with tenderness.

The Major turned and, groping like one blind, crept back until he came to the wall and crouching there, his head between his arms, seemed to shake and writhe as with some horrible convulsion.

"That you, sir?" a voice whispered hoa.r.s.ely. Silently the Major drew himself up and dropped back into his own grounds.

"What was it, sir?"

"Nought, Zeb."

"D'ye mean 'twere a ghost, arter all?"

"Aye!"

"Didn't notice if 'twere a her or a him, sir?"

"No!"

"Why then, did you chance to ob-serve----" but seeing the Major's face, Sergeant Zebedee broke off with a gasp and, dropping his blunderbuss, reached out quick hands: "Good G.o.d! Your honour! What's amiss?"

"Let be, Zeb, let be," said the Major wearily, putting by these kindly hands, "'tis nought to worry over--nought to matter, nought i' the world, Zeb. Leave me awhile. Go to bed!"

"Bed, your honour? And leave you alone? Sir, I beg----"

"Sergeant Tring--get you indoors!"

The Sergeant stiffened, saluted, and, wheeling about, marched away forthwith, but, once in the shadows, turned to glance anxiously at the lonely figure so pale and still and rigid under the moon.

Being alone, the Major seemed to shrink within himself, and, limping slowly into the gloom of the hutch-like sentry-box, cast himself face down across the table and lay there; and from that place of shadows came sounds soft but awful. At last he lifted heavy head, and, staring before him, perforce beheld that part of the wall where he had first seen her; and again he writhed and shivered. But, all at once, as the spasm pa.s.sed, he leaned forward tense and fierce, for in that precise spot a man was climbing the wall. The Major rose and stood with breath in check, watching as the unknown clambered into view, a slender figure that paused for a lingering, backward glance, then leapt down into the orchard; but, doing so, the unknown tripped, lost his hat and cursed softly, and in that moment the Major gripped him in iron hands and stared into the pale, fierce face of Mr. Dalroyd; the long curls of his peruke had fallen back leaving his features fully exposed in the strong moonlight, and now, as the Sergeant had done before him, the Major blenched and drew back, his fingers loosing their hold.

"Effingham!" he gasped, "Effingham--by G.o.d!"

Mr. Dalroyd smiled and fingered his curls:

"'Tis Major d'Arcy, I think!" said he gently. "And Major d'Arcy is either drunk or mad, my name, as he very well knows, is Dalroyd much and ever at his service. Though, permit me to say 'tis scarce a--laudable or honourable thing to--spy upon the tender hours of his fair neighbours! 'Tis true I trespa.s.s, but love, sir, love----!" Mr.

Dalroyd smiled, sighed and picked up his hat. "If you wish to quarrel, sir, you lose your labour for I quarrel with no man--to-night!"

"Sir," said the Major, his voice calm and unshaken, "whoever you are and whatever your name, I advise you to go--now, this instant!"

Mr. Dalroyd surveyed the Major with languid interest, the pallid serenity of his face, the smouldering eyes, the haggard lips, the moist brow, the nervous, clutching fingers, and smiling, went his way leaving the Major to his agony.

For now indeed it seemed that all the fiends of h.e.l.l had risen up to mock and gibe and torture the quivering soul of him; beneath their obscene hands his reverent love lay shamed and writhing in the dust.

"Betty!" he whispered, "O my love!" Yet even as he spoke he knew that the woman he had worshipped was not and never had been; he had clothed her warm youth and beauty with divinity, had adored and made of her an ideal and now his dream was done, his ideal shattered and by one who wore the cold, satyr-like face of Effingham--Effingham who had died upon his sword-point years ago in Flanders; almost unconsciously his quivering fingers sought and touched the scar upon his temple. And now, remembering her voice as he had heard it, thrilling with ineffable love and tenderness, he alternatively shivered in sick horror and burned with shame, a shame that crushed him to his knees, to his face.

That it should be Effingham of all men, or one so hatefully like! So the Major, grovelling there beneath the moon, knew an agony in his stricken soul, deeper, fiercer than flesh may ever know; and thus, towards the dawn-hour, Sergeant Zebedee found him.

"Sir--sir," said he, kneeling beside that prostrate form, "G.o.d's love, sir--what's amiss?"

The Major raised himself and stared round about with dazed eyes.

"Ah Zeb," said he, slowly, "I do think I must ha' slept of late and dreamed, Zeb, a fair sweet dream that later changed to nightmare--but 'twill pa.s.s. I've lived awhile i' the paradise of fools!"