"You are that already to me."

It was time, she thought, to put a stop to this; so, after riding on a little further, Alice said very demurely, "I thought, sir, you were more in jest than earnest, but, at all events, I am altogether in earnest when I say, that you must never repeat to me what you uttered just now. I wish always to regard you as a friend--a friend found under circ.u.mstances of deep interest to my brother and myself--but nothing more; never anything more! Let us join the others."

And she turned her horse's head, and met her brother and Tournier, her face slightly flushed; while Villemet rode after her much more disturbed than ever he had been when charging a whole battery of guns.

They too had been talking together as they followed the others along the familiar road that pa.s.sed by the barracks. It was on the old subject that Tournier seemed never to weary of.

"There," he said, pointing to the spot where he had first met Cosin, "that is where I first set eyes on your sunny English face. I remember it by that blighted tree in the hedge-row. I often thought, when I pa.s.sed it afterwards, that it was exactly like me at that time--half-dead for want of G.o.d--fungus everywhere."

Then, as they pa.s.sed the barracks, he said, "Stop a moment, Cosin. Look at that gate yonder. How well I remember coming out of that gate in an awful state of mind--nearly mad--determined, as a last resource, to see if you, or anybody, really believed in G.o.d; and I found you did, for you lived as if you did. And then began those blessed years of teaching, not so much by words as by example, which have made me a happy man, though, G.o.d knows, and you know too well, a very faulty one."

"Say no more, my good friend," replied Cosin; "only let not our separation now be an end to our intercourse. You shall ever be to us a welcome visitor."

"And I, for my part, shall ever be delighted to renew my acquaintance with the place which has been at once, the saddest and the happiest in my life."

The others had now joined them.

"Tournier will soon be here again!" cried Cosin to his sister, unable to repress the pleasure that he felt, but entirely, dull fellow that he was, on his own account.

And all, saving Villemet, finished their ride in the best of spirits.

Next day came the parting.

CHAPTER X.--ENGLAND AND FRANCE UNITED.

Who could describe the pleasure felt by the Frenchmen as they gazed once more on the sh.o.r.es of their own dear country after so long an absence!

Even Villemet lost his lugubrious looks, while his friend, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with joy, seemed almost ready to leap into the sea to get there. He sprung about the deck, sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of songs, laughed at every remark Villemet made even when there was nothing to laugh at, in fact, made himself somewhat ridiculous.

As soon as they landed, they instantly made arrangements to post straight away to their homes, which were not far apart from each other. Villemet's came first; and there, as they drove up, a perfect swarm of younger brothers and sisters came out to devour him; his old father and mother looking on behind with calmer but not less real delight. It was a pretty sight, and as Tournier drove away amid their joyful greetings, he could not help for the moment envying him, and contrasting the scene with that which was awaiting himself, with only one welcome--only one--but then that was the welcome of a mother!

He had to pa.s.s a well-known house; but as he drew near, he dashed down the blind, and turned away fiercely, till it was pa.s.sed. "Dead!" he muttered.

The nearer he drew to his old home the more familiar were the objects that met his eye, till at last he spun through the gates, and up the drive, and almost leaping into the house, cried to the smiling servants, "Is she in her old room?"

And there he found her. She was pretty as ever, prettier than ever, as _he_ thought.

"Mother, I have come to take care of you at last," he said; "and _to_ the last, thank G.o.d."

"Thank G.o.d," she murmured in reply.

But though his mother seemed almost like her old self under the exhilaration of that happy meeting, Tournier could not but observe how feeble she was in every way. And when the first gush of joy was over, he saw it more plainly; and every day he noticed it increasingly. Where some stamina is left, a sudden stimulus may lead to permanent improvement, but when there is none, excitement only revives for the moment, and leaves the patient weaker than ever. So was it with the dear old lady. Those years of lonely sorrow, aggravated by uncertainty and bitter disappointment, had killed her; and Tournier had only come in time to make the last few months of her life her happiest ones for many a day past.

One evening, as the end was drawing near, she suddenly said, "My son, what will you do when I am gone?"

"Sweet mother," was his reply, "I shall trust in G.o.d to help me bear my sorrow patiently. I know He will."

"Why not marry a wife? It is G.o.d's own remedy for man's loneliness."

"Where shall I find one? I know no woman that I could trust _now_."

Then, after a pause, he added, "And yet there is one I could trust. Yes, those blue eyes could be trusted. I would spurn the man who dared to say they could not."

Then he told his mother all about Alice; and she listened with deepest interest, and a little flush came over her delicate pale face. But it became pale as before when he said, "Ah! mother mine, Alice Cosin is not for me, nor for anyone: she is bound for life to her good brother, and I would not break that lovely bond even if I could."

In the autumn of 1815 she died, her eyes fixed to the last on her son.

And when they closed for ever, it seemed to him that love unutterable was extinguished. But he took refuge in his G.o.d.

It was hard work, however, to keep on living in the old place where everything reminded him so much of the past, both of joy and pain. He would have asked his friend, Villemet, to take compa.s.sion on his loneliness, and come and stay with him awhile; but the irrepressible fellow had gone off to the wars some time ago, and joined the army of Napoleon, distinguishing himself greatly at Waterloo. Again and again had Tournier's thoughts reverted to Alice Cosin, but each time he had repelled the pleasing idea as an impossibility. "How could I," he repeated, as the fair vision floated away, "for my selfish ends spoil the happiness of a friend like him?"

Fortified by this resolution, he determined at length to find consolation in fulfilling his promise of a visit to England. There was no reason why he should not enjoy the immense pleasure of seeing his friend again, and of course his sister. It would do him all the good in the world.

So he started with gladness to visit once more the land to which he had been unwillingly conveyed as a prisoner some seven years before. The old welcome was renewed with yet greater heartiness, and Tournier felt for the first time at home since his mother's death. Only, at their first greeting, he thought it proper to shew a little sort of restraint in addressing Alice, and he could not but notice that this a.s.sumed restraint made her beaming face look rather grave.

{The House of the Commandant. New the residence of J. A. Herbert, Esq., J.P. From photo. by Rev. E. H. Brown: p168.jpg}

One of the first things Tournier said he must see was the barracks.

"They have just finished pulling them all down," said Cosin. "Every building except Major Kelly's house, and the officers' quarters has been removed and the material sold by auction. However, you would like to see the old spot. I am sorry I cannot go with you to-morrow, but Alice can shew you the way if you have forgotten it!"

So they rode there the next morning.

"It seems like a dream," said Tournier, as he gazed for a long while upon the site where, as he too well knew, so many hearts had ached for years.

"Who is going to live in the house of Major Kelly?"

"He has bought it for himself, but he is not there now."

"How I should have liked to see him. He was a fine officer and an excellent man. And now, Miss Cosin, will you mind going with me to another spot more interesting to me than even this, I mean the prisoners'

burial ground, where my body would now have been laid but for your dear brother and you?"

That last word would have made Alice willing to go anywhere, and she cheerfully consented to pay the rather doleful visit.

When they reached the portion of the field where the interments had taken place, they let their horses nibble the gra.s.s, and silently surveyed the scanty mounds.

Tournier was lost in thought, and Alice watched him.

"Poor fellows, poor fellows," he said at length: "how many of them I have known! Some of them were in my squadron. Nearly all young, or in the prime of life--all dead before their time, worn out or broken-hearted."

"How many, do you think, are buried here?" asked Alice.

"Roughly speaking, I should say at least three or four hundred."

"Will not the Government mark the spot, or at least raise some memorial to these brave men?"

"I should think so," replied Tournier; "or if the English Government failed to do so, ours will not forget them. And yet, the shameful butchery of Marshal Ney does not favour the idea. They may look on them, as they did him, as soldiers of Napoleon, not of France."

Then they slowly wended their way homeward, Tournier turning round on his saddle to take a last look at the place that interested him so deeply, and again exclaiming, "There should I be lying now, in a dishonoured grave, but for G.o.d's great mercy."