How could I hang back like a coward?"

"Then you have enlisted?"

"Yes," he cried, "I have enlisted; I could not help myself."

"As a private?"

"Yes, as a private. I am not fit to be an officer."

"But didn't you belong to the Officers' Training Corps when you were at school?"

"The pater would not allow me. No, it was no use my thinking anything about it, so I went to a recruiting station and joined up. I shall have to go to the front immediately."

"How is that?" I asked. "What is the use of your going to the front without training? They won't allow you. You will be kept in England at least six months."

"No, I shan't. You see, I know the Colonel of the regiment I have joined very well, and he is off to the front immediately, and I am going too."

"But how?"

"Well, you see, for one thing, I know French and German, and for another, I am not a bad hand at mechanics. I know all about a motor-car, inside and out, and they can find work for me."

"Then you are not going as an ordinary Tommy?"

"In a way I am, and in a way I am not; but there it is. They are going to make a special case of me. I am off to-morrow to join my regiment, and from what I can hear, the regiment is off in two or three days. I don't know exactly what my duties will be; but there it is, I am off."

"What will your father say?" I asked.

"That is what I have come to see you about. I never realized until I had done it what the pater would say. You know I am fond of him, even although we have never got on well together. He has never understood me, and I am afraid I have never understood him--there is no link of sympathy between us; but then, you know, he is my pater after all. Yes, I have joined; but that is not all, Erskine."

"Not all?" I queried. "What is there besides?"

"I have been and got married," was his reply.

"Got married!"

"Yes. I expect it was a mad thing to do, but I could not help myself.

You don't know what it is to be in love, Erskine, and I could not bear the idea of leaving Mary without knowing she was my wife."

"And, of course, your father knows nothing about that either?"

"No, he knows nothing. You see, I got married by special license. I was afraid to tell the pater what was in my mind,--afraid he would interfere somehow and stop me,--so I thought I would do it first and tell him afterwards."

Our conversation was not nearly so connected and straightforward as I have described it here. What he said was uttered in quick, disjointed sentences. Sometimes he would break off in the middle of what he was saying, and talk about something else. That he was greatly excited was easy to see. It was evident, too, that his duty towards his father troubled him greatly.

"I don't mind mother," he said; "she will be all right--mother understands me. Of course, Bella and I laugh at her, and all that sort of thing, because she is always making plans for us, and mapping out our day's program, and telling us what we ought to do. We call her the general manager; but she is a good sort is mother, and she understands us, too. But the pater is different. Somehow, he cannot understand us, and we cannot understand him. I suppose, in a way, he is just, and in many things he is generous to me, but in others----Well, there it is. I wondered what I ought to do. At first I thought I would go away without telling him anything, but that would be acting like a sneak. Mind you, Erskine, I would not undo anything I have done. If ever a man had a call to serve his country, I have, and I think it is a splendid piece of luck that I can be useful at a time like this, without going through the training of an ordinary soldier. I jumped at the chance of going to the front straight away; but then, there was Mary. How could I leave her without being sure that I had her? I was afraid the pater would take steps to hinder me from ever getting her. You have some idea what he is--and I was afraid. Besides, she was willing, and so I--I----G.o.d forgive me if I have done wrong, Erskine, but I could not help it."

"Well, what can I do to help you?" I asked.

"There it is, and that is why I have come to-night. I have always had the reputation of having a fair amount of pluck; I do not fear death a bit, and I haven't a single qualm about going to the front; but it's the pater, you see."

"What about your father?" I asked.

"I am afraid to tell him, Erskine. I simply dare not go home and tell him what I have done."

"Nonsense!" I said; "he cannot eat you; you have done nothing to be ashamed of. For that matter you have done what thousands of other fellows have done. You have joined the Army at the call of your King and Country, and it was the right thing to do. I would to G.o.d that I were able to do it too!"

"Would you, Erskine?" he cried eagerly. "You think I have done right, then?"

"I think you should have gone to your father first and asked for his consent. Then, if he would not give it, I think you, being of age, and feeling it your duty, should go in spite of him."

"But he would not have consented."

"Exactly; still, you should have asked him. As for getting married----"

"Yes, yes, what about that?" and he looked towards me feverishly.

"Well," I said, "hundreds of fellows are doing it. I have seen scores of such cases in the newspapers. Hurried marriages have been arranged by young fellows going to the front."

"Yes, but, you see, they have been different. They have been married with their father's blessing, and all that sort of thing; but I, I am afraid to go and tell him, Erskine, unless----"

"Unless what?" I asked.

"The pater thinks no end of you," he said excitedly. "He doesn't say much, but I can see it. You see, you promised to do well at the Bar, and he thinks you are clever, and all that sort of thing. Of course he hasn't said much to you, but I know it."

"Well, what if he does?" I asked.

"Look here, Erskine, that is what I came for. Will you come with me? If you are with me, I believe I can tell him. I have got the car outside, and I can run you up in five minutes."

Although I ought to have seen what was in his mind all the time, his request came almost as a shock to me. Josiah Lethbridge was almost a stranger to me. It is true I had been to his house twice, and had met him on two other occasions, but he was not a man to whom one could speak freely. At least I thought so. As I have intimated before, he was a strong, capable man, and, like many of his cla.s.s, was overbearing, almost repellent. He had risen from a poor lad by his own energy and determination and ability. He had swept difficulties out of his path. He had succeeded because he had made others yield to his stronger will. All these things had left their mark upon him. He could not bear opposition, and he took it as a personal grievance when others did not fall in with his way of thinking. I knew, too, his thoughts and desires with regard to his son, knew how he hated militarism, knew how ambitious he was that Hugh, his only son, should take a high place, not only in the county but in the nation. Therefore, when he was told that Hugh had not only joined the Army as a common soldier, but had married, against his will, a small tenant farmer's daughter, his anger would know no bounds.

Besides, what had it to do with me? I had known none of them before I came to Cornwall, less than three months before. Why should I be dragged into this imbroglio? Then I looked at Hugh Lethbridge's face, saw the quiver of his lips, saw the eager look in his eye. Although I had known him only a few weeks, I had conceived a strong affection for him, and, in spite of myself, could not help sympathizing with him.

"Will you help me?" he said pleadingly.

I nodded.

"You will come with me now and see the pater?"

"If you wish it."

"Thank you, my dear chap," and his voice became husky as he spoke.

A few minutes later we stood at the door of Josiah Lethbridge's house.

XIII