The bandmaster looked at his princ.i.p.al flute curiously, but said nothing.

The next minute they were dismissed, and d.i.c.k longed in vain for a place where he could be alone, the only approach to it being the open window, where, after the customary change of uniform and wash and clean, he sat gazing out at the sky, but seeing no bright silvery clouds--nothing but the face of that young officer and the old ruins down by the flooded river; for it seemed to d.i.c.k Smithson that--in spite of what had been written about midnight and the witching hour--he had seen a ghost, and in the broad daylight, too.

He tried to cast the idea from him again and again, but that face would return, wonderful in its resemblance, and at last a painful, feverish fit came on; for the countenance he had that day gazed upon, and which had impressed him so painfully, brought up all the old life which he had tried so hard and successfully to forget.

"It's like a punishment to me, for trying to forget that which I ought always to bear in mind," he said at last, with a sigh. "How horrible!

and how strange that two people could be so much alike!"

d.i.c.k played with the band in the mess-room that evening, and one or two of his comrades told him he looked ill; but he laughed it off, and tried to make them believe that the little fit of weariness was a mere nothing. But his face told a different tale, and that night, when he went to his bed, sleep refused to come; and to the accompaniment of his comrades' heavy breathing--that being the most charitable term that can be applied to it--he once more went over his old life at Mr Draycott's, from his first entering the great coach's establishment up to the morning he had left.

At last sleep came--a miserable, feverish slumber, from which he was aroused by the _reveille_.

"There," he said to himself. "I shall be all right now," as he took his dripping head out of the bowl of cold water, and felt refreshed by the scrub he gave himself; but somehow he did not feel right. His head burned, and he was glad to get out in the open air, in the hope that a little exercise would clear his brain and drive away the cobweb-like fancies which seemed to interfere with its working.

Vain hope! The thoughts only came the faster, and at last he began to ask himself whether he was going to be ill.

"Mark's dead!" he found himself saying mentally; "and there are no such things as ghosts--education killed the last of them years ago. But it does seem horrible to come suddenly face to face with a fellow so like poor Mark that I should have felt ready to declare it was he. Nature does make people different; and yet that officer is as like him as can be. Of course, he would have grown set and more manly. And--oh! but it's impossible! He's dead! he's dead!"

He had gone back into the band-room, where, as of old, some twenty men were blowing hard, each working up the parts of new pieces, and utterly regardless, as well as unconscious, of his neighbour--use having given the bandsmen the ability to practice away deaf to the noise produced by others. Here he sat down in his own corner, and began to look over his music, expecting that before long Wilkins would be there to try over a few pieces in proper harmony instead of discord. But the crotchets and quavers became people, and the staves the roads along which they pa.s.sed; and, the more he tried, the more excited he grew.

For a few minutes he enjoyed a rest, for his eyes suddenly rested upon Brumpton, who, looking wonderfully fat, shiny, and happy, sat back, with his jacket unb.u.t.toned, pumping away at the huge bra.s.s instrument, whose coils he nursed at his breast while he boomed and burred and brought forth ba.s.s notes of the deepest and richest quality.

Then Brumpton's smooth, round face grew dim, and in its place there was the haughty, self-satisfied young officer, proud of his regimentals and scornfully gazing at the young bandsman as he pa.s.sed.

d.i.c.k could bear it no longer; he felt that he must get back into the open air, and to some place where he could be in peace while he made up his mind what to do.

The next minute his mind did not want making up. He had come to a determination; for, feeling that he would never be able to rest until he had got rid of the idea of the officer he had met being his cousin Mark, he set off with the intention of questioning some of the men of the incoming regiment about their officers.

He started, and had just got outside the door of the band-room, when he ran against Wilkins, who turned upon him sharply--

"Now, sir! don't run away; I am going to try over that grand march."

"Back directly, sir!" cried d.i.c.k; and, to the bandmaster's indignation, he was off as hard as he could go towards the barrack gates.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE STRANGE COMPLICATION.

"I shall be in trouble again," thought d.i.c.k; "but I can't help it! I feel as if that old bit of excitement was coming over me."

The next minute he was out in the street, and making his way toward the High Barracks, trying to calm down his excitement and come to some decision as to how he would find out. It seemed simple enough, for what would Mark be? A lieutenant; and any corporal or sergeant would tell him whether there was a Lieutenant Frayne in the regiment.

But long before d.i.c.k reached the barracks he had another shock; for, all at once, in turning a corner, he saw a well-built private sauntering along on the other side whose face was unmistakable, though how he had become a soldier was more than d.i.c.k could grasp.

The man did not see him, and d.i.c.k pa.s.sed on for a few yards, feeling his forehead, then his pulse, to find the latter a little accelerated, the former perfectly cool.

"I'm not going mad!" he muttered, excitedly. "I may be dreaming, but--"

He said no more, but turned sharply and followed the private, who was evidently taking his first walk through the town, and had become a little interested in the place.

d.i.c.k did not hesitate, but followed the private till he was close behind him, and then uttered one word sharply, which brought him round on the instant, to stare hard at the speaker, but without any change of countenance.

"Yes; what is it? I've got my pa.s.s."

d.i.c.k could not speak again for the peculiar feeling of emotion which troubled him, and the man began to frown.

"Was it me you meant when you called 'Jerry'?" he said.

"Yes; you are Jerry Brigley."

"I'm Jeremiah Brigley," was the snappish reply, "and I tell you I've got my pa.s.s. There you are."

But d.i.c.k did not even glance at it, for this was a new shock. Some day he meant to go back and claim his position--some day--but here was a man with whom he had been on most intimate terms staring at him blankly without a sign of recognition!

"Mornin'!" said Jerry, shortly; and he faced round and walked on. But d.i.c.k was after him directly, recovering somewhat from the shock he had sustained, and ready to treat the position with something like forced mirth in his delight at meeting one old link with the past.

"Jerry!" he cried, and the man faced round sharply.

"Well, what do you want with him?"

"Don't you know me, Jerry?" cried d.i.c.k.

"No, and don't want to; and, if this is a try-on to get me to stand beer, it's a dead failure!"

"Not quite!" said d.i.c.k, smiling, though his heart ached.

"Look here, do you want a tanner?" cried Jerry, snappishly.

"Well, I am short of money," said d.i.c.k, as a sudden thought came to mind; "but not a tanner. Pay me the sovereign you borrowed of me!"

"What?"

"I did not mean ever to ask you for it, but it would be useful now."

"Well, I'm blest!" cried Jerry. "Talk about cheek! When did I borrow a sovereign of you, my whippersnapper?"

"Two years ago, when you wanted to bet on some horse for the Derby."

Jerry's jaw dropped.

"Who--who--who--who--says?" he stuttered. "How did--? When did--?

Here--who are you?--How did--? I say: who are you?"

"d.i.c.k Smithson, 205th Band," replied the young man, unable to keep from enjoying the state of puzzledom in which his ex-servant was plunged.

"But I don't know no d.i.c.k Smithson; and how you--you--you! Oh, lor'!"