"Of course not, sir."
Martin surveyed the stranger with redoubled attention. A live colonel is a rare sight in a secluded village. The man, seizing any pretext to prolong the conversation, drew out a pocketbook.
"Here is my card," he said. "You need not give it to Mrs. Saumarez. She will probably recognize my name."
The boy glanced at the pasteboard. It read:
Lieut.-Col. Reginald Grant, "Indian Staff Corps."
Now, it chanced that among Martin"s most valued belongings was a certain monthly publication ent.i.tled "Recent British Battles," and he had read that identical name in the July number. As was his way, he remembered exactly the heroic deeds with which a gallant officer was credited, so he asked somewhat shyly:
"Are you Colonel Grant of Aliwal, sir?"
He p.r.o.nounced the Indian word wrongly, with a short "a" instead of a long one, but never did misplaced accent convey sweeter sound to man"s ears. The soldier was positively startled.
"My dear boy," he cried, "how can you possibly know me?"
"Everyone knows your name, sir. No fear of me forgetting it now."
The honest admiration in those brown eyes was a new form of flattery; for the first time in his life Colonel Grant hungered for more.
"You have astonished me more than I can tell," he said. "What have you read of the Aliwal campaign? All right, Dobson. We are in no hurry."
This to his companion, who ventured on a mild remonstrance.
"I have a book, sir, which tells you all about Aliwal"--this time Martin p.r.o.nounced the word correctly; no wonder the newspaper commented on his intelligence--"and it has pictures, too. There is a grand picture of you, riding through the gate of the fort, sword in hand. Do you mind me saying, sir, that I am very pleased to have met you?"
The man averted his eyes. He dared not look at Martin. He made pretense to bite the end off a cigar. He was compelled to do something to keep his lips from trembling.
"I hope we shall meet often again, Martin," he said slowly. "I"ll tell you more than the book does, though I have not read it. Run off to your friends at the vicarage. Good-by!"
He held out his hand, which the boy shook diffidently. There was no doubt whatever in Martin"s mind that Colonel Grant was an extraordinarily nice gentleman.
"My G.o.d, Dobson!" cried the soldier, turning again to look after the alert figure of the boy; "I have seen him, spoken to him--my own son! I would know him among a million."
"He certainly bears a marked resemblance to your own photograph at the same age," admitted the cautious solicitor.
"And what a fine youngster! By Jove, did you twig the way he caught on to the p.r.o.nunciation of Aliwal? Bless that book! It shall be bound in the rarest leather, though I never rode through that gate--I ran, for dear life! I--I tell you what, Dobson, I"d sooner do it now than face these people, the Bollands, and explain my errand. I suppose they worship him."
"The position differs from my expectations," said the solicitor. "The boy does not talk like a farmer"s son. And he is going to tea at the vicarage with a lady of good social position. Can the Bollands be of higher grade than we are led to believe?"
"The newspaper is my only authority. Ah, here is the "Black Lion.""
Mrs. Atkinson bustled forward to a.s.sure the gentlemen that she could accommodate them. Colonel Grant was allotted the room in which George Pickering died! It was the best in the hotel. He glanced for a moment through the window and took in the scene of the tragedy.
"That must be where the two young imps fought," he murmured, with a smile, as he looked into the yard. "Gad! as Heronsdale says, I"d like to have seen the battle. And my boy whipped the other chap, who was bigger and older, the paper said."
Soon the two men were climbing the slight acclivity on which stood the White House. The door stood hospitably open, as was ever the case about tea-time in fine weather. In the front kitchen was Martha, alone.
The colonel advanced.
"Is Mr. Bolland at home?" he asked, raising his hat.
"Noa, sir; he isn"t. But he"s on"y i" t" cow-byre. If it"s owt important----"
He followed her meaning sufficiently.
"Will you oblige me by sending for him? And--er--is Mrs. Bolland here?"
"I"m Mrs. Bolland, sir."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. Of course, I did not know you."
He thought he would find a much younger woman. Martha, in the close-fitting sunbonnet, with its wide flaps, her sleeves rolled up, and her outer skirt pinned behind to keep it clear of the dirt during unceasing visits to dairy and hen-roosts, looked even older than she was, her real age being fifty-five.
"Will you kindly be seated, gentlemen?" she said. She was sure they were county folk come about the stock. Her husband"s growing reputation as a breeder of prize cattle brought such visitors occasionally. She wondered why the taller stranger asked for her, but he said no more, taking a chair in silence.
She dispatched a maid to summon the master.
"Hev ye coom far?" she asked bluntly.
Colonel Grant looked around. His eyes were searching the roomy kitchen for tokens of its occupants" ways.
"We traveled from Darlington to Elmsdale," he said, "and walked here from the station."
"My goodness, ye"ll be fair famished. Hev summat te eat. There"s plenty o" tea an" cakes; an" if ye"d fancy some ham an" eggs----"
"Pray do not trouble, Mrs. Bolland," said the colonel when he had grasped the full extent of the invitation. "We wish to have a brief talk with you and your husband. Afterwards, if you ask us, we shall be most pleased to accept your hospitality."
He spoke so genially, with such utter absence of affectation, that Martha rather liked him. Yet, what could she have to do with the business in hand? Anyhow, here came John, crossing the road with heavy strides.
The farmer paused just within the threshold. His huge frame filled the doorway. He wore spectacles for reading only, and his deep-sunken eyes rested steadily, first on Colonel Grant, then on the solicitor. Then they went back to the colonel and did not leave him again.
"Good day, gentlemen," he said. "What can I de for ye?"
The man who stormed forts on horseback--in pictures--quailed at the task before him. He nodded to the solicitor.
"Dobson," he said, "you know all the circ.u.mstances. Oblige me by stating them fully."
The solicitor, who seemed to expect this request, produced a bulky packet of papers and photographs. He prefaced his explanation by giving his companion"s name and rank, and introduced himself as a member of the firm of Dobson, Son and Smith, Solicitors, of Lincoln"s Inn Fields.
"Fifteen years ago," he went on, "Colonel Grant was a subaltern, a junior officer, in the Guards, stationed in London. A slight accident one day outside a railway station led him to make the acquaintance of a young lady. She was hurrying to catch a train, when she was knocked down by a frightened horse, and might have been injured seriously were it not for Lieutenant Grant"s prompt a.s.sistance. He escorted her to her lodgings, and discovered that she was what is known in London as a daily governess--in other words, a poor, well-educated woman striving to earn a respectable living. The horse had trampled on her foot, and she required proper attention and rest; a brief interview with her landlady enabled Mr. Grant to make the requisite arrangements, unknown to the young lady herself. He called a week later and found that she was quite recovered. She was a very beautiful girl, of a lively disposition, only twenty years of age, and working hard in her spare time to perfect herself as a musician. She had no idea of the social rank of her new friend, or perhaps matters might have turned out differently. As it was, they met frequently, became engaged, and were married. I have here a copy of the marriage certificate."
He selected a long, narrow strip of blue paper from the doc.u.ments he had placed before him on the kitchen table. He opened it and offered it to Bolland, as though he wished the farmer to examine it. John did not move. He was still looking intently at Colonel Grant.
Martha, all a-flutter, with an indefinite anxiety wrinkling the corners of her eyes, said quickly:
"What might t" young leddy"s nem be, sir?"