The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 25

Presently Fancy said quietly:

"Have you spoken to your mother? Does she know?"

Alfred turned, taking her hand. But the supreme moment had pa.s.sed. Fancy was now herself again, or rather she had become what her will and conscience made her to appear--an outwardly calm young woman, who, having swiftly read her own soul, was seeking to read the soul of the man beside her.

Alfred answered hesitatingly:

"Mother's wonderful. I never quite understand her. I ain't said a word, but back of her dear mind is something."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Alfred squirmed a little, certain that Mrs. Yellam would oppose his going. And he could not reckon accurately what obedience he owed to a mother in such a matter. He said gently:

"Never mind that, Fancy. What do you say?"

He held her hand tightly, but sat beside her rigid as she was.

Afterwards, again and again, she wondered what her reply would have been if her lover, at such a crisis, had appealed to her body instead of to her mind. If he had seized her in his arms, kissing her pa.s.sionately, evoking a pa.s.sionate response from her, exciting her physical senses, lulling to sleep her conscience, could she have resisted such an appeal?

It was not made. Did he deliberately leave her free to speak calmly, as he had spoken? Was he thinking of her? Was he thinking of his mother?

Who could blame him if all thought were focussed upon himself? And his next words confirmed her suspicion that it was impossible for any man, at such a time, to wean consideration from issues so personal and so insistent.

"That's why I spoke to you about William Saint. If I go, Fancy, I must find a man to take my place, see? 'Taint likely as I'll find anybody who knows folk as I knows 'em. And if William Saint sneaks in, maybe I won't find what I leave when I come back."

He spoke very earnestly, gripping her hand. Her sympathy for him welled up, drowning all thoughts of self. Alfred had leapt to heights. She realised the extent of the sacrifice he might make. And she felt, instinctively, that the sacrifice would be made. A curious exaltation possessed her. Alfred had thrilled her soul. If he went, true patriotism, as Mr. Hamlin interpreted the elusive word, would be behind his going. And he looked so stolid, dear man, so unconscious of the spiritual forces stirring within him.

She said impulsively:

"You mean to go, Alfie?"

"If you approve."

She drew a deeper breath. Then the decision rested with her. If she burst into tears, if she flung herself into his arms, if she whispered to him, blus.h.i.+ngly, the arguments which come pat to any woman's tongue, when her happiness is at stake, he would stay. The burden laid upon her seemed greater than she could bear. Her withers were wrung. In her perplexity she lurched here and there, staggeringly. She caught at straws.

"And if your mother disapproves?"

"Ah-h-h! Maybe she will."

"But, if she does--? Answer me, Alfie. I be hanging on your words."

He said heavily:

"I ain't one for argument. I only know this, dear, if I go, others will go, too. And the men are wanted, so Captain Lionel says. And if he says so, 'tis so. I feel as I ought to go, if you approve. When it comes to Mother, I'm weak-kneed. If I leave her out, Fancy, 'tis because I know what's tearing her, the thought of the graves in churchyard. 'Tain't in Mother as 'tis in you, to stand hand in hand with me, and forget her dear self."

Desperately, she clutched at another straw.

"You may be right, Alfie, about Mr. Saint--I don't like him. I feel, someway, that he will do as you say, sneak in behind your back, and rob you of what you have worked so hard for. Could you stand that?"

"'Twould be a rare twister, Fancy. But the men are wanted."

He spoke with no fire, no enthusiasm. The men were wanted. That, apparently, had become an obsession. Dared she temporise any further?

Was this the opportunity, never to be presented again, of which Mr.

Hamlin had spoken?

"If you feel like that, Alfie, you must go. I--I couldn't lift a finger to hold you back. I am proud," her voice faltered, "to belong to such a man."

The victory was won.

Reaction followed quickly. They clung to each other. Fancy cried, knowing that tears would lighten her heart. Alfred kissed them away. He set himself, resolutely, the task of cheering her up. The war might be over before he was ready to serve in France. William Saint had his own business. One that exacted constant attention. No doubt a trusty fellow could be found to drive the 'bus.

At tea, no trace of the storm could be discerned on their smiling faces.

But Mrs. Yellam knew.

CHAPTER XI

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Alfred Yellam enlisted. But only seven out of the eight other young men enlisted with him. To the amazement of Nether-Applewhite, Adam Mucklow, a married man, took the place of the s.h.i.+rker. And this was not under pressure from Uncle, although he tried (and failed) to "touch" old Captain Davenant for another half-sovereign. Possibly the sight of the effulgent George--a younger brother not held in the highest esteem by Adam--had its effect; possibly, also, Adam had been swept off his large feet by Lionel Pomfret; possibly, again, Hamlin's good seed may have sprouted in somewhat thin soil. Motives must not be a.n.a.lysed too closely.

Susan Yellam and Jane Mucklow said nothing. Susan may have realised that protest would be wasted; Jane, probably, was just as shrewd. Each woman cherished a bitter grievance, hiding it grimly from inquisitive eyes.

Each read the heart of the other, and still remained silent. Each, however, was proud to be the mother of a valiant son. Mrs. Yellam never knew that a tremendous decision had been left to Fancy. She took for granted that Fancy felt as she did, and the pale, anxious face of the girl confirmed this conviction. Alfred, you may be sure, made Fancy promise to keep silence concerning what pa.s.sed in the fox-covert. To her dying day let the mother believe that the son had acted "on his own,"

without consulting another. Fancy sighed and consented. What did it matter? What did anything matter now that Alfred was going? During these last few days, the spiritual part of her seemed dead. Triumph appeared to have killed it! But her will prevailed over the weakness of the flesh. Alfred must see no more tears. Her smile was the most pathetic memory which he took with him from Nether-Applewhite.

Before "joining-up," he gave two presents to the women he loved. To his mother he brought a wire-haired fox-terrier, pure white save for one round black spot between the ears and an oval black spot upon the loins.

The dog was nine months old and clean thoroughbred, the son of a famous prize-winner. Alfred paid five pounds for him. Mrs. Yellam was profoundly moved; and the dog seemed to acclaim her as mistress at sight, jumping into her ample lap and licking her hand.

"What shall we call him, Mother?" asked Alfred.

Mrs. Yellam studied the dog's lineaments. His eyes sparkled as shrewdly as her own.

"He looks wonnerful wise," she said. "Wise as Solomon, he be."

"Then we'll call him--Solomon."

And it was so. Solomon--soon abbreviated into "Sol"--wagged his short tail approvingly.

To Fancy Alfred presented a bicycle, and with it these words:

"Vicarage is nigh three-quarters of a mile from Mother's cottage. I want you to see Mother whenever 'tis possible. I know her. She'll keep herself to herself, thinking her own thoughts, and they'll be hard thoughts, Fancy. You'll help to soften 'em, dear, won't you?"

"Indeed I will."

"Parson'll let you off, afternoons, for an hour, maybe; and the bike'll make all the difference. I see you nipping down in no time."

"I shall love that, if Mr. Hamlin can spare me."