The Curse of Carne's Hold Part 31

"I am glad to see you are better, Mr. Armstrong," Ronald said, as he went up to the bed, and took the thin hand in his own.

"G.o.d bless you, my boy," the wounded man replied; "it is to you I owe my recovery, for had you not brought Mary back to me, I should be a dead man now, and would have been glad of it."

"I am very glad, Mr. Armstrong, to have been able to be of service to your daughter and to you; but do not let us talk about it now; I am sure that you cannot do so without agitating yourself, and the great point at present with us all is for you to be up and about again. Do your wounds hurt you much?"

"Not much; and yours, Blunt?"

"Oh, mine is a mere nothing," Ronald said, cheerfully, "it's healing up fast, and except when I forget all about it, and move sharply, I scarcely feel it. I feel something like the proverbial man who swallowed the poker, and have to keep myself as stiff as if I were on inspection.

This ward is nice and cool, much cooler than they are upstairs. Of course the verandah outside shades you. You will find it very pleasant there when you are strong enough to get up. I am afraid that by that time I shall be off, for the troops are all on their march up from the coast, and in another ten days we expect to begin operations in earnest."

"I don't think the doctor ought to let you go," Mary Armstrong said.

"You have done quite your share, I am sure."

"I hope my share in finis.h.i.+ng up with these scoundrels will be a good deal larger yet," Ronald laughed. "My share has princ.i.p.ally been creeping and hiding, except just in that last brush, and there, if I mistake not, your share was as large as mine. I only fired three shots, and I think I heard your pistol go four times."

"Yes, it is dreadful to think of now," the girl said; "but somehow it didn't seem so at the time. I feel shocked now when I recall it."

"There's nothing to be shocked at, Miss Armstrong; it was our lives or theirs; and if your hand had not been steady, and your aim true, we should neither of us be here talking over the matter now. But I think my visit has been long enough. I will come in again, Mr. Armstrong, to-morrow, and I hope each day to find you more and more able to take your share in the talk."

In another ten days Ronald rejoined his troop, and the next day received an order to be ready at four o'clock to accompany Colonel Somerset to the General's.

"Now, sergeant, take a seat," the General said, "and tell me the full story of your adventures."

Ronald again repeated his story. When he had done, the General remarked:

"Your report more than bears out what I heard from Captain Twentyman. I have already talked the matter over with Colonel Somerset, and as we consider that such an action should be signally rewarded, Colonel Somerset will at once apply for a commission for you in your own corps, or if you would prefer it, I will apply for a commission for you in one of the line regiments. I may say that the application under such circ.u.mstances would certainly be acceded to."

"I am deeply obliged to you for your kindness, sir, and to you, Colonel Somerset; but I regret to say that, with all respect, I must decline both offers."

"Decline a commission!" the General said in surprise. "Why, I should have thought that it was just the thing that you would have liked--a das.h.i.+ng young fellow like you, and on the eve of serious operations. I can hardly understand you."

Ronald was silent for a moment.

"My reason for declining it, sir, is a purely personal one. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than a commission so bestowed, but there are circ.u.mstances that absolutely prevent my mingling in the society of gentlemen. The name I go by is not my true one, and over my own name there is so terrible a shadow resting that so long as it is there--and I have little hope of its ever being cleared off--I must remain as I am."

Both officers remained silent a moment.

"You are sure you are not exaggerating the case, Blunt?" Colonel Somerset said after a pause. "I cannot believe that this cloud of which you speak can have arisen from any act of yours, and it would be a pity indeed were you to allow any family matter to weigh upon you thus."

Ronald shook his head. "It is a matter in which I am personally concerned, sir, and I do not in any way exaggerate it. I repeat, I must remain in my present position."

"If it must be so, it must," the General said, "though I am heartily sorry. At least you will have the satisfaction of seeing your name in General Orders this evening for an act of distinguished bravery."

"Thank you, sir," and Ronald, seeing the conversation was at an end, saluted to the two officers, went out, and rode back to his quarters.

The town was full of troops now, for the regiments that had been despatched from England had nearly all arrived upon the spot, and the operations against the Kaffirs in the Amatolas were to begin at once.

Some of the troops, including two squadrons of the Rifles, were to march next morning.

Ronald went about his duties till evening, and then turned out to walk to the hospital. As he pa.s.sed through the streets, he saw a group round one of the Rifles, who had just come out from a drinking shop, and was engaged in a fierce altercation with a Fingo. The man was evidently the worse for liquor, and Ronald went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"You had better go off to the barracks at once," he said, sharply; "you will be getting into trouble if you stay here."

The man turned savagely round.

"Oh, it's you, Sergeant Blunt? Hadn't you better attend to your own business? I am not committing any crime here. I haven't been murdering women, or anything of that sort."

Ronald started back as if struck. The significance of the tone in which the man spoke showed him that these were no random words, but a shaft deliberately aimed. In a moment he was cool again.

"If you do not return to the barracks at once," he said, sternly, "I will fetch a corporal's guard and put you in the cells."

The man hesitated a moment, and then muttering to himself, reeled off towards the barracks. Had the blow come a month before, Ronald Mervyn would have felt it more, for absorbed in his active work, on horseback the greater portion of his time, the remembrance of the past had become blunted, and the present had occupied all his thoughts. It was only occasionally that he had looked back to the days when he was Captain Mervyn, of the Borderers. But from the hour he had brought Mary Armstrong safely back to her father, the past had been constantly in his mind because it clashed with the present.

Before, Ronald Mervyn and Harry Blunt had almost seemed to be two existences, unconnected with each other; now, the fact of their ident.i.ty had been constantly in his thoughts. The question he had been asking himself over and over again was whether there could be a permanent separation between them, whether he could hope to get rid of his connection with Ronald Mervyn, and to continue to the end of the chapter as Harry Blunt. He had told himself long before that he could not do so, that sooner or later he should certainly be recognised; and although he had tried to believe that he could pa.s.s through life without meeting any one familiar with his face, he had been obliged to admit that this was next to impossible.

Had he been merely a country gentleman, known only to the people within a limited range of distance, it would have been different; but an officer who has served ten years in the army has innumerable acquaintances. Every move he makes brings him in contact with men of other regiments, and his circle goes on constantly widening until it embraces no small portion of the officers of the army. Then every soldier who had pa.s.sed through his regiment while he had been in it would know his face; and, go where he would, he knew that he would be running constant risks of detection. More than one of the regiments that had now arrived at King Williamstown had been quartered with him at one station or another, and there were a score of men who would recognise him instantly did he come among them in the dress of an officer. This unexpected recognition, therefore, by a trooper in his own corps, did not come upon him with so sudden a shock as it would have done a month previously.

"I knew it must come," he said to himself bitterly "and that it might come at any moment. Still it is a shock. Who is this man, I wonder? It seemed to me, when he first came up, that I had some faint remembrance of his face, though where, I have not the least idea. It was not in the regiment, for he knows nothing of drill or military habits. Of course, if he had been a deserter, he would have pretended ignorance, but one can always tell by little things whether a man has served, and I am sure that this fellow has not. I suppose he comes from somewhere down home.

"Well, it can't be helped. Fortunately, I have won a good name before this discovery is made, and am likely to reap the benefit of what doubt there may be. When a man shows that he has a fair amount of pluck, his comrades are slow to credit him with bad qualities. On the whole, perhaps it is well that it should have come on this evening of all when I had quite made up my mind as to my course, for it strengthens me in my decision as to what I ought to do. It is hard to throw away happiness, but this shows how rightly I decided. Nothing will shake me now. Poor little girl! it is hard for her, harder by far than for me. However, it is best that she should know it now, than learn it when too late."

CHAPTER XV.

A PARTING.

The sun had already set an hour when Ronald Mervyn reached the hospital, but the moon had just risen, and the stars were s.h.i.+ning brilliantly.

Mary Armstrong met him at the door.

"I saw you coming," she said, "and father advised me to come out for a little turn, it is such a beautiful evening."

"I am glad you have come out, Mary; I wanted to speak to you."

Mary Armstrong's colour heightened a little. It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name since that ride through the Kaffirs. She thought she knew what he wanted to speak to her about, and she well knew what she should say.

"Mary," Ronald went on, "you know the story of the poor wretch who was devoured by thirst, and yet could not reach the cup of water that was just beyond his grasp?"

"I know," Mary said.

"Well, I am just in that position. I am so placed by an inscrutable Fate, that I cannot stretch out my hand to grasp the cup of water."

The girl was silent for a time.

"I will not pretend that I do not understand you, Ronald. Why cannot you grasp the cup of water?"