The Happy Warrior Part 42

"Drive slowly up here," he told the man when the cab turned into the street for which he watched. "Do you know Burdon House?"

It was pointed out ahead of him. "Set down there many a time. Lord Burdon's 'ouse it was. Another party's got it now."

Percival leant back, not to be seen--not daring to be seen!--and stared, his pulses drumming, as he was slowly carried past.

Might there have troubled him some vague, secret feeling of a.s.sociation between himself and that brown, ma.s.sive front of Burdon House with its broad steps leading to the heavy double doors, with its tall, wrought-iron railings above the area, with its old torch extinguishers on either side the entrance, with its quiet, impa.s.sive air that large old houses have, as of guardians that know much and have seen much--brides come and coffins go, birth and death, gay nights and sad, glad hours and sorry--and look to know more and see more? Might he have felt, as he told Aunt Maggie he had felt at Burdon Old Manor, "thinking without thinking, as if some one else were thinking," as he pa.s.sed those steps where one that he might have called Father often had gaily pa.s.sed, where one he might have called Mother had gone wearily up and come fainting, dizzily down?

He felt, nor was disturbed, by none of those. He only gazed, gazed as he would pierce them, at all its solemn windows, riveted its every feature on his mind; but only because it was where she must have looked, because it sheltered her where she must be. It was a new setting against which he might envisage her; he only thought of it as that.

CHAPTER XIII

MR. AMBER DOES NOT RECOGNISE

I

It was in dreams that night that vague, secret influences of his sight of Burdon House came stealing about him--if such they were; he attributed them to the disturbance of an event that greeted him within a few hours of his gay arrival at "Post Offic."

He had announced his coming by telegram. He took Plowman's Ridge on leaving the train at Great Letham, old friend wind greeting him with most boisterous Ha! Ha! Ha! and as he came down the slope two figures broke from the little copse and came fluttering up the Downside towards him--one slight with running tears, and outstretched, eager arms; the other gaunt and grim, uncompromising of visage, but with eyes aglisten.

"Aunt Maggie! Aunt Maggie!"

"My boy! My Percival!"

Her boy's arms went about her: for a s.p.a.ce neither moved after that first cry. He only held her--close, close to him; she only clung to him, her face to his, and felt his dear face stop her flowing tears.

He held her from him then at arm's length, the better to gaze at her; and she overcame her foolish tears and told him: "How you have grown!

How handsome you have grown!"

And Honor grimly, with grimness spoilt by chokey utterance: "Ah, handsome is as handsome don't make fine birds!"

"You've got it wrong, you frightful old goose!" cried Percival; and there was Honor's bony cheek to be kissed, her bony hug to take.

Then the disturbing even:--

Mr. Amber, Aunt Maggie told him, was dying. He had been told Percival was coming and had begged to see him. There had only been a brief interval of consciousness in the last twenty-four hours; Percival had better go at once.

II

Percival went immediately. The Old Manor had the deserted aspect he remembered when, as a little boy, he used to seek Mr. Amber in the library; and it was to the library he now was taken. Mr. Amber had been carried there. He knew he was to die. He had begged to die in the apartment he loved--among his books.

There Percival found him. He lay on a bed that had been placed in the centre of the room. He was asleep, breathing with a harsh, unnatural sound. A nurse sent over from Great Letham attended him, and Percival inquired of her: "I am Percival; has he been asking for me?"

She shook her head: "Since this morning only for Lord Burdon. Before that, frequently."

Percival went on one knee by the bedside. The mild old face that he had always known silvery and smiling seemed white as the pillow where it lay, pathetically lined and hollowed. On a sudden the eyes very slowly opened and looked full into Percival's bending above him.

Percival experienced a shock of horror at what followed. Burning intelligence flamed into the dim eyes; the blood rushed in a crimson cloud to the white face; the thin form struggled where it lay.

"My lord! my lord!" Mr. Amber whispered; and "lift me--lying down before my lord!"

"Mr. Amber! I am Percival! You remember me!"

The nurse raised him, and with practised hand the pillows also, so that he reclined against them. "It is your friend Percival. Lord Burdon will soon come, perhaps."

He gave her no attention. He smiled at Percival in something of his mild old way. "We are very weak, my lord," he said. "Very weak."

"Mr. Amber! I am Percival! You remember what friends we were. You will get strong, and we will have some more reading together--you remember?"

Mr. Amber still smiling, his eyes closed again. "On the ladders."

"Yes--yes. On the ladders. You remember now--Percival."

Mr. Amber's smile seemed to settle upon his face as though his lips were made so. "Hold my hand, my lord."

He began to slip down in the bed. The nurse eased his position. He seemed back to unconsciousness again, his breathing very laboured.

Night had drawn about the room and was held dusky by the candles.

There stole about Percival, as he knelt, atmosphere of the memories he had recalled in vain attempt to arouse Mr. Amber's recognition. Again dusk here, and he with mild, old Mr. Amber. Again shadows wreathing about the high ceiling, stealing from the corners. Again a soft thudding on the window-pane, as of some shadow seeking to enter--death?

Again the strange feeling of "thinking without thinking as if some one else were thinking"--and on that, worn out perhaps with his long day, perhaps carried by some other agency, he went into a dream-state in which vague, secret influences of his ride through Mount Street came upon him. He thought he was in Mount Street again and come to Burdon House, and that the door opened as he ascended the steps. He found the interior completely familiar to him, and for some reason was frightened and trembled to find it so. He went from familiar room to familiar room, afraid at their familiarity as though it was some wrong thing he was doing, and knew himself searching--searching--searching. What he searched he did not know. He just opened a door, and looked, and closed it and pa.s.sed on. There were persons in some rooms--once Dora, once Rollo, once Lady Burdon. They stretched hands to him or spoke.

He shook his head and told them "I am not looking for you," and closed the doors upon them. He climbed the completely familiar stairs and searched each floor. The fear that attended him suddenly increased.

He had a sudden and most eerie feeling that some presence was come about him as he searched. He heard a voice cry: "My son! My son! We have waited for you. Oh, we have waited for you!" Fear changed to a flood of yearning emotion. He tried to cry, "It is you--you I am looking for!" He could not speak, and wrestled for speech; and wrestling, came back to consciousness of his surroundings. He was streaming with perspiration, he found. He saw next that Mr. Amber's eyes were open and looking at him, and heard him say, "Percival!"

Had that been the voice in that frightful dream?

"Mr. Amber! I knew you would know me!"

Recognition was in the eyes, but they were filming.

"Yes, he knows you," the nurse whispered.

Quite firmly, firmer than he had yet spoken: "Hold my hand--my lord,"

Mr. Amber said, and ended the words and ended life with a little throaty sound.

The nurse disengaged their hands. "But I am so glad he did just recognise you," she said kindly.

III

Old friend wind was in tremendous fettle that night. Percival battled along Plowman's Ridge on his way back and had battled twenty minutes when he cried aloud, venting his grief, and answering the nurse's words, "He didn't recognise me!"

And old friend wind paused to listen; came in tremendous gusts, Ha! Ha!

Ha! and hurled the words aloft and tossed and rushed them high along the Ridge.

"Something was wrong with me in there," Percival exclaimed. "Did I speak sense to him? What was happening to me? Was I dreaming? What was it?--oh, d.a.m.n this wind!"

Ha! Ha! Ha! thundered old friend wind, staggering him anew--Ha! Ha! Ha!