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CHAPTER XXVI

GUY LANGLEY LEAVES THE THIRTIETH

THE news of Colonel Treveryan's accident reached Mrs. Aylmer at Mussooree on the day that it occurred. Knowing that she would be painfully interested, her husband had telegraphed to her: Colonel Treveryan hurt this morning. Horse fell with him. Has been unconscious several hours. Doctor thinks case very serious.'

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Mrs. Aylmer received this message about sunset. It was a rainy afternoon, and she was sitting in the drawing-room with Mabs in front of a comfortable fire of rhododendron logs. She got up and walked to the window, and stood for a minute or two looking out. It was a very dreary prospect. The hill-tops were invisible. Clinging gray clouds hid them from sight, and filled the valleys below them, and curled slowly about their steep, wooded sides. Even the pine trees close to the house were half blotted out; they stood gray and ghostly against the gray sky, and she could see the cloud drifting through their sodden branches. Now and then a light wind shook them, and made the cloudy veil swirl for a moment, and waved the long hanging festoons of the Virginia creeper. On the gravel in front of the window there was a pool of water, bristling with raindrops, and the wooden gutter outside the verandah was full to overflowing. Mrs. Aylmer sighed and came back to the fireside.

Mabel, who had looked up for a moment, was now deep in her book again. She was sitting curled up in a big armchair, in company with Alice, and the March Hare, and the Hatter, and the Dormouse.

'Mabs, darling.'

'Yes, mummie.'

'I have just had a telegram saying Colonel Treveryan is badly hurt, and I must go away and leave you here for a little

with Mademoiselle Dufour. You will be very good, won't you, and not give any trouble? If I have to stay away any time I will send for you.'

Mabel's face was one of dismay. mie?'

'Must you really go, mum

'Yes, darling. Poor Aunt Helen will be in great trouble. You wouldn't like me not to try and help her, would you?'

'No.'

'That's right. And you will be a brave little woman and not make it hard for me? It will be only for a few days.'

Mabel nodded. Her blue eyes were clouded, and her mouth was not quite steady, but she bore up gallantly. 'When must you go?' she said.

Now, at once, darling. Will you come and help mother pack?'

They went off together, and an hour afterwards Mrs. Aylmer walked out on to the rain-beaten verandah in her gray waterproof. She could not easily have got men to transport her luggage at that hour, and she took with her only what her own people could carry,-some bedding rolled up in a waterproof valise, her dressing-case, and a small box. She had already sent off a message to her husband: 'Telegram received. catch mail train to-morrow morning.'

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It was a weary journey. First she had to be jolted down hill for two or three hours in a jhampán on men's shoulders. It was dark, and raining hard, and the mountain road was muddy and cut up by the wash of water, and sometimes the men slipped badly. This part of the journey seemed very tedious. It was not made less so by the doubt whether she would be able to get a carriage at the bottom of the hill for the long night drive down to the railway. However, Mrs. Aylmer was determined to get through if possible; and she had telegraphed, and sent a trusty native servant on ahead of her. The carriage was there all right, a comfortless dák gâri, like a long box on wheels. In this vehicle she spread her bedding and slept as best she could, the relays of ponies trotting on hour after hour through the rainy night. Early in the morning she was at the railway station, where she got a cup of tea, and her troubles were over. All that day she spent in the train, and all the next night. In the morning, at a large station where she had got out for some breakfast, she received another telegram: Colonel Treveryan died last night. Funeral this afternoon.'

She stood on the noisy platform, thinking of the dead man, and of Helen, her brown eyes soft with pity. 'Poor child, poor child,' she said; 'I wish I could have been in time.'

Mrs. Aylmer arrived in Syntia late on the evening after Colonel Treveryan's funeral, and found awaiting her a note from Mrs. Hunter.

DEAR MRS. AYLMER-I have been with poor Helen since she came this morning, and shall stay with her to-night; but I told her you were coming, and I am sure that if you can go to her instead of me she would like it. She said she hoped you would come and see her to-morrow morning, when you were quite rested. She is bearing up wonderfully.-Yours sincerely, ALICE HUNTER.

Mrs. Aylmer hesitated whether to go over at once, but she decided that she had better not. She scoffed at the idea of being tired; but Helen might be asleep, and it would be a pity to disturb her. Next morning she drove over after an early breakfast, and found Helen waiting for her. She was rewarded then for her unselfishness in the way such natures are most truly rewarded, by seeing that she had brought real comfort to a grieving heart.

It was arranged that Mrs. Aylmer should take the place of Mrs. Hunter, who was unfeignedly relieved to get away. She was not an unkind woman, but she did not like sorrow, and she had never been on really intimate terms with Helen. Mrs. Aylmer was to remain in the desolate house until things were settled, and then Helen was to go to her.

It was miserable work breaking up the house, dismissing servants, making out lists of property for sale, sorting and disposing of Colonel Treveryan's effects,-all the bitter dreary labour of such a time. But it was over at last; and when they drove away from the house, Helen, though she was sad enough, was conscious of a deep sense of relief.

In the meantime, it had become known that she was engaged to Guy Langley, and Guy had written to his mother to explain the position. All the chivalry in his nature had been stirred by the incidents of the last few days, and he would have stood by Helen now against the world. His letter was full and clear. This time there should be no possibility of mistake. He told Lady Mary exactly what had happened, and appealed to her to say whether, under the circumstances, it was possible for him to withdraw from his engagement, even if he wished it.

Not that I do wish it, mother dear. Please do not misunderstand me for a moment. I know I did not behave well when I was at

home, and you had only too much cause for thinking that I did not really care for Helen. But I do care for her from the bottom of my heart, and nothing will ever induce me to give her up now. I promised her father on his deathbed that I would be true to her, and my honour is pledged; but even if my honour were not pledged, it would make no difference. I love her more than I can find words to say, and it would be utterly impossible for me to desert her now in her misery and loneliness. I feel sure you will see it as I do, and that you will send me a few lines by next mail to say so. You could not wish me to behave otherwise than I am doing. I know it will be a great disappointment to you, and I am very sorry, but you are too good and loving not to forgive me. If unhappily I have even now failed to convince you, then I have no choice. I must leave the regiment at once, and go into the Indian Staff Corps. In order to be ready, whatever happens, I am sending in an application for it at once. But I feel sure your letter will enable me to withdraw it. Write soon.-Your loving son, GUY LANGLEY.

Guy wrote in a similar strain to Roland, and he sent in a formal application for the Staff Corps.

These letters were the result of a long talk between Guy and Colonel Aylmer. They came to the conclusion that Guy could not live as a married man in the Thirtieth if his father withdrew his allowance, and that he had better not lose any time in providing against the possibility. After he had joined the Staff Corps on probation, there would still be a year before he need finally cut himself off from his regiment, and in that time anything might happen; but he had better act at once, and, if necessary, join his new regiment before marrying. The marriage was fixed for Christmas; in the meantime Helen was to stay with the Aylmers.

Roland's answer was written the day he got Guy's letter, and was just what Guy had expected. The boy was heart and soul on his side. His mother could not possibly hesitate now, Roland said, whatever she might have thought before. There could not be two opinions about the matter. If Guy had not behaved as he had done, he would not have been fit to speak to. Of course his mother must see it. He wished he were at Wrentham, but he was staying with a college friend for a few days. He sent his love to Helen, and a tender message of sympathy which brought the tears to her eyes. 'He must be a dear boy,' she said; 'give him my best love and thanks.'

Roland's confidence proved to be misplaced. Lady Mary was

shaken, and for a moment she was inclined to give in, but then she began to doubt again. After all, was not the whole thing an accident? Guy had been taken by surprise and drawn into a position where everything had combined to work upon his feelings. Whatever he might say about his affection for Helen, his own letter showed that his real feeling was one of reluctance to desert her in her trouble. His promise had been the result of pity, not love. Was it not her duty to save him now that he could not save himself? Besides, he had committed himself to Clara Schneider, poor dear Clara, who really cared for him for himself. He really was behaving shamefully to her. Was it not a duty to keep him from that? Lady Mary welcomed the doubt, and it opened the door to other and less worthy feelings. If she gave in it would be a defeat, and those detestable women in India would triumph over her. She could not bear that thought. Then came the recollection that she had spoken very confidently to Clara and her mother. They evidently believed in her power. Was she to be shamed in their eyes too? Guy said he would go into the Indian army if they still held out; but even if he meant this now he would not stick to it when he had to face the reality. She knew him well enough. It was a mere threat; and it was a very indefensible and foolish threat too. He ought to know by this time that this was not a line that answered with her. Lady Mary was right there. Guy ought to have seen that the close of his letter was rather illogical and injudicious; but he had overlooked this in his anxiety to remove all doubt. So in the end Lady Mary's heart was hardened. No, she would not give in; so long as there was a chance she would fight it out.

It was in this frame of mind that she went to her husband with Guy's letter. It was a disagreeable interview for both of them. Charles Langley irritated her to begin with by letting fall the remark that it was very much what he had expected when Guy left them. She answered sharply, and stung him into reminding her that he had warned her at the time. Even he was setting up his judgment against hers now. It made her angry,

and it made her obstinate, and she pressed her view with redoubled heat. Charles Langley still resisted. He could not see it, he said. It seemed to him that Guy was right, and that they ought to let him have his own way. Besides, they could not force him to give the girl up. He had told them plainly that he would sooner leave the regiment and stay in India. Lady Mary fought on desperately, and rather unscrupulously, exaggerating

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