THE SQUIRE'S STORY
(Being the commencement of the narrative in the little red note-book)
"To commence at the very beginning, my dear boy, and in orthodox fashion, I will state that my name is that by which you have always known me—Harold Lester Carrington, only son of a worthy naval officer and his wife, who was a younger daughter of the late Sir John Collyer. I was born nine-and-fifty years ago at Manchester, received but a moderate education, and entered the army at an early age.
"I was unfortunate enough to lose both my parents while I was quite a child, and, getting into bad company, led what my few relatives—they are all dead now—considered a wild life. I can safely say, though, that I never forgot I was the son of gentlefolk, for to both my parents I had been greatly attached.
"I must have been either twenty-one or twenty-two years of age when I first met Edith Rawson, the charming daughter of my old Colonel. It was at a garden party, and was a case of love at first sight on both sides. Of course it was foolish in the extreme for me, a penniless lieutenant, to aspire to the hand of wealthy Colonel Rawson's eldest daughter, but the folly was inevitable. Miss Rawson was the most lovely girl I ever cast eyes upon. Mutual love in such cases as ours is hard to conceal—particularly from a woman—and Mrs. Rawson quickly perceived things after I had visited the house a few times. She communicated her suspicions to her husband, and a tremendous row was the result—the upshot of which was that I changed my regiment for one embarking for India, bade my loved one a pitiful farewell, re-echoed my vows of constancy, promising to return when, judging by Rawson's standard, I was in a position to claim Edith as my bride, and left England for the great Eastern Empire.
"I had been forbidden to write, even once a year, to my loved one, and it was with a faint heart that I started life again in Madras. But I knew that if I wished to succeed I must throw all my energy into the work, and strive my hardest to render myself fit to become Edith's husband in what seemed a very distant future.
"Years rolled by, and by degrees, thanks to sundry small skirmishes with discontented tribes, I gained the promotion which meant so much. But it was a sad time for me. Folks may say that 'out of sight' is equivalent to 'out of mind,' but I speak truly when I say that never for a single day did anyone—any woman—figure in my thoughts except the loved one in the far-off old country.
"Periodically I got hold of old society newspapers, sent to us from London, and in these I occasionally came across the name of Colonel Rawson's fair daughter. Each time I was thrilled with pleasure to find that her maiden name still remained to her. Was she true to the devoted young officer in India? Of course she was!
"I was Major Carrington by this time, and young for that, still I knew a beautiful girl like Edith would never want for offers of marriage. Three or four years had passed since I had discovered the dear name in print. Two or three were likely to drag before there was any chance of my further promotion, after which Colonel Rawson had given me permission to return home, and, if the mutual affection still existed, marry his daughter.
"Then one day a copy of the Times chanced to reach me, and I casually commenced reading by a perusal of the births, marriages, and deaths column in that paper. Suddenly I caught sight of an announcement that caused me to cry aloud with dismay, with horror, with disappointment. It was painfully brief, but, oh! so plain.
"'SANDLYNG-RAWSON.—On the 28th ult., at St. Jude's, Aynswell-street, W., George Arthur Sandlyng, of the Priory, Parkham, Bucks, to Edith, daughter of Colonel Rawson, V.C.'
"Had I considered this paragraph in the light of common sense I would not have acted as I did.
"In the first place, I should have recollected that Rawson was no rare name, and that the combination of names, Edith Rawson, might occur in any other branch of the Rawson family than the one in which were centred all my hopes.
"I might, too, have made the following deduction: When I left England, ten years before, the Colonel had not the letters V.C. after his name. As far as I was aware he had not been engaged in active warfare since. Suppose, though, he had, and had won the Victoria Cross, would it not have been reasonable to suppose that ten years would have seen his promotion to a generalship, particularly if his conduct had been so conspicuous as to merit the award of the coveted V.C.?
"But I did not stop to take a rational view of the matter. To me, then, there was no doubt but that Edith—my Edith—had broken her vows to me, and had married. I was filled with murderous thoughts. For the time I was mad."