Cecil always liked talking to Harry Molyneux. On the present occasion the mere sound of his voice seemed to go far toward soothing her irritation: many others had experienced the same effect from those kindly gentle tones. Perhaps, too, the subject had an interest for her that she would not own. “Would it tire you to tell me about it? I am not particularly curious, but I have been so much bored to-night that a very little would amuse me.”
He hesitated for an instant. “It is not that; but I don’t know if I am right in telling you. Perhaps you would not like him the better for it, though he could not help it. Shall I? Well, it was in the second of our Indian battles, and the first time we had really been under fire; before it was only nominal. We had been sitting idle for two hours or more, watching the infantry and the gunners do their work; and right well they did it. The Sikhs were giving ground in all directions; but they began to gather again on our right, and at last we were told to send out three squadrons and break them at three different points. Keene was in command of mine. I never saw him look so enchanted as he did when the orders came down. I heard the chief warning him to be cautious, not to go too far (for there was a good deal of broken ground ahead), but to wheel about as soon as we had got through their lines, and to fall back immediately on our position. Royston listened and saluted, but I know he didn’t catch one word; he kept looking over his shoulder all the time the colonel was speaking, as if he grudged every second. We were very soon off; and almost before I realized the situation we were closing in on the enemy, wrapped up in our own dust and in their smoke, for the firing became heavy directly we got within range. Now I don’t think I ought to be telling you all this: it is not quite a woman’s story.”
“Please go on. I like it.” How grandly it flashed up in her cheek as she spoke—the fiery Tresilyan blood that had boiled in the veins of so many brilliant soldiers, but through twenty generations had never cooled down enough to breed one statesman!
He had taken breath by this time. “I won’t 32 make it longer than I can help, but it is difficult to tell some things very briefly. It was my first real charge, you know; I suppose every man’s sensations are rather peculiar under such circumstances. I did not feel much alarmed—there wasn’t time for that—but the smoke, and the noise, and the excitement made me so dizzy that I could hardly sit straight in my saddle. When we got within a hundred and fifty yards of the Sikhs their fire began to tell. I heard a bubbling, smothered sort of cry close behind me, and I looked back just in time to see a trooper fall forward over his horse’s shoulder shot through the throat. Several more were hit, and our fellows began to waver a little—not much. Just then Royston’s voice broke in: it was so clear and strong that it set my nerves right directly, and the dizzy, stifling feeling went away, as it might have done before a draught of fresh pure air. ‘Close up there, the rear rank. Keep cool, men! Steady with your bridle-hands, and strike fairly with the edge. Now!’
“He was three lengths ahead of his squadron, and well in among the enemy, when that last word came out. It was sharp work while it lasted, for the Sikhs fought like wounded wildcats: one fixed his teeth in my boot, and was dragged there till my covering-sergeant cut him loose; but we were soon through them. When we had wheeled, and were dressing into line, I caught sight of Keene’s face. It was so changed that I should hardly have known it: every fibre was quivering with passion; and his eyes—I’ve not forgotten them yet. We ought to have fallen back immediately on our old ground, but it was so evident he did not mean this, that I ventured to suggest to him what our orders had been. I was not second in command; but of my two seniors one was helpless (the stupidest man you ever saw), and the other hard hit. Royston faced round on me with a savage oath, ‘How dare you interfere, sir! Are you in command of this squadron?’ Then he turned to the troopers, ‘Have you had half enough yet, men? I haven’t.’ I am very sure he had lost his head, or he would never have spoken to me so, still less have made that last appeal, for he was the strictest disciplinarian, and looked upon his men as the merest machines. It seemed as if the devil that possessed him had gone out into the others too, for they all shouted in reply—not a cheery honest hurra! but a hoarse, hungry roar, such as you hear in wild beasts’ dens before feeding-time. An old troop-sergeant, a rigid pious Presbyterian, spoke for the rest, grinding and gnashing his teeth: ‘We’ll follow the captain any where—follow him to hell!’” (Harry’s voice had all along been subdued, but it was almost a whisper now:) “I do hope those words were not reckoned against poor Donald Macpherson, for when we got back his was one of the thirteen empty saddles. So we broke up, and went in again at the Sikhs, who were collecting in black-looking knots and irregular squares all round. It was an indescribable sort of a mêlée, every man for himself, and—I dare not say—God for us all. I suppose I was as bad as the rest when once fairly launched, and we all thought we were doing our duty; but I should not like to have so many lives on my head and hand as Royston could count that night. Remember we suffered rather severely.
“As we took up our position again I saw the colonel was not well pleased. He had little of the romance of war about him, and did not understand his officers acting much on their own discretion. Without hearing the words, I could guess, from the expression of his hard old face, that he came down on the squadron-leader heavily. When I ranged up by Keene’s side soon afterward, he looked up at me absently. ‘I was thinking,’ he said (now one naturally expected a sentiment about the scene we had just gone through, or a reflection on the injustice of chiefs in general)—‘I was thinking what rubbish those army-cutlers sell, and call it a sword-blade.’ He held up a sort of apology for a sabre, all notched, and bent, and blunted; then he began to inquire if I had been hit at all. I had escaped with hardly a scratch; but I saw an ugly cut above his knee, and blood stealing down his bridle-arm. ‘Bah! it’s nothing,’ Royston observed, answering the direction of my eyes; ‘but—if the tulwar and the reprimand had both been sharper—confess, Hal, that this time, Le jeu valait bien la chandelle?’
“We never had a real rattling charge after that day, at least none exciting enough to warm him thoroughly. Now I am very sorry I have told you all this: it is not a nice story; but it is your own fault if I have bored you. Besides, Madame de Verzenay will never forgive me for monopolizing you so long. I do think she does me the honor to believe in a flirtation.”
Cecil’s heightened color and sparkling eyes might have justified such a suspicion in a distant and unprejudiced observer. Does not this show us how very cautious we ought to be in forming hasty conclusions from appearances which are proverbially deceptive? I protest I am filled with remorse and contrition while I reflect how often, in thought, I may have wronged and misjudged the innocent. I dare say, in many outwardly flagrant cases, the offenders were only expatiating on the merits or demerits of absent friends. Such a subject is quite engrossing enough to excuse a certain amount of “sitting out,” and some people always blush when they are at all interested. The selection of the staircase, the balcony, or the conservatory for the discussion is the merest atmospheric question. I subscribe to Mr. Weller’s idea—only “turnips” are incredulous. Vive la charité!
After a minute or two Miss Tresilyan spoke: “No, I don’t think worse of Major Keene. As you say, I suppose he could not help it; but it must be terrible, when passions that are habitually restrained do break loose. No wonder that you do not wish to see such a sight again. It is very different, reading of battles and hearing of them from one who was an actor. Do you know, I think you have an undeveloped talent for narration. There, that ought to console you, even if Madame de Verzenay should asperse your character.”
At this moment Harry was contemplating the proceedings of his pretty little wife at the opposite side of the room with an intense satisfaction and pride.