Sir William Symons' victory and death followed, and then the mortifying retreat of General Yule. Upon the 30th day of the month eight hundred and fifty officers and men were isolated and captured. Who does not remember the wave of passionate incredulity that swept across the kingdom when the evil tidings flashed over-seas? But Buller and his staff were on the Dunottar Castle, and all Harrovians believed devoutly that within a month of landing the Commander-in-Chief would drive the invaders back and conquer the Transvaal.
Day after day, Desmond importuned his father. The "fun" would be over, he pointed out, before he got there—and so on. At last word came. A billet had been obtained. Desmond received a long envelope from the War Office. He showed it to all his friends, old and young. Duff junior—Cæsar's fag—became so excited that he asked Warde for permission to enlist as a drummer-boy. The School cheered Cæsar at four Bill.
And then came the parting.
Cæsar was to join the Headquarters' Staff as soon as possible. He spent the last hours with John, but his mind, naturally enough, was concentrated upon his kit. He chattered endlessly of saddlery, revolvers, sleeping bags, and Zeiss glasses. John packed his portmanteau. And on the morrow the friends parted at the station without a word beyond—
"Good-bye, old Jonathan. Wish you were coming."
"Good-bye, Cæsar. Good luck!"
And then the shrill whistle, the inexorable rolling of the wheels, the bright, eager face leaning far out of the window, the waved handkerchief, the last words: "So long!" and John's reply, "So long!"
John saw the face fade; the wheels of the vanishing train seemed to have rolled over his heart; the scream of the engine was the scream of anguish from himself. He left the station and ran to the Tower. There, after the first indescribable moments, some kindly spirit touched him. He became whole. But he had ceased to be a boy. Alone upon the tower he prayed for his friend, prayed fervently that it might be well with him, now and for ever—Amen.
When he returned to the Manor, however, peace seemed to forsake him. The horrible gap, ever-widening, between himself and Desmond might, indeed, be bridged by prayer, but not by the shouts of boys and the turmoil of a Public School.
During the rest of the term he worked furiously. Desmond was now on the high seas, whither John followed him at night and on Sundays. Warde, guessing, perhaps, what was passing in John's heart, talked much of Desmond, always hopefully. From Warde, John learned that Charles Desmond had tried to dissuade his favourite son from becoming a soldier.