The sweetest and the saddest hours must pass away inexorably, and so the sad hours passed with Cecil Falconer.
Day follows day and night follows night—is not human life made up of these?—but nothing lasts for ever, thank God, was his thought, and the end, be it ever so bitter, comes at last. But bitter as those of Marah seemed now the waters of his life! He felt that Mary and he were parted for ever; that she could be his love no more, and that the day-dream of her could be dreamt over never again!
About this time he received a kind and earnest letter of condolence from old Mr. John Balderstone, who had conceived a great friendship for him at Eaglescraig; but the terms of it served to irritate Cecil, as they too plainly hinted, 'from what Mr. Hew had reported, that on the night in question he had been exhilarated a little too much, perhaps.'
He tore and tossed it away with a malediction; yet old John Balderstone meant well and kindly.
Hew's satisfaction at the progress of events was too great for concealment.
'Screwed as Bacchus at the regimental ball!' he thought to himself; 'and this is the cad who tried to take Mary and her money away from me. By-and-by we'll kiss and be friends, as the children say, now that he is scratched for the running. He'll be doing the "blighted being" style of thing now,' he added aloud to Sir Piers. 'How interesting!—it is quite an idyll, whatever the devil that may be. Or perhaps he'll be going on the boards—back to the old trade of his mother before him! I have known more than one broken-down army fellow who came out quite strong in genteel comedy.'
The general heard and eyed him sternly, but with silence. What would his emotions have been had he fully known all?
Hew, however, thinking it would be as well to be out of Edinburgh about this time, took his departure to the country, on pretence of a little fishing; and the eventful day of Falconer's life was close at hand.
On the night before it, to his own surprise, he slept the heavy, yet feverish sleep that follows great tribulation of mind and consequent exhaustion of power; yet not without a dream in which he heard the voice of the adjutant again saying gravely, and with commiseration:
'I have come for your sword.'