"Effingham!" he gasped, "Effingham—by God!"
Mr. Dalroyd smiled and fingered his curls:
"'Tis Major d'Arcy, I think!" said he gently. "And Major d'Arcy is either drunk or mad, my name, as he very well knows, is Dalroyd much and ever at his service. Though, permit me to say 'tis scarce a—laudable or honourable thing to—spy upon the tender hours of his fair neighbours! 'Tis true I trespass, but love, sir, love——!" Mr. Dalroyd smiled, sighed and picked up his hat. "If you wish to quarrel, sir, you lose your labour for I quarrel with no man—to-night!"
"Sir," said the Major, his voice calm and unshaken, "whoever you are and whatever your name, I advise you to go—now, this instant!"
Mr. Dalroyd surveyed the Major with languid interest, the pallid serenity of his face, the smouldering eyes, the haggard lips, the moist brow, the nervous, clutching fingers, and smiling, went his way leaving the Major to his agony.
For now indeed it seemed that all the fiends of hell had risen up to mock and gibe and torture the quivering soul of him; beneath their obscene hands his reverent love lay shamed and writhing in the dust.
"Betty!" he whispered, "O my love!" Yet even as he spoke he knew that the woman he had worshipped was not and never had been; he had clothed her warm youth and beauty with divinity, had adored and made of her an ideal and now his dream was done, his ideal shattered and by one who wore the cold, satyr-like face of Effingham—Effingham who had died upon his sword-point years ago in Flanders; almost unconsciously his quivering fingers sought and touched the scar upon his temple. And now, remembering her voice as he had heard it, thrilling with ineffable love and tenderness, he alternatively shivered in sick horror and burned with shame, a shame that crushed him to his knees, to his face. That it should be Effingham of all men, or one so hatefully like! So the Major, grovelling there beneath the moon, knew an agony in his stricken soul, deeper, fiercer than flesh may ever know; and thus, towards the dawn-hour, Sergeant Zebedee found him.
"Sir—sir," said he, kneeling beside that prostrate form, "God's love, sir—what's amiss?"
The Major raised himself and stared round about with dazed eyes.
"Ah Zeb," said he, slowly, "I do think I must ha' slept of late and dreamed, Zeb, a fair sweet dream that later changed to nightmare—but 'twill pass. I've lived awhile i' the paradise of fools!"