So Violet went, though not till after consultation with her uncle, who swore vociferously that if she remained to “nurse” Miss Letty, it would be all up with her at once.
“She’ll get it into her head that she can’t be left alone,—that she’s just on the point of dropping down dead—and I don’t know what else in the way of sickly rubbish,” he said warmly. “Look here, child! I’ve got the gout—and your wiseacres of doctors tell me that it may fly to my heart and do for me in a minute. Well—all I say is, let it! It can’t do any more when it’s done! But because I have to be dismissed out of the world one way or the other, I’m not going to crawl round on sticks, with a nurse bobbing about after me by way of a walking advertisement to announce—‘All’s up with this chap! Look at him and bid him good-bye!’ Not a bit of it!”
Violet laughed.
“You dear uncle! You are always so plucky!”
“Plucky! There’s no pluck about it,—we’ve all got to die—and when the time comes, let us for heaven’s sake go decently and in order, without making a fuss about it. The animals show us a good example—they go into holes and corners to die, in order not to distress their living friends. That’s what we ought to do, if we were not so deuced conceited as to think ourselves the most valuable objects in all creation. Yet, as a matter of fact, there are a good many horses and dogs who are superior to most men. No, Violet!—Don’t you bother about Miss Letty. I’ll take care of her. She’ll live all the longer for not being fussed over. You talk of pluck! She’s twenty times more plucky than I am—and we’ll—we’ll both make a stand against the final enemy—together!”
There was a pathetic note in the Major’s voice as he uttered the last few words, and Violet felt her eyes grow suddenly moist. But in her deep respect for the fine old man’s personal courage as well as for his fidelity to a lifelong passion, she forbore to utter one word of the sympathy which she knew would be unwelcome.
And time went on, till all at once England was thrilled and aroused by the declaration of war with the Transvaal,—a trumpet note which, re-echoing through the whole Empire, called into action the dormant martial spirit of all the men who love their country and their Queen. Excitement followed upon excitement,—hurried preparations for battle—embarkations of troops—rumours, now of victory, now of defeat,—and all the world was astir with eagerness to see how lion-hearted England would respond to the sudden and difficult demand made upon the strength of her military power. Regiment after regiment was despatched to the front,—ship after ship bore away sons, brothers, husbands and fathers from their homes and families, some to come back again loaded with honour and victory,—some never to return. The Major woke up like an old war-horse who hears the “réveille” sounded in the darkness of his stable,—and almost forgot his gout in the eagerness with which he tramped to and fro from the War Office to gather up the latest news of friends and old comrades in arms who had thrown up everything to go to the front and be again in active service.
“I never regretted my lost youth till now,” he said enviously to his old friend Captain Fitzgerald Crosby, who on account of a certain skill in the management of some special form of gun, was going out to the Cape—“Why, God bless me, Fitz, you’re only fifteen years younger than I am!”
“That’s true,” said Fitz,—“still fifteen years count, old boy! I wish with all my heart you were going with me,—but perhaps you would not care about leaving Miss Letty.”
“No—you’re right—I shouldn’t,” said the Major promptly. “I’m not jealous of you—don’t you think it! I wish you luck and a late chance of promotion!”