Then the bugles blew, as we rode to Kandahar,
Marching two and two,’
quoted Vanda. He was mounted, looking a horseman and a soldier, every inch of him, from plume to spur—carried by a lovely charger, but not on the historical Arab. Much they grieved that Volonel the beauteous, the high-born, the beloved, had passed away to the land of the ‘Great Dead.’
‘Do you believe,’ queried Vanda, ‘that the dear horses we have all known, and loved and mourned, are denied a future life, when so many of our rubbishy fellow-creatures, idle, criminal and despicable in every sense, are to be pardoned and promoted? I hardly can. It seems inconsistent with the scheme of eternal justice.’
‘It is a large question,’ replied Reggie, ‘and besides, my dear Vanda, you are not old enough to argue on debatable points of doctrine. It is hardly edifying at your age.’
Of course there had been a great meeting with ‘the boys,’ by which endearing term the Cambridge students were known in the family. They did not lose much time, it may be believed, before presenting themselves at the Hotel Cecil, in which palace a telegram from Paris notified that the family had taken apartments. They were received [259] ]with acclamation, and their growth in ‘wisdom and stature’ was favourably remarked upon by Hermione and Vanda. Certainly they were good specimens of the Anglo-Saxon youth of the day, whether reared in Great or Greater Britain. Tall, well proportioned, athletic, well dressed, and showing ‘good form,’ which means so many indefinable qualities and habitudes, it may be imagined with what pride and joy their parents gazed on them, and how, from very joy and thankfulness, their mother’s eyes overflowed as her loving arms embraced her first-born and his brother. Their father’s short but fervent greeting was not effusive, after the manner of Englishmen, but none the less heartfelt and secretly joyful. As such, fully understood by the sons of the house.
Then followed, of course, unlimited talk, with explanations, reminiscences, expectations, descriptions, sketches of functions impending or otherwise, with interjections by the girls—occasionally repressed but indulgently allowed, even when not strictly in order, on account of the exuberant happiness, even transports of the present meeting. None could deny that. They were a pair of youngsters of whom any family might have been proud. Their looks were in their favour certainly. Reginald, the elder, with dark brown hair and eyes, regular features, and a figure which united grace and symmetry in equal proportions, was generally held to be handsome—and supposed to be clever. An ardent and successful student, he had distinguished himself at his college; in the Union he was looked upon as a promising, even [260] ]brilliant debater. Already he was attracted by the prospect of a legislative career, and while connecting himself for the present with the Liberals, was conscious of a leaning to Conservative principles, and a belief that with age, experience, and ripened judgment he might be found in the ranks of that great party which, while recognising and, in proper time and place, advocating reasonable progress, regarded as above all things the honour, the safety, the durability of the Empire.
The brothers, as happens usually in families, differed in a marked degree from each other, not less in physical than in mental attributes, while both were well up to the standard of strength and activity demanded of well-born, well-educated Englishmen in their college days.
Eric, the younger, less studious than his senior, had taken a leading part in the open-air contests of strength and skill which absorb so large a portion of the leisure of British University men. At cricket, football, ‘the gloves,’ he was—if not facile princeps—always among the half-dozen from whom were picked the champions of their respective colleges, in the annual or occasional contests. Each had, of course, staunch backers and enthusiastic supporters, who battled desperately for their inclusion in the team for international or county cricket; or, higher honour still, in the annual boat-race at Putney. Here the younger brother had scored, as he was three in the Cambridge Eight, and with another Australian was prepared to die at his oar, to uphold the men of his country and college. As this classic contest, [261] ]which was to be decided before Good Friday, was now only a few days distant, and arrangements had been already made, and invitations accepted, for places in a house-boat, it may be imagined what feelings animated the breasts of the entire family as the day of the absorbing fixture drew nigh.
On one never-to-be-forgotten day the girls and their mother were taken by the young men, proud of the privilege of escorting their handsome sisters and the stately mother, over the precincts of Cambridge. The day was fine, for a wonder—a soft sky—a gentle breeze—a day when walking was a pleasure, and the fresh, pure air a delight. ‘There used to be an old stone bridge over the Cam about here,’ said Reggie, ‘beside which the great Benedictine Monastery of the Fern had probably something to do with the foundation of the University.’