A Strange Wooing: a story of the period

Front matter

A STEAXGE WOOIXG. A STRANGE WOOING a Storg of tbe lPerfoo. BY CHARLES GIBBON, Author of " Robis Gbai-," "Queen op the Meadow," "Beyond Compare," etc. Our acts our augels are, or good or ill, The fatal shadows that walk by us still. John Fletcher. LONDON : WARD & DOWNEY, 12, YORK STREET, CO VENT GARDEN. 1890. PRINTED ET KELLY AND CO., GATE STBKliT, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. CONTENTS. CHAP. I>,AQE I. — When Papa Comes Home . . . 1 II. — Aust Jane ..... 6 III. — A Bird of III Omen . . 34 IV. — An Advance ..... 45 V. — Misapprehensions .... 54 VI. — Unpleasant Suggestions ... C7 VII. — Bep.t's Adventure .... 83 VIII. — Curious Conjectures . . . 101 IX. — The Stranger on the River Bank . Ill X. — "The Chance has Come" . . 123 XI. — The Village Fair . . . .130 XII. — Fencing 147 XIII. — The Prize of the County . .159 XIV. — "Kuruboni" 171 XV.— A Gala Day 189 XVI.— An Appeal 207 XVII. — Explanations and Conditions . . 217 XVIII. — Curiosity and Inquiry . . . 236 XIX.— Is it Possible? 247 XX. — Aunt Jane's Victory . . .

Chapter I. Avhen Papa Comes Home

In the bright June sunlight, and amidst the perfume of roses which clustered on bushes round the lawn and on the carefully trimmed climbers on the walls of the ancient manor, a sturdy boy of six years was playing with his toys on the velvet-like turf of the green terrace. He had steamboats, railway engines with carriages, and, most prized of all, a battalion of soldiers, infantry and cavalry, with their equipments of guns and horses complete. The child was dressed in black, but that had no meaning for him whilst he was busily arranging his horse-soldiers for some great tournament such as A STRAN3E WOOING. 2 the Knights of the Round Table fought. Beside him, on a garden seat, was his mother — young, beautiful, and very pale. She also was dressed in black. In her hand was a letter, Avhich at intervals she lifted from her lap to read a few lines, and then wipe her sad eyes with a handkerchief.

All the while the boy went on with his play, and the innocent, but at present painful, prattle of happy, healthy childhood, constantly iterating a favourite phrase. " When papa comes home he Avill show me how that gun should be arranged so as to knock all these men down. Won't that be fun, mamma ? " Then he Avent on with what would have been, under other circumstances, a pleasing list of imaginary things which were to happen " when papa came home." But the letter which Lady Bevan held in her hand made the words jar on her ears and heart. The letter was from the comrade and devoted friend of her husband, and it told her that she was a widow. She had received it about three months AVHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 3 ago, and at first refusing to believe the fatal news, she had waited until confirmation came from other sources.

Then she put on mourning. To-day she was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the writer of the letter, Colonel Quinton, who had accompanied her late husband on his hunting expedition into the Avilds of Africa, and from him she expected to learn the details of the calamity which had befallen her. Meanwhile, the prattle of the child about the many wonders which were to be wrought "when papa came home " wrung her heart Avith anguish. Again and again she was on the point of crying out, '• Papa will never come home again ! " But she suppressed the impulse, for the child was happy in his ignorance, and she only said very quietly : " You do not understand, Bert. It will be a long, long time before you see papa." "Oh, then I must keep these soldiers pretty, for he would not like to see them broken and in pieces, as if they had been in battle when he Avas not here . . .

There's a carriage, mamma. Perhaps that is papa," cried the child eagerly. 1* AV001XG. Lady Bevan rose and beckoned to the nursemaid, who stood at a little distance. " Stay here with Bert until I send for you." Whilst she spoke a footman advanced with a silver salver, on which lay the card of Colonel Gifford Quinton. For a moment Lady Bevan held the card in a trembling hand, then, master ing the emotion which the arrival of her hus band's companion caused, she bade the servant tell Colonel Quinton that she would see him immediately. She delayed only to kiss her child and to endeavour to steady herself to listen with calmness to the story of her husband's fate. Then she proceeded to the house, and found Colonel Quinton in the drawing-room. He was a tall man, slim, and, although only about forty, there were grey lines in his bushy hair and moustache and wrinkles under his eyes indicating that he had passed through many hard ships.

There was in the keen grey eyes something that denoted him to be a man of prompt decision and active habit. WHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 5 He advanced to Lady Bevan Avith both hands ex tended, and she took them. " Don't speak," he said in a pleading tone ; " you cannot say, as I know you would like to say, that I am welcome, for I bring you the worst tidings that a loving wife can hear. Only say that you forgive me for being unluckily the bearer of the bad news, and I shall be content." " I cannot say anything, Colonel Quinton," she answered, nervously, " except that as the true friend and constant companion of my husband you are welcome to Warburton, and that I am grateful to you for coming with such speed to give me an explanation of what has happened. I know that he has gone, and yet, whilst it pains me, I crave to know under what circumstances he perished."

" You must sit down, dear Lady Bevan, and exert all your power of self-restraint if you wish me to speak freely. I am not sure that I can control myself, for you know how close was our friendship and how close the bonds between us were drawn by constant association from childhood to manhood — • all a favour on his side — and it was at his instigation that his father's influence obtained for me the opportunity to win my place in the ss army. " He was always proud of your friendship and promotion. We need not talk of that now — tell me about him." The colonel bowed and drew from his breast pocket a bulky em-elope, upon which the widow fixed her eyes eagerly. " All the way home I have been trying to prepare myself for this meeting ; and yet I find it difficult to speak. You will forgive my bluntness in telling you what happened as briefly as possible.

Our first weeks in the Dark Continent were pleasantly spent, and our sport was so excellent that Bevan determined to push on into unknown regions, and I — to my bitter sorrow — did*not attempt to dissuade him. We had made no plans. His humour was to go whereA-er the incidents of the day might lead us." " Yes, he said it was to be his last adventure, and it has proA'ed to be so," was the sad comment of Lady Bevan, with a stifled sob and a mental cry of " my poor Hubert." AA'HEN PAPA COMES HOME, 7 Quinton proceeded " Besides BeA'an's devoted sen'ant, Sturgis, we had with us only half-a-dozen Zanzibaris to carry our baggage. The smallness of our party Avas our best protection from the suspicion of the chiefs of the villages through which we passed, and we were treated fairly well, although we had to guard our stores carefully.

After two months of wandering we camped for the night in a wild district on the out skirts of a dense forest. As we smoked our pipes by the camp fire, and talked of home, discussing arrangements for our return, we had no sense of danger." The colonel paused, as if the recollection of the scenes which followed rendered it difficult for him to speak calmly. " Yes," said the widow, tremulously. " At that moment, when we were full of happy thoughts of our home-coming, we were attacked by a band of saA-age fiends. Poor Sturgis was stricken down at the first onslaught as he darted forward to protect his master. Our carriers disappeared, and BeA-an and I were left to face the wretches. We used our revolvers, and the effect was to drive off the assailants, but when I turned to Bevan I found that his neck and breast had been pierced by two arrows.

The arrows were poisoned, and I had neither skill nor means to counteract the effects of the poison." ** Did the end come quickly ? " she asked Avith •a calmness which indicated the intensity of her pain. " No ; he lingered for eight days, and at times I even hoped that his strong constitution would enable him to survive. I need not say that I nursed him with all the care that was possible. When he slept I went about seeking some village where assistance might be obtained. But I dared not leave him for more than an hour or two, and always on my return I found him awake and distressed by my absence, although he was patient and fully com prehended why he had been left alone. At length he said : " ' It is no use, Quinton ; you can do nothing for me except to stay beside me till the end comes.

Don't leave me again.' WHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 9 " I tried to give him hope, but he shook his head and bade me find some paper and write his last message to you whilst he had strength to sign it. I obeyed, and you will find in this packet all that he told me to write. One of his last instructions was that I should not trust it to messengers and the post, but carry it with my own hand to you. I have done so." He handed the packet to her, and there was silence. By and by she spoke, but her voice did not rise above a whisper. " Did he — did he suffer much ? " " I am afraid he suffered a great deal," answered the Colonel, "but he bore it bravely, and spoke lightly of his wounds except when he thought of you. Then the pain was most acute, and he blamed himself bitterly for having disregarded your wish that he would not proceed on this expedition.

I wish I had known your objection to it, so that I might have joined you in opposing it instead of being as eager as himself to undertake it." " You are very good, Colonel Quinton," she said with a feeble attempt to smile. " Thank you ; and now I will leave you to the care of Harris. After I have looked at this last message from my husband we will talk about it." She hurried to the library, which had been her husband's favourite room. There, when not absent on some hunting, shooting, or fishing expedition, he had spent most of his time, and there his wife had often read to him the narratives of famous travellers and sportsmen, and stories of adventure in unknown lands. These readings had put the African expedition into his head ; and Avhen Colonel Quinton, who had been out with an exploring party, came home with glowing accounts of what rare sport was to be had in the Dark Continent, he determined to haA*e a few months' holiday in that region.

He promised his wife that this should be his last long excursion from home, and she sub mitted, as she always did, when she saw that he was deeply interested in any project. She never thought of suggesting that it was unkind to leave her for such a period as must elapse before he could return. What pleased him pleased AVHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 11 her, because it pleased him. She was not a woman of the world who could find any amount of amusement during the absence of her spouse in the routine of society engagements. She loved her home and her child. Perhaps this very domesticity of her nature rendered Sir Hubert the more eager to seek excitement in the hunting field, on the race course, and, at last, in Africa. She was glad that he should find pleasure in any way, and was quite unconscious that there was selfishness on his part in finding so much of his amusement away from home.

She had trembled and felt unhappy as she thought of the dangers he might encounter. But he had " laughed her fears to scorn," or, to what is more painful, ridicule, and had started on his sporting expedition with a light heart. And now ! . . . He was dead, and she held in her hand the packet containing his dying message to her. The envelops was only fastened with ordinary gum, and yet her hands trembled so that she could not at once open it. She was sick at heart, because she knew that she was to read — to listen, rather — to the last Avords of AVOOING. the man who had been dearer to her than all the world. She turned to the window as if to seek strength from the brig-lit sunshine without. There, on the green terrace, was her boy, laughing, shouting with glee, and arranging his soldiers under the direction of Colonel Quinton.

She turned from the sight with a shudder. His father should have been with Bert, and yet the child was as happy as if he had been Avith him. She could not help sobbing, and yet she was thankful for the blindness of childhood to the mis fortunes of the day. Bert kneAv nothing of the bitterness contained in the word death. It was good that it should be so. She wiped her eyes, and, with more calmness than she had believed herself capable of, opened the packet she had received from the Colonel. It contained a pocket diary, fastened with a Bramah lock, which looked much bruised, as if it had been tampered with ; but, in her agitation, she did not observe this, and taking the duplicate key which was in her possession, opened the book. The diary AVHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 13 was more than half filled with an account, written in his own hand, of Sir Hubert Bevan's daily pro ceedings and observations, from the date of his arrival in Zanzibar up to the day preceding that on which he had received his fatal wounds.

On the first page were the words, " To my dear wife," and the opening sentences were as follows : — "As it Avill be impossible to communicate with you often, I mean to write this record of my adventures as if talking to you. This will be a pleasant task, and Avhen I get home you will haA*e all the letters to read at once ; and in the mean while I shall have the joy of cheating myself Avith the fancy that I am not writing to you thousands of miles away ; but that you are at my side, and I am telling you about all the Avonders we have seen and done." Tears blinded her eyes, and she touched the page on which the loving words were penned re\-erently with her lips. As she did so a letter dropped from between the leaves of the book. She picked it up WOOING. and laid the diary on the table. This was the message he had dictated to his friend with his last breath.

The wife's fingers thrilled as if she had touched an electric current when she took the paper in her hand. It was a long time before her tear dimmed eyes could make out the words, few as they were. " Quinton writes this for me ! He will tell you everything. I have only strength to say good-bye. Jane will take care of you. God bless you. "Hubert Bevan." The brevity of the message, the painfully cramped pencil signature, so unlike his bold, free hand, revealed to her the dire extremity which he had reached Avhen it was written, even more vividly than the Colonel's Avords had done. As she gazed on the paper, reading the words again and again she seemed as in a dream to become an eye witness of that terrible scene. Her husband lying on the ground under the shadow of the great forest, no human creature near save that one faith- AVHEN PAPA COMES HOME. 15 ful friend.

The camp fire shining on the face of the dying man as he was raised a little by his friend in order that he might sign the message, and the torture he must have endured in the effort to accomplish even that slight task. She saw him, and she felt his agonies of mind and bodv.

Chapter II. Aunt Jane

Lady Bevan was still in a half-tranced state when the door of the library gently opened, and a lady entered quietly. She was a tall, stately person of middle age, but her fair hair, smoothed close on the sides of her head, the plump, fresh-coloured cheeks, and the bright blue eyes, in which there was always a twinkle of mirth and good humour except on the gravest occasions, made her appear still young. The kindly humour was in the eyes now, but not the mirth. She, too, was dressed in black. She paused for a few seconds, looked sym pathetically at the young widow. Then she said softly : "Nell, you have news. I hear that Colonel Quinton has arrived." Lady Be\*an started, and, advancing quickly, clasped her arms round the speaker's neck. " Oh, Aunt Jane — it is all true. He is gone," she cried, with a great sob, and hid her face on the elder Avoman's breast.

Aunt Jane tenderly embraced the heart-stricken one, and then soothingly passed her hand over the fair head which rested on her for support. She did not speak until the outburst of sobs began to subside. Then — " I Avas afraid that your hope of his escape would prove A-ain, dear," she said in a soft, full toned voice. " But I did not like to dissuade you from the thought, because it gave you comfort. I almost tried to share your hope that my poor brother still lived. It seemed to be possible, seeing that we have had so many reports from Africa of people haA-ing been killed, or having perished in the wilds, who have come back to the world when everybody had become resigned to the idea that they were dead." AVOOING. " Colonel Quinton was with him till the end." "Then we know the worst," said Aunt Jane, sadly, but with something in her expression Avhich indicated that she took the wise view of the position — that it Avas better to know the worst than to be harassed by doubt and vain hopes.

" My poor, rash, brother," she added, as if to herself, and passed a handkerchief across her eyes. " I am not able to repeat what Colonel Quinton told me." " You must not try, dear. I will see the Colonel presently, and hear the account from his own lips. 1 am sorry I was out when he arrived, as it would have spared the poor man having to tell his bad news twice had I been with you at the first telling. He cannot like the task." Lady Bevan Avas relieved by the presence of her warm-hearted, sympathetic sister-in-law, whose humour it was to insist upon being called " Aunt Jane " from the first birthday of her nephew Bert — a pet contraction of Hubert. In the happy days before her brother had been seized with the idea of the fatal expedition she had said playfully : " I am an old maid, you kno-v, although people say I don't look like it.

But I am, all the same, and thanks be to goodness I know it. Having run the gauntlet of woman's enemy for — Avell, we won't say how many years — I am not likely to be cap tured now, even if any man was likely to try." Then she laughed merrily, and continued — "No; it's quite settled. I am to be plain Aunt Jane for the rest of my days, and Bert and his father are the only male creatures I shall ever love — of course always excepting the dogs and the cats and the horses, not to mention the pigs and other favourites." But there was no sign of this light humour now. The pleasant laugh had been hushed since the first rumours of the disaster which had befallen them had reached the manor. Yet there was no gloom in her grief; the subdued voice, the absence of the cheery smile, the sloAver step, and the increased solicitude about little Bert aud his mother were the only outward signs of her sorrow.

" This is his diary," said Lady Bevan, returning to the table, " and here are the last words he had 2* for me. He had not strength to write them him self — barely enough even to sign his name." Aunt Jane read the message. Her lips were closed tightly, and the rising and falling of her bosom betokened the sigh she suppressed. -* Yes, Nell, I will take care of you for his sake," she said, with an earnestness that imparted solemnity to the simple words as she kissed her sister-in-law. Then, as if returning to the business of the moment, and eager to escape any symptoms of sentimentality, she added, somewhat briskly, " I must go and see the Colonel now. You know I am eager to hear what he has to tell." " Yes, and will you ask him to excuse me for to-day ? I did intend to see him again, but I do not feel able for it now.

You will have to dine tete-a-tete with him this evening. I hope it will not try you too much." " I'll manage to get through it somehow. He cannot expect a cheerful entertainment in this house at present. " I hope to be able to see him to-morrow fore noon." Left alone, Lady Bevan turned Avith sad eager ness to the diary, or rather the series of letters written in the book. How blithely he detailed the start from Zanzibar, and Avith what happy anticipa tions it was made. Then came accounts of the marches, with hasty descriptions of the country through which they passed, of the natives and the villages. But the chief item was the report of the birds and beasts which fell before their guns- There were frequent references to Colonel Quinton as the best comrade a man could have on such an adventure.

He repeatedly praised his cheerfulness under all conditions of weather and fatigue ; his endless store of anecdote, and his infinite resource in overcoming every difficulty they encountered in the course of their journey, whether it Avas in making a way through the jungle or in dealing Avith the natives. Quinton's capacities Avere extolled again and again. " I was laid up for a couple of days," ran one of the passages, " and Quinton proved himself a most competent doctor and nurse. I think Sturgis is jealous of him, for he has begun to look glumly at him and seems to me to be Avatching him as if in the hope of catching him at fault in some way. Poor fellow, it is very amusing to see the signs of dislike with Avhich he regards Quinton's movements. He'll get over it, I dare say." Sturgis was the baronet's faithful valet or hench man, who had served his master devotedly for tvrenty years.

He had accompanied him in all his travels, and once in Norway had rescued him from a fjord at the imminent peril of his own life, for Sir Hubert, in falling, had struck his head against a block of ice, which rendered him insensible, and the spot Avas near a whirlpool. " Poor Sturgis ! " thought Lady Bevan. " It must haA*e been hard for him to be thrust aside when his master lay ill. I can understand his jealousy." On the sixth page from the one on which the narrative abruptly closed there Avas this passage, evidently penned in a state of excitement : — " I haA*e been compelled to give Sturgis a thorough blowing up. Confound him ! He irri tated me beyond bearing. We halted for our noontide rest. Quinton, who never seems to be tired, said he would stroll ahead a bit to see how the land lay. I was lying doAvn smoking drowsily.

Sturgis Avas squatted near me, cleaning our guns. His glum looks at last took the form of words. Suddenly, and apropos of nothing, he says in a sort of whisper : " ' Asking pardon, Sir Hubert, I don't like Colonel Quinton.' " ' Who the — something — asked you whether you liked him or not ? ' I said, opening my eyes and staring at him. ' He is my friend and that is enough for you.' " He went on scrubbing away at a gun barrel, and I thought he was silenced. But no ; he begins again with any amount of impudence in his words, but speaking so quietly that there was not the least impudence in his manner. " ' Yes, sir ; it is enough for me if he is your friend.' " ' Hold your tongue, Sturgis, and do not let me hear another disrespectful word about Colonel Quinton, or — Avell, no, I can't leave jou to find your way home alone ; but when we do get home we shall part.' " I fancied that would close the mouth of the fool ; but you know what a stubborn old beggar he is when he gets anything into his head.

I put down my pipe and settled myself for a nap. The fellow Avent on as if he had not heard my threat or did not heed it. He will find I am in earnest this time. And what do you think he says in his dogged Avay, in spite or my attempts to stop him by paying no attention after again ordering him to hold his tongue ? " - If you had seen him, sir, as I have, walking up and down o' nights Avhen he thinks we are all sleeping, as if there was something on his conscience that wouldn't let him sleep eA*en after the most tiring day's march ; if you had seen him, sir, as I have, stand again and again beside you, staring down at you with a face ugly as sin, and sometimes working as though he was in a fit, you would, like me doubt ' " I jumped up and caught the fellow by the throat. "'By the Lord, if you say one word more in disparagement of my friend, I'll choke you — you — something fool.' " " That was how I spoke and flung him from me, feeling sorry for it before I had taken half a dozen paces away from him, for I remembered how true he had been to me these many years past.

But you see I had completely lost my temper, and you will not wonder at it when you think of his persistence in trying to poison my mind against one of — nay, the best chum I have ever had." " I think the row has done Sturgis good, for there has been no more of this rubbish, and he does not look glum now ; indeed, he has almost come back to his old quiet cheerfulness of manner. . . . There's Quinton coming to report the result of a recon naissance he has been making this morning. He thinks we are nearing the A'illage of a tribe about whose friendliness he is uncertain. So I must close the book for the present. Good-bye, my own Nell, till to-morrow." She pitied and sympathised with poor Sturgis in his anxiety about his master — an anxiety so keen that he was ready at all times, and under the most absurd circumstances, to suspect danger to him from quarters in Avhich no danger could possibly lurk.

Lady Bevan read the few remaining pages, the last one being filled with a glowing description of a glorious sunrise, and an enthusiastic account of the best morning's sport the party had yet had. He had been in high spirits AA-hen he wrote, and proud of the trophies he Avould bring home to his " own Nell." So full of joy were the Avords that she could hear his rich voice speaking them, and she could see the bright happy expression in his eyes which Avould tell even more of his pleasure than the words. But she would never hear the voice again, never see the brave, handsome face again. " And why should all this be ? " was her mental cry as her spirit rebelled against the affliction which had fallen upon her. Why should she, so }'oung, be doomed to such unmerited sorrow ? Why should he — so strong, so endowed with the will and the power to do good for his fellow-men — be stricken down in the bloom of his manhood, when there Avere thousands of sickly and useless creatures living on, a burden to themselves and every one around them ?