CHAPTER III.
“PYLADES AND ORESTES.”
“ARE you going, Vic?”
“Of course I am going. I have been ordered to join Admiral Sir Hugh Walter’s flagship, which sails for Halifax in a week.”
“I do not mean that. What I want to know is whether you are going to Buckholme with me. I met Clarence Glynne on the Strand yesterday, and he gave me a most cordial invitation to come out. He extended it to me in the name of his father, Miss Renville, and himself.”
“That was more than a double-header, Jack,” said Victor; “that was three of a kind.”
“I hope you won’t consider me egotistical, Victor, but I really think from what he said that she was the instigator of the invitation.”
The one addressed as Victor was silent for a moment. He cast his eyes downward as though thinking the matter over. At last he said:
“Why should I go, Jack? It was you who jumped into the river and saved her life, for she sank twice, you will remember. Besides, when she learns that you are the Honourable John De Vinne, and likely to become—I beg your pardon—Viscount De Vinne, what chance will there be for me?”
“Yes,” cried Jack, oblivious of his friend’s remark, “the whole picture comes back to me so vividly. What an idiot that fellow was to run into her boat—and then he was going to let her drown because he could not swim. He was near enough to row up and pull her into his boat when she came up the first time. Of course I had to swim for it, and dive too. I think a man who cannot steer a boat and cannot swim should stay on land.”
“Those are my sentiments—exactly,” remarked Victor.
The recalling of the event—the rescue from drowning of Miss Bertha Renville by Mr. Jack De Vinne—had such an effect upon the young man that he was in a very excitable condition.
“You might have been the one, Vic, to have saved her instead of me. To be fair about it we should have drawn lots, but, as you say, there was no time to lose. Although the affair happened a month ago, it seems as though it were but yesterday. It seemed a profanation, but we had to treat her just as though she were a man instead of a woman. You ran to get a trap and we took her to the tavern and called a doctor, then, when she was once more herself, we drove to Buckholme with her.”
“You’ve got it by heart,” said Victor. “Do you remember as well what took place at Buckholme? How delighted Clarence was and the half-hearted thanks of Mr. Glynne, Miss Renville’s guardian? What a roly-poly sort of a man he is.
“I was not taken with his outward appearance, and if I am any sort of a judge of human nature, I should say that he houses a bad heart within that portly frame.”
“I must confess, Vic, that I did not notice the man much. I was thinking of her; how close she had been to death, and how glad I was to have been the means of saving her life. I will be honest with you, Vic, and own up—I am in love with her. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I want to ask your advice. What do you know about me, Victor?”
Victor Duquesne leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Well, Jack, I know that you are the second son of an earl—I really do not know his full title—but in England, you know, the second son of an earl is a mere nobody if his elder brother enjoys good health.”
“You have hit it just right, Victor,” said Jack. “I am really a nobody; that’s why I went into the Navy, but I hope you won’t take that remark as a personal reflection. There are a great many smart men in the Navy, and you are one of them.”
“Thanks, Jack. We are and always have been the best of friends. I hope I shall serve my king faithfully and well, and be worthy of your good opinion. But I fancy you are going to tell me something about yourself, for some reason or other known to you, but at the present time, unknown to me.”
“Well, listen,” said Jack. “I am the second son of the Earl of Noxton. My father obtained considerable reputation in a political way when he was Lord De Vinne, and although ten years have passed since he succeeded to the Earldom, he prefers, for some reason or other, to be known as Lord De Vinne. Even my mother thinks that ‘Lady De Vinne’ is a prouder title than ‘Countess Noxton.’ My father’s name is Carolus. I think he has told me at least a hundred times how one of his ancestors came over with William of Normandy, and the name Carolus has always been borne by the heir to the title.”
“I agree with your father and mother,” said Victor. “I should prefer a title which I had won or upon which I had conferred some honour, rather than one simply bequeathed to me.”
Jack continued: “My mother was a poor girl and, they say, very beautiful. She can bring forward neither of her sons, however, as evidence of that fact. Her name is Caroline. I have sometimes fancied that its similarity to Carolus had no small influence with my father. Now, to come to the point. My brother Carolus, who is five years older than I, is engaged to Lady Angeline Ashmont. He has been an invalid for some years and is now in Germany, taking the baths.”
“A temporary illness, I hope,” said Victor.
“I do not know,” said Jack. “He has been a great student, and instead of riding horseback and hunting and swimming, as I have done all my life, he stayed cooped up in his den working, I believe, on the genealogy of the family. He is as thin as a rail and as white as a ghost.”
“He has been overworking,” suggested Victor.
“Perhaps so,” said Jack; “time thrown away, I have always told him. When he inherits, which will be some years from now, for my paternal is as tough as a knot, I suppose I shall have a small allowance from him. I shall go into the Navy for a few years—maybe for life. I wish we could go on the same ship.”
“So do I,” said Victor.
The two young men were old friends; they had attended the same schools together, and together had received their naval training. Their regard for each other had been so marked that their fellows had dubbed them “Pylades and Orestes.” Neither had been called upon to suffer or die for the other, but the tie that bound them was so strong that, had it been put to the test, either would have proved himself worthy of his ancient namesake.
Jack gave a long, deep sigh.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” asked Victor. “Are you thinking of Miss Renville?”
“No, Victor, of you. What happy years we have passed together; and now our ways part. You have forged ahead of me and are now a lieutenant, while I—poor Jack—with inferior ability, have to be content with lower rank! You deserve the good fortune, Vic, but your friends must have great influence with the Admiralty.”
“I have no friends,” said Victor; “only one—you, Jack. The reason for my appointment is as inexplicable to me as it is to you. Of course I had a mother, but my father never spoke of her. I have not seen him for twelve years—since I was ten years old, when he put me to school—the one where I first met you. My expenses have been paid, but no word of any kind has come from him.”
“He is a man of mystery,” said Jack, “but nearly all mysteries are cleared up in time, and I have no doubt yours will be. By the way, what is the name of Sir Hugh’s flagship?”
“Strange, is it not, Jack, she is called the Orestes; so you see I shall have a constant reminder of our past friendship.”
“‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot,’” hummed Jack. Then he cried: “Come, Victor, we must go back to first principles; say yes or no—will you come to Buckholme with me?”
Victor hesitated. “Well—perhaps. Do you know, I have thought, Jack, that Mr. Glynne may have spoken to the Admiralty about me. You know he is in the iron and steel trade and is brought into business relations with them. Yes, I will go. I will try to find out whether he had anything to do with it. If he had, although he does remind me of a small elephant every time I look at him, I will give him a credit mark for his kindness.”
The conversation just narrated took place at Victor Duquesne’s apartments in London. As he had told Jack, his bills had been paid regularly and his allowance had not been a niggardly one. This enabled him to have a sitting-room and a chamber, and he could have afforded a valet had he been so disposed.
“You must not back out of your promise, Victor,” said Jack, as he extended his hand; “shake! That settles it. You are booked for Buckholme.”
“And you for Bertha,” said Victor, and they both laughed.
At that moment there was a light tap on the door.
“Come in,” cried the two young men together.
The door was opened for a short distance and the face of an untidy maid-of-all-work, with unkempt hair, appeared.
“Come in,” again cried Victor.
“I don’t care to,” said the slavey. “I don’t look well enough, and Mrs. Launders said if I dared go in she’d give it to me when I got back.”
“What do you want?” asked Victor, somewhat impatiently.
“I’ve got a letter for you,” said Sarah, the slavey, “and if you’ll excuse me, I’ll throw it in and you can pick it up.”
Suiting the action to the word, the letter flew high in the air and then fell to the floor. Sarah slammed the door, and her heavy boots were heard clattering upon the stairs all the way down.
Victor sprang forward and picked up the letter. He looked first at the postmark. “Ajaccio,” he cried. “It is from Corsica. I am not acquainted with any person there.” He held the sealed letter in his hand and regarded it.
“Never fool with a letter,” cried Jack. “Cut it open, tear it open, and know the best or worst as soon as possible. To me, a man who is afraid to open a letter is like a gambler who is uncertain whether to stake his last shilling or not.”
“This is my letter, Jack, and I propose to regard the outside of it as long as I choose before perusing its contents.”
Although the words had a sharpness in them, there was a look in Victor’s eye as he spoke which robbed them of any intention to offend.
“All right, old boy,” said Jack. “Don’t let me hurry you. Why not leave it on your table until you get back from Buckholme? My father is a man of wisdom. He has a large correspondence, but he never gets ready to answer his letters until they are about six months old. During that time he says half of them have been answered by the course of events, and it is too late to answer the others; so in that way he has not gained a very wide reputation as a letter-writer.”
Victor broke the seal, unfolded the sheet, and spread it carefully on the table before him. Reading it through quickly, he cried:
“Jack listen to this:
“MY DEAR VICTOR: Come to Corsica at once. When you reach Ajaccio, I will communicate with you secretly by messenger. Hear all, but say nothing. See Admiral Enright and sail with him on the Osprey.
“Your father,
“HECTOR DUQUESNE.”
Victor laid the letter upon the table, and as he brought his hand down forcibly upon it, he cried: “Now, what does that mean, Jack?”
“It’s just as plain as the nose on your face, Victor. It was your father who got the appointment for you. Tom Ratcliffe is going with Enright, who is ordered to cruise in the Mediterranean. Corsica, unless my geographical knowledge is twisted, is in the Mediterranean; so you see your father has fixed things all right.”
Victor sprang to his feet “Then I must see Enright at once. Whether I go to Buckholme or not depends upon when he sails.”
That evening Victor was at Jack’s rooms.
“I have got my transfer, Jack,” he cried as he entered the room.
“Lucky boy,” was Jack’s comment, “everything goes your way.”
“I don’t think it would have,” said Victor, “but upon one occasion when Admiral Enright visited the Naval Academy, he was accompanied by his daughter, Miss Helen. For some reason or other, probably on account of my well-known affability, I was detailed to escort her and show her the great attractions of the Academy. I could not find him to-day at the Admiralty and was obliged to go to his house. I met Miss Helen, and I am sure it was her influence that carried the day. We sail on Monday. To-day is Thursday; so you see, my dear Jack, Buckholme becomes an impossibility.”
“Then I must go alone,” said Jack. After another long sigh: “My fate lies there—I love Bertha Renville, and I know, if an opportunity offers, that I shall ask her to be my wife.”
“Do you leave early in the morning?” asked Victor.
“Yes, by the 7.30. I wish to get there early, for I shall ask her to go boating with me. There is no place like a boat for propounding momentous questions. Nobody to watch you, and only the little fishes to overhear what you say.”
“Well, Jack,” said Victor, as their hands met at parting, “you have my best wishes and my sincerest hopes for your happiness and success in life.”
“The same to you, old boy,” cried Jack.
They spoke no more, but when they stood by the open door, as though prompted by some instinct which they could not resist, they threw their arms about each other and stood for a moment in a brotherly embrace.
Victor ran swiftly down the stairs and walked homeward so fast that his fellow pedestrians looked after him, some with curiosity and others with suspicion.
Jack threw himself into an arm-chair, lighted his pipe, and smoked unremittingly for an hour.
The next morning he was not surprised to find that he had gone to bed without extinguishing the gas.