'You say you know Edgecumbe?' he asked.

'Yes,' I replied; 'he is a friend of mine.'

'I had a long report of him from France, where he seems to have done some fine things,' said the colonel. 'Of course you know he is to be decorated?'

'I had a hint of it before I left France,' I replied.

'Would it be an indiscretion to ask you to tell me what you know of him?'

'I don't know that it would,' was my answer. 'Only I should like you to understand that what I am going to tell you is in confidence. You see, the situation is rather peculiar, and I do not think he wants his mental condition known.'

'Why? Is there anything wrong about him?'

'Oh, no, nothing.' And then I repeated the story of our meeting in Plymouth.

'And his memory's not come back?' said Colonel Heywood.

'No.'

'I can tell you this about him, though. He is an old artillery officer.'

'How do you know?' I asked.

'The thing is as plain as daylight,' was the reply. 'The man may have no memory for certain things, and the story of his past may be a blank to him, but he knows his job already.'

'You mean——?'

'I mean this,' interrupted the colonel, 'no man could have the knowledge he has of an artillery officer's work, without a long and severe training. If he had forgotten it has come to him like magic. You know what our work is, and you know, too, that gunners are not made in a day. But he had it all at his fingers' ends. The major drew my attention to it almost immediately he joined us, so I determined to test him myself. He is fit to be sent out right away; he could take charge of a battery, without an hour's more training. There is not the slightest doubt about it. I shall take steps to try and find out particulars about our Indian Army, and whether any officers have been missing. The fellow interests me tremendously. Why, he has almost a genius for gunnery! He is full of ideas, too,' and the colonel laughed. 'He, a cadet, could teach many of us older men our business. Some day I'm inclined to think there'll be a romantic revelation!'

It was through Colonel Heywood's good offices that I was allowed to take Edgecumbe to Devonshire with me, as of course he, only having just joined the corps, was not entitled to leave so soon. As it was, he was allowed only a long week-end. I thought of these things on our way to Devonshire, and I wondered what the future would bring forth. Anyhow, it was a further blow, if further blow were needed to my suspicions. Neither Captain Springfield nor Maurice St. Mabyn was an artillery officer, and if Colonel Heywood was right, even although they had known each other, they had belonged to different services.

'I feel awfully nervous,' said Edgecumbe to me, after the train had left Exeter.

'Why?'

'I am acting against my judgment in accepting this invitation; why should I go to this house? I never saw this girl before, and from what you tell me, you have met her only once.'

'For that matter,' I said, 'I feel rather sensitive myself. The fact that we have only met once makes it a bit awkward for me to be going to her father's house.'

'Did you fall in love with her, or anything of that sort?' he asked.

'No-o,' I replied. 'I was tremendously impressed by her, and, for such a short acquaintance, we became great friends. The fact that we have kept up a correspondence ever since proves it. But there is no suggestion of anything like love between us. I admire her tremendously, but I am not a marrying man.'

'I wonder how she'll regard me?' And Edgecumbe looked towards the mirror on the opposite side of the railway carriage. 'I am a curious-looking animal, aren't I? Look at my parched skin.'

'It is not nearly as bad as it used to be,' I replied; 'it has become almost normal. You are not so pale as you were, either.'

'Don't you think so? Heavens, Luscombe, but I must have had a strange experience to make me look as I did when you saw me first!' Then his mood changed. 'Isn't this wonderful country? I am sure I have seen it all before.' And he looked out of the carriage window towards the undulating landscape which spread itself out before us.

'It is a glorious country,' he went on, like one thinking aloud. 'France is like a parched desert after this. Think of the peacefulness of it, too! See that little village nestling on the hillside! see the old grey church tower almost hidden by the trees! That is what a country village ought to be. Yes, I'll go to Bolivick, after all. If I am uncomfortable, I can easily make an excuse for leaving. But I want to see her; yes, I do really. You've made me interested in her. I feel, too, as if something were going to happen. I am excited!'

'Well, you won't be long now,' I replied, for just then the train drew up at South Petherwin station.

An old servant in livery approached me as we alighted. 'Captain Luscombe, sir?' he queried in a way which suggested the old family retainer.

'Yes,' I replied.

A few minutes later we were seated in an open carriage, while a pair of spanking horses drew us along some typical Devonshire lanes.

'This is better than any motor-car, after all!' cried Edgecumbe, as he looked across the richly wooded valleys towards the wild moorland beyond. 'After all, horses belong to a countryside like this; motor-cars don't. If ever I——' but he did not complete his sentence. He was looking towards an old stone mansion nestling among the trees.

'That's it, that's surely it,' he cried.

'Is that Bolivick?' I asked the coachman.

'Yes, sir.'

'You might have been here before, Edgecumbe,' I said.

'No, no, I don't think I have—and yet—I don't know. It is familiar to me in a way, and yet it isn't. But it is glorious. See, the sun's rim is almost touching the hill tops,—what colour! what infinite beauty! Must not God be beautiful!'

The carriage dashed through a pair of great grey granite pillars, and a minute later we were in park lands, where the trees still threw their shade over the cattle which were lying beneath them.

'An English home,' I heard him say, 'just a typical English home. Oh, the thought of it is lovely!'

The carriage drew up at the door of the old mansion, and getting out, I saw Lorna Bolivick standing there.

'I am glad you've come,' and she gave a happy laugh. 'I should never have forgiven you if you hadn't,' and she shook my hand just as naturally as if she had known me all her life. Then she turned towards Edgecumbe. 'And this is your friend,' she said; 'you don't know how pleased I am to see you.'

But Edgecumbe did not speak. His eyes were riveted on her face, and they burned like coals of fire. I saw, too, by the tremor of his lips, how deeply moved he was.



CHAPTER XVI

LORNA BOLIVICK'S HOME

For a moment I thought that Lorna Bolivick was somewhat annoyed at the intense and searching look which Edgecumbe gave her. Her face flushed somewhat, and a suggestion of anger flashed from her eyes. But this was only for a moment; probably she remembered Edgecumbe's mental condition, and made allowance accordingly.

Edgecumbe still continued to look at her steadily, and I noticed that his eyes, which, except at the times when they were wistful, were quiet and steadfast, now shone like coals of fire. I saw, too, that he was unable to govern his lips, which were trembling visibly.

'Why do you look at me like that?' she said nervously; 'any one would think you had seen me before somewhere.'

'I have,' he replied.

'Where?'

He hesitated a second, and then said, 'In my dreams,'—and then, realizing that his behaviour, to say the least of it, was not ordinary, he hurriedly went on, 'Please forgive me, Miss Bolivick, but I never remember having spoken to a woman before.'

She looked at him in astonishment. I suppose the statement to her seemed foolish and outrageous.

'It is quite true,' he went on earnestly; 'ever since I met Captain Luscombe at Plymouth I have been in the Army, and I am afraid I have not been a very sociable kind of character. I have lived with men all that time, and have been somewhat of a hermit. Of course I have seen women, in England and in France,' and he laughed nervously. 'But—but—no, I have never spoken to one.'

'And how do I strike you?'

'You seem like a being from another and a more beautiful world,' he replied gravely. 'I don't know, though, the world as one sees it here is very beautiful'; and he glanced quickly across the park away to the moors in the distance, which the setting sun had lit up with a purple glow.

At that moment Sir Thomas Bolivick, Lorna's father, came to the door, and in a hearty West Country fashion gave us both a warm welcome.

'Awfully good of you to come, Captain Luscombe,' he said. 'Granville has spoken so much about you, that I feel as though you were an old friend. Nonsense, nonsense!'—this in reply to my apologies for accepting the invitation. 'In times like these, we can't stand upon ceremony. You are a friend of Granville's, and you are a British soldier, that's enough for me. Whatever this war has done, it has smashed up a lot of silly conventions, it has helped us to be more natural, and when Lorna here told me about you, I wanted to see you. You see, I have read reports of your speeches, and when I saw that you were mentioned in the dispatches, I wanted to know you more than ever. So let there be no nonsense about your being a stranger.'

Soon after, we were shown to our bedrooms, and after dressing for dinner I went to Edgecumbe's room.

'I—I—had forgotten,' he gasped. 'How—long have I been here?'

'Twenty minutes. Aren't you going to put on your new togs?'

He looked at me like a man in a dream. 'I had forgotten everything,' he said, 'except——'

'Except what? What's the matter, old fellow?'

'I have no business to be here. I ought not to have come. Who am I?—what am I? Just a poor wreck without a memory.'

'A poor wreck without a memory!' I laughed. 'Don't be an ass, man. Look at that ribbon on your new tunic! Think of all the flattering things that have been said about you, and then talk about being a poor wreck without a memory!'

'I am an old man before my time,' and his voice was unnatural as he spoke. 'Look at my face, seamed and lined. I am here on sufferance, here because you have been a friend to me. I have no name, no past, and no—no future.'

'That's not like you, Edgecumbe,' I protested. 'You've always been a jolly, optimistic beggar, and now you talk like an undertaker. Future! why, you're a young fellow barely thirty. As for your name, you've made one, my boy, and you'll make a bigger one yet, if I'm not mistaken. You are a welcome guest here, too,—there is not the slightest doubt about that.'

'Yes, but what have I?'

'Come now, get into those togs quick; we mustn't keep them waiting, you know; it would not be courteous on our part, after all their kindness, too.'

A sudden change swept across his face. 'You are right, Luscombe,' he said; 'I'm ashamed of myself. After all—— I'll be ready in five minutes. There's one thing about a soldier's togs, it doesn't take long to put 'em on.'

It was a very quiet dinner party. The two Bolivick boys were away at the front, and Lorna was the only one of the children at home. Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick were there, but beyond Norah Blackwater, Edgecumbe and I were the only guests.

It was evident to me that Edgecumbe was an entire stranger to Norah Blackwater. Her face did not move a muscle at his appearance; and although he sat next to her at table, she seemed to find no interest in his conversation. He was very quiet during dinner, and although Sir Thomas tried to draw him out, and make him describe some of the scenes through which he had passed, he was peculiarly reticent.

As I sat at the opposite side of the table, I was able to watch his face closely, and I could not help being impressed by the fact that, although he was very quiet, he was evidently under great excitement. I saw, too, that sometimes for seconds together he, forgetful of Norah Blackwater, would gaze steadily at Lorna Bolivick, as though she fascinated him. I was afraid Sir Thomas did not like him, and as presently the conversation led to our experiences at the front, I determined that, although Edgecumbe might feel uncomfortable, I would show the baronet the kind of man he really was.

'Talking about tight corners,' I said, 'I got out of one of the tightest corners ever I was in, in a peculiar way.'

'Do tell us, Captain Luscombe,' cried Lorna, who had evidently been uncomfortable under Edgecumbe's gaze. 'We have heard nothing about your experiences, and I should like to hear something.'

'It's a story of how one Englishman took thirty Germans prisoners,' I said with a laugh.

'One Englishman took thirty German prisoners!' cried the squire. 'Good old English bull-dog! But how did he do it? Man, it's impossible!'

'Nothing is impossible to a man who keeps his head cool, and has a ready wit,' was my answer. I thereupon, without mentioning Edgecumbe's name, described how I had been taken prisoner, and how I found myself in the German trenches.

'But how did you get out of such a hole as that?' cried the squire.

'As I told you,' I said, 'I found myself with my sergeant in a huge dug-out with thirty Germans. Of course our position was apparently hopeless. They had got us, and meant to keep us. I had been unconscious for a long time owing to a nasty knock I had got, and therefore I was tremendously surprised when I presently heard an English voice talking to the Germans. Evidently another English prisoner had been brought in.'

'Then you were three against thirty,' laughed the squire.

'Three against thirty if you will,' I replied, 'but only one in reality. I was no good, and my sergeant had no other hope than to be buried in a German prison. The new-comer, however, evidently meant business. All the time the English guns were booming, and our explosives were tearing the Boches' trenches to pieces. As it happened, we were too deep for them to reach us, although the danger was that we might be buried alive. That gave this chap, whose face I could not see, his chance, and he began to tell the Germans what idiots they were to stay there in imminent danger of death, when they could get to safety. He described the jolly times which German prisoners had in England, and of the absolute certainty of their being licked on the battle-field. Of course at first the Germans laughed at him, but he went on talking, and in a few minutes he had got every one of them to surrender.'

'But that's impossible!' cried the squire.

'It's a fact,' I said. 'Never in my life had I realized the effect which a cool, courageous man could have upon a crowd of men. Call it a miracle if you like,—indeed I always shall think of it as a miracle,—but without once losing his nerve, or once revealing the slightest lack of confidence, he worked upon the fears and hopes of those Boches in such a way that he persuaded them to follow him, and give themselves up in a body as prisoners. It was one of the most amusing things you ever saw in your life, to see this one man lead those thirty Boches, while they held up their hands and cried "Kamerad."'

'By George, sir!' said the squire, 'that's great, great, sir! No one but an Englishman could do a thing like that. Ah, the old country is the old country still! But who was he, an officer or a private?'

'A private,' I replied.

'And he rescued you, and took the whole thirty Huns as prisoners? By Jove, I should like to know that man! Is he alive now?'

'Very much alive,' I laughed.

'Where is he, then?'

I nodded my head towards Edgecumbe, who all the time had been sitting in silent protest.

But my story had done its work. The squire's apparent dislike was over, and, acting upon the generous impulse of the moment, he started to his feet and rushed to Edgecumbe's side.

'Give me your hand, sir,' he cried; 'I am proud to know you, proud to have you sitting at my table!'

What Edgecumbe would have said, I do not know. He had been protesting all the time as much as a man could protest with his eyes, and I knew that like all men of his class he hated to have such deeds dragged into the light of day, although I had done it with a set purpose. But as it happened, there was no need for him to say anything. At that moment the butler came behind Lady Bolivick's chair and spoke to her.

'Captain Springfield!' she cried, 'and Charlie Buller. Oh, I am so glad. Charlie's evidently better, then. He wrote, telling me, when I asked him to come over to-night, that he was afraid he wouldn't be well enough.'

I do not know why it was, but at that moment I looked towards Lorna Bolivick, and I saw her face flush with excitement. Evidently the mention of the new-comers' names meant a great deal to her.

Then I looked at Edgecumbe, and I saw that he too had been watching her.



CHAPTER XVII

A NEW DEVELOPMENT

Charlie Buller, as Lady Bolivick had called him, was a young fellow about twenty-four years of age, and was first lieutenant in the Devonshire yeomanry. He had been wounded in France, and some time before my return to England had been in a hospital in London. Only a few days before he had been discharged from the hospital, and had now returned to his Devonshire home on leave. He was the only son of a squire whose lands joined those of Sir Thomas Bolivick, and was, as Norah Blackwater told me during the evening, a suitor for Lorna Bolivick's hand.

'I think it is as good as settled,' she said to me, 'although no engagement has been announced. He will be a splendid match for her, too, and owns one of the finest estates in Devonshire. Didn't you see how excited Lorna became when she heard that he had come?'

This was the first time I had seen Springfield since I had helped Edgecumbe to dig him from under a heap of rubbish in France.

They had both dined early, they said, and the night being fine, had motored over, Charlie Buller's home being only four miles from Bolivick.

Buller was a good-looking boy, fresh-coloured, curly-haired, and although in no way remarkable, quite likeable. Springfield I liked less now than when I had first seen him. His face looked paler and less wholesome than ever. The old scar which I had noticed on our first meeting revealed itself more plainly, while his somewhat sinister appearance repelled me.

Sir Thomas, however, gave him a hearty greeting, and welcomed him to his house with great cordiality. Sir Thomas had dined well, and was by this time in great good humour.

'This is splendid!' he cried, 'four men in khaki here all together! Ah, don't I wish my boys were at home to complete the party! But there, never mind, please God they'll come back.'

Springfield was introduced to Edgecumbe as though he were an entire stranger, and neither of them gave the slightest indication that they had ever met before. I wondered, as I saw them, whether Springfield had been aware of the name of the man who had, in all probability, saved him from death. I did not quite see how he could have been ignorant of it, and yet, from the way he greeted Edgecumbe, it might have been that he was in entire ignorance.

But one thing was evident to me. He hated him, and what was more, feared him. I could see his face quite plainly, and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. The conversation I had heard while lying in that copse in France months before flashed back to my mind, and I knew that in some way the life of Captain Springfield was linked to that of Edgecumbe, and that if the truth were known evil forces were at work. What they were, I could not divine, but that they existed I had no doubt whatever.

I soon realized, too, that he exercised a great influence over young Buller. That ruddy-faced, fair-haired young fellow was but as wax in his hands. There seemed no reason why I should be disturbed at this, but I was. I was apprehensive of the future.

Another thing struck me, too. In a way, which I could not understand, he was wearing down Lorna Bolivick's former repugnance to him. As my readers may remember, she had greatly disliked him at their first meeting, and had told me in confidence that he made her think of snakes. Now she listened to him eagerly, and seemed fascinated by his presence. I had to admit, too, that the fellow talked well, and although he was anything but an Apollo in appearance, he possessed a charm of manner which I could not deny.

I must confess that I felt angry at this. In spite of my admiration of his strength, I disliked him intensely. I was sure he wore a mask, and that some dark mystery surrounded his life. So angry was I, that I determined if possible to turn the tables upon him. And so, at the close of one of his stories, I broke in upon the conversation.

'Yes, Captain Springfield,' I said, 'what you say is quite true. The quiet heroism shown by fellows whom the world regarded as entirely commonplace is simply wonderful, and a great deal of it has never come to light. By the way, you wouldn't have been here to-night but for the heroism of a man whose action you seem to have forgotten.'

'Is that so?' he asked. 'It is quite possible, although I am not aware of what you are thinking.'

'Surely you must be aware of it?' I replied.

He looked at me curiously, as though he were in doubt whether I was friendly disposed towards him.

'I wish you'd tell me exactly what you mean,' he said.

'Surely you are aware of what happened to you, and why you were sent to hospital, and why you are home on sick leave now?'

'To tell you the truth, I know precious little,' he replied. 'All I remember is the shriek of a shell, the noise of ten thousand thunders, absolute blackness, and then coming to consciousness in a hospital.'

'Then you don't know what happened between the noise of the ten thousand thunders and awaking in the hospital?'

'No,' he replied, 'I don't. I do remember inquiring, but I was told to be quiet, and when, on my becoming stronger, I was removed to the base, no one seemed to be able to tell me what had happened to me. I should be jolly glad to know. Perhaps you can tell me'; and there was a suggestion of a sneer in his voice.

'Yes,' I replied, 'I can.'

By this time there was a deathly silence in the room. In a way which I had not imagined I had changed the whole atmosphere of the place.

'As it happened,' I said, 'I had a curious experience myself, close to where you were. A shell had exploded not far from me, and I was half buried, besides receiving a tremendous shock. I managed to drag myself out from under the debris, however, and was in a confused kind of way trying to find my men. You know what an awful day that was; the Germans had located us to a nicety, and were sending tons of explosives on us. It was one of the hottest times I have ever known.'

'Heavens! it was,' he said, and I thought he shuddered.

'We had passed the Germans' first line,' I continued, 'and I was struggling along in the open, hardly knowing what I was doing, when I saw some men whom I thought I recognized. I heard the awful whine of a shell, which fell close by, and it was not a dud. It exploded with a tremendous noise, and for some time I was wellnigh blinded by dust and sulphurous smoke. A great hole had been torn in the ground, and a huge heap of rubbish hurled up. After a bit I saw a man digging as if for very life. He was right out in the open, and in the greatest danger a man could be. The men who were still alive shouted to him to get into the shell-hole, but he went on digging.'

I was silent for a few seconds. I did not know how best to conclude the story.

'Well, what happened?' he asked.

'He dug you out,' I replied.

'How do you know it was I?'

'Because I helped to carry you to a place of safety.'

'By Jove! I knew nothing about it. But who was the chap who dug me out? I should like to know.'

'Surely you know?'

'I told you I was unconscious for several days,' was his answer, 'and when I asked questions, was told nothing. Who was the chap who dug me out? I—I should like to thank him.'

'He is there,' I replied, nodding towards Edgecumbe, who seemed to be deeply interested in Bairnfather's Five Months at the Front.

'What!' he cried. 'Did—did——' The sentence died in an unintelligible mutter. He seemed to utter a name I could not catch. All the time I was watching him intently, and never shall I forget the look that passed over his face. He had been very pale before, but now his pallor was ghastly. For a moment he looked almost like a dead man, save for the gleam in his eyes. He was like one struggling with himself, struggling to obtain the mastery over some passion in his own heart.

It was some seconds before he spoke again, and then, in spite of my dislike for him, I could not help admiring him. The sinister gleam passed away from his eyes, and a look of seemingly great gladness came into his face. A second later, he had crossed the room to where Edgecumbe was.

'I say, Edgecumbe,' he said, 'was it you who did that for me?' and he held out his hand with frank heartiness.

'Did what?' asked Edgecumbe quietly.

'What—what Luscombe has been talking about. You heard, of course?'

For a moment Edgecumbe looked at him awkwardly. For the second time during that evening I had subjected him to an experience which he hated.

'I wish Luscombe wouldn't talk such rot,' he replied; 'after all, it was nothing.'

'Oh, but it was!' was Springfield's reply. 'Give me your hand, man,—you saved my life. The doctors told me afterwards I had a near shave, and—and—there, you understand, don't you?'

Seemingly he was overcome with emotion, and for some time he lapsed into silence. The others in the room were greatly moved, too—too moved to speak freely. There were none of those effusive congratulations which might seem natural under the circumstance. In a way the situation was dramatic, and we all felt it.

Although he promised to come over on the following day, he seemed very subdued as he bade us good night, though I thought he struggled to speak naturally. It was only when he parted with Edgecumbe, however, that he showed any signs of emotion.

'Good night,' he said, as he grasped his hand. 'I shan't pretend to thank you. Words fail, don't they? But I shall never forget you, never—never; and if ever I can pay you back——'

He stopped short, and seemed to be struggling to say more, but no words escaped him. A minute later he had left the house.

I had barely entered my room that night, when Edgecumbe knocked at the door which led from his apartment to mine. 'May I come in?' he asked.

I opened the door, and scarcely noticing me he staggered to an arm-chair, and threw himself into it.

'I want to tell you something,' he said.

'Well, what is it?'

But he did not speak. He sat staring into vacancy.

'Come, old man,' I said, after a lapse of many minutes, 'what is it?'

'If I weren't sure there was another life,' was his reply, 'I—I should go mad.'

'Go mad! Why?'

'Because this life is such a mockery, such a ghastly, hollow mockery!'

'Don't be silly. Why is it a mockery?'

'I don't suppose you can understand,' he said, 'not even you. Oh, I am a fool!'

'How has that fact so suddenly dawned on you?' I asked with a laugh.

'I was mad to come here, mad to see her. Why, just think,—here am I, without name, without home, without—without anything! But how did I know! Am I to blame? I couldn't help falling in love with her.'

'Falling in love with her! With whom?'

'You must know; you must have seen. It is driving me mad, Luscombe! I would,—I would,—oh, God knows what I would do to get her! But think of it! Think of the ghastly mockery of it! There she is, young, fair, beautiful, a fit mate for the best in the world, and I—think of what I am! Besides, there's that man,—I know him,—I know him, Luscombe.'



CHAPTER XVIII

A TRAGIC HAPPENING

I must confess I was staggered. The thought of Paul Edgecumbe falling in love had never entered my mind. I do not know why it should have been so, but so it was. He had seemed so far removed from all thoughts of the tender passion, and had been so indifferent to the society of women, that to think of him falling in love at first sight seemed pure madness. But I did not doubt his words; the intensity of his voice, the look in his eyes, the tremor of his lips, all told their tale. Of course it was madness, but the fact was patent enough.

'You can't be serious,' I said, although I knew I was speaking foolishly.

'Serious! It's a matter of life or death with me. Besides, there's that man. I know him, I say,—I know him.'

'Of course you know him,' I replied. 'You saved his life, and pretty nearly got killed yourself in doing it.'

'I wish I had been. But no, I don't; He must never have her, Luscombe, never! It would be a crime, and worse than a crime. Why, he is——' Then he stopped again, and with wild eyes seemed staring into vacancy.

'Come, come,' I said, 'this won't do. He has no thoughts about Lorna Bolivick.'

'Did he tell you so?'

'Of course he didn't; there is no reason why he should; but Miss Blackwater told me it was as good as settled that she should marry young Buller.'

'No, the danger doesn't lie there. Why, you could see that, if you had eyes. Didn't you watch him while he was talking during the early part of the evening?—didn't you see how he looked at her? He's a bad man, I tell you! Have you ever seen a serpent trying to fascinate a bird? I have—where I don't know, but I have. He was just like that, and she yielded to his fascination, too; you must have noticed it! Buller is a nonentity, just a harmless, good-natured, weak boy. He could be a tool in another man's hands, though,—Springfield could make him do anything.'

He did not look at me while he spoke; he seemed to be staring at some far distant object.

'You say you know Springfield,' I said; 'what did you mean by that?'

'I mean,—I have met him before somewhere.'

'Where?'

'I don't know. I only know I have. Do you remember that time over in France, when he made that strange noise?'

I nodded.

'It was an old Indian cry. It was a cry that always means vengeance. It was he who made it,—do you remember? Afterwards I saw his face. I knew then I had seen him somewhere, but where, I don't know. Oh, if only this thick veil of the past could be turned aside, and I could see! Oh, if I could only remember!—but I can't. I tell you, that man knows me—he remembers. Did you watch his eyes when he looked at me? And I am helpless, helpless!—and she is so young, so beautiful, so pure. I can't understand it at all, and yet, when I saw her this evening for the first time, as she stood in the doorway with the light of the setting sun upon her face—— I am so helpless,' he continued. 'I can do nothing. Besides——'

As I have said, I had learnt to love Paul Edgecumbe, and although I realized his madness as much as he did, I wanted to lift the weight of care from his life.

'If what you told me some months ago is true, there is no room for despair,' I urged.

'What did I tell you?'

'You told me you had found a great secret,' I replied; 'that you had become sure of Almighty God. If that is true, there is no room for hopelessness; despair's out of the question.'

He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then leapt to his feet. 'You are right,' he said; 'there is no chance in the world, there is no such thing as luck. I can't explain it a bit, but there isn't. God never makes a mistake. After all, I could not help falling in love with her, and my love has a meaning. Of course she is not for me,—I am not worthy of her; but I can defend her, I can see that no harm happens to her. Yes, I see, I see. Good night, Luscombe, I—I want to be alone now'; and without another word he passed back into his own room.

The next day was Saturday, and we spent the morning roaming through the countryside around Bolivick, and climbing a rugged tor which lay some distance at the back of the house.

As we neared the house after our long morning's walk, Lorna Bolivick broke out abruptly: 'I am disappointed in your friend, Captain Luscombe.'

'Why?' I asked.

'I don't know. I think I admire him—in fact I am sure I do. He possesses a strange charm, and, in a way, he's just splendid. But why does he dislike me?'

'Does he dislike you?' I asked.

'Can't you see? He avoids me. When for a few minutes we are together, he never speaks.'

'That doesn't prove he dislikes you.'

'Oh, but he does! He acts so strangely, too.'

'You must make allowances for him,' I said. 'You must remember his history. He told you last night that you were the first lady he ever remembered speaking to. It seemed an extravagant statement, but in a way it is true. What his past has been I don't know, but since I knew him his life has never been influenced by women. Think what that means to a man! Besides, he is sensitive and shy. I can quite understand his being uneasy in your presence.'

'Am I such an ogress, then?' And she looked into my face with a laugh. 'Besides, why should he be sensitive about me?'

'Might not his peculiar mental condition make him afraid of offending you?' I asked. 'Of course it is not for me to say, but I can quite understand his being very anxious to impress you favourably. And because he thinks he is awkward, and uninteresting, he is afraid to be natural, and to act as he would like to act.'

'I wish you could let him know,' said Lorna in her childlike outspokenness, 'that I admire him tremendously. I had no idea he had been such a hero. The way he saved Captain Springfield was just beyond words. Oh, it must have been horrible for you all!'

'In a way it was,' I replied. 'But do you know, in spite of the horror of everything, most of the men look upon it as great sport. You are altering your opinion of Captain Springfield, aren't you?'

'How do you know?' And I saw that her face flushed.

'When we met him over at Granitelands, you told me that he made you think of snakes.'

'Yes, but I was silly, and impulsive. Even you can't deny that he is fascinating. Besides, I always admire mysterious, strong men.'

'Will you promise me something, Lorna?' I ventured after an awkward silence.

'Of course I will if I can. What is it?'

But I had not time to tell her; we had come up to the house at that moment, and I saw both Springfield and Buller, who had come over to lunch, hurrying towards us.

Our greetings were scarcely over, when Edgecumbe and Norah Blackwater came up. Immediately Springfield saw them a change came over his face. He had met Lorna Bolivick with a laugh, but as he saw Edgecumbe the laugh died on his face, while the scar on his cheek became more pronounced.

As far as I can remember, nothing of special note happened during the afternoon, but in the evening, just before dinner, I saw a ghastly pallor creep over Edgecumbe's face, and then suddenly and without warning he fell down like one dead.



CHAPTER XIX

A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS

Of course Edgecumbe's sudden illness caused great commotion. Nearly every member of the family was present at the time, and confusion prevailed. Buller asked foolish questions, I was nearly beside myself with anxiety, Sir Thomas hazarded all sorts of guesses as to the reason of his malady, Norah Blackwater became nearly hysterical, while Lorna Bolivick looked at him with horror-stricken eyes.

The only two persons who seemed to retain their senses were Captain Springfield and Lady Bolivick. The former suggested that in all probability it was a sudden attack resulting from the life he had led in India, and also suggesting that a doctor should be sent for at once, while Lady Bolivick summoned the servants to carry him to bed immediately. Both of these suggestions were immediately acted on. A groom was dispatched to the nearest doctor, who lived at South Petherwin village, while a few minutes later Edgecumbe lay in bed with a look of death upon his face.

The whole happening had been so sudden, that I was unable to view it calmly. That morning he had looked more than usually well, so well that I could not help reflecting how much younger he appeared than on the day when I had first seen him. He had taken a long walk, too, and showed not the slightest sign of fatigue on his return. He had eaten sparingly, and had drunk nothing but water with his lunch, and a cup of tea at four o'clock. Yet at half-past six he had the stamp of death upon his face, he breathed with difficulty, and his features were drawn and haggard.

As I sat by his side, watching him until the doctor came, I remembered that for perhaps an hour before his attack he was very silent, and had moved around as though he were lacking in energy, but I had thought little of it at the time. Now, however, his condition told its own tale. To all appearances, he was dying, and we were all powerless to help him.

Of course dinner, as far as I was concerned, was out of the question, although, as I was afterwards informed, Captain Springfield made an excellent meal.

It was nearly eight o'clock when the doctor arrived, and never surely was a man greeted with more eagerness than I greeted him. For, as I have already said, I had grown to love Edgecumbe with a great love; why it was, I will not pretend to explain, but no man ever loved a brother more than I loved him, and the thought of his death was simply horrible.

Perhaps the suddenness of everything accounted for my intense feeling; anyhow, my intense anguish cannot be explained in any other way.

Dr. Merril did not inspire me with any great hope. He was a middle-aged man of the country practitioner's type. I judged that he could be quite useful in dealing with ordinary ailments, but he did not strike me as a man who looked beneath the surface of things, and who could deal successfully with a case like Edgecumbe's. Evidently no particulars of the case had been given to him, and from the confident way I heard him talking to Sir Thomas, who brought him up to the room, he might have been called in to deal with a child who had a slight attack of measles.

When he saw Edgecumbe, however, a change passed over his face. The sight of my friend, gasping for breath, with what looked like death-dews on his agonized face, made him think that he had to deal with a man in his death agony.

A few minutes later I altered my opinion of Dr. Merril. He was not so commonplace, or so unobservant as I had imagined. He examined Edgecumbe carefully, and, as I thought, asked sensible questions, which Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick, both of whom had come into the room, answered readily. Although he did not speak to me, he doubtless noticed how interested I was in his patient, and more than once I saw that he looked at me questioningly.

'I admit I am baffled,' he said at length.

I took this as a good sign as far as he was concerned; anyhow, he was not a man who professed to be wise, while he was in actual ignorance.

'I gather from what you say,' he went on, speaking to Sir Thomas, 'that Captain Luscombe knows most about him.'

'That is so, Merril,' replied Sir Thomas. 'I have explained to you the circumstances under which he came here.'

'That being so,' and the doctor spoke very gravely, 'I think it would be best for you all to leave me, except Captain Luscombe.'

'There is something here beneath the surface,' said Dr. Merril when we were alone, 'something which I cannot grasp. Can you help me? Evidently you have been thinking a great deal.'

'I have,' I replied.

'As far as I can judge, he has sufficient vitality to keep him alive for a few hours. I should judge him to be a man of remarkable constitution and great physical strength.'

'You are quite right there. His power of endurance is extraordinary.'

'What I can't understand,' said the doctor, 'is that there is no apparent cause for this, and yet there is some force of which I am ignorant undermining the very citadel of his life. I have never met such a case before, and unless help comes, he will die in less than twelve hours. I am speaking to you quite frankly, Captain Luscombe; from what I know of you, you are quite aware of the limitations of a medical man's power, and my experience during the time I have lived in this district has not been of a nature to help me in such a case as this. Will you tell me what you know of your friend?'

As briefly as I could, I gave an outline of what I have written in these pages, while the doctor, without asking a single question, listened intently.

'You say he does not drink?' he asked, when I had finished. 'He gives not the slightest evidence of it, but it is necessary for me to know.'

'Intoxicants have not passed his lips for more than a year,' I replied.

'And his food?'

I detailed to him the food which Edgecumbe had eaten since he came to the house, and which he had partaken of in common with the rest of the members of the household.

'And you have been with him all the day?'

'All the day.'

'And you say you thought he became somewhat lethargic about five o'clock?'

'That is so. Not enough to take particular note of at the time, but in the light of what has happened since, I recall it to mind.'

'Now think,' he said presently, 'has he not, say since lunch, shown any symptom of light-headedness or anything of that sort?'

'Thank you for asking that, doctor,' I replied. 'You have reminded me of something which I had forgotten. It may mean nothing, but at a time like this one reflects upon the minutiae of life. We were walking through a field this afternoon, which was dotted with rough granite rocks. I fancy he must have hitched his foot in one of them; at any rate, he would have fallen heavily but for Captain Springfield, who just in the nick of time helped him up. But he showed no signs of light-headedness, not the slightest. We were all acting like a lot of children, and romped as though we were boys home from school. The happening seemed perfectly natural to me at the time, and but for your question I should not have mentioned it.'

'I am going to speak to you in an entirely unprofessional way, Captain Luscombe,' said the doctor. 'I am not sure, and therefore I speak with hesitation. But it looks to me as though your friend had been poisoned. I don't know how it could have happened, because, as far as I can judge, you account for almost every minute of his time since this morning. But all his symptoms point in that direction.'

'May they not be the result of some slow-working malady which has been in his system for years?' I asked.

Dr. Merril shook his head. 'Hardly,' he replied; 'if the malady were slow-working, it would not have expressed itself so suddenly. In the case of a slow-working poison, too, his suffering would have been of a long drawn-out nature. This is altogether different. A few hours ago he was, according to your account, active, buoyant, strong. He was playing games with you in the fields, as though he were a boy. Now,'—and the doctor looked significantly at the bed.

'Can you suggest nothing?' I asked again.

The doctor shook his head. 'It is just as well to be frank,' he replied. 'The thing is a mystery to me. His symptoms baffle me. He has drunk nothing but what you have told me of, he has eaten nothing except what has been consumed by the whole household. I don't know what to say.'

'And yet he'll die if nothing's done for him.'

'If symptoms mean anything, they mean that,' he replied. 'Something deadly is eating away at his vitals, and sapping the very foundations of his life. You see, he can tell us nothing; he is unconscious.'

'Is there no doctor for whom we could send, with whom you could confer?'

Again Dr. Merril shook his head. 'We are away from everything here,' he replied; 'it is fifty miles to Plymouth over rough, hilly roads, and——'

'I have it!' I cried, for the word Plymouth set my mind working. I had spent some time there, and knew the town well.

'Yes, what is it?' asked the doctor eagerly.

'Do you happen to know Colonel McClure? He is chief of the St. George's Military Hospital in Plymouth.'

'An Army doctor,' said Merril; 'no, I don't know him. I have heard of him. But how can he help? He has been most of his life in India. I imagine, too, that while he may be very good for amputations and wounds, he would have no experience in such cases as this. Of course I shall be glad to meet him, if you can get him here; but that seems impossible. No trains to Plymouth to-night, and to-morrow is Sunday.'

'May I ring for Sir Thomas?' I asked.

'By all means.' And a minute later not only Sir Thomas, but Lady Bolivick, again entered the room. Evidently the old gentleman was much moved. The thought of having a dying man in his house was like a nightmare to him.

'There's no getting to Plymouth to-night!' he cried.

'Haven't you got a motor-car here?'

'Yes, but no chauffeur. My car hasn't been used for weeks, as my man has been called up. That is why I am obliged to use horses for everything. You see, my coachman can't drive a car.'

'Didn't Springfield and Buller come in a car?' I asked.

'Yes. But if I remember right, it was in a two-seater.'

'Never mind what it is, as long as it will get to Plymouth. Let us go and speak to them.'

We found the two men with Lorna Bolivick and Norah Blackwater in the library. They had evidently finished dinner, and Springfield was in the act of pouring a liqueur into his coffee as I entered.

'How is the patient?' he asked almost indifferently.

'Very ill indeed,' I replied. 'Unless something is done for him soon, he will die. Could you,' and I turned to Buller, 'motor to Plymouth, and fetch a doctor I will tell you of? I will give you a note for him.'

'Awfully sorry,' said Buller, 'but I daren't drive. My left leg is so weak that I couldn't work the clutch. Springfield had to run us over here to-day. There's barely enough petrol to take us back, either.'

'I have plenty of petrol,' interposed Sir Thomas.

'I could never get that little bassinette of yours to Plymouth to-night!' broke in Springfield. 'You see, I am still suffering from my little stunt in France, and I am as weak as a rabbit. Besides, Buller's machine isn't fit for such a journey.'

'My car is all right,' cried Sir Thomas. 'But I can't drive, and I haven't a man about the place who can.'

'Do you know the road to Plymouth?' I asked Buller.

'Every inch of it,' he replied.

'Then I'll drive, if you will go with me to show me the way.'

I felt miserable at the idea of leaving Edgecumbe, but there seemed no other way out of it.

'Surely you will not leave your friend?' interposed Springfield. 'He may not be as bad as you think, and to-morrow the journey could easily be managed.'

'It is a matter of life and death,' was my reply. 'Merril says that unless something is done for him at once there is no hope for him.'

'What does he think is the matter with him?'

I did not reply. Something seemed to seal my lips. I saw Springfield's features working strangely, while the scar under his right ear was very strongly in evidence.

'Look here,' he said, as if with sudden decision, 'it's a shame for you to leave your friend under such circumstances. If Sir Thomas will lend his car, I will drive to Plymouth. You just write a letter, Luscombe, giving your doctor friend full particulars, and I'll drag him here by the hair of the head, if necessary.'

I had not time to reflect on his sudden change of front, and I was about to close with the offer, but something, I cannot tell what, stopped me.

'It's awfully good of you,' I said, 'but I think I'll go myself, if Buller will go with me to show me the way.'

I found Dr. Merril, who had been giving some instructions as to things he wanted, and I led him aside.

'You will keep near Edgecumbe, won't you?' I said hurriedly. 'Don't let any one but Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick enter the room. I have particular reasons for asking this.'

'What reasons?' And I could see he was surprised.

'I can't tell you, but I don't speak without thought. Perhaps later I may explain.'

A few minutes later I had started for Plymouth.



CHAPTER XX

A STRANGE NIGHT

'I say, Luscombe, you're a nice fellow to drag one out in the middle of the night in this way!'

Colonel McClure had just entered the room where I had been shown.

'I wouldn't have done it without reason,' I said. 'I have travelled fifty miles to-night to get to you, and I want you to come with me to Sir Thomas Bolivick's at once.'

'Sir Thomas Bolivick? I don't know him. Why should I come with you?'

'At any rate, hear what I have to say, and then judge for yourself.'

He listened attentively, while I told him my story. At first he seemed to think lightly of it, and appeared to regard my visit to him as the act of a madman; but when I related my conversation with Dr. Merril, I saw that his face changed colour, and his eyes contracted.

'Tell me the symptoms again,' he said abruptly.

I described to him as minutely as I was able everything concerning my friend, and then, without asking another question, he unlocked a cabinet, took out a number of things which were meaningless to me, and put them in a bag.

'Go and get your car started again,' he said, 'and wait for me.'

In an incredibly quick time, he had made himself ready for the journey, and insisted on taking his seat by my side.

'You sit behind,' he said to Buller, so peremptorily that he seemed like a man in anger. Then turning to me, he said, 'Drive like blazes!'

For the first hour of our return journey, he did not speak a word. He was evidently in deep thought, and his face was as rigid as marble. Then, suddenly, he began to ask questions, questions which at first seemed meaningless. He asked me to describe the scenery around Bolivick, and then he questioned me concerning Sir Thomas Bolivick's household, after which he asked me to give him details concerning every member of the family.

'Have you made up your mind concerning the case?' I asked presently.

'How can I tell until I have examined the man?'

'But you heard what I have told you?'

'And you have told me nothing.'

'It seems to me I have told you a great deal, and I tell you this, McClure,—if it is within human skill to save him, you must.'

'Aren't I taking this long, beastly midnight journey,' he replied, like a man in anger, 'do you think I am doing this for fun? I say, tell me more about this Edgecumbe; it is necessary that I should have full particulars.'

After I had described our meeting, and our experiences in France, he again sat for some time perfectly silent. He took no notice of what I said to him, and did not even reply to direct questions. But that he was thinking deeply I did not doubt.

'That's South Petherwin church,' I said, as the car dashed through the village; 'it's only a mile or two now.'

'That Dr. Merril seems a sensible chap. You say you asked him to admit no one into the room but Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick. Why?'

'I hardly know,' I replied. 'I think I acted on impulse.'

'A very good thing, sometimes.' And after that he did not speak another word till we reached the house.

When I entered Edgecumbe's room I found him still alive, but weaker. I noticed that a kind of froth had gathered around his mouth, and that his eyes had a stony stare. He was still unconscious, and had not uttered a coherent sentence since I had left.

'Will every one kindly leave the room except Dr. Merril?' And Colonel McClure looked towards Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick as he spoke.

'Do you wish me to go too, Colonel?' I said.

'I think my words were plain enough,' and he spoke like a man in a temper.

'I suppose every one has gone to bed,' I remarked to Sir Thomas.

'No, Lorna is still up. She is a silly girl,—of course she can do no good.'

'And Captain Springfield?'

'He left about midnight. He asked to be allowed to see the patient, but Merril wouldn't let him go into the room. I thought he behaved to the captain like a clown.'

'In what way?'

'Well, Springfield's a clever fellow, and has seen many curious cases of illness while he has been in the East. He said that Edgecumbe's condition reminded him of the illness of an orderly he once had, and wanted to tell Merril about him. But doctors are all the same, they all claim to be autocrats in a sick-room. My word, Luscombe, you must have had a weary night. My advice to you is to go to bed immediately.'

'Not until I have heard McClure's report.'

When we came into the library, we found Buller and Lorna Bolivick there. I thought the young squire seemed anxious and ill at ease, while Lorna was much excited. On seeing me, however, she asked eagerly for news of Edgecumbe.

'There is nothing to tell as yet,' I replied. 'By the way, how did Springfield get home?'

'Oh, he took the car.'

'And how did he imagine that Buller was to get back?'

'I expect he forgot all about Charlie,' was the reply, 'but—he seemed rather excited, and insisted that he must return at once. Charlie will have to stay here until daylight, and then some one can drive him over.'

As may be imagined, after driving a heavy car for over a hundred miles at night-time, I was dead tired, but I offered to run Buller home. The truth was, I was in such a state of nervous tension that I could not remain inactive, and the thought of sitting still while McClure and Merril consulted about my friend's condition drove me to madness.

'Will you?' asked Buller. 'I—I think I should like to get back,' and I could see that he also was nervous and ill at ease.

'I can get you to your place in a few minutes,' I said, 'and by the time I get back I hope the doctors will have something to tell us.'

A few minutes later, as we were moving rapidly to Buller's house, I said abruptly, 'Was it not rather strange that Springfield should take your car?'

'I suppose it was,' he replied, 'but he is a funny fellow.'

'What do you know about him?' I asked.

'There is not much to know, is there?' and he spoke hesitatingly. 'The Army List will give you full particulars of his career. I believe he has spent most of his time abroad.'

'I have neither had time nor opportunity to study Army Lists. How long was he in India?'

'Not long; only two or three years, I think.'

'Is he any one in particular?' I asked.

I could see by the light of the moon, which was now high in the heavens, that the young fellow looked at me attentively, as though he was trying to read my motive in asking these questions.

'I think he expects to be,' was his reply; 'he is as poor as a church mouse now, but St. Mabyn says he is heir to a peerage, and that he will have pots of money some time.'

'What peerage?'

'I really never asked him. It—it wasn't quite my business, was it? He isn't the sort of chap to talk about himself.'

Sir Thomas was still up when I got back to the house, and the sight of his face struck terror into my heart. He, who was usually so florid, looked positively ghastly. His flesh hung loosely on his cheeks, while he was very baggy around the eyes.

'Have you heard anything?' I asked.

'I don't know, I am not sure,' he replied, 'but I think it is all over.'

'All over! What do you mean?'

'As soon as you had gone, I sent my wife and Lorna to bed. I wouldn't have them stay up any longer. You see, they could do no good.'

'Have you seen the doctors?'

'No. But I was frightfully nervous, and I crept up to the door of Edgecumbe's room. I heard them talking together.'

'What did they say?'

'I could detect nothing plainly, but I am sure I heard one of them say, "It's all over." Oh, it is positively awful! I never had such a thing happen in my house before. Please don't think I blame you, Luscombe; you didn't know that such a thing would happen when you brought him here. But the thought of a guest dying in my house is—is—don't you see——?'

'I am going to know the worst, anyhow,' I said, for, although I quite understood his feelings and was naturally upset at the thought of my being the occasion of his trouble, it was as nothing compared with my anxiety about my friend.

I therefore abruptly left him, and rushed upstairs to Edgecumbe's room. I knocked, but receiving no answer I went in.

'How is he?' I asked.

Neither of them spoke, and from the look on their faces I judged that my worst fears were realized.



CHAPTER XXI

COLONEL McCLURE'S VERDICT

I moved quickly towards the bed, and in the dim light of the lamp which stood near saw that a change had come over my friend's face. A look of perfect peace and tranquility had taken the place of anguish.

'Tell me,' I cried, 'he isn't dead, is he?'

'He is out of pain, at all events,' and Colonel McClure spoke abruptly.

Unmindful of what they might say, I went close to Edgecumbe, and gazed at him steadily. As far as I could judge, there was no sign of life.

'Have—have you done anything for him?' I said, turning to the doctors. But neither of them spoke. They might have been waiting for something.

I noticed that Edgecumbe's hands were lying on the coverlet almost easily and naturally. Why I should have done it, I cannot tell, but I seized the lamp and held it close to them. They did not look like the hands of a dead man. In spite of everything, there was a suggestion of nervous energy in the long, capable-looking fingers. Then I put down the lamp, and took one of the hands in mine.

'He is alive,' I said; 'the right hand is warm, and it is not rigid.'

Still the doctors did not speak, but each looked at the other as if questioningly. They did not appear to resent my action; perhaps they made allowances for my anxiety; both of them knew how dear he was to me.

Then something struck me. I saw that one of his hands, although both were browned by exposure and hardened by labour, was different in colour from the other.

'Have you noticed that?' I said.

'Noticed what?'

'That his left hand is slightly blue. You can see it beneath the tan.'

'By gad, you are right!' It was Colonel McClure who whispered this excitedly, and I saw that my words had a meaning to him. What was in his mind I could not tell, but that he was thinking hard I was sure.

'He isn't dead,' I said excitedly; 'I am sure he isn't!' And again I took his left hand in mine, and lifted it. Then I saw something else. It was very little, but it meant a great deal to me. I remembered how that morning Edgecumbe had been using a pair of Indian clubs, and had rolled up his shirt sleeves. I had remarked to myself at the time the wonderful ease with which he had swung the clubs, and what perfectly shaped arms he had. They were large and hard, and firm, without a mark of any sort. Now, just below the elbow, in the lower part of the arm, was a blue spot. It was so small that it might have been covered by a threepenny-piece, and in the dim light of the lamp would not be easily seen.

'Did you see this? Did you do it?' I almost gasped.

Colonel McClure examined the spot closely, and then nodded to Dr. Merril.

'Did you see this, Merril?' he asked.

'No,' replied Dr. Merril excitedly. 'As you know you—you——!' He stopped suddenly like one afraid.

Colonel McClure took a powerful glass from his case and examined the spot closely for some seconds. Then he said to his fellow doctor, evidently with satisfaction, 'By gad, we've done the right thing!'

'What does it mean?' I asked. 'Tell me.'

'I will tell you in an hour from now,' and I saw a new light in the colonel's eyes. Then I heard him mutter to himself, 'I was an ass to have missed that.'

I put my hand upon Edgecumbe's forehead; and I could have sworn that it was warm and moist. The moisture was different from the clammy sweat which had poured out on his face when first we had brought him to bed hours before.

Excitedly I told the doctors of my impression, and then McClure commanded me to stand aside, as if I were an interloper. Although I believe the old military doctor was as excited as I, he made no sign, save that his lips moved as if he were talking to himself.

'Do you know what it means?' I asked, as he left the bed.

'It means that you must get out of this,' he replied gruffly.

'I won't,' I answered, for I had wellnigh lost control over myself. Something, I could not tell what, made me sure that an important change was taking place in my friend's condition, and I forgot all about the etiquette of a sick-room. The experiences through which I had passed, my long, midnight journey, together with the feverish anxiety under which I was suffering, made me forget myself.

'I am his only friend,' I went on, 'and I have a right to be here, and I have a right to know everything. What is it? What have you done?'

Scarcely realizing what I was doing, I went to the window and pulled up the blinds. Day was breaking, the sky was clear, and the eastern horizon was tinged with the light of the rising sun. In the light of the new-born day, the lamp looked sickly and out of place. I remember, too, that it made a strange impression upon me; it seemed as though light were fighting with darkness, and that light was being triumphant.

'Don't be an ass, Luscombe,' said the Scotchman; 'I will tell you everything presently, but can't you see that——'

'I can see that he's going to live,' I interrupted. 'His face is more natural; it doesn't look so rigid. I believe there is colour coming into his lips.'

'Find your way into the kitchen, there are some servants there, and bring some hot water immediately.'

For the next hour, I scarcely remember anything that happened. I imagine that I was so excited that my experiences left no definite impress upon my brain. I have indistinct remembrances of alternating between hope and despair, between joy and sorrow. I remember, too, that I was called upon to perform certain actions, but to this day I do not know what they were. I was more like an automaton than a man.

At the end of the hour, however, Colonel McClure accompanied me into my bedroom, which, as I have said, adjoined that of Edgecumbe.

'We've done it, my boy,' he said, and I noted the satisfaction in his voice.

'He will live, then?'

He nodded. 'Barring accidents, he will. But it's a mystery to me.'

'What is a mystery?'

'I hardly like to tell you. But you are no hysterical woman, and you have a steady head on you. Until an hour and a half ago, I was acting in the dark, acting blindly. Even now I have no proof of anything. You say your friend was in India?'

'I have told you all I know,' was my answer.

'I spent twelve years there,' went on the colonel. 'A great part of the time I was with native regiments, and I have had some peculiar experiences. India's a strange country, and in many things the people there can teach us Westerners a lot. Look here, why did you come for me?'

'Instinct,' I replied.

'But instinct has a basis in reason.'

'Has it? I am not enough of a psychologist to answer that question. Tell me why you are asking me all this.'

'Because I am afraid to tell you what is in my mind. Do you remember what Merril said?'

'Yes,' I replied; 'he said that according to symptoms my friend had been poisoned. But he didn't see how it could possibly be, and he said that the case was completely beyond him.'

'Exactly. When I went into that room, I of course had your words in my mind. India has a hundred poisons unknown to the West, many of them are subtle, almost undiscoverable. I called to my mind what I had learned in India, what I had seen and done there. Frankly, I don't understand your friend's case. Had it been in India, I should have understood it, and what was possible, ay, what would have amounted to certainty there, was utterly impossible in England—at least, so it seemed to me. But I acted on the assumption that I was in India.'

'You mean that you injected an antidote for a poison that you know of?' I ventured.

He looked at me steadily for a few seconds, but he did not speak.

'Now look here, Luscombe,' he said, after a long silence, 'I hesitated to tell you this, because it is a serious business.'

I nodded.

'You see,' he went on, 'we are not in the realm of proof. But as sure as I am a living man, if your friend was poisoned, some one poisoned him, unless he had a curious way of trying to commit suicide.'

'He didn't try to commit suicide,' I replied.

'You remember that mark in the arm?'

I nodded.

'In another hour it will be gone. If he had died, it would not be there. I was a blind fool not to have seen it. I examined his arm just before we came in here,—the discolourment has nearly passed away. In an hour there'll be only a little spot about the size of a pin-prick. Do you feel free to tell me anything of your suspicions? Remember, they can only be suspicions. There can be no possible proof of anything, and even although you may have drawn conclusions, which to you are unanswerable, you might be committing the cruellest crime against another man by speaking them aloud.'

'Then I'll not tell you my suspicions,' I said. 'I will only recount certain incidents.'

Then I told him the things I remembered.

Colonel McClure looked very grave.

'No,' he said, at length, 'this is something which we dare not speak of aloud. I must think this out, my boy, so must you, and when our minds are settled a bit we can talk again.'

When we returned to Edgecumbe's room, my friend was sleeping almost naturally, while the relief of every member of the household, who had all been informed of Edgecumbe's remarkable recovery, can be better imagined than expressed.

'Have the doctors told you what is the matter with him?' asked Sir Thomas eagerly.

'No,' I replied; 'perhaps they are not sure themselves.'

'But they must know, man! I gather that they performed a certain operation, and they wouldn't do that without some definite object.'

'The ways of doctors are very mysterious,' I laughed; 'anyhow, we are thankful that the danger is over. Merril tells me that Edgecumbe is sleeping quite naturally, while McClure is quite sure that in a few hours he will awake almost well.'

'But that seems impossible, man! A few hours ago he despaired of his life, and now——'

'The great thing is he is better,' I interrupted. I did not want the old baronet to have the least inkling of my suspicion. After all, I could prove nothing, and indeed, as McClure had said, it might be a crime to accuse any man of having anything to do with Edgecumbe's illness.

During the time I had been in the Army, I had heard of cases of men losing their memory, and of a sudden shock bringing their past back to them. I wondered if this would be so in Edgecumbe's case. Might not the crisis through which he had passed, the crisis which had brought him close to the gates of death, tear aside the veil which hid his past from him? Might not the next few hours reveal the mystery of his life, and make all things plain?



CHAPTER XXII

EDGECUMBE'S RESOLVE

Some hours later I saw Colonel McClure again. He had become so interested in Edgecumbe's case, that he refused to go back to Plymouth until he was certain that all was well; and although Dr. Merril had left early that morning, in order to attend to his patients, he had arranged to meet him at Bolivick later.

'It's all right, Luscombe. Your friend's talking quite naturally with Merril. He is rather weak, but otherwise he's splendid.'

'May I see him?' I asked eagerly.

'Oh, yes, certainly.'

When I entered the bedroom, I found Edgecumbe sitting up in bed, and although he looked rather tired, he spoke naturally.

'I can't understand why I'm here,' he said, with a laugh, 'but I suppose I must obey orders. I was tremendously surprised about half an hour ago when on awaking I saw two men who told me they were doctors, and who seemed frightfully interested in my condition.'

Dr. Merril went out of the room as he spoke, leaving us together.

'Has anything particular happened to me, Luscombe? You needn't be afraid to tell me, man; I am all right.'

'Have you no remembrance of anything yourself?' I said.

'Nothing, except that I was attacked by a horrible pain, and that I became blind. After that I think my senses must have left me, for I can remember nothing more.'

I looked at him eagerly. I remembered Colonel McClure's injunction, and yet I was more anxious than I can say to ask him questions.

'Did you feel nothing before the pain?'

'I felt awfully languid,' he replied, after a few seconds' silence, 'but nothing more.'

He lifted himself up in the bed, and I could not help noticing that his face looked younger, and that his skin was almost natural. The old, parched look had largely passed away; it might have been as though a new and rejuvenating force had entered his system.

'Springfield and I are in for a big battle.'

I wondered whether he knew anything of my suspicions, and whether by some means or another the thoughts which haunted not only my mind, but that of Colonel McClure, had somehow reached his.

'Springfield means to have her, but I am not going to let him.'

'You are thinking about Miss Bolivick,' I said.

'Who else?' And his face flushed as he spoke. 'When I saw her first, I was hopeless, but now——'

'Yes, now,' I repeated, as I saw him hesitate, 'what now?'

For the moment I had forgotten all about his illness. I did not realize that I might be doing wrong by allowing him to excite himself.

'Buller is not the danger,' he cried; 'he is but a puppet in Springfield's hands. There's something between that man and me which I can't explain; but there's going to be a battle royal between us. He means to marry Lorna Bolivick. In his own way he has fallen in love with her. But he shall never have her.'

'How are you going to stop him?' I asked.

I saw his lips quiver, while his eyes burnt with the light of resolution.

'Surely you do not mean,' I went on, 'that you hope to marry her?'

'I not only hope to,—I mean to,' he said.

I was silent for a few seconds. I did not want to hinder his recovery, by saying anything which might cause him to despair, but the thing which had been born in his mind seemed so senseless, so hopeless, that I felt it would be cruel on my part to allow him to entertain such a mad feeling.

'Surely you have not considered the impossibility of such a thing,' I said.

'Nothing's impossible,' he cried.

'But do you not see the insuperable barriers in the way?'

'I see the barriers, but they must be swept aside. Why, man!' and his voice became stronger, 'when I awoke a few hours ago, and saw those two doctor chaps, I was first of all bewildered, I could not understand. Then it suddenly came to me where I was, in whose house I was staying, and in a flash I realized everything. As I said, when I saw her first, I despaired; but no man who believes in God should despair. I tell you, the thought of it means life, health, strength, to me! I have something great to live for. Why, think, man, think!'

'I am thinking hard,' I replied. 'I need hardly tell you, Edgecumbe, that I am your friend, and that I wish you the best that you can hope for. It seems cruel, too, after what you have gone through, to try to destroy the thought which is evidently dear to you, but I must do it.'

'But I love her, man!' and his voice trembled as he spoke. 'When I saw her standing in the doorway, as we drove up the other night, she was a revelation to me,—she made all the world new. One look into her eyes was like opening the gates of heaven. Do you realize what a pure soul she has?—how beautiful she is? She is a child woman. She has all the innocence, all the artlessness of a child of ten, and all the resolution, and the foresight, and the daring of a woman. She seemed to me like a being from another world, like one sent to tell me what life should be. She made everything larger, grander, holier, and before I had been in her presence five seconds I knew that I was hers for ever and for ever.'

'It is because she is so pure, and so innocent, that you should give up all such thoughts at once,' I said.

'But why should I? Tell me that.'

'You will not think me harsh or unkind?'

'I shall not think anything wrong,' and he laughed as he spoke. 'I will tell you why. Nothing can destroy my resolve.'

'My dear fellow,' I said, 'evidently you don't realize the situation.'

'Well, help me to realize it; tell me what you have in your mind.'

'First of all, a woman's love may not be won easily,—it may be she cares for some one else.'

'I will make her love me!' he cried; 'she will not be able to help herself. She will see that my love for her fills my whole being, and that I live to serve her, protect her, worship her.'

'Many men have loved in vain,' I replied; 'but, assuming for the moment that you could win her love, your hopes would be still as impossible as ever.'

'Rule out the word impossible. But tell me why you believe it is so.'

'First of all, Lorna Bolivick is a young lady of position, she is a child of an old family, and when she marries she will naturally marry into her own class.'

'Naturally; but what of that? Am I not of—of her class?'

'Doubtless. But face facts. You have not a penny beyond your pay;—would it be fair, would it be right of you, to go to such a girl as she, reared as she has been, and offer her only poverty?'

'I will make a position,' he cried enthusiastically. 'I'm not a fool!'

'How? When?' I asked.

'For the moment I don't know how, or when,' he replied, 'but it shall be done.'

'Then think again,' I went on, 'you could not marry her without her parents' consent, and if they know your purposes they would close their doors against you. Fancy Sir Thomas Bolivick allowing his daughter to marry a man with only a subaltern's pay!'

'Number two,' he replied with a laugh; 'go on,'—and I could see that he regarded my words as of no more weight than thistledown.

'Yes, that is number two,' I replied. 'Now to come to number three. Do you think that you, alone, are strong enough to match yourself with your rivals?'

'You mean Buller and Springfield? I have told you what I think about Buller; as for Springfield, he's a bad man. Besides, if I am poor, is he not poor, too? He's only a captain.'

'Buller tells me he's the heir to a peerage,' I replied, 'and that when somebody dies he will come into pots of money. And whatever else you may think about him, he is a strong man, capable and determined. If you are right about him, and you think there's going to be a battle royal between you two, you will have a dangerous enemy, an enemy who will stop at nothing. But that is not all. The greatest difficulty has not yet been mentioned.'

'What is that?'

I hesitated before replying. I felt I was going to be cruel, and yet I could not help it.

'You have no right to ask any woman to be your wife,' I urged—'least of all a woman whom you love as you say you love Lorna Bolivick.'

'Why?' and there was a tone of anxiety in his voice.

'Because you don't know who you are, or what you are. You are, I should judge, a man thirty years of age. What your history has been you don't know. Possibly you have a wife somewhere.'

I was sorry the moment I had uttered the words, for he gave a cry almost amounting to agony.

'No, no,' he gasped, 'not that!'

'You don't know,' I said; 'the past is an utter blank to you; you have no recollection of anything which happened before you lost your memory, and——'

'No, no, not that, Luscombe. I am sure that if I ever married, if I ever loved a woman, I should know it,—I should feel it instinctively.'

'I am not sure. You say you have no memory of your father or mother; surely if you remembered anything you'd remember them? Now suppose,—of course it is an almost impossible contingency, but suppose you won Lorna Bolivick's consent to be your wife; suppose you obtained a position sufficiently good for Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick to consent to your marrying her; and then suppose your memory came back, and the whole of your past were made known to you, and you discovered that there was a woman here in England, or somewhere else, whom you married years ago, and whom you loved, and who had been grieving because of your loss? Can't you see the situation?'

I could see I had impressed him. Instead of the light of resolution, there was a haunting fear in his eyes.

'I had not thought of that,' he murmured. 'Of course it is not so,—I am sure it is not so. Still, as you say, it would not be fair to submit her to a suspicion of danger.'

'Then of course you give up the thought?'

'Oh, no,' he replied. 'Of course I must think it out, and I must meet the situation; but I give up nothing—nothing.'

As I rose to leave him, McClure stood in the door of the bedroom and beckoned to me.

'Springfield and Buller are downstairs,' he whispered to me; 'they have come to lunch. Can you manage to get a chat with the fellow? It seems horrible to have such suspicions, but——'

'Yes, I understand,' I replied, noting his hesitation.

'If what is in both our minds has any foundation in fact,' he went on, 'Edgecumbe should be warned. I hate talking like this, and it is just horrible.'

'I know what you feel,' I said, 'but what can we do? As we both have to admit, nothing can be proved, and it would be a crime to accuse an innocent man of such a thing.'

'Yes, I know; but the more I have thought about the matter, the more I am sure that—that—anyhow, get a chat with him. I must get back to Plymouth soon, but before I go you and I must have a further talk. This thing must be bottomed, man, must! I'll be down in a minute.'

I made my way toward the dining-room, forming plans of action as I did so. I had by this time made up my mind concerning Springfield. Whether he were guilty of what Colonel McClure had hinted at, I was not sure, but a thousand things told me that he both feared and hated my friend. How could I pierce his armour, and protect Edgecumbe at the same time?

When I entered the dining-room, he and Lorna Bolivick were talking together. I watched their faces for a few seconds unheeded by them. I do not know what he was saying to her, but she was listening to him eagerly. In some way he had destroyed the instinctive feeling of revulsion which he had created in her mind months before. She seemed like one fascinated; he held her as though by a strong personality, a strange fascination. There was no doubt in my mind, either, that although he had come to Devonshire as the guest of young Buller, he was a rival for Lorna Bolivick's hand. As much as such a man as he could love a woman, he loved Lorna Bolivick, and meant to win her.



CHAPTER XXIII

SPRINGFIELD'S PROGRESS

After lunch, I got my chance of a few minutes' chat with Springfield. I think I managed it without arousing any suspicions; certainly he did not manifest any, neither did he appear in the slightest degree ruffled when I talked with him about Edgecumbe's strange illness.

'You have been in India, I think, Springfield?' I said.

'Who told you that?'

'I have almost forgotten. Perhaps it was St. Mabyn, or it might have been Buller. Were you there long?'

'A couple of years,' he replied. 'I was glad to get away, too. It is a beastly part of the world.'

'I asked,' I said, 'because Edgecumbe had just come from India when I first saw him, and I was wondering whether you could throw any light upon his sudden illness.'

'My dear chap, I'm not a doctor. What does McClure say?'

'He's in a bit of a fog,' I replied, 'so is Merril.'

'Doctors usually are,' he laughed. 'For my own part, I think that a great deal of fuss has been made about the whole business. After all, what did it amount to?'

'It was a very strange illness,' I replied.

'Was it? Certainly the fellow was taken bad suddenly, and he fell down in a sort of fit, but that is nothing strange.'

'It is to a man whose general health is as good as that of Edgecumbe.'

'Yes, but India plays ducks and drakes with any man's constitution,' he replied. 'You see, you know nothing about Edgecumbe, and his loss of memory may be a very convenient thing to him.'

'What do you mean?

'I mean nothing, except this: Edgecumbe, I presume, has been a man of the world; how he lost his memory—assuming, of course, that he has lost it—is a mystery. But he has lived in India, and possibly, while there, went the whole hog. Excuse me, Luscombe, but I have no romantic notions about him. He seems to be on the high moral horse just now, but what his past has been neither of us know. As I said, life in India plays ducks and drakes with a man's constitution, especially if he has been a bit wild. Doubtless the remains of some old disease is in his system, and—and—we saw the results.' He lit a cigarette as he spoke, and I noticed that his hand was perfectly steady.

'Is that your explanation?' I asked.

'I have no explanation,' he replied, 'but that seems to me as likely as any other.'

'Because, between ourselves,' I went on, 'both McClure and Merril think he was poisoned.'

He was silent for a few seconds, as though thinking, then he asked quite naturally, 'How could that be?'

'McClure, as you know, was an Army doctor in India,' I said.

'Well, then, if any one ought to know, he ought,' and he puffed at his cigarette; 'but what symptoms did he give of being poisoned?'

I detailed Edgecumbe's condition, his torpor, and the symptoms which followed.

'Is there anything suggestive of poisoning in that?' he asked, like a man curious.

'McClure seems to think so.'

'Of course he may be right,' he replied carelessly, 'but I don't know enough about the subject to pass an opinion worth having. All the same, if he were poisoned, it is a wonder to me how he got well so quickly'; and he hummed a popular music-hall air.

'The thing which puzzles McClure,' I went on, 'and he seems to know a good deal about Indian poisons, is the almost impossibility of such a thing happening here in England. He says that the Indians have a trick of poisoning their enemies by pricking them with some little instrument that they possess, an instrument by which they can inject poison into the blood. It leaves no mark after death, but is followed by symptoms almost identical with those which Edgecumbe had. During the time the victim is suffering, there is a little blue mark on the spot where the injection was made.'

I looked at him steadily as I spoke, trying to see whether he manifested any uneasiness or emotion. But he baffled me. I thought I saw his lips twitch, and his eyes contract, but I might easily have been mistaken. If he were a guilty man, then he was the greatest actor, and had the most supreme command over himself, of any one I had ever seen.

'And did you find such a mark on your friend?' he asked, after a few seconds' silence.

'Yes,' I replied, 'close to the elbow.'

He showed no emotion whatever, and yet I could not help feeling that he was conscious of what was in my mind. Of course this might be pure imagination on my part, and I do not think any detective of fiction fame would have gained the slightest inkling from his face that he was in any way connected with it.