Part 13

Fortunately for him, the mental ground thus left fallow had never been weakened by the rank growth springing from the assiduous reading of novels, and the soil was ready and hungry for such seeds as he might choose to sow. In a very few months--though yawning at times over their dulness--he had easily mastered the contents of the dry and unimaginative text-books. This done and duty satisfied, he thereupon indulged to the full his own peculiar bent for character study, as exemplified in the biographies of the world's great commanders.

These he read from cover to cover, no longer yawning, but eagerly taking in the smallest details; indeed, it was chiefly on the trivial incidents of childish life--revealing, nevertheless, the true unalterable character of the subject--that Hector would dwell, marking as he went the paragraphs in which these particulars were described.

Now, to read with the object of acquiring information is one thing; but to read in order to discover a resemblance between yourself and the subject of a biography is quite another, and a most dangerous one, especially for those to whose nature the abnormal appeals, the inevitable result being an unconscious desire to make the resemblance complete, even to the smallest and most objectionable details.

This is what Graeme now began to do. Since he had received recognition, and with it the birth of ambition, he had become firmly convinced that he was destined to join the ranks of the great, and the more he read about them the surer and more exultant he grew, for in the story of their lives he recognised a hundred traits of character similar to his own, particularly in their oddities and eccentricities, on which his mind eagerly seized.

There were some among them, it is true, in whom no sign of himself was to be met with, these the eminently sane and methodical characters; but such he passed over as lacking in the true fire of genius, and their biographies, once scanned, were thrown aside and looked at no more. Of the others, however, there was one in whose character he especially delighted, that one being Prince Suvarov, the great Russian.

His power over his soldiers, eccentricity of attire, recklessness of consequences, and, above all, the ingrained determination to attack and never wait on the defensive, all these characteristics he felt himself to possess; and inasmuch as Suvarov not only scorned to conceal, but gloried in, the revelation of mental peculiarity, so now did Hector do the same, giving full rein to that passion for difference from his fellows which hitherto, chiefly from the wish to please Lucy--to whom such was anathema--he had to a certain extent concealed.

The immediate result of this was, as usual, in the army, the bestowal of a nickname, Graeme soon becoming known as "Mad Jack," a designation which stuck to him till the day of his death. This, far from annoying its recipient, delighted him, and fired by the sensation he was causing he went further. One of his habits, that of riding down the line of blockhouses in a state of nature save for a towel, having come to the ears of the General commanding the district, the result was a sharp reproof and request that Colonel Graeme would in future comport himself as an officer and a gentleman.

To this Hector replied in rhyme, which so infuriated its recipient that he reported the matter to Headquarters, and for a time Graeme's career was in serious jeopardy. Providentially, at this crisis the enemy at last thought fit to put in an appearance, their assembly at a farmhouse three miles distant, with the avowed object of capturing Hector, who as a colonel was worth something, being reported to the latter by an English farmer living in the district.

Thereupon, without waiting for the expected onslaught, and in defiance of standing orders, Graeme called up the garrison of every blockhouse under his command. Leaving these empty save of scarecrow dummies, he sallied forth the same night, and surprised and captured the sleeping commando at dawn.

The following day happening to be Palm Sunday, he despatched his prisoners to District Headquarters under an escort decorated with long grass and reeds, his despatch, giving an account of the affair, being couched in the form of a hymn. This the escort were forced to practise for an hour before starting on their mission, their Chief conducting their efforts with his knobkerrie, with which he threatened instant death to any man who sang out of tune or laughed. His labours were in vain, however, for, despite the most stringent orders and threats of dire punishment did they disobey his orders, the escort's courage failed them at the eleventh hour, and the prisoners were handed over in silence by a crimson-faced, grass-decorated subaltern.

For this exploit Hector received nothing except a reproof for impertinent levity, and, the War shortly after coming to an end, he was despatched to Blauboschfontein, to await the arrival of his regiment. This took place some few weeks later. Royle was in command, and over him Graeme soon established a complete ascendency. Carson, the one man who might have proved an obstacle in his path, having retired shortly before, disgusted at the regiment's non-participation in the War. Hector thus succeeded to the position of second-in-command--that is, nominally, for to all intents and purposes he reigned supreme.

He conducted the training of the troops; introduced startling innovations; and, in short, did what he liked, his confidence in himself and contempt for superiors growing daily. A constant and, to his fellows, unaccountable sequence of successes in field-days and manoeuvres followed, Hector's methods when confronted by an adversary being so unusual as to render useless the ordinary stereotyped means of defence, and though generals and other superior persons shook their heads and talked of wild schemes, still these plans somehow always came off, despite their gloomy prophecies.

Graeme's schemes were not quite the wild ones they were supposed to be, but, on the contrary, were formed on a perfectly sound basis, namely, on his knowledge of his opponent's peculiar character, and thus proved the safest. Well he knew the process of the ordinary military mind and its adherence to text-book principles. These and the answering moves they understood, and were consequently never confronted with them, being paralysed at the outset by a cut to which no text-book gave the correct parry.

Give him the wild, hairbrained adversary, however--and on one occasion such a foe was put up against him with a view to his discomfiture, by General Banks, officer commanding the district, and his bitter enemy--and straightway Hector's tactics became of the most ordinary and stereotyped description, the result on the occasion in question being the rout of the harebrained one without his opponent having moved from his original position.

Graeme moreover, by now, knew his text-books as well as and probably better than, his most learned adversaries, and was consequently well aware of the risks he ran, and from which quarter danger was likely to come; and, this being so, half the peril he incurred was gone.

Altogether Graeme prospered, and was happier in Blauboschfontein than he had ever been before; and with happiness came physical well-being and health, things that had been practically unknown to him till now.

He loved the country too, spending hours roaming about the veldt till nightfall, when, with cheeks aglow and eyes alert he would return to his quarters and bury himself in his reading till dinner. A most respectable meal consumed--for him--he would seek his room once more, read again for an hour, and then tumble into bed and sleep dreamlessly till dawn. With reveille he was up, and away to the riding maneges to take his place amongst the young horsemen, a situation for which, to speak truth, Graeme was not qualified, being as a rider deficient in both "hands" and patience.

All this time Lucy's letters were weekly growing more insistent for his return. Did he not want to see her again, she wrote? The house too, Cuddingfold Hall, she had taken, relying on his coming, though only for a year, in case he should not like it. She had, however, the option of a long lease, though goodness knew when another prospective tenant might appear. If he did not, after all, now wish to retire, and from his last letters it seemed he did not, at least he could come home on leave; they would not refuse him that after three years' absence.

Lucy's appeals remained disregarded, and probably would have remained so but for another event that took place about this time, namely, the sudden death of his father. Hector thus becoming owner of a small property in Scotland.

The announcement of the death was accompanied by a letter from his lawyers, requesting his immediate presence at home; and though this also was for a time ignored, Messrs. Quill & Screw became so urgent in their demands--hinting at serious pecuniary loss did he fail to return at once--that Graeme was at length forced to comply, and submitted an application for six months' leave of absence.

This was gladly forwarded by Colonel Royle, who had secret hankerings after the control of his own regiment, and equally gladly approved by General Banks, who jumped at the chance of getting rid of Hector, if only for a time; and a week later, his passage secured, Graeme was comfortably seated in a first-class compartment of the famous _train de luxe_, on his way to Capetown, where the mail steamer, _Dunrobin Castle_, 12,000 tons, was already waiting alongside the quay.

*CHAPTER XII*

Through the shining tropic sea sped the _Dunrobin Castle_, homeward bound, a speck of scarlet and grey in a waste of still, oily blue. Canvas awnings glared white in the morning sunlight; pitch bubbled in the seams of the holystoned decks; from metal-work and fitting, flashes of light smote blindingly on the eye. Over the towering oval-shaped funnels a faint shimmer hovered; from clanging engine-room rose the reek of oil and steam mingling with the hot air above; wire stays quivered dizzily to the dull throbbing of the screw.

On one side of the ship, where a faint breeze blew, a row of chairs stretched along the deck, their occupants reading, chatting, or lazily looking on at games of deck billiards, quoits, or bull, played by the more energetic of the passengers; on the other, now invaded halfway across by the glare of the slanting sunlight, there were only two figures, the one that of Hector Graeme, the other--the length of the deck away--of a girl, Stara Selbourne.

Both were apparently reading, but neither had turned a page for an hour, their thoughts being of one another. Stara wondered why, since this man was so obviously interested in her, he declined to avail himself of board-ship licence and speak instead of staring. Hector revolved in his mind for the hundredth time suitable words with which to begin, and cursed the curious awkwardness that inevitably assailed him when in her vicinity, impelling him to pass her by without a word when he had approached her with the object of commencing the attack.

This stupidity on his part, moreover, apart from its novelty, was the more galling, as for the first time in ten years he found himself desirous of talking to a woman other than his wife; in fact, even in the short space of two days this desire had begun to take possession of him to the exclusion of all else, even to that of the perusal of a parcel of new books with which he had intended to occupy his whole time when on board.

It is perhaps unnecessary to mention, Hector's attention having been thus aroused, that Stara Selbourne was possessed of personal attractions, these being of that soft, essentially feminine kind before which the strength of men evaporates.

Looking at her now as she lay, lazily disposed among a heap of pink-and-white cushions, the short-lipped, sensuous mouth half open, and soft, dimpled cheek resting on a tiny white hand; noting, moreover, the fineness of cambric blouse and skirt, the sheen of tightly-stretched silken stocking, and the amber combs in the elaborately curled hair, one knew instinctively that this daintiness was not mere outward show, but part of her nature, and that, strip off the outward husk, no incongruities would stand revealed, no monstrosities of wool and flannel, the unseen would be a wonder of snowy and beribboned delicacy. In hunting parlance indeed, Stara, even where no such catastrophe was to be apprehended, was, and always would be, dressed "for a fall."

Nevertheless, despite this general appearance of femininity, signs were to be observed of other characteristics, signs of a somewhat startlingly contradictory nature. The chin, for instance, though soft and white, was most unfemininely firm, almost hard; while the eyes, long in shape and black-lashed though they were, were not of blue, as to be in keeping they ought to have been, but of light grey, clear, steady and rather cold--in no way languishing.

These eyes she now kept fixed on her book, firmly determined to run no risk of meeting even one of the frequent glances directed at her from the other end of the deck; of which glances, as also of Hector's mental restlessness, she was at the same time perfectly aware.

"Let him come and talk if he wants to," she thought impatiently; "ogling is a practice I abominate; it's a servant-maid's trick." And Stara at last turned another page, forcing her attention once more back to the relation of the adventures of one Mademoiselle de Maupin, Hector at the same time returning to the theory of heredity as expounded by Arthur Schopenhauer of pessimistic notoriety.

"Physical qualities from the father's, mental from the mother's side," he reflected, laying the book down again. "Well, that seems true, my mother was clever enough, though a bit cranky. He's a bit out, though, about the other, poor old governor was rather an ugly chap."

He yawned, stretched himself, and once more his eyes wandered to the far end of the deck. "Still there," he murmured. "Wherever I am, there she is too; must do it on purpose; wants me to talk to her, I suppose; doesn't know I'm married; if she did, her interest would very soon die. Bah! what humbug it is, that a man should be debarred from amusement because of a mere conventional tie. No wonder those other fellows, Nelson, Suvarov, and the rest, revolted; they couldn't stand restraint any more than I can.

"Mustn't, you're married, family man and so forth, it's just that makes one want to do things. Damn it, for years I've never looked at a woman except Lucy, and see the result, I've become a fossil; don't even know how to begin. I've been only half alive all this time, and I want to live, and I think somehow that girl would help me. She looks as if she'd love well. I've a good mind to try it, just for the voyage. I'm strong enough, thank God, to pull up when I want to. Hanged if I don't let myself go all I know; no, I'm bothered if I do; she'd only laugh at me if she knew and that I could not stand."

Again he took up his book and began to turn over the pages. "'Ethics.' Don't know what they are, and don't want to either. 'Man's need for metaphysics.' Have none myself. Ah! 'On Woman;' that sounds better. Oho!" reading; "this is capital.

"'Injustice is the fundamental failing of the female character. This arises from the want of reason and reflection, and is assisted by the fact that they, as the weaker sex, are driven by nature to have recourse not to force but to cunning, hence their instinctive treachery and irremediable tendency to lying. For as nature has armed the lion with claws, the bull with horns, and the sepia with ink which blackens water, so has nature armed woman with powers of deception for her protection.'

"I'd like to read that aloud to you," muttered Hector, again glancing up; "shake your conceit a bit, I should say, or ought to."

He went on reading:

"'Only the male intellect befogged through the sexual impulse could call that undersized, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped and short-legged sex fair, for in the sexual impulse resides its whole beauty.'

"Beastly way of putting it," murmured Hector, who possessed the ultra refinement that is usually a characteristic of those in whom the moral sense is deficient, "and it's not true either--she's neither undersized nor short-legged. I'll take a walk past her now and look, to make sure, rather interesting this."

He rose, and moved slowly up the deck towards the reclining figure, who, at his approach, turned another page.

"I really believe he's going to at last," she thought, with a faint feeling of excitement. "No, he's not, he's shied again," as Hector went by looking straight before him. "Oh, this is too absurd, I must help him, I suppose." Whereupon away fluttered Stara's bookmarker, across the deck, a low exclamation of annoyance escaping her as she watched it nearing the ship's side.

Hector, turning at the sound and noting its cause, picked up the errant bookmarker and brought it back, indulging himself, as he did so, with a straight, steady stare into her eyes, and, meeting them, one of the odd fits of giddiness, which of late had been increasing in frequency, came over him; the sweat stood out on his forehead and the girl's figure was hidden for a moment in mist. He reeled, catching at the back of her chair for support; then fingers of steel gripped his arm and he found himself in Stara's chair, she standing looking down upon him, her eyes alert and interested.

"Damn!" said Graeme, when the mists had gone and he realised the situation.

"Certainly 'damn' if you like," was the answer in clear tones, "but don't move, stay where you are; d'you hear me?"

"I certainly won't, why should I?"

"Because I tell you to. I'm a nurse, and know what I'm about."

"You ... a nurse?"

"Yes, but never mind about that. Why do you sit in the sun, if it affects you like this?"

"Because I like it, but I'm hanged if I'll sit here while you're standing. I'll fetch my chair and bring it over."

"No, I'll go," and Stara walked leisurely away, and returned dragging the chair, in which she proceeded to settle herself.

"What a beast of a chair," she said, wriggling; "not nearly so comfy as mine. Oh, there's a book here, what is it? Ah, Schopenhauer," picking it up and opening it, the pages falling apart where Graeme had last been reading, 'On Woman.' "Oh!"

"Don't read the stuff, please, Miss Selbourne; it's rubbish from beginning to end, that chapter."

"Don't be alarmed, Colonel Graeme; I've read all his works, and about this essay, personally I think it very true, though perhaps a little violent. I wonder, though, whether he made it up with her afterwards."

"Her, who?"

"The woman that essay was written at. Pique and disappointment show in every line. He was certainly in love when he wrote it."

"Surely a man like Schopenhauer would be above such weakness."

"Above humanity? I think not, Colonel Graeme."

"You think, then, that every man must--must----"

"I don't think at all about it, I'm sure. That's what he exists for, and woman too, though she pretends not to. I should say I know my Schopenhauer better than you do, Colonel Graeme."

"In that case, if we exist solely as prospective fathers and mothers, and the attraction between the sexes is merely the cry of the unborn child, the stronger the attraction the finer the child. Any two people who feel that attraction should--should----" He stopped, confused, for the light grey eyes were on him, and the look in them brought him to a standstill.

"If we were beasts of the field, no doubt we should be as they are. Rating ourselves, however--perhaps wrongly--as higher, we recognise the necessity of social laws. But tell me, or don't if you like, what was the matter with you just now. I'm professionally interested."

"I don't know, it's a thing that has been growing on me lately; whenever I'm excited it comes on as it did then. It's a nuisance when I don't want it, though useful enough when I do. I can't control it, though, that's the mischief, but I'm boring you."

"No, you're not, go on, tell me what you mean by not controlling it."

"Why, this. Whenever I'm in a difficulty, and don't know what to do--have to fight a battle, for instance, and can't think of a plan--I just shut my eyes and let myself go. For the moment I seem to lose consciousness of my present self and become another, and that other always knows and tells me what to do. Then I sort of wake and do it. D'you think I'm mad, Miss Selbourne?"

"I think," said Stara slowly, looking at him, "you're going the right way to make yourself so. That other self you talk about is--call it the subconscious, if you like; and let that--and you're encouraging it to do so--gain the upper hand over the conscious, and madness results. I should stop it at once, Colonel Graeme; it's deadly dangerous."

"May I ask how you know all this?"

"As I told you, I'm a nurse, or rather going to be one. Oh, don't look so astonished and stare at my clothes. I'm very frivolous and expensive-looking, I know; but once I get to work, away goes all this into portmanteaux, and, with it, the world, the flesh, and the devil."

"I don't think he'll remain long in the portmanteau," said Graeme, looking at her mouth and dancing eyes.

"I don't mean him to; he goes with me when I have my day out, or whatever nurses have. Then I shall become frilly and pretty again, and make a night of it, see all the wickedness I can. That's my idea of life, Colonel Graeme, austerity or debauch. I love the veldt, I can saddle my own pony, shoot buck and koran, and cook as well as most chefs, but I must have a break-out sometimes; not a lady-like break-out--tea, dancing and flirtation--but the real thing."

Hector frowned. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said shortly.

"I do, perfectly. I said _see_ the wickedness, Colonel Graeme, not take part in it. I'm not a man."

"You certainly could not go out by yourself; it wouldn't be--safe or--right," answered Hector, the value of social conventions dawning upon him for the first time.

"Nor proper, I suppose. Thank you for telling me, but, as it happens, I can take excellent care of myself, and if you've got a pair of foils on board I think it possible I might surprise you, though you are a soldier. Oh, listen, that's the 'Matschish,' which always thrills me, makes me feel I should like to have a lover. Oh, please, don't be obvious, I should hate it really, I only like to think about it, like Madeleine de Maupin, though that's not quite a parallel case either," she added, reflecting.

"Who was Madeleine de Maupin?"

"Oh, you've not read the book, that's all right then. I can talk about her. I'm afraid Madeleine was not a very correct person, like me. She too wanted to see life, and, if she could, find a perfect lover--not one who pretended to be, like most men, and talk afterwards when they're drunk, but someone she could trust when away from her. So she put on men's clothes, which I should hate, though in my fencing kit, white satin ... but perhaps you'll see me in that if you're nice and don't make love except when I want you to. That time is not now, Colonel Graeme," another look from the grey eyes arresting the movement of his hand towards hers.

"I wasn't going to," he muttered sulkily. "I don't want to touch your hand, why should I?"

"I can't imagine. But about Madeleine, she had all sorts of adventures on her travels; women made love to her, she fought duels and won them too, and then at last she found him."

"And got married, I suppose? Same old ending, why can't they think of something different, I wonder?"