CHAPTER XI.

"ONLY AN ENSIGN."

Providentially for us, none in this world know what a day, or even an hour may bring forth; so Denzil, when next morning he dressed and accoutred himself, could little foresee the many stirring events that were to crowd the next twelve hours, and in which he was to bear a part; as little could he foresee the sorrows that were in store for him, ere for the last time, as the event proved, he laid his head on the pillow in the Afghan fort; for next day was to see the whole forces concentrated in the cantonments. Polwhele was absent on patrol duty, and Bob Waller had gone abroad unusually early.

Denzil's intense longing to see Rose Trecarrel and to revive the memories of yesterday was mingled with a conviction of the necessity to see her father, that he might take him to General Elphinstone or the envoy, to whom he was most anxious to report all that he had heard and seen overnight in the Mosque of Baber; but Trecarrel was absent (as a sepoy on duty at the gate of the villa informed him), having gone to the Bala Hissar with a strong cavalry escort, as the turbulence of the people rendered all the roads and streets unsafe--a state of affairs sufficiently proved to Denzil already.

He recalled the threat, or proposal he had overheard, to sell the European ladies as slaves in Toorkistan, or to exchange them for horses;--Rose Trecarrel sent to Toorkistan! He felt that he could cheerfully shed his heart's blood in defence of her--of Mabel and the old General too; that he could die for them--for her more than all; and all that a young, loving and enthusiastic spirit could suggest were in his head and heart, with a hope that his narrow escape overnight would invest him with additional interest in her estimation.

He entered the house with somewhat of the confidence felt only by a privileged dangler, and by chance on this occasion his arrival was not proclaimed by a stroke on the gong. He gave his name to a native servant of the Trecarrels, who ushered him into the drawing-room, announcing his presence as "Deveroo Sahib," but in a tone so low that it seemed to be unheard by those who were there, and for a full minute Denzil stood irresolute and did not advance.

The apartment was spacious, and at a remote end of it, almost out on the verandah, in fact, were Bob Waller and Mabel Trecarrel, very much occupied with each other. She was seated in an easy chair looking up at him, with an arch yet confident expression. They were conversing in whispers, while Waller leaned over her, stooping his tall and handsome figure so much that his face was close to hers--so close indeed that his long curly whisker, the left one, was caught by her right-ear earing, from which it was with difficulty extricated.

"Do you know what I've been thinking, Mabel?" asked Waller, at that juncture.

"How should I guess?"

"Try."

"What is it?"

"How have I ever been able to get on for those seven-and-twenty years--I am just twenty-seven--without you!"

Denzil might have laughed at all this but for the other two who made up a quartette.

Nearer him in the foreground sat Rose, the glory of the morning sun streaming full upon her, and imparting fresh radiance to her beauty. Her rich auburn hair glittered in the sheen, half like gold and half like dusky bronze, while her smiling eyes were full of liquid light as she looked upward from a book of coloured prints which lay open on her knee, to the face of a staff officer who hung somewhat familiarly over her. His face was fine, well browned by the sun, and closely shaven, all save a smart black mustache; his eyes were soft in expression, and his whole air was decidedly distinguished.

"Now, who the deuce is this fellow? who seems such an _ami de la maison_--in staff uniform, too--never saw his face before," were the surmises that flashed on Denzil's mind.

"And what is all this Miss Trecarrel has told me?" asked the stranger, in a low voice.

"A foolish flirtation with a boy," replied Rose, laughing. "It was all a joke. Be assured that he never asked me to favour him with my agreeable society for the term of his natural life."

"By Jove! I should think not," was the rather dubious response of the visitor.

"And some bread-and-butter Miss now a-bed, perhaps, in England will console him in the future, if the memory of me survive so long."

"Mabel says you are over head and ears in love with him."

"Psha! how can _you_ talk so? I am out of my teens, and the time has gone by for me falling over head and ears for anybody. Come, don't be foolish, friend Audley," she continued, gazing into the same eyes which looked so softly into those of Sybil by the lonely moorland tarn. "Do you think," she added, laughing, "I have been writing 'Mrs. _and_ Ensign Devereaux' in my blotting-pad, just to see how the conjunction looked; for Denzil, you know, poor fellow, is very young and only an ensign."

Denzil felt as if petrified; and but last night he had risked his life to procure a bauble for her!

"But you certainly have been letting him make love to you," resumed the stranger, in a tone of combined reproval and banter.

"Well, it is rather pleasant to have a nice foolish boy to make love to one, to tease and to laugh at."

"Oh, indeed!" His tone was almost contemptuous; but in her vanity Rose failed to perceive this.

It was not eavesdropping, hearing all this, which passed rapidly, for the Hindoo had formally announced Denzil; but so absorbed were the quartette in themselves that they neither saw nor heard him. Then as he paused irresolutely with cap and pipe-clayed gloves in hand, he heard more than certainly even Rose, in her most rantipole mood, ever meant he should hear. To say truth, she had been grievously piqued that Audley had come out overland, instead of with her and Mabel in the Indiaman; and hence she was disposed to exert the full power of her charms, and use all her arts to lure him into flirting with--if not of absolutely loving--her; and for the time poor Denzil seemed to be already forgotten or only remembered as a subject for merriment.

But as yet, at least, Audley Trevelyan was proof against all her wiles and smiles. He thought only of the little girl at home now--she whose brother he was certain might abhor and shun him for his somewhat selfish treatment of her; for he knew not that Denzil had heard nothing of the little love scenes that had passed at Porthellick.

Suddenly Denzil caught the eye of Rose as he drew nearer, and starting and growing rather pale in the fear of what he might have heard, she exclaimed, nervously,

"Oh! Mr. Devereaux, welcome! Allow me to introduce you--Mr. Devereaux, Cornish Light Infantry,--Mr. Trevelyan, one of yours, just arrived--papa's new aide-de-camp, you know."

Denzil bowed with anything but a satisfied air to "papa's new aide-de-camp," who presented his hand with more than polite cordiality, and muttered something about "the sincere pleasure" it gave him, et cetera.

"Hallo, Denzil, my boy! what was that shindy we hear you got into in Cabul last night?" asked Waller, looking up. "Hope you were not poking your nose under the veil of some bride of the Faithful, eh? Here is Trevelyan of ours, has had a narrow escape, too. He and his escort were pursued by the Ghilzies as he came up country; but he sabred one, shot five or six and got clear off. Then I suppose you know all about this devilish business of Sale and the 13th Light Infantry in the pass?"

Waller running on this, caused a diversion, and saved both Rose and Denzil some pain by giving them breathing time.

So this was Audley Trevelyan, his cousin, the Audley to whom Sybil owed her life in the Pixies' Hole, was the first thought of Denzil, and his heart seemed to harden. He had come thinking to create an interest in a very tender bosom by an account of "the shindy," as Waller styled it, in the great bazaar; and here was a fellow bronzed and mustachioed already in possession of the situation--master of the position--an intensely good-looking beast, who had actually crossed swords and exchanged shots with the wild and untamable Ghilzies!

To Denzil it was bitter mortification, all--yet he was compelled to dissemble. Could it be possible that he found himself _de trop_? That words of mockery had fallen on his ear? That Mabel and this man, too, knew alike of that delightful drive by the lake?

There was a nervous flutter and laughing air of confusion about Rose that were neither flattering nor assuring; but the confirmed tidings of the attack, by the insurrectionary tribes upon Sir Robert Sale's regiment in its downward march to Jellalabad, luckily afforded a ready topic--a neutral ground--on which all could talk with ease; for now they were aware that Sir Robert Sale's little brigade, including the Queen's 13th Light Infantry and 35th Native Infantry, armed with flint muskets, though the stores were full of percussion fire-arms, had been attacked by the mountain tribes, and that after clearing the stupendous Khoord Cabul Pass and enduring eighteen days of incessant fighting as far as a place called Gundamuck, had succeeded in reaching Jellalabad on the 12th of November; and that now on Sir Robert's retention of that city depended all the hope of General Elphinstone's slender army having a place of refuge--a point on which to fall back--if compelled to retire from Cabul (leaving the unpopular Shah to the mercy of his own subjects), even with the knowledge that a great amount of fighting awaited them in the savage mountain passes (through which their homeward route must lie,) amid the land of the Ghilzies, a race of hereditary robbers.

Many officers and men had been killed and wounded; among the latter were Sir Robert Sale, who received a ball in his left leg, and Lieutenant O'Brien, of the 13th, whose skull was fractured by a shot as he attempted to storm the rocks at the head of his company. Such was the story of that protracted fight as it reached Cabul, and reference to it now shed somewhat of gravity over even the lively Rose Trecarrel; for among the officers of the two regiments attacked--especially of the dashing 13th, Prince Albert's Own Light Infantry--many were known to her, and had deemed her the chief attraction of the band-stand and the daily promenade.

But regrets were short, for something of the off-hand recklessness to danger and even death, incident to military society in such a place as Cabul, pervaded even the tenor of female life there; and the subject was soon dismissed.

"A mounted _tchopper_ accompanied Mr. Audley," said Mabel to Denzil, whose saddened face interested her; "and so we have had quite a bale of newspapers from England."

"A bale?" repeated Denzil, mechanically, his eyes seeking those of Rose.

"Yes, positively. Three months' newspapers at least, though not one letter; and thus the obituaries and marriages in the _Times_ become so perplexing to us here."

"I brought some letters for the army up with me from Bombay," said Audley Trevelyan, "and among them, Devereaux, I observed one for you--the name had, somehow, an attraction for me."

"From home!" exclaimed Denzil, starting, for only those who are so far from Europe as he was then can know how much is concentrated in that single word, "home."

"I trust so."

"Then I must go to my quarters at once."

"Nay, Devereaux," said Waller, "moderate your impatience, if the letter is from some fair one----"

"I have no correspondent but my--my sister Sybil," said Denzil, with a flash in his eyes and a quiver of the lip.

"But you must wait, my good fellow," said Waller, patting him kindly on the shoulder; "you remember that we promised to ride on the Staff of the Envoy, to make up a gallant show, and to impress, if possible, the Sirdir."

"My horse is not here."

"But mine is, and is quite at your service," said Audley, bowing to Denzil, who was in an agony of impatience to peruse his long-wished-for letter.

"All right," added Waller, looking at his watch; "and now we must be off--must tear ourselves away."

He glanced smilingly to Mabel as he spoke.

A strange footing the two kinsmen were on. Something in their hearts kept each from talking of their being such to each other. It was indignant disdain on the part of Denzil, with somewhat of jealousy, too. In Audley it was a well-bred nervous doubt of how much or how little Denzil knew of the love affair--the broken engagement, in fact, with his sister; or the misconstruction of the last visit at night--the visit which ended, as neither yet knew, by an effect so fatal. Denzil thanked him briefly and emphatically for saving his sister's life (the Trecarrels had fully detailed all that), and then all reference to Porthellick, and even to Cornwall, was dropped; but they had soon other things to think of.

The father of Audley had left nothing unsaid or undone to impress upon him that the mysterious story of Constance's marriage was a fabrication--one calculated to injure the prospects, and imperil the honour, and so forth of the Trevelyan family; but when Audley remembered Sybil, and sought to trace a likeness to her in Denzil's face, he could not help feeling kindly and well-disposed to his younger brother officer.

Denzil having no such tender reminiscences to soften him, was disposed to be politely cool or grim as Ajax.

"We must get our bonnets and shawls if we are to see this Conference," said Rose; "and we must look sharp--_temps-militaire_, you know."

"Don't be slangy," said Mabel.

"Do you call French so, Mab?" Rose asked, as they hastened in high spirits to attire themselves for walking, and little anticipating the scene that was before them.

"What are you thinking of Waller?" asked Audley, smiling.

"That a thousand girls may be beautiful; but only one among them have an air of refinement."

"Like Miss Trecarrel?"

"Exactly."

All Europeans had now been ordered to keep within the shelter of the cantonments, and as it was feared that the General's house might not be sufficiently protected by the guns on the bastions overlooking the Residency, he had arranged for the removal of his whole family and effects into the regimental bungalows; and already a fatigue party under Sergeant Treherne was at work on the premises, pulling down and packing up, as only soldiers can pack and prepare in haste.

With something of a stunned emotion Denzil rode by the side of Waller on the horse of Audley, as the latter preferred to accompany the ladies who were to witness the Conference through their lorgnettes from the cantonment walls.

"Oh! he preferred remaining behind," thought Denzil viciously; "preferred remaining with her, of course; what cares he about the Envoy, the Sirdir, or the Conference, d--n him!'

"Full uniform is the order, you see," said Waller, as three other officers joined them; "we are to meet Ackbar in our war-paint--in all the pomp and glorious circumstance----"

"Oh! Waller," urged Denzil; "how can you chaff so?"

"Why not; it is a poor heart that never rejoices. You are down in your luck with Rose, but you will laugh at that by-and-by."

Denzil coloured, but made no reply. Oh, had his ears deceived him? Had he heard aright? Had he been bantered by the tongue that spoke so alluringly yesterday, mocked by the lips that had been pressed to his so passionately? Were the clear, bright hazel eyes that but lately looked so earnest, now smiling, as they alone could smile, into those of another?

Might he not have been mistaken? he tormentingly asked himself again and again, and she be true after all--yes, after the sweet impassioned hours of joy by the Lake of Istaliff it must be so! He actually began to flatter himself that this was the case; that all was as he wished it to be; so true it is "that a man freshly in love is more blind than the bats at noonday."

So far as change of scene, of circumstance, of society, and some kinds of experience went, Denzil was beginning to learn the truth of Southey's maxim, "Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest of your life."