*II.*
Trevelyan’s excitement over Stewart’s coming died away as one monotonousweek followed another, and he became more moody than before. Stewarttried to draw him into the life of the station, and the pastimes bywhich the officers and men helped to kill the long inactive days, butTrevelyan steadily refused to be won from his taciturnity. A few used tolaugh at Stewart for his pains, but the majority of the mess, grew,while watching his struggle for Trevelyan, to know him better and toappreciate him more. Before, to a few, young Stewart of the Engineershad been a man with a good name; to the most of them he had beenunknown, but, aside from his devotion to Trevelyan, his knowledge ofsurveying and military niceties, his genial spirit and his unfailingpatience, won for him the distinct approval of the officers and theabsolute adoration of the rank and file.
He used to try to include Trevelyan in the atmosphere of approbationthat surrounded himself, but Trevelyan obstinately refused even hisadvances.
Once, indeed, one evening, Stewart got him to join a game of cards.Trevelyan did more drinking than he did playing, and three hours later,Stewart carried him to his own quarters and nursed him through the longstill night.
When Trevelyan awoke in the dawn of the early morning, he found Stewartstill watching, and later as the wan grayness of the dawn turned todeepening gold, Stewart talked to him as an older man talks to a youngerone. He spoke to him of self-respect and honor and of self-control. Hespoke to him of Cary.
"Take a brace and redeem yourself with the mess and the men," he said,as he finished. "Where’s your grit and your hold on things? You don’tthink you’re growing more worthy of her; do you?"
Trevelyan sat up, supporting himself by his rigid arms, on the palms ofhis hands. The light of the coming sunrise gave to his bronzed face astrange reddish hue.
"Think!" he exclaimed, "I wish to God I could stop thinking! Her facehaunts and haunts and _haunts_ me! She says my love frightens her, andthat it lies with me and what I make of myself, if her answer changes.I can’t change my love—it’s all of me; it’s the soul of me, and if itfrightens her—!" Trevelyan leaned forward, "I can’t change myself! Ican’t see her; I know I’ll never win her! How? I can’t tell you, but Iknow I never shall, and I don’t care what becomes of me or how soon I goto hell!"
The rigidity of his arms increased and he stared straight in front ofhim.
Stewart sprang up, his firm mouth quivering with passion.
"If a man had ever dared to tell me that you would talk so, I would haveknocked him down. You’re not worthy to be born of such a father and it’sa blessing that your mother’s dead. You’re not worthy to have had mymother foster you ever since you were a little shaver. You’re not worthyof the worst woman that ever lived. You’ve lost your manhood. You canbe cashiered from the army—and you can go to hell! You’re not worthsaving!"
Young Stewart of the Engineers turned on his heel and swung out of theroom as he would have swung, face forward, at the head of a line,leading into action.
Later when he returned Trevelyan had gone. He stood in the doorway ofthe deserted room and stared fixedly at where Trevelyan had lain throughthe night. He was himself again, and a great shame at his lost controlswept over him. He had preached of self-control to Trevelyan.
"And I’d give my life for the boy’s," he said to himself.
It was remarked at mess that night that Trevelyan did not touch hisfood, and that he left earlier even than was his wont. Stewart followedhim out into the stillness of the evening.
"Trevelyan," he called, following the quickly moving figure up the stepsof his quarters.
Trevelyan turned sharply.
"I don’t want any more of your talk," he said. "Good-night!" Andslammed the door in Stewart’s face.
Stewart stood there for a moment tapping his booted foot against thefloor of the piazza. Then he went to his own quarters.
"I’ve come out to this cursed hole to serve the boy, and I’ve lost himinstead! I’ve made a jolly mess of it all, this time!"
* * * * *
After that Trevelyan spent all of his "off duty" time alone. He used togo on long tramps or wild rides, returning with his horse flecked withfoam and himself worn out, and his evenings were passed in his ownquarters with no one better than himself for company. He would walk upand down and down and up again until he turned in, or he would take tostudying Hindoostanee, or sit idly, staring into nothingness. At firsthe fastened his door against possible intrusion, but no one ever came,and his solitude was unbroken. Once his strained ears caught the soundof Stewart’s familiar step outside and he stealthily crept over to thedoor and unfastened it and stood by it listening. The even steady stepscame nearer, and then without halting, passed on.
Trevelyan wiped his moist face. After all, why should Stewart havetried again? He had been refused so often—
Stewart pushed back his ponderous volume on military engineering andstared ahead of him, his firm lips pressed close together.
If there was only some way to help the boy—
The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today Page 13
