*VI.*
Trevelyan, still standing over the spot on the floor, raised his eyesand looked vaguely in the direction of the sound. He remained silent.
The little subaltern banged again, and Trevelyan heard the echo ofvoices.
He put his hand up to his collar, loosening it, and then he crossed theroom and flung open the door.
"Hello, you fellows," he cried, "What d’you want of a chap now?"
The little subaltern tumbled into the room, the other half dozen membersof the mess on top of him.
"Hello, yourself," they cried, "How d’you like the job the Colonel’sgiven you?"
"Like it!" Trevelyan threw back his head and his large, well formedthroat pulsed as he spoke, "Why, it’s the greatest thing that everhappened to a chap of my age!"
His messmates formed a little group around him.
"How’s your nerve?"
Trevelyan laughed. It was only Stewart, who stood by silent, listening,who felt vaguely the jar in it.
"Oh, _my_ nerve is all right. How’s your own at the prospect of a row?’I go to prepare a place for you’—" he went on in a deep chant.
"Robert!"
It was Stewart.
"Oh, I suppose that was a bit in bad taste, but when a chap’s making hislast will and testament, he forgets the teachings of the old kirk—"
"Sure! What time do you start?" from the little subaltern.
"Fire arms in good order?" put in Bennett.
"In an hour. No, I’m not going to trust any of these oily natives toclean them. I’ll see to them myself."
Trevelyan moved away from the group.
"We’ll have something on the strength of it!" said the little subaltern,"A toast: ’To the Queen—God bless her—and the Queen’s courier!’ How’sthat?"
He glanced conceitedly about the room. The men of the mess laughed goodnaturedly.
"Well, here’s my hand on the success of it," said Mackenzie, a littlelater, at leaving. He suddenly regretted he had not been a bit kinderto the young engineer. A fellow with such nerve, deserved more thanthey had all given him.
They filed out after awhile. Stewart alone remained. He put his handon Trevelyan’s shoulder, as he had used to do long ago when they wereboys, pacing the great library of a rainy afternoon, and he walked withTrevelyan up and down the length of the room.
"It’s a risky business, Robert," he said, in his grave voice, "but Ibelieve you’re the man for it."
"I suppose," said Trevelyan, "if it hadn’t been me it would have beenPearson."
"I suppose so, but Pearson couldn’t do it."
"Neither may I."
"_You_ will," said Stewart.
After a little, he went on, speaking as though to himself.
"I wish to God—"
He did not finish his sentence.
Trevelyan shook off the hand on his shoulder.
"I understand, and—I’m grateful, of course, and all that, but if you’dleave me alone for awhile. There is a letter or two and—"
"Of course."
At the door Stewart turned.
"I’ll see you before you go," he said.
Trevelyan listened until his footsteps, faded away and then he sat downat his small deal table, his eyes turned away from the spot on thefloor. The vision of that dead, ghastly face had come back.
If it wasn’t him it would be Pearson, probably, or anyhow, some otherman—glad of the chance. Why should he deprive him, whoever he was, ofthe chance? A grim smile crept around Trevelyan’s mouth, and then helet his head fall forward against the edge of the wood; his arms hanginglimp between his long legs stretched out straight under the table. Thehorrible fear had returned, and the darkness and the blackness of deathseemed swallowing him up. Never to see her again! Never to touch herhand again, or to hear her footsteps in passing, or the sound of hervoice; to die—not with other men in the daylight and in battle—but to beshot down like a dog, alone, in the darkness—
The steady ticking of the watch he had laid in front of him on thetable, throbbed feebly like a dying pulse, close to his ear, and he sat,his forehead against the edge of the table, his eyes staring down at theshadowed floor.
After awhile he got up and steadied himself and went over to the doorand flung it open and looked out. Far off, the little subaltern wascoming his way. He hurried back to the other end of the room and gotout his fire arms and examined them, and began to polish themvigorously. The little subaltern looked in.
"Hard at work? Do you want help?"
Trevelyan looked up and nodded.
"No, I guess not," he said, pleasantly.
The little subaltern sighed enviously, hesitated, and then passed on.
Trevelyan drew a deep breath and laid down his polishing cloth andpicked up his revolver. His hands played nervously over the trigger amoment. The catch seemed stiff. He tried it again.
There was a sudden glare and a loud report, and Trevelyan sank back, theblood staining the shoulder of his uniform.
After all, if one had nerve, it could be easily done and was soon over!
He turned sharply and leaned against the table, facing the window, onehand to his shoulder. He fancied he heard footsteps receding. Afterawhile he wiped the sweat from his face and staggered across the floor,out into the gathering dusk, to headquarters.
"I was seeing to my fire arms, sir, preparing for to-night’s survey.The revolver was loaded. I didn’t know it—it went off." Trevelyan’sbig frame began to sway a little. "I came to report, sir. If I couldhave it dressed, I’d be able to go. Of course, I expect to go. Youwon’t—"
The Colonel signaled for his orderly.
"My respects to Dr. Mackenzie, and will he come over at once."
Then to Trevelyan:
"It’s a most unfortunate affair, but it would be murder to allow you toundertake the trip. I’ll hear the details later."
"But, sir—"
"Don’t question my orders, Lieutenant," interrupted the Colonel,briefly.
"Flesh wound," Mackenzie said.
Later, when the dressing was done and Trevelyan was in the hospital, thesurgeon looked down at him curiously. "Odd," he said, "that shot! Idon’t understand how—"
Trevelyan turned his drawn face to the surgeon’s, meeting his eyessquarely.
"Confound you! You don’t think I shot myself on purpose, do you?"
Mackenzie sat down on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his chin.
"Oh—of course, not," he said slowly.
An hour later he and Vaughan, the assistant surgeon, returned.
"Well, there goes the best officer in the service to his death," theyounger man was saying, as he entered, and then as he met Trevelyan’swide, questioning eyes, he broke off.
"Who’s that?" asked Trevelyan, sharply.
"Your substitute."
Trevelyan picked at the sheet.
"Who did the old man send—Pearson?"
"Pearson! Not on your life! Stewart, of course."
Trevelyan stopped picking at the sheet. He rose with an effort and satup in bed, supporting himself on his elbows and leaning forward.
"He has gone?"
The assistant standing at the foot of the bed nodded. Trevelyan satrigid.
"And I was never told! And he’s gone without coming to me!" he said,hoarsely.
"He spoke about it, but he said he wouldn’t disturb you—" the assistantbroke off.
Suddenly, Trevelyan flung up his arms.
"God! Why couldn’t I have gone! I wouldn’t have been a loss toanyone—God!" he choked, and fell back, his face buried in the pillow.
The assistant left the room and the surgeon went to the window. Once ortwice he glanced at the great, motionless figure on the bed.
"Jove! that’s genuine enough! Guess I must have been mistaken about theshot!"
The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today Page 17
