THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 CORDON GARDINER 
 
 a 
 
 'ok 
 
 
 
 i
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 
 DALLAS ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 "RIGHT OH!" WHISPERED THE OTHER AGAIN; 
 AND THEY SET OFF INTO THE NIGHT.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 GORDON GARDINER 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 GEORGE HARPER 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 COPTRIGHT, 1014 
 
 BT THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1914
 
 (To 
 
 &. Jt. C. 
 Jf . g>. 6. 
 
 2135S51
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DUSK was falling on the veld. The rolling 
 contours of the vast brown expanse were sink- 
 ing minute by minute into a deep obscurity that 
 seemed to creep out of the earth itself. The west 
 was still an enormous glow of saffron and gold 
 into which the outlines of heavy clouds on the 
 horizon ran black and sharp like the promon- 
 tories of a distant coastline. In the eastern sky 
 and overhead the stars were coming out brightly, 
 and were touching with points of palest gilt the 
 peacock green above the sunset. A chill breeze 
 came from the south, stirred the mimosas and 
 died away. 
 
 In a shallow donga strewn with boulders, a 
 man was lying. He was almost concealed by the 
 bushes which grew on the edge of the depression, 
 and about the base of the little bare kopje above. 
 Suddenly he half -rolled, half -eased himself fur- 
 ther out of the shadow of the mimosas and kar- 
 ree-booms, pulling a Martini-Henry rifle with
 
 2 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 him. Gripping a boulder larger than its neigh- 
 bours, he raised himself laboriously to a sitting 
 posture then sank back against the rock with a 
 groan. His face whitened and the handkerchief 
 that bound his right leg just above the knee 
 dripped with a sudden rush of blood. The man 
 opened his eyes, leaned forward painfully, drew 
 the cleaning-rod from his rifle, shoved it through 
 the folds of the handkerchief, and twisted it 
 round. Having stopped the bleeding tempo- 
 rarily, he began to bandage his wound and fix 
 the tourniquet in its place with the puttie he had 
 taken from his left leg. The effort was all but 
 too much for him; he paused often, and time 
 after time seemed on the point of fainting. The 
 perspiration came out on his forehead and 
 trickled into his eyes and down his nose; with a 
 curse he ducked his head into the crook of his 
 right arm and wiped his brow against the sleeve. 
 In spite of his weakness he wound and folded 
 the improvised bandage with grim determina- 
 tion, and a skill that told of long practice in the 
 art of putting on the old-fashioned straight put- 
 tie ; and as he worked he listened. The west still 
 shone, but the hollow where he lay was now al- 
 most dark; the breeze had died away; from out 
 of the immense, dry space came innumerable 
 whisperings and rustlings ; a night-bird called in
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 3 
 
 the distance. With a quick twist the man fixed 
 the puttie in place and grabbed his rifle. For 
 some moments he hearkened intently, then, lay- 
 ing the weapon across his thighs, bent over it 
 and, loosening the fold, returned to his painful 
 bandaging. 
 
 He was spare and wiry, of middle height, per- 
 haps thirty years of age. Crippled though he 
 was, his bearing was alert and composed, and his 
 bronzed face, drooping moustache, clipped black 
 head and straight back, all bore the stamp of his 
 calling. He wore a tunic of a faded chocolate 
 colour, with stripes on the arm, corduroy 
 breeches and heavy boots with spurs ; a bandolier 
 was slung across his chest, and by his feet lay a 
 regulation slouch hat the broad brim of which 
 was pinned up on the left side. North of Vry- 
 burg in the nineties, any dweller on the veld, 
 black or white, would have recognised him at 
 sight as a sergeant of the Protectorate Frontier 
 Mounted Police. 
 
 A noise as of iron striking against stone came 
 from the darkness on his right. Without paus- 
 ing to fix the bandage the sergeant grasped his 
 rifle and, holding it at the ready, peered over his 
 shoulder. There was a sound of hurried stum- 
 bling, and a figure, bent almost double, darted 
 over the shoulder of the kopje, burst through
 
 4 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 the bushes and dropped heavily into the donga. 
 After floundering about among the stones, the 
 newcomer straightened himself and peered 
 round. 
 
 The sergeant leaned forward: "Look out, 
 you fool!" he said in a sharp undertone, "lie 
 down!" 
 
 With a start of obvious relief, the other 
 dropped on his hands and knees. For a moment 
 both men listened breathlessly. Then the new- 
 comer began to crawl. Half rising on one knee, 
 the sergeant made an angry gesture of caution, 
 then, doubling up, fell back with a groan. His 
 companion, disregarding the signal, continued 
 to creep up the donga and, reaching his side, 
 sank down, dislodging a stone noisily. The 
 wounded man's face shone livid in the darkness ; 
 seizing the other by the collar he thrust a hand 
 over his mouth and held him still, with a tense- 
 ness more peremptory and menacing than any 
 word. 
 
 For what seemed to the newcomer intermi- 
 nable moments, the two men listened. The great 
 expanse around was almost dark ; the glow in the 
 west was fading to a pale radiance against which 
 the sombre clouds seemed more than ever like 
 desolate capes and bays by a limitless sea. The 
 breeze from the south rose and fell ; the mimosas
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 5 
 
 whispered on every side, and, above the men, the 
 kopje seemed as full of noises as a haunted 
 house. To some of these sounds the sergeant 
 appeared to give no heed, while at others his 
 fingers tightened on his companion with a 
 twitch, imperative and alarming. Suddenly he 
 groaned, his grasp relaxed and he sank back. 
 The newcomer leaned over him and, putting a 
 hand on his arm, was about to speak, but the 
 wounded man's face contorted itself into an 
 expression of warning so discomposing that the 
 other drew back in silence. 
 
 The newcomer was very tall some inches 
 over six feet. He wore a uniform similar to the 
 sergeant's, but new and smart looking, and his 
 boyish, handsome face showed in the semi-dark- 
 ness a skin that had scarcely begun to tan and 
 harden under the sun, wind and dust of the 
 veld. In spite of his hurried and furtive move- 
 ments, his bearing was unusually graceful, and 
 the set of his shoulders and back powerful and 
 athletic. 
 
 For some seconds he lay motionless, propped 
 on his elbow, scarcely daring to breathe, listen- 
 ing uncomprehendingly to the myriad faint 
 noises of the night. All at once the stillness of 
 his companion startled him : seizing the other by 
 the arm he leaned forward.
 
 6 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "What's up, sergeant?" he whispered. "Are 
 you hurt?" 
 
 With a start the other shook him off. "Let 
 go! Where are the horses?" 
 
 "They've bolted." 
 
 "Bolted!" The wounded man sat up with a 
 jerk. 
 
 "Yes, when the niggers gave that frightful 
 yell when I thought they'd found you your 
 mare pulled back, and my horse jumped between 
 her and me and tore the reins out of my hand 
 and " He stopped. 
 
 "What in blazes were you doing?" The ser- 
 geant, supporting himself against the boulder, 
 leaned over him. "What did you let them get 
 tied up like that for?" 
 
 "They weren't tied up. I I was holding 
 them that way." 
 
 "My God! I knew you weren't much good 
 even for a recruity, but I did think you could 
 'hold horses'." The sergeant gripped the other's 
 elbow. "D'you see what you've done? Here we 
 are seven miles out, with the main impi of the 
 Amatongas making straight for us, and I can't 
 move a foot!" 
 
 The younger man stared at the speaker; at 
 the last words he threw out his hand appeal- 
 ingly. "I'm frightfully sorry, sergeant! I
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 7 
 
 didn't know! Where are you hurt? Is it bad? 
 
 I'm frightfully sorry " He peered up and 
 
 down the prostrate figure beside him, and, catch- 
 ing sight of the tourniquet and bandage, moved 
 his hand out uncertainly. 
 
 "Oh, damn your sorrow!" The sergeant 
 struck away the hand, "What on earth were you 
 doing? Had you the mare on the long rein?" 
 
 The trooper started. "Yes," he said un- 
 willingly. 
 
 "On the off side of your horse?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you were on the near side with your 
 reins on your horse's neck: was that it?" The 
 speaker's low tones became violent and men- 
 acing. 
 
 The trooper stared at him mutely. 
 
 "Answer, damn you!" 
 
 Again the younger man jumped. "Yes 
 I " He stopped and moistened his lips. 
 
 The other, glaring at him, swayed. His eyes 
 blinked, but, passing his hand quickly over his 
 forehead, he pulled himself together. "You 
 young swine!" he said slowly, "if we ever get 
 back I'll give you hell for this! You thought 
 you'd make it all right for yourself, did you 
 thought you'd play one of your blasted recruity 
 tricks and make sure if anything happened you
 
 8 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 could hop on and clear while I was to take my 
 chance, was I? You " He fell back sud- 
 denly and lay still. 
 
 The trooper, horrified, bent over him. "I'm 
 sorry, sergeant ! Do forgive me I've told you 
 I'm sorry I I swear I didn't mean it the way 
 you think! Try and speak, for heaven's sake. 
 Are you badly hurt?" He put his hand on the 
 wounded man's brow, then tore open the collar 
 of his tunic. The sergeant gave a gasp, opened 
 his eyes and, shoving the other away, struggled 
 up on his elbow again. "What?" he growled, 
 putting his hand to his head. 
 
 "Can't I do anything?" implored his com- 
 panion. "Are you badly hurt?" 
 
 Raising himself a little higher and feeling 
 painfully for the boulder, the sergeant eased 
 back on it. "I've got a jab on the knee. One of 
 them let fly into the bushes with his assegai as 
 he passed and got me. I don't know whether 
 they spotted me or not they were in the deuce 
 of a hurry. Did they see you?" 
 
 "I don't think so. I was right down below 
 them. I saw one of them going by against the 
 skyline." The trooper's voice shook. "What a 
 what a fearful row they made!" He looked 
 quickly behind him.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 9 
 
 "Damn their row!" said the sergeant. "Here, 
 lend a hand and tie this. I'm about done !" 
 
 The younger man bent over, and, taking the 
 end of the puttie, began wrapping the long tape 
 round the bandaged limb. His hand trembled. 
 "Is it is it bad?" he asked again. 
 
 "How the deuce can I tell?" said the sergeant 
 irritably. Directing the other's fingers, he 
 pulled the coils of tape into position. "It feels 
 bad enough. Steady! Don't pull it too tight. 
 That'll do. Now tie it. Tie it, man! That 
 won't hold. Good Lord, can't you even tie a 
 puttie! Get out give it me!" Snatching the 
 end of the tape and passing it under the two 
 previous coils, he fixed it neatly. "There. 
 Lord!" He sank back. 
 
 "Sergeant, sergeant, don't do that wake 
 up!" The other caught him urgently by the 
 arm. Getting no reply, the boy glanced round 
 desperately. "I wish to goodness I had some 
 brandy!" 
 
 The wounded man opened an eye. "So do I," 
 he said grimly, "that's bolted with the horses!" 
 
 "Sergeant, do let me explain! I didn't mean 
 honestly to ' ' 
 
 "Oh shut up," said the older man roughly. 
 "They've gone, and there's an end to it! Here, 
 lend a hand!" He raised himself and, stretch-
 
 10 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ing out an arm so that his companion could put 
 a hand underneath his shoulder-blade, he caught 
 the other round the neck and pulled himself into 
 a sitting position. "Thanks. Got a handker- 
 chief on you?" 
 
 The trooper hastily produced one from his 
 breeches pocket and, handing it to his comrade, 
 watched with an expression of relief, while the 
 latter wiped his brow and neck and moustache. 
 "The only thing now," resumed the sergeant 
 sharply, "is for you to get a move on you, and 
 darned quick, too !" 
 
 The younger man gave a violent start. "How 
 d'you mean?" 
 
 "Mean? What I say! We've got to get the 
 news to Graham before he sends out the next 
 patrol, or they'll get cut up. It'll take you 
 about all you know to do those seven miles in 
 time. Get out!" 
 
 The trooper drew back. "You mean you 
 mean back to Fort Derby?" Again he glanced 
 hurriedly into the darkness. 
 
 "Where on earth else? What's the matter 
 with you?" 
 
 The younger man drew further into the shad- 
 ows of the mimosas. "Nothing," he said indis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 "Well then, clear! Your only chance is to
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE H 
 
 strike for Derby before the first lot of the Ama- 
 tongas get between us and there. We've a 
 couple of hours yet perhaps more. Nip off 
 for all you're worth. Go straight to Graham. 
 Tell him I saw about seventy of them coming 
 up from the south-west, heading north. They 
 were an advance party from the main column, 
 returning on their tracks, I think, but I'm not 
 sure. Tell him they were going very fast. I 
 don't think they saw us." 
 
 "But I'm to tell him you're out here wound- 
 ed?" said the other hoarsely. 
 
 "Hang it, yes! Tell him that too, of course! 
 He'll probably send out the whole crowd for 
 me. If these devils haven't got me by that time, 
 I'll be all right, I expect. Anyway, the main 
 thing is to get the news in to Derby before 
 Slade's patrol starts out and gets cut up. You 
 know your way?" 
 
 "I I think so I'm not sure " 
 
 "Hell and Tommy! You're not sure?" The 
 sergeant's voice rose. Restraining himself with 
 an effort, he leaned towards the other and 
 pointed over the neck of the kopje. "Listen. 
 You know your way to Wheeler's?" 
 
 The trooper gazed along the other's arm. 
 "Yes," he said uncertainly. 
 
 Still pointing, the sergeant turned.
 
 12 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Do you? Speak out, will you!" 
 
 His companion swallowed. "Yes!" he said. 
 
 "Well" the sergeant dropped his arm and 
 sank back. "Keep along his kopjes till you 
 come to Kampfer's Kloof mind you don't miss 
 it. Up it and round by Macdonald's. You 
 may find a picket there. If you do, tell whoever 
 is in charge to send in word to Graham some 
 of them may come straight back for me with 
 you. If there's nobody, push straight on it's 
 plain sailing from there. But for heaven's 
 sake look out! Don't go falling about like you 
 did just now these brutes may be all over the 
 place by this time and look out at the Kloof, 
 whatever you do; some of them may have 
 nipped down there! Now then, clear!" 
 
 The trooper climbed slowly to his feet. 
 
 "Where's your rifle?" The older man peered 
 up at him. 
 
 "I left it by the horses," replied the other 
 dully. 
 
 "I suppose you know you could be shot for 
 that!" said the sergeant harshly. Then, after a 
 pause, as the other made no response, he or- 
 dered: "Go and get it, and your hat too; then 
 come back and let me have a look at you. You 
 ought to have a nurse, you fool ! Get out !" 
 
 The trooper, bending forward and feeling
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 13 
 
 with his feet, began to make his way among 
 the stones of the donga. His progress was 
 slow; more than once he stumbled in the pro- 
 found darkness below the bush-grown edge, 
 and a cautioning hiss from the sergeant brought 
 him up sharp, with the sweat starting from his 
 brow. At length he found a gap hi the mimo- 
 sas, and climbing through it, disappeared over 
 the shoulder of the kopje. 
 
 The sergeant eased himself against the 
 boulder, felt his knee gingerly, then wiped his 
 forehead, eyes and ears with the handkerchief. 
 Only a faint sheen remained in the west; the 
 wind had fallen, but stray puffs of hot air came 
 up the donga, mingling with the cool smell of 
 the stones under the bushes. There was no 
 moon; a mantle of velvet darkness lay over the 
 great space around, but the heavens were all 
 festal with stars twinkling, like the myriad 
 lights of a celestial city; the luminous peace of 
 a subtropical night hung over the earth. 
 
 A bird called mournfully in the distance. The 
 sergeant stiffened. Turning his head sharply 
 towards the kopje he seized his rifle. A noise 
 of stumbling came from the shoulder of the 
 hill; the trooper, carrying his rifle and wearing 
 his uniform slouch hat, dropped hurriedly
 
 14 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 through the bushes and again made his way 
 up the donga. 
 
 "Sh! man!" The sergeant flapped his hand- 
 kerchief urgently. The other stopped dead. 
 For some moments both men listened. Then 
 the sergeant moved slightly. "Take your spurs 
 off," he whispered. 
 
 The younger man bent. Suddenly he 
 straightened himself. 
 
 "Sergeant?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Putting his hand to his throat the trooper 
 gulped. "Look here, sergeant I'm not going! 
 I'm not going back to Derby alone and leave 
 you here!" 
 
 "What?" The other dropped his handker- 
 chief and stared at him. 
 
 "I'll carry you! I can do it easily if you 
 show the way. We've plenty of time. I'm not 
 going back alone!" 
 
 "We've not plenty of time, you fool!" In 
 the gloom the sergeant's face whitened. 
 "There's just time for you to get there and tell 
 Graham and no more perhaps not that!" 
 
 "But what about you?" 
 
 "I'll be all right, I tell you! For God's sake 
 go on! Slade's patrol '11 get cut up as sure as
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 15 
 
 eggs if you don't buck up. You can send out 
 for me. Go on. Take your spurs off." 
 
 The trooper knelt down and began fumbling 
 with the buckles of his spurs. The cry of a 
 night-bird rose loud and near from behind the 
 kopje. The sergeant, shooting out his arm, 
 gripped his companion ; both men crouched mo- 
 tionless. A dark figure leaped on to the shoul- 
 der of the hill above them. Against the last 
 paleness in the west he seemed enormous. The 
 shield and assegais of an Amatonga warrior in 
 full array were in his grasp; his headdress of 
 immense, black ostrich feathers stirred slightly 
 as he stood motionless, listening. Putting a 
 hand to his mouth he sent the call floating over 
 the veld once more. Again he hearkened, and 
 then, with plumes and the tails of his breechclout 
 tossing, he dropped into the darkness. 
 
 For perhaps two minutes the men in the 
 donga lay motionless. Then the cry reached 
 them, again from behind the kopje, but dis- 
 tant and plaintive. The sergeant relaxed his 
 hold on his companion and sank back. "You've 
 done it now!" he said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Cooked our goose. There's no getting back 
 now! That's one of their vedettes. They're
 
 16 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 between us and Derby. That's what comes of 
 talking." 
 
 "I don't care!" The trooper gesticulated ex- 
 citedly. "I don't care I'm not 
 
 "Shut up!" The sergeant caught him by the 
 elbow. "It's too late to tell Graham you've 
 bust that but with any luck you can save your 
 skin yet and me too. Go back by Lombard's 
 it's a long way round, but you ought to make 
 it before they close round Derby. Have you 
 been that way?" 
 
 "No! I'm not going, I tell you! I'm not! 
 There's no use your cursing any more! I'm 
 not going!" The boy's voice rose dangerously. 
 
 "Sh!" growled the sergeant, gripping his 
 arm, "quiet, man!" 
 
 "I won't be quiet I'm not going I'm not 
 going to leave you!" repeated the other. "I'd 
 rather His voice rose again. 
 
 "Sh! all right, man!" The sergeant shook 
 him weakly. "Stay, then. You're a fool. It 
 can't do me any good; you're simply chucking 
 your life away for nothing." 
 
 "I'm going to carry you." 
 
 "Rot." The sergeant dropped his hold. 
 
 "I am! We can go by Lombard's 
 
 "Lombard's! You damned fool, it would
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 17 
 
 have taken you all your time to get round by 
 Lombard's on your own! As for carrying 
 me He sank back with a gesture of 
 
 despair and utter fatigue. 
 
 "We can get away from this, anyway!" The 
 trooper leant forward eagerly. "The south 
 should be clear for a bit," he pointed along the 
 donga "down there." 
 
 The sergeant made no reply. The other, 
 bending over, caught him by the shoulder. 
 "D'you hear?" He shook him roughly. "Ser- 
 geant! Do you hear what I say?" 
 
 The wounded man turned his face away. 
 "Let go!" he muttered. 
 
 "I won't let you go. Come on, for Heaven's 
 sake! We can't stay here!" 
 
 The sergeant's eyes snapped open. 
 
 "Let go my shoulder, curse you! You do 
 what you like. Leave me alone!" 
 
 The trooper relaxed his hold. "Do listen, ser- 
 geant," he whispered, "you're feeling bad; don't 
 give up! I'm going to stick by you. Get on 
 my back. I'm as fresh as anything. It's quite 
 dark now. You show the way and we'll get 
 clear long before dawn. Come on!" He tugged 
 his comrade's arm. "Don't stop here!" 
 
 "Let go!" snarled the other, jerking his shoul-
 
 18 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 der; then with a groan: "It's all damned rot, 
 you can't carry me!" 
 
 "I can! You're a light weight and I'm as 
 strong as a horse. I've been telling you that 
 all the time, only you won't listen. Come on!" 
 
 The sergeant sat up painfully. "It's all rot, 
 I tell you I can't move a foot " 
 
 "Oh, come on! Here, take my hand!" The 
 trooper jumped up and, half -lifting, half -pull- 
 ing the other to his feet, held him upright. The 
 sergeant groaned and swayed heavily. The 
 trooper caught him. "Pull yourself together, 
 for heaven's sake, sergeant! Hang on to me. 
 I can't do anything if you don't lend a hand!" 
 
 His companion, with a great effort, steadied 
 himself. "Right oh!" he said faintly. 
 
 The trooper, still supporting him, bent down, 
 then, thinking better of it, put his arms round 
 his comrade's waist and lifted him bodily on 
 to the side of the donga. "Just a minute can 
 
 you?" 
 
 "The rifles!" whispered the other. 
 
 "All right!" said the trooper irritably: "give 
 me a minute. Can you stand?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The younger man bent and snatching up 
 the rifles, slung one on the sergeant. Still sup- 
 porting his companion he stooped again, this
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 19 
 
 time against the bank, till his shoulders were on 
 a level with the wounded man's thighs. "Are 
 you ready? Get on. Hang on to my neck." 
 The sergeant half -climbed, half -rolled, on to 
 the speaker's back. "That's right. Tell me if 
 I hurt your leg. Wait a minute take my ri- 
 fle let me get my arms underneath. Are you 
 all right?" 
 
 "Right, oh," said the other faintly. 
 
 "Hold on, then. Hang!" The trooper 
 jumped, nearly dislodging his burden. 
 
 "What's up?" 
 
 "For heaven's sake look out for your spurs!" 
 
 "Sorry," grunted the sergeant. Then, with 
 a faint grin, "You're getting your own back, 
 young'un! Shall I take 'em off?" 
 
 "No. Look out with them, that's all. 
 Ready?" 
 
 "Am I too heavy?" 
 
 "No" repeated the younger man sharply, 
 giving the other a final hoist into position and 
 gripping his legs. "Now then, hang on ! Which 
 way?" 
 
 The sergeant motioned with his hand along 
 the bank of the donga, "Right ahead. Shove 
 along." 
 
 Lowering his head and curving his shoul-
 
 20 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ders still further, the trooper stepped out sturd- 
 ily. "You steer," he said. "I'll look out for 
 my feet." 
 
 "Right oh!" whispered the other again; and 
 they set off into the night.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A BLINDING glare of sunshine beat on the 
 camp of the Protectorate Frontier Mounted Po- 
 lice at Macteali. The early-morning breeze had 
 died away ; the skirtings of the tents were rolled 
 up, leaving an open space for ventilation of 
 some eighteen inches between the canvas and 
 the ground. In the still, dry air, the rows of 
 white roofs seemed to hover over their coir- 
 matting floors, while the tent-ropes shimmered 
 and waved in the refraction which danced on 
 the surface of the veld as over a kiln. The burn- 
 ing hours of late forenoon were dragging by, 
 and in the profound shadows beneath the tent- 
 roofs the men off-duty lay among bundles of 
 kit, trying to sleep. A drowsy stillness had 
 fallen on the camp, broken only by a whinny 
 from the horse lines or the stamp of a restless 
 shoe, and the ceaseless buzzing of myriads of 
 flies. 
 
 At one end of the encampment stood the or- 
 derly-tent, somewhat bigger than its neighbours, 
 and furnished with a large awning. Under 
 
 21
 
 22 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 this, and directly before the tent-opening, stood 
 a deal table littered with papers and official 
 files, at which, seated on a camp chair, Captain 
 James Robertson was writing busily. 
 
 Captain Robertson was a heavily-built, sun- 
 burnt man of about forty, with a dun-coloured 
 drooping moustache, and an expression best 
 described in his own Scotch idiom, as "gey dour- 
 looking." His brown corduroy tunic, decorated 
 with several faded medal-ribbons, was shabby 
 and half unbuttoned. His irregular features 
 had a bleak aspect of their own, and the glance 
 of his small bloodshot eyes was sharp and in- 
 quisitive. A suggestion of dissipation in his 
 look borne out by the dull red of his blunt nose, 
 and the congested purple veins running into 
 blotches under the tan of his cheeks, contrasted 
 somewhat oddly with his vigilant, soldier-like 
 bearing. An observer with even a slight knowl- 
 edge of the irregular military corps of South 
 Africa in those days, would have had little dif- 
 ficulty in recognising him as a "ranker," pro- 
 moted to the command of his company not so 
 much for good character, as for sheer efficiency 
 and experience. 
 
 As he wrote, he constantly pulled and twisted 
 his big red left ear in the effort of composition, 
 while at intervals his little, colourless eyes ran
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 23 
 
 hither and thither over the flickering contours 
 of the veld. Suddenly he looked round. 
 
 The orderly-room sergeant had stepped from 
 behind the tent and, saluting, put a roll of pa- 
 pers on the table. "Week's payroll, sir. 
 They've just challenged a civilian coming into 
 camp. Says he's Bishop Raymond, sir." 
 
 "D'ye mean Trekkin' Moses?" The captain 
 looked up with a frown. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What does he want?" 
 
 "Wants to see the major, sir. I told him he 
 was off on duty. He said he'd see you." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "At the mess-tent, sir, talking to Mr. Fos- 
 ter." 
 
 Captain Robertson went back brusquely to 
 his writing. "I'll be there in a minute." 
 
 "Yes, sir." The sergeant saluted and turned 
 to go. "Here's the Bishop coming, sir," he 
 added. 
 
 Robertson growled, threw down his pen, put 
 on his forage-cap, and, rising heavily, stepped 
 into the sunshine to greet the newcomer. "Mor- 
 nin', Bishop," he said, raising his hand to his 
 cap as the other approached. 
 
 "Good-morning, Captain Robertson." The
 
 24> THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 bishop stepped forward and the two men shook 
 hands. 
 
 The Right Reverend St. John Raymond, 
 [Missionary Bishop of Amatongaland, known 
 throughout the Protectorate as "Trekking Mo- 
 ses" on account of his tireless journeyings up 
 and down his vast diocese, was a tall, bearded 
 man with a slight stoop. He was perhaps fifty 
 years old, but there was no sign of grey in his 
 rather long, dark hair. His features were prom- 
 inent and well-shaped, and the sun-blackened 
 face and loosely-built figure, although thin al- 
 most to emaciation, had an air of unusual ac- 
 tivity and endurance. His hazel eyes were deep- 
 ly set, and their lids were wrinkled like a sailor's 
 with much peering over great distances. When 
 in repose his expression, although kindly, was 
 grave and, in the society of white men, some- 
 what reserved; but in conversation his glance 
 was unexpectedly ardent and keen, and the 
 mouth, under the brown moustache and beard, 
 revealed a temperament both emotional and im- 
 perious. He wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat, 
 a shabby dark-grey Norfolk jacket, and a grey 
 flannel shirt, carelessly fastened at the neck with 
 a black tie. His old khaki riding breeches were 
 well cut, for in his unregenerate days he had 
 been a well-known race-rider, and his putties
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 25 
 
 were neatly twisted over his heavy boots, but in 
 other respects he was not to be distinguished, 
 at a cursory glance, from an up-country trader. 
 He was covered with dust and evidently tired. 
 
 Captain Robertson walked behind the table 
 and, pointing to a canvas folding chair at his 
 elbow, said, "Sit down, Bishop. Will ye have 
 a drink?" 
 
 The other, bending slightly to avoid the roof 
 of the awning, stepped into the shade. "No, 
 thanks," he replied, placing his hat and sjam- 
 bok on the table and wiping his brow with a 
 large, coloured handkerchief. "I had some 
 tonic- water at the mess." 
 
 "Have some more; have a drop of gin in it. 
 Tonic's a wheesh drink by itself." 
 
 "No, thanks," repeated the bishop. 
 
 "Well," said Robertson sourly, "ye can watch 
 me then. Slingsby!" 
 
 The orderly-room sergeant appeared from 
 within the tent. "Yes, sir?" 
 
 "Tell Smith," said the captain laconically. 
 
 "Yes, sir." The sergeant re-entered the tent 
 and, after putting away some papers on his desk, 
 disappeared through an opening on the far side. 
 
 Captain Robertson forced his chair farther 
 back from the table, and, crossing his legs, took 
 a flat tin of Virginian cigarettes out of the
 
 26 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 breast-pocket of his tunic, lit one, and, after in- 
 haling and blowing out a cloud of grey smoke, 
 fixed his small hard eyes on his companion. 
 
 The two men were old acquaintances and old 
 foes. Both had made the veld their home, and 
 neither of them would have found it easy to 
 name a man of their acquaintance who knew 
 more of life up country than the other. They 
 were both aware of this and were, in conse- 
 quence, not without a certain respect for each 
 other; but beyond the mutual understanding 
 and experience of that trackless expanse on 
 which their widely diverse duties lay, they had 
 nothing in common and much at issue. 
 
 St. John Raymond was an aristocrat, a high- 
 churchman, a profoundly religious ascetic, who 
 would have given his life unhesitatingly to save 
 either the body or the soul of the least of his 
 black flock. James Robertson was a radical- 
 hearted Scotchman of the lower-middle class, 
 half pagan, but by heredity viciously contemp- 
 tuous of prelacy in any aspect ; a heavy though 
 "canny" drinker, and a conscientious hater of 
 niggers. The worst characteristics of the bishop 
 were his somewhat frigid social attitude towards 
 the white men of his diocese, and a lack of tact 
 in his dealings with them. The best thing in 
 the police-officer, and the only one that ap-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 27 
 
 preached an ideal, was his imperial sense of the 
 brotherhood of all Britons, bad or good, in a 
 black land. 
 
 Although their acquaintance extended over 
 many years, the two men met comparatively sel- 
 dom, and when, once or twice in a twelvemonth, 
 they did cross each other's path, their talks were 
 usually friendly enough always provided that 
 the vexed question of "native affairs" did not 
 crop up. That was the rock on which they split, 
 and it is only fair to the bishop to say that it 
 was due more to him than to the policeman that 
 they generally managed to steer clear of it. 
 Not only was Captain Robertson, like many of 
 his race, of an argumentative bent, but in this 
 matter of the natives he felt himself to be in an 
 impregnable position. His sense of duty, 
 which, to do him justice, was strongly developed, 
 told him that he was there to keep order among 
 the tribes and thus enable the civil Government 
 to open up and develop the country. This was 
 difficult and sometimes perilous work, and, feel- 
 ing himself as he did when engaged in it, to 
 be on the side of the angels, he found it irri- 
 tating and incomprehensible that any white 
 man should fail to see eye to eye with him and 
 with his superiors. In his view, the blacks were 
 a lazy, unruly crowd who, since they had been
 
 28 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 prohibited from fighting amongst themselves, 
 and at the same time had been doctored and 
 pampered by the Government, were multiplying 
 dangerously and becoming more idle and trucu- 
 lent every day. The ethics of the question 
 troubled him not at all, and its religious aspect 
 only excited his suspicion and contempt. To 
 him there was but one ideal in the matter: the 
 supremacy of British power in the land, and, 
 consequently, the dragooning of the country 
 into a peace and security in which white men 
 could trade and settle. In so far as the authori- 
 ties with a strong arm worked for that end, he 
 was satisfied, but the sore point was that too 
 often the Government stayed its hand, and for 
 this weakness he blamed the influence of the mis- 
 sionaries and not without reason. Whether it 
 was the Presbyterians at Derby whom he de- 
 spised as "buddies" without a knowledge of the 
 world, or Bishop Raymond whom he suspected 
 of an irritating superiority in that respect and 
 with undue influence in high places, the mis- 
 sionaries and their works, one and all, lay like 
 shadows across the path both of his duty and 
 of his pleasures. He accused them of "inter- 
 ference" on the spot, and of "tale-bearing" at 
 home, and he bitterly resented their more or less 
 open criticisms of the character and conduct of
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 29 
 
 himself and of many of his brother colonists. 
 
 He and the bishop had not met since the out- 
 break of hostilities nearly a month previously, 
 and the deep-seated antagonism between the 
 two men, which usually lay dormant because 
 of a certain liking they had for each other, was 
 roused by recent events. Some unexpected re- 
 verses on the British side, although not actually 
 serious from a military point of view, had been 
 made terrible by the savagery of the Amatonga 
 to the wounded who fell into their hands, and a 
 series of reprisals had followed, the conduct of 
 which had drawn an indignant and not over- wise 
 letter of protest from Bishop Raymond, ad- 
 dressed both to the authorities on the spot and 
 to the High Commissioner. 
 
 With this incident in his mind, Captain Rob- 
 ertson's face, as he stared at his companion over 
 the end of the table, wore a dour expression. 
 
 "Ye'll have come for news of the war, I sup- 
 pose?" he said. 
 
 The bishop eyed him coldly. "No, I have 
 not," he rejoined. "I hear enough, God knows, 
 of the 'war' as you call it." 
 
 "And what would you call it, Bishop ? Right- 
 eous retribution?" 
 
 "Well, sir," replied the other grimly, "when 
 T hear of Slade being cut up at Derby, and Pil-
 
 30 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 kington at Fowie, and of Graham forced back 
 on his camp, I confess I am inclined to think 
 sometimes that the Lord is fighting against the 
 oppressors !" 
 
 Captain Robertson's face crimsoned and he 
 thrust out an angry arm. "Have away wi' ye, 
 man! Ye've no call to come and talk like that 
 in this camp. What'n damned " 
 
 Bishop Raymond made a warning gesture 
 towards the mess-room orderly who was ap- 
 proaching with a tray. On reaching the table, 
 the man put down a glass by the missionary and 
 was about to pour some whisky into it. 
 
 "No, thank you," said the latter, waving him 
 away. 
 
 "Leave it down!" said Robertson roughly. 
 
 The orderly placed the whisky on the table 
 and, taking a bottle of soda-water from the 
 tray, turned again to Bishop Raymond. "Soda, 
 sir?" 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 "Get out!" said the captain. "Here, take 
 the soda!" 
 
 The orderly, after putting the soda-water bot- 
 tle and the bishop's tumbler on the tray, 
 tramped off, while Robertson, bending forward, 
 poured out a stiff glass of whisky, and, adding 
 a little plain water, drank it down.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 31 
 
 Bishop Raymond waited until his companion 
 had put his glass back on the table and wiped 
 his moustache. Then he said quietly: "I beg 
 your pardon, Captain Robertson. I said more 
 than I intended " 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it!" interjected the other. 
 
 "I repeat that I am sorry," continued the 
 bishop stiffly. "I was foolish to respond as I 
 did. Suppose we leave the subject of hostili- 
 ties alone. We shall never agree on that matter, 
 and I know as much as you, I expect, of how 
 things are going." 
 
 "Aye. More perhaps," said the policeman 
 meaningly. 
 
 "Perhaps," rejoined the bishop; then, bend- 
 ing forward, he felt in his breast pocket and 
 pulled out a letter. "But what I have really 
 come about has nothing to do with the war. It 
 is a purely private matter ; and you may be able 
 to help me if you'll be so kind. I expected to 
 find Vesey- Vivian here, but I believe you can 
 assist me better. You know more of the men 
 than he does." 
 
 Captain Robertson was still ruffled. "Thank 
 ye ! Mebbe he knows something of his dragoon 
 chiels at home, but I'm thinkin' I do know a 
 bittie more than him about the P.F.M.P." 
 
 "Yes, that is what occurred, to me. Do you
 
 32 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 remember anyone in the regiment called 
 Brown?" 
 
 "Stooks o' them! It's a great name wi' our 
 sparkies." 
 
 "Yes, I daresay." The bishop paused. "In 
 fact, this is rather a case in point. It isn't the 
 man's real name, but so far as I know he has 
 always gone by it out here. He's a dark, wiry 
 fellow at least as I remember him." 
 
 "What's his rank?" demanded the other. 
 
 "I forgot he's a sergeant." 
 
 Robertson shot a glance at his companion and 
 whistled. "Aye, I know him," he said. "If it's 
 not too much to ask, what may you be wantin' 
 with Sergeant Brown? Is there trouble?" 
 
 "No not for him. Rather the reverse." 
 Again the bishop paused. "The fact is, Cap- 
 tain Robertson, the man is my cousin." 
 
 "Aye? Well?" 
 
 "I knew him as a youngster, and in a vague 
 way I knew he was out here. I suppose I should 
 have made enquiries, but we had not much in 
 common, and " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "Well, and what will ye be wantin' with him 
 now?" 
 
 Bishop Raymond straightened himself in his 
 chair. "Excuse me, Robertson, I asked you to
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 33 
 
 be kind enough to help me to find the man. As 
 to what I wish to say to him, isn't that rather 
 my affair?" 
 
 "No, no, Bishop !" The captain sat back with 
 a hostile grin. "No, no! It's mine's! Every 
 man to his own last, ye know. You've got yer 
 niggers to slaver over. Well, I've my bits o' 
 black sheep too. And I'm thinking Sergeant 
 Brown's one of them. Mind, I'm no sayin' he 
 is I know naught against him; but this way 
 or that way, ye'll get nothing from me, till I 
 know what's waitin' him!" 
 
 Captain Robertson's use of his native dialect 
 varied with his mood. At ordinary times he 
 spoke English correctly enough, with a broad 
 intonation and the frequent use of lowland 
 Scotch words and expressions, but with a pro- 
 nunciation that had been modified by a quarter 
 of a century in the colonies. When excited, how- 
 ever, and especially when angered, he was apt 
 to plunge into a speech that hailed straight from 
 the shores of the Forth, and which, it must be 
 said, served him exceedingly well for offensive 
 purposes. 
 
 The bishop frowned. "You're unnecessarily 
 suspicious, Robertson," he rejoined. "Still, I 
 think I understand. Well, look here, read this." 
 He held out a cablegram. "Stay, I'll read it to
 
 34 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 you. It's from home. It says : 'Daneborough, 
 Cosmo, killed train accident. Find Gerald. 
 Think Sergeant Protectorate Frontier Police. 
 Make every enquiry. Sympathy. Simpson.' 
 Simpson is our family lawyer. The telegram 
 means that my cousin, Lord Daneborough, and 
 his only son have been killed, and that the man 
 you know as Sergeant Brown is the heir. That's 
 why I want to find him." 
 
 The other listened attentively. "Aye, I see. 
 So he'd be a lord?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What 'n sort of a lord ? An earl ?" 
 
 "No," replied the bishop, shortly. "A mar- 
 quis. Do you 
 
 "That'll be higher than an earl?" 
 
 "Yes. Please say if you know where he 
 is!" 
 
 Captain Robertson examined the horny, dis- 
 coloured nail of his second finger and blew the 
 ash off his cigarette before he replied. "Well," 
 he said slowly, "I'm no' precisely sure. I'm 
 thinkin' it's a matter o' opeenion, Bishop an- 
 other o' thae things that you and me'll never 
 agree about! But I'll tell ye this. Wherever 
 he is, he's either a good bittie higher than a 
 marquis, or a good bittie lower than an earl. 
 He's dead."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 35 
 
 The bishop half rose from his chair. "Dead!" 
 
 "Aye. Yon business ye were so pleased about 
 the now when Slade's patrol was cut up at 
 Derby yon finished him too." 
 
 "Do you mean he was with Slade?" 
 
 "No. Graham sent him out with a recruity 
 they called Leslie, to make a reconnaissance in 
 -the afternoon. Livingstone the scout met them 
 before sundown about seven miles out. He was 
 the last that saw them alive, and when Slade 
 went out to look for them he got cut up." The 
 speaker paused. "I thought ye knew all that," 
 he added sarcastically. "Ye were sayin' the now 
 ye knew everything !" 
 
 "I knew of the fatality," rejoined the bishop, 
 gravely. "I did not know the men's names." 
 
 The captain drummed on the table. "Well, 
 there ye are." 
 
 Bishop Raymond looked out over the blinding 
 veld. "So Gerald's dead too," he said. 
 
 "Let's hope so ! They may have got him alive 
 though from what I know of Gerald Brown 
 it's no' likely but that's ten days ago, and even 
 if they did well," the policeman sneered, "you 
 know better nor me how long yer black puggies 
 would take to the killing of him!" 
 
 "Poor fellow," murmured the bishop. "Poor 
 fellow!"
 
 36 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Captain Robertson fingered a bundle of 
 papers on the table. "Aye. I'm sorry too. I 
 liked Brown. I was sergeant at Warren's Kop 
 when he came there as a recruity seven years 
 ago. There's an end of him anyway. Who gets 
 it now?" 
 
 "Gets what?" 
 
 "Who's the new lord?" 
 
 The bishop rose. "I am/' he said, shortly. 
 
 "Aye? Well, it's a queer world." The other 
 got up. "I was a bit long in the telling of it, 
 Bishop, but, man ye just drove me daft with 
 yon about Slade and Pilkington!" 
 
 The missionary turned quickly. "I'm sorry, 
 Robertson. I must apologise for that! I'd no 
 right to speak as I did. But this war is a tragic 
 business for me." He picked up his hat and 
 held out his hand. "I must be off." 
 
 "Ye'll stay to lunch, man. Where are ye 
 from?" 
 
 "Blake's Drift. One of my boys brought the 
 cablegram to me there yesterday morning." 
 
 Robertson whistled and stared at his com- 
 panion. "Man, ye can travel!" he said. "Blake's 
 Drift to here in twenty-four hours. I've never 
 heard the like!" 
 
 The bishop smiled faintly without replying. 
 
 Captain Robertson moved from behind the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 37 
 
 table and, standing beside the other, looked at 
 him with a sour smile. "I suppose ye know they 
 call ye 'Trekkin' Moses'?" 
 
 The bishop drew himself up. "Yes," he said, 
 "and I don't like it! It is both blasphemous and 
 impertinent." 
 
 The smile went from the captain's face. 
 "Havers, man!" he said roughly, stepping in 
 front of the other. "See here, Bishop, this is 
 just where ye're playing puck with yerself out 
 here and them that can judge better nor me 
 will tell ye the same. Ye'll take anything from 
 the niggers ye'll listen to anything they've to 
 say and we know fine what their talk's like! 
 But a white a man of yer own colour if he 
 doesna' talk and carry on just as you think right 
 ye've nothing but yer haw-haw, God-damn-ye 
 air for him. It's a' buff man ! a' buff ! Who set 
 you up for a judge? I know fine what ye'll say 
 that we whites are sinnin' against the light 
 and a' that. What'n sort of a light had I in 
 the drunken master-builder's cottage behind 
 Leith Walk where I was born? Tell me that! 
 Aye, and there's others in the Colony brought 
 up worse nor me that's working like honest men 
 and making the Empire too, even if they do go 
 on the ran-dan once in a while. Ye're makin' 
 a great mistake, Bishop a great mistake ! It's
 
 38 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 none o' my business and feint a bit care I what 
 ye think o' me or my friends. But it's a peety 
 for yerself ! I've known ye twenty years and 
 it's time some one tell't ye. Where's yer tact, 
 man, forbye anythin' else? Comin' here wi' yon 
 talk about Pilkington and Slade to me that's 
 one of Her Majesty's officers too! You that's 
 a gentleman and a Christian should know better 
 than that!" 
 
 During this harangue Bishop Raymond, hold- 
 ing himself straighter than was his custom, 
 kept his eyes fixed on the horizon ; then he turned 
 sharply and looked into the other's face. 
 "Thank you, Robertson," he said, "that's 
 enough! I see what you mean, and perhaps 
 
 there's something in it. But say no more 
 
 He held up his hand peremptorily. "Say no 
 more! This is no time for discussion. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Robertson moved to his chair. "I'll see ye 
 at lunch," he said, sourly. 
 
 Bishop Raymond nodded and, bending, was 
 about to step from under the awning ; he paused 
 involuntarily before the blaze of the noon out- 
 side. 
 
 "I didn't mean yon in bad blood, Bishop," 
 said the other, suddenly. 
 
 The missionary turned. "I think I under-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 39 
 
 stand that, Robertson," he said, with an effort. 
 
 "But ye think it was a liberty, all the same? 
 Well, mebbe ye're right; it's none o' my busi- 
 ness that's a fact. Will ye shake hands?" 
 
 Bishop Raymond's smile was seen more often 
 by black men than by white, which was perhaps 
 one of the reasons why he was beloved by his 
 "people," as he called them, while most of his 
 countrymen in South Africa had, at best, only 
 respect to give him. His face lit up as he 
 stepped forward with outstretched hand. "Cer- 
 tainly, Robertson," he said. "And er I think 
 I ought to say that there is an element of truth 
 in your criticism hard as it was." 
 
 "Hoot man!" replied the policeman, brusque- 
 ly, dropping the other's hand and picking up 
 some papers from the table. "Think no more 
 of it! I'd no' call to speak like yon, and the 
 now too, when ye're fashed about the war, and 
 have had bad news." 
 
 "Thank you, Robertson." The bishop put 
 his hand impulsively on his companion's arm. 
 "That is good of you!" He smiled again. 
 "Some people would be congratulating me, you 
 know!" 
 
 "Humph," grunted the captain, sitting down 
 and taking up his pen.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BISHOP RAYMOND strolled from under the 
 awning, and, pulling- down the broad brim of 
 his hat to shade his eyes, stared idly towards the 
 northern horizon. The camp stood on high 
 ground, and the veld seemed to slant up all 
 round as though the kopje on which the tents 
 were pitched were the central boss of some im- 
 mense, shallow, earthen dish, raised in the void 
 to catch the overwhelming downpour of the sun- 
 light. 
 
 Suddenly the missionary halted and fixed his 
 gaze on a point in the middle distance; whip- 
 ping his hands from behind his back, he curved 
 them over his eyes, and peered steadily ahead 
 for some moments. 
 
 "Have you your glasses, Robertson?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Aye." The captain glanced up from his 
 writing. "D'ye want them?" 
 
 "Yes. Come here." 
 
 Captain Robertson rose and, taking his field- 
 glasses from a hook on the tent-pole behind him, 
 stepped beside the bishop. 
 
 40
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 41 
 
 "What do you make of that," said the latter, 
 pointing- without turning his head. 
 
 The policeman, slipping the glasses from their 
 battered case, glanced along his companion's 
 arm. "That's queer!" he said. "Wait a min- 
 ute!" He raised the instrument to his eyes: 
 "Hullo! There's something wrong here, 
 Bishop! It's a man carrying another they're 
 in uniform too at least I think so. Look!" 
 Thrusting the glasses into the bishop's hand, he 
 turned, "Slingsby!" he shouted. 
 
 The orderly-sergeant, who, during the con- 
 versation between his superior and Bishop Ray- 
 mond, had retreated to the guard tent near by, 
 appeared at the opening, buttoning his tunic. 
 
 "Don't come!" shouted the captain. "My 
 compliments to Mr. Foster and tell him to come 
 here sharp!" 
 
 "Yessir," bawled the sergeant, starting off 
 at a heavy trot. 
 
 "What d'ye make of them?" Robertson held 
 out his hand for the glasses. 
 
 "The top man is wounded, I think," said the 
 Bishop, with a final stare through the lenses; 
 again shielding his eyes with his hands he peered 
 slowly to and fro over the veld. "They seem 
 to be alone," he remarked at length. 
 
 There was a sound of hurried steps. Lieu-
 
 42 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 tenant Foster, a smart-looking, sun-burned, 
 young man ran from behind the guard tent and, 
 with a perfunctory salute to the bishop as he 
 hopped over the awning ropes, pulled up in 
 front of Captain Robertson and stood to at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Yes, sir?" 
 
 "Send a sergeant and four men to meet those 
 two fellows," ordered the latter, without re- 
 moving his eyes from the field-glasses. Point- 
 ing with one hand, he thrust the instrument into 
 the lieutenant's grasp. "D'you see?" The 
 young man gazed through the lenses and 
 nodded. "Tell the sergeant to send one of the 
 men straight back and report who those fel- 
 IOW T S are," continued the captain, "and to look 
 sharp one of them's wounded! Fall in A and 
 D troops, and have the patrols ready. Send out 
 pickets to Rot Kopje and Susannah, and tell 
 them to keep a look out all round and report 
 at once if they see anything. Go on !" 
 
 Foster saluted and disappeared at a run 
 among the tents. Immediately, with a blowing 
 of whistles and shouting of orders the encamp- 
 ment burst into activity ; the tent-openings dis- 
 gorged troopers buttoning their tunics and 
 slipping bandoliers over their heads; the long 
 lines of horses, which a moment before had been
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 43 
 
 silent, save for the ceaseless drone of the flies, 
 woke up with a great rattle of headstalls and 
 hoofs. 
 
 "I don't like this, Bishop!" Captain Robert- 
 son was at his glasses again. "There's been a 
 scrap somewhere. But where, and which of our 
 lads have been in it, beats me ! Slingsby I" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" The orderly-sergeant, in the act 
 of re-winding one of his putties, darted out of 
 the guard tent. 
 
 "Tell the ambulance-orderly to get his things 
 ready! A wounded man is coming in." 
 
 "I'll go out with them," exclaimed Bishop 
 Raymond, "I'm a bit of a doctor." 
 
 Robertson raised a detaining hand. "I'd 
 rather you gave the ambulance-orderly a help 
 he's a fool. Send the ambulance-orderly here !" 
 he shouted after the retreating sergeant. 
 
 For some moments the two men continued to 
 stare over the veld. "There they go!" said the 
 bishop. A little cavalcade of five men moved 
 at a trot out of the last line of tents, broke into 
 a canter, then into a gallop, and swept up and 
 down the rolling ground towards the north. 
 
 "They'll be there in no time," responded the 
 other, peering through his binoculars. "Them 
 two's seen them they've sat down near tum- 
 bled on their heads both of them! There they
 
 44 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 are they're there! They're gettin' them up. 
 Aye the little man's wounded in the leg the 
 other one's fainted I'm thinkin'! they've got 
 him on though. They'll be here in a jiffy." He 
 handed the glasses to the bishop, and turned 
 to the ambulance-orderly, who had run up while 
 he was speaking. "A wounded man's coming 
 in. Have everything ready. Put yourself 
 under Bishop Raymond's orders. D'ye under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the orderly, saluting. 
 
 "Thank ye, Bishop." Robertson held out his 
 hand for the glasses and with a curt nod, re- 
 turned to his watching. The missionary, pick- 
 ing up his sjambok, marched off with long 
 strides in the direction of the hospital tent, fol- 
 lowed by the orderly. 
 
 The return of the rescue party was slow. 
 Following the lie of the land the little group 
 of horses and men took a slight sweep west- 
 ward, and then headed towards the end of the 
 camp occupied by the orderly-tent. Its progress 
 was watched eagerly, and a small crowd of non- 
 commissioned officers and men gathered by the 
 farthest-out tents, taking care, however, to avoid 
 the vicinity of the orderly-room awning, be- 
 neath which Captain Robertson moved slowly
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 45 
 
 from point to point, examining the veld method- 
 ically through his field-glasses. 
 
 When some three hundred yards from the 
 camp the sergeant in command of the party 
 spurred his horse and, cantering over the rising 
 ground, pulled up beside the officer. The latter 
 lowered his glasses and swung round. "Well?" 
 
 The sergeant saluted. "They both fainted 
 clean off when we got to them, sir," he said, 
 "so I couldn't find out anything. I don't know 
 either of them. The wounded man's a sergeant. 
 He must be from the 2nd Battalion." 
 
 "Did ye give them some brandy?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. One of them the chap who was 
 carrying the other looks pretty bad. We'd 
 better get him off as soon as we can, sir." 
 
 "Get him to the hospital-tent." 
 
 "I don't know if he'll last as long, sir he 
 looked as if he might peg out any moment. I 
 expect it's the sun if we got him into the 
 shade " 
 
 "Bring him here," ordered the captain, 
 brusquely. "Hi!" he shouted, "Here!" 
 
 The little cavalcade had topped the brow of 
 the kopje and was moving slowly towards the 
 tents; the horses, as they stumbled among the 
 stones, kicking up clouds of grey dust from 
 the dry, trampled ground. Two of the party
 
 46 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 were on foot, marching by their chargers' heads 
 and steadying the rescued men in the saddles. 
 On the offside of the horses rode the other troop- 
 ers, ready to lend a hand in preventing the ap- 
 parently lifeless bodies from toppling to the 
 ground. 
 
 At Captain Robertson's shout the group 
 changed its direction, and bore down on the or- 
 derly-tent. The sergeant rode forward and 
 halted it a few feet away from the awning. 
 "Get 'em under the 'fly,' " he ordered. "Steady 
 there you, Lane, get your man off first. 
 Steady he's a bit of a weight ! That's right 
 here give me his legs now then " 
 
 "Into the chair," ordered the captain, point- 
 ing. The sergeant and the trooper, staggering 
 under the weight, lifted their burden into the 
 canvas chair beside the table. Instantly the 
 man's head fell forward between his knees. 
 
 "Leave him alone!" Captain Robertson 
 shouldered the others aside and put his hand on 
 the unconscious man's forehead. "Where's the 
 brandy? It's no' the sun he's just fainted. 
 Aye that's better," he added, dashing some 
 water in the other's face. "Now then, lay him 
 back lower the chair stick a haversack under 
 his head. There. Now for the other one. Tell
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 47 
 
 the Bishop to hurry with his things !" he added, 
 turning to a trooper. 
 
 The wounded sergeant was then lifted gently 
 from his horse, and Robertson, swinging the of- 
 fice-table into the tent behind, ordered the bear- 
 ers to lay him on the ground, and place a roll 
 of blanket under his head. In the operation the 
 man's hat, which had been fixed on his brow 
 by his leather chin-strap, slipped off. 
 
 Captain Robertson stepped forward quickly 
 and stared down at the gaunt face, foul with 
 sweat and dust, and half covered by a bristling 
 growth of black hair. Then he swung round 
 and gazed at the man's comrade. His keen lit- 
 tle eyes ran up and down the unconscious figure 
 in the chair. The rescued trooper's boots were 
 gone, and his feet were wrapped in the rags of 
 putties tied up with the remnants of boot-laces 
 and bits of tape; bruised and cut flesh showed 
 between the folds and through the rents of the 
 stuff, which was stained and caked with con- 
 gealed blood and dust. His shins were bare 
 burnt raw by the sun and shockingly lacerated. 
 His breeches were torn to shreds, and the tunic 
 was pulled out of all shape, stiff with dirt and 
 sweat, and discoloured down the front by long 
 brown streaks. Robertson stooped and peered 
 into the face. In spite of the close patches of
 
 48 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 hair, filthy with perspiration, that grew on the 
 chin and cheeks in spite of the emaciation and 
 unmistakable traces of some long-drawn-out, 
 crushing strain, which contracted the forehead 
 and mouth, the face was obviously that of a 
 youth. The captain gave a grunt of amazed 
 comprehension. 
 
 "Aye," he muttered, "it's them!" 
 
 For a moment he tugged his drooping mous- 
 tache; then he turned to the sergeant standing 
 beside him. "Tell Mr. Foster to dismiss the 
 men, and call in the pickets, and come here. 
 Hurry up!" 
 
 "Yes sir," said the man, setting off at a run. 
 
 "And see if the Bishop's coming with his 
 things!" shouted the captain. 
 
 As he spoke, Bishop Raymond appeared from 
 among the tents, carrying a glass and some med- 
 icine bottles, and followed by the ambulance- 
 orderly with an armful of bandages and wash- 
 ing materials, and by two troopers bearing 
 stretchers. 
 
 "Sorry to be so long, Robertson," he ex- 
 claimed, as he stepped under the awning. "I 
 thought they were coming straight to the hos- 
 pital-tent. I'd some difficulty in finding what 
 I wanted, but I think this will do. Now
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 49 
 
 then " He turned towards the wounded ser- 
 geant. 
 
 "The other's worst," observed Robertson, 
 pointing to the chair. 
 
 Bishop Raymond, motioning to the orderly 
 to follow, hurried over and, after feeling the 
 trooper's pulse, opened his tunic and thrust an 
 ear to his chest. He listened carefully. "You've 
 given him brandy?" he enquired, glancing up. 
 
 Captain Robertson nodded. "Two goes of 
 it." 
 
 The bishop withdrew his head from the un- 
 conscious youth's chest, and, beckoning to the 
 orderly to hand him a bottle and a glass, poured 
 out some drops and added a little water. 
 
 "Is he bad?" asked the captain. 
 
 "I'm not sure," responded the missionary. 
 "I'm scarcely enough of a doctor for this sort 
 of thing. I don't think there's anything wrong 
 with the heart, but well it's scarcely work- 
 ing." He raised the trooper's head and, forcing 
 his teeth apart, poured some of the liquid into 
 his mouth. The patient choked and recoiled; 
 Bishop Raymond continued his efforts, and, 
 with another gulp or two and a groan, the suf- 
 ferer moved an arm and raised his lids his eyes, 
 in spite of the distress of their glance, show-
 
 50 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ing startlingly blue and clear against the grime 
 of his face. 
 
 "That's right!" The bishop gently lowered 
 his patient's head on to the haversack. "Don't 
 talk. "He'll do," he continued in a low tone, 
 turning to Robertson, "he's simply dead beat. 
 What a frightful state he's in!" 
 
 "What's yon blood?" demanded the other, 
 pointing to the brown streaks on the tunic. "Is 
 he hurt?" 
 
 The Bishop glanced at the stains. "Not that 
 I saw." Opening the youth's shirt again, he 
 examined his body. "No. His feet and legs 
 are bad enough, in all conscience, but there's 
 nothing here. Ah!" he continued, "it must be 
 from the other man's wound. He was carrying 
 him at the end, you know." 
 
 "It's queer. Them's old stains," said the cap- 
 tain, briefly. "Never mind we'll hear soon." 
 
 Bishop Raymond, directing the orderly to lay 
 a blanket and a couple of pillows on the ground 
 by the end of the awning, ordered the sergeant 
 and a trooper to lift the sick man on to it. 
 "Keep his head away from the light. He'll 
 get all the breeze there is, here: we must keep 
 him quiet for a few minutes." Again he placed 
 his ear to the sufferer's chest. "That's better; 
 he'll be all right, I think. Give him this when
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 51 
 
 he comes to again." Without rising from his 
 knees, he mixed some medicine from another 
 bottle and handed the glass to the orderly. 
 "Will you send someone for the soup I or- 
 dered?" he asked. "The others can go for the 
 present." 
 
 "You, Wilson" Captain Robertson turned 
 to one of the troopers, "hurry the cook up. The 
 rest of you clear out; wait over there," he added, 
 pointing towards the guard tent. 
 
 "Now for the other one " 
 
 The bishop climbed to his feet. 
 
 Captain Robertson laid a hand on his com- 
 panion's sleeve. "Bishop," he said, with a grim 
 smile, "ye're speeritual title will have to do you 
 after all!" 
 
 "Hey?" 
 
 "Yon's him!" The speaker pointed over to 
 the wounded sergeant. "Yon's our man!" 
 
 Bishop Raymond started and glanced across 
 the awning. "Do you mean Gerald?" he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "Aye. Yer cousin, Sergeant Gerald Brown, 
 no less ! How he's got here beats me. But there 
 he is!" 
 
 The bishop made no response. Picking up 
 a basin and a jug of warm water, he hurried 
 across the awning and kneeled down by the
 
 52 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 wounded man. "Send for more water and 
 towels," he called, "and I want another man 
 to help me here." 
 
 Robertson shouted some orders to the troop- 
 ers by the guard-tent and then followed the 
 missionary. "I'll give ye a hand," he said, roll- 
 ing up his sleeves. 
 
 "He's conscious," whispered the bishop, 
 "just dead beat. Don't speak to him. 
 Now " he proceeded to undo the puttie that 
 was wound round the sufferer's leg. It was a 
 long business, as both the cloth and the handker- 
 chief underneath were stuck round the knee with 
 a sort of mortar of dust and blood. "That has 
 saved him," remarked the bishop, as he soaked 
 the limb with warm water and carefully re- 
 moved the folds. After a brief examination he 
 proceeded to put on a temporary bandage. 
 "The wound itself isn't serious," he said, "but 
 he's lost a lot of blood. That'll do till we get 
 him to the hospital tent." 
 
 "Could he have walked with yon?" asked the 
 captain. 
 
 "Impossible," replied the bishop, without 
 looking up. 
 
 Captain Robertson whistled to himself again 
 and glanced curiously up and down the pros- 
 trate figure. The wounded sergeant's face
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 53 
 
 bore ample evidence of suffering; apart from 
 its filth and emaciation it showed a startling pal- 
 lor under its dark sunburn. But, the captain 
 noted, this survivor was in an infinitely less woe- 
 begone and disordered state than the other. His 
 tunic and breeches, though torn in places and 
 covered with dust, had suffered comparatively 
 little, and his legs and feet showed but few 
 signs of stress. 
 
 Suddenly the man jerked his wounded limb 
 and opened his eyes. The bishop slipped an 
 arm round his neck and raised him slightly. 
 
 "Hullo, Brown!" said the captain. 
 
 "Hullo," responded the wounded man weak- 
 ly. "Where ami?" 
 
 "In the arms of the Church, my mannie," 
 replied Robertson jocosely, "but I'll protect 
 ye! Ye're at Macteali, man. Ye're all right!" 
 
 Bishop Raymond held a glass to the ser- 
 geant's cracked lips. "Drink this," he ordered. 
 The man swallowed the dose; his eyes cleared 
 at once, and sitting up on his elbow he blinked 
 around him. 
 
 "Where's Leslie?" he asked. 
 
 "He's here, my man," said the bishop, in- 
 serting a roll of blanket under the other's back. 
 "He's doing well."
 
 54 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Sergeant Brown sank back. "We've had a 
 hellish time," he said, half closing his eyes. 
 
 "Aye," remarked Robertson grimly, "I can 
 see that. Ye'll have to tell us about it some 
 time." 
 
 Bishop Raymond looked up from unlacing 
 his patient's boots. "Not now!" he said. 
 
 "I'm all right, sir," said the sergeant weakly. 
 "There's not much to tell we've come from 
 Derby." 
 
 "Aye. I guessed that; but how? That's the 
 point!" The captain moved a step nearer. 
 
 Brown's lids dropped again. "Leslie carried 
 me." 
 
 The bishop stopped in the act of rising to his 
 feet. "Carried you!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Bishop Raymond shot an enquiring glance 
 at Robertson, and, taking the sergeant's wrist, 
 felt his pulse. "Better not talk any more, my 
 man," he said. 
 
 "Let him be, Bishop," whispered the captain, 
 gruffly. 
 
 "I'm all right." The wounded man withdrew 
 his wrist irritably. "What's to-day?" 
 
 "The llth Tuesday," said Robertson. 
 
 "H'm. Lost count. Thought it must be near 
 the end of the week. We started on the 1st.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 55 
 
 Ten days! God! What a time!" A spasm of 
 horror swept over the man's face. 
 
 "Did ye meet nobody?" queried the captain, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Not a soul. We came by Imbawa and the 
 Khaba Kraals. We got mealies and water to 
 go on with, but everything was deserted. Trav- 
 elled by night, of course. We saw parties dur- 
 ing the day sometimes, but not near enough to 
 know if they were friendlies." 
 
 "What did ye do with yer horses?" demanded 
 Robertson. 
 
 "They'd bolted before we started," replied 
 the sergeant. "Leslie carried me, I tell you!" 
 he repeated. 
 
 Captain Robertson stared at the speaker. 
 "Carried ye all the way?" 
 
 "Every damned foot!" 
 
 "Merciful Heaven!" cried the bishop. 
 
 "Aye. That would have been too much for 
 me," said the captain slowly. 
 
 "It was too much for him!" The wounded 
 man's voice rose weakly. "I was always cursing 
 him and telling him to leave me and look out 
 for himself. But he wouldn't. His feet must 
 be all to pieces my boots were too small for 
 him." 
 
 Bishop Raymond glanced across the awning.
 
 56 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "They're badly cut," he said gravely. "The or- 
 derly is bathing them." 
 
 Sergeant Brown raised his head as though to 
 follow the other's glance, but the effort was 
 too much for him, and, falling back on his pil- 
 low, he closed his eyes. The bishop turned to 
 Robertson; before he could speak the wounded 
 man's lids snapped open again. "My God!" he 
 cried sharply, "what a time! My God! Why 
 the devil he didn't go back at the start ! He was 
 an infernal fool that's what he was!" 
 
 "He saved your life, anyway!" retorted the 
 captain. 
 
 "I know all that ! He stuck to me like a good 
 'un. I know all that. But he could have saved 
 himself that hell, and me too, if he'd done what 
 I told him!" 
 
 "D'ye mean you could have got back to Der- 
 by?" demanded the other quickly. 
 
 "He could. It was just sundown when I 
 was stuck. He let the horses bolt some fool- 
 ery. I don't remember about it now. I ordered 
 him back to report to Graham " The ser- 
 geant paused exhausted. 
 
 "Aye? Wait a bit, Bishop!" Robertson 
 thrust out his arm peremptorily "let him fin- 
 ish. What then?" 
 
 "Nothing. He simply wouldn't budge. I
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 57 
 
 cursed him till all was blue. I thought I'd got 
 a move on him once, but just as he was mak- 
 ing a start, we saw one of their vedettes. Then 
 hell itself wouldn't budge him! He swore he 
 wouldn't leave me that he'd carry me and all 
 the rest of it. I was pretty well played out by 
 that time, so I chucked it and gave in. I 
 couldn't make head or tail of him. I can't now. 
 Half a dozen times since, I've tried to get out 
 of him what he was after, but he shut up like 
 an oyster. He's been dashed decent you 
 needn't think I'm rounding on him. I don't 
 believe there's another fellow living who'd have 
 stuck to me like he did. But he was a damned 
 fool, all the same! He might have saved him- 
 self that hell and me too, with any luck, if he'd 
 done what I told him." 
 
 Captain Robertson's face darkened. "Aye! 
 And saved Slade too!" he said with an oath. 
 
 "What's that?" The sergeant looked up 
 sharply. 
 
 Bishop Raymond, stepping between his pa- 
 tient and the officer, motioned imperatively to 
 the latter. "Nothing," he said. "Are you ready 
 to be moved now?" 
 
 "I'm all right, sir," replied the sergeant, clos- 
 ing his eyes. "Look after Leslie." 
 
 Bishop Raymond, with a warning glance at
 
 58 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Robertson, walked over and, after exchanging 
 a few words with the orderly, proceeded to at- 
 tend to his other patient. 
 
 For a few moments after his departure, the 
 captain held his peace; then, keeping an eye 
 on the group at the other side of the awning, 
 he remarked tentatively: "Ye say he's a recruit 
 he'll not know much about the veld then?" 
 
 The wounded man opened his eyes slowly. 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Leslie." Captain Robertson spoke cautious- 
 ly, assuming what he intended to be a reassuring 
 bedside manner. "Yon Leslie. He'll no have 
 had much experience of the veld, I'm 
 thinkin'?" 
 
 "He has now!" said the other grimly. "He 
 was a useless young devil before just out from 
 home. He drove me nearly wild over the horses, 
 I remember. No; he was no good on the veld. 
 I wasn't even sure, once or twice, if I could 
 trust him to find his way back to Derby seven 
 miles! But I expect that was rot." The ser- 
 geant lay back wearily. 
 
 "See here, Brown!" exclaimed the officer. "It 
 strikes me " 
 
 "Now, Robertson!" Bishop Raymond had 
 stepped up; he laid a firm hand on the other's 
 arm and turned to the wounded man. "You've
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 59 
 
 talked enough, my man. I'm just finishing with 
 your friend, and then we'll move you both to 
 the hospital-tent and you can sleep. That's 
 what you need." 
 
 "Thanks, sir." The sergeant looked hard at 
 the speaker. "I've seen you before. Can't re- 
 member where. Was it out here?" 
 
 "No. We've never met out here. But don't 
 talk. I've some news for you which you'll prob- 
 ably be glad to hear. But not now. Come, 
 Robertson !" 
 
 The two men moved over to the far end of 
 the awning, where the bishop's other patient 
 was drinking some soup ; as they approached, he 
 handed the cup to the orderly and looked up. 
 
 "Well," said Robertson. "Are ye feeling 
 better?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the trooper faintly. 
 
 "Ye've had a fine tramp!" 
 
 "Now, Captain Robertson " interrupted 
 
 the bishop decisively, "we've talked enough to 
 those two fellows. You must leave this one to 
 rest he needs it." The speaker turned towards 
 the guard-tent, "Bring a stretcher here!" he 
 shouted. 
 
 Two pairs of troopers, each bearing a can- 
 vas stretcher between them, moved across the 
 sunlight. As they ranged up beside the awn-
 
 60 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ing, the orderly-sergeant appeared behind them 
 and stepped towards Captain Robertson. 
 
 "Major's back, sir," he said, saluting. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "He's talking to Mr. Jocelyn, sir. Here he 
 is, sir." 
 
 A tall, finely-made man with a ruddy com- 
 plexion, prominent blue eyes, and a blond mous- 
 tache, was striding towards the orderly-tent. 
 His uniform was extremely well-cut; neat pig- 
 skin gaiters encased his legs instead of putties, 
 and a linen collar showed above his tunic. He 
 was accompanied by Foster and another subal- 
 tern named Jocelyn, a clean-shaved, horsey- 
 looking youth. 
 
 Vesey- Vivian was a cavalry captain, seconded 
 for service with the Protectorate Frontier 
 Mounted Police. A vague hope of seeing some 
 active service, coupled with a very definite wish 
 to pay off debts which had accumulated incon- 
 veniently during half-a-dozen racing and hunt- 
 ing seasons at home, had brought him to Ama- 
 tongaland with the local rank of major. He 
 was a fair soldier, an excellent horseman and 
 horsemaster, and, in many respects, a good fel- 
 low; but somehow he had not been altogether 
 a success as a South African police officer. 
 
 "What's all this, Robertson?" he exclaimed
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 61 
 
 as he approached. "What's all this?" His eye 
 fell on Bishop Raymond, and stepping forward 
 he held out his hand affably. "How d'you do, 
 Bishop ? Heard you were here. You'll stay to 
 lunch, won't you? So glad delighted to see 
 you. What's all this, Robertson?" he repeated, 
 turning abruptly on his second-in-command, 
 while his eye ran from one recumbent figure 
 under the awning to the other. 
 
 Perhaps there would have been one chance 
 in a hundred that two men as opposed by every 
 incident of birth and training as were Major 
 Vesey- Vivian and Captain Robertson, would 
 have pulled together in the relations in which 
 they found themselves at Macteali. If, for ex- 
 ample, they had been able to respect each other 
 for but a single quality, as the captain and the 
 bishop did, matters might have gone better be- 
 tween them. But Captain Robertson, at least, 
 was economical of his respect, and there was 
 little enough, even for the requirements of mil- 
 itary etiquette, in his manner as he saluted his 
 superior. 
 
 "All what, sir?" 
 
 "About those fellows?" 
 
 "Well, ye can see them for yerself all that's 
 left o' them. They're from Derby."
 
 62 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Vesey- Vivian strode over to the wounded ser- 
 geant. "What's your name, my man?" 
 
 "Brown, sir." 
 
 "By Jove! So you are the fellow that was 
 reported missing. And is that the other one 
 what's his name? Leslie, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed the major. "Extraor- 
 dinary! Never heard of such a thing. Is it 
 true you walked the whole way?" 
 
 "He did. I couldn't. He carried me," re- 
 plied the sergeant. 
 
 "Carried you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Carried you all the way?" The major's voice 
 rose. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Vesey- Vivian whacked his gaiter excitedly 
 with his hunting crop. "By Jove!" he cried, 
 "no one told me that. Never heard of such a 
 thing in my life! Wouldn't have believed it! 
 On his back, d'you mean? Carried you on his 
 back?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," repeated the sergeant. 
 
 "Why, it's perfectly magnificent!" The ma- 
 jor strode over to Leslie. "You've done splen- 
 didly, my man, splendidly! Finest thing I've 
 heard of for ages. No end of a score for the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 63 
 
 regiment!" He tapped the trooper's shoulder 
 with his crop. "It'll mean the V.C. for you 
 you can count on that!" 
 
 At these words a loud cheer rose from a dense 
 circle of non-commissioned officers and men 
 that had gathered, with the major's arrival, 
 round the orderly-tent. Excitement had been 
 rising steadily throughout the camp during the 
 last hour. The news that the refugees were 
 from Derby that the two derelicts, picked up 
 reeling and swaying under the blazing sun, had 
 steered, unprovisioned as they were, for ten 
 nights and days over a hostile country this in 
 itself had caused immense speculation and dis- 
 cussion. Then came the rumour that they were 
 survivors from the affair of Slade's patrol 
 that their horses had bolted early in the flight 
 that the sergeant was seriously wounded, and 
 that the trooper had performed the incredible 
 feat of carrying his comrade on his back every 
 yard of the way. And now Major Vivian's 
 loud exclamations serving very effectually the 
 purpose of a Greek chorus to the sergeant's 
 monosyllables not only confirmed all, but 
 completed the situation in a manner which, from 
 a dramatic point of view, left nothing to be de- 
 sired. At the sound of the magic letters, V.C.,
 
 64 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 the two subalterns bounded forward, "Really, 
 sir!" they shouted together. 
 
 "Rather!" replied the major. "Of course. 
 I'll guarantee it!" 
 
 "Hurrah! Good man!" Foster rushed over 
 to Leslie and tried to pat him on the back, while 
 Jocelyn tore off his hat and, waving it round 
 his head by the chin-strap, shouted: "Three 
 cheers for Trooper Leslie! Hip, hip, hurrah!" 
 
 While Major Vivian was speaking, Leslie 
 had stared at his superior officer as though stu- 
 pefied. At the mention of the Victoria Cross 
 he started violently and, flushing from brow 
 to chin, recoiled against his pillow. As the three 
 deafening cheers went up he jerked forward 
 on his elbow and, with a look of acute appre- 
 hension and distress, gazed over at Sergeant 
 Brown. The latter had also started up; their 
 eyes met. For a moment the sergeant seemed 
 about to speak; then, as the cheers died away, 
 he paused, pulled his moustache and, without 
 looking again at Leslie, lay back and gazed up 
 at the awning. Bishop Raymond, in the act 
 of crossing over to restrain the major from talk- 
 ing longer to his patient, stopped dead and 
 glanced at Captain Robertson, who had sprung 
 forward with raised hand.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 65 
 
 Major Vivian swung round. "Well?" he de- 
 manded, looking the other up and down. 
 
 Twice Robertson opened his mouth, and twice 
 checked himself; he was evidently trying to 
 control some powerful emotion. "Take care, 
 man!" he exclaimed harshly, at length, "How 
 are ye sure this is V.C. work?" 
 
 Major Vesey- Vivian drew himself up. "I 
 don't think we need discuss that now, Captain 
 Robertson," he said. 
 
 For a moment everybody gazed from one of- 
 ficer to the other; then a startling exclamation 
 came from across the awning. 
 
 "He's right! He's quite right! I wouldn't 
 take it!" 
 
 Crying out these words, Trooper Leslie had 
 heaved himself up and was trying to scramble 
 to his feet. "He's right, I tell you!" he re- 
 peated, glancing about feverishly. A complete 
 silence had fallen ; on every side he encountered 
 amazed looks, his lacerated knees gave way 
 under him, he wavered, and then, with a sob, 
 toppled to the ground. 
 
 Bishop Raymond and the ambulance-orderly 
 ran forward and lifted him back on the blanket. 
 The major followed. 
 
 "What's the matter, man?" he demanded, 
 sharply. "What d'you mean?"
 
 66 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 The trooper closed his eyes. "Nothing. I 
 don't know," he muttered. 
 
 "Not another word, Vivian, please!" Bishop 
 Raymond, his hand on the youth's wrist, 
 spoke over his shoulder. "I'm responsible for 
 this fellow. There's been far too much of 
 this!" 
 
 Vesey- Vivian swung round. "This is your 
 fault, Robertson!" he said furiously. 
 
 The captain made no response; putting his 
 hands behind his back he looked away. 
 
 "The boy doesn't know what he's saying." 
 Vivian had turned again to the bishop. "Let's 
 get them off to the hospital-tent." 
 
 Bishop Raymond nodded, and, after a few 
 words to the orderly, beckoned to the stretcher- 
 bearers to approach. 
 
 "Now then, men, off with you!" Major 
 Vivian turned on the crowd round the tent. 
 
 While the men dispersed, the stretcher-bear- 
 ers stepped beneath the awning and, under the 
 bishop's direction, Sergeant Brown was hoisted 
 from the ground. As he was being carried past 
 Leslie he leaned towards his comrade. "Good 
 man !" he said, and gave the trooper a feeble but 
 friendly bang on the top of the head. 
 
 A few moments later Leslie followed, and
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 67 
 
 the officers and Bishop Raymond were left alone 
 under the awning. Major Vesey- Vivian turned 
 to go. 
 
 "Captain Robertson," he said sharply, "I 
 should like a few words with you after lunch." 
 
 "When ye please, sir," responded the other 
 surlily. 
 
 The major, with a curt nod, stepped into 
 the sunlight, and, after some orders to Fos- 
 ter and Jocelyn, strode off towards his quar- 
 ters. 
 
 Bishop Raymond had lingered to collect his 
 bottles and glasses. After carefully pressing 
 home a cork, he turned to Captain Robertson, 
 who was tying up his papers and laying them 
 in neat bundles on the office-table, which he had 
 lifted out of the tent. 
 
 The bishop eyed the other's lowering brow 
 for a moment. "Leave it alone, Robertson!" 
 he said suddenly. "Take my advice leave it 
 alone. I fancy I know what you're thinking, 
 but we can't be sure. We don't know the 
 facts. Even if we did, I doubt if they would 
 help much. There's something below them here. 
 I'm convinced of that." 
 
 The other looked up. "Facts have to be 
 enough for me, Bishop," he said sternly. 
 "They're the things that get ye the V.C., or
 
 68 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 get ye broke! I'm no' sayin' they're aye fair. 
 And the facts are plain enough here forbye 
 that damned eddiot Veevian canna see them, 
 nor any one else but you and me, it seems! If 
 Leslie had gone back 
 
 "He would have saved Slade?" interrupted 
 the bishop. "I wonder. We can't be sure. 
 Perhaps he wouldn't have got back perhaps he 
 knew that. And he did save Gerald! If the 
 V.C. were simply for doing your duty as it 
 should be the case might be different. But it 
 isn't. It's for Valour! And if carrying your 
 comrade over the open veld ten weary nights, 
 with five thousand of the cruellest creatures 
 God forgive them! the world has ever seen, 
 yelling behind you if that's not valour, I don't 
 understand the word!" 
 
 Captain Robertson slipped an elastic band 
 round the last of his bundles and dropped it 
 into a file. Then he looked over at the speaker 
 with a sour smile. "I'm thinkin' you had better 
 leave it alone, Bishop!" he observed. "Ye were 
 right at first. It's a queer business, and talk- 
 ing won't clear it the now, anyway. They'll 
 be waitin' lunch for us." He lifted an old rid- 
 ing cane and a pair of greasy brown gloves, 
 and stepped from behind the table. Bishop
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 69 
 
 Raymond bent down and picked up his sjam- 
 bok, which had fallen on the ground and been 
 trodden on; he wiped it thoughtfully, then put 
 his hand on the other's arm, and they stepped 
 together into the sunlight.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ONE spring evening in the 'nineties a girl was 
 lying in a long wicker chair on the stone loggia 
 outside a bedroom of the Hotel Regina, on Lake 
 Como. The room behind her was in darkness, 
 but an almost full moon, sailing high in a cloud- 
 less sky over the black promontory and twink- 
 ling lights of Bellagio across the lake, was 
 flooding the grey stone and pale yellow plaster 
 of the hotel f aade with a soft radiance which 
 invaded the arched shadows of the balcony, and 
 lay bright upon the chair and its occupant. 
 
 Mabel Arbuthnot was in her twenty-eighth 
 year. Since her arrival in Italy three weeks be- 
 fore, her friends had been saying that she was 
 looking younger every day, but traces of deli- 
 cacy still showed on her cheeks, contrasting, 
 when her face was in repose, with the quick, al- 
 most childlike glance of her eyes. Her expres- 
 sion had a quality of unusual sweetness which, 
 in the society of a friend or even of an acquaint- 
 ance, when she turned to speak or to listen, 
 would light up into a smile, sympathetic and 
 
 70
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 71 
 
 charming. The blue of her eyes told of some 
 Celtic strain, borne out by the black lashes and 
 the cloud of dark hair lying low on the brow. 
 Her features were small and regular, and her 
 complexion, though apt to be pale by day, be- 
 came brilliant in the evening; but perhaps it 
 was the exquisite poise of her head and the grace 
 of a tall, slight figure that had earned for her 
 a reputation for beauty which was seldom ques- 
 tioned. On this warm, spring night she had 
 partly undressed and wore a pale mauve dress- 
 ing-gown trimmed with lace ; but a pair of neat 
 evening shoes, and the aspect of her carefully 
 arranged hair, showed that she had not pro- 
 gressed far in the business of going to bed. 
 
 Nearly two and a half years had passed since 
 her husband had died of pneumonia, while on 
 a shooting visit in Scotland. His end had been 
 tragically sudden, for he was a man of fine 
 physique; and the strain of his short painful 
 illness, the grief of the parting and the unfor- 
 gettable shock of her first sight of death, had 
 overwhelmed his young wife, and, acting on a 
 fragile constitution, had brought on a debili- 
 tating illness, which, for a time, threatened to 
 become chronic. 
 
 Mabel was an only child, and her parents, 
 popular, easy-going people, were both under
 
 72 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 thirty when she was born. Most of her early 
 years had been spent in the country, for she was 
 a delicate creature from the first, and the fam- 
 ily doctor had insisted on her being kept as much 
 as possible out of London. Under the circum- 
 stances, it was inevitable, with their many social 
 interests and duties, that her father and mother 
 should often be removed from the path of her 
 daily life. But she had good nurses and 
 governesses, and, as the years passed, she out- 
 grew her ailments, and developed into an active, 
 happy girl, fond of riding and familiar with 
 every path and corner of the woods and fields 
 around her north-country home. She early ac- 
 quired a passion for reading, and her days being 
 spent, for the most part, without companions 
 of her own age, she lived much in a fairy world 
 of her own creation, which she staged and peo- 
 pled piecemeal from the stories and pictures of 
 her favourite books. 
 
 In her seventeenth year came a visit to 
 France with her mother; and the following 
 winter she spent with her governess in Italy. 
 The latter experience awoke the intellectual and 
 emotional side of her nature, which had hither- 
 to been dreaming. With her first sight of the 
 South, bathed in sunlight and soft with the 
 haze that, when the grapes are ripe, hangs like
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 73 
 
 a benediction over Lombardy and the Lakes, 
 her childish fairyland of northern glades and 
 wandering knights vanished for ever from her 
 heart, and Italy, its ancient cities and smiling 
 plains, its art and its story, became to her an 
 absorbing joy and the very habitation of ro- 
 mance. 
 
 When she returned to England she was pre- 
 sented, and at once found herself swept into the 
 stream of balls and parties of her first London 
 season. She had expected to hate it all; amid 
 the studies and reveries of her Italian winter, 
 when she thought of the glitter and effort that 
 lay in the near future, a feeling almost of dread 
 had laid hold of her. But society is more cun- 
 ningly devised than she had guessed. The pleas- 
 antest and most decorative people in every age 
 have not laid up experience towards the perpetu- 
 ating of their kind any more clumsily than have 
 the butterflies and the flowers ; and Mabel, who 
 was pretty and rich and constitutionally anxious 
 to please, found that the brilliant, cosmopolitan 
 world of modern London knows how to make 
 the achievement of social popularity as agree- 
 able and exciting an experience for a young girl 
 as any other, perhaps, in this life. Then came 
 a number of country-house visits, and, in the 
 autumn, a large party at her own home, which,
 
 74 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 as it was the first time her parents had enter- 
 tained there since she came out, was composed 
 chiefly of young people. 
 
 Among the guests was her cousin, Gerald 
 Raymond, who proceeded to fall violently in 
 love with her. He was a slight, handsome youth 
 with black, curly hair, and eyes rather like a 
 young fawn. He was not clever, but he danced 
 exquisitely, and was reckoned a fine rider even 
 for a family whose members, in the heat of their 
 bitterest feuds, never troubled to dispute each 
 other's horsemanship; and Mabel had known 
 him all her life. About as unlikely a suitor, it 
 might be thought, to storm the heart of a young 
 woman who had, as she believed, dedicated her- 
 self to the study of Italian primitives only a 
 few months before, as could well be found. But 
 it is an old saying that love goes by contraries, 
 and very young girls, even if they are beautiful 
 and popular, are more affected by genuine 
 courtship than is commonly admitted, especially 
 when, as in this case, they are of an affection- 
 ate disposition, and for the moment, partially 
 bereft of their senses by astonishment. 
 
 Gerald was three years Mabel's senior. Ever 
 since she could remember, he had been her guide 
 in all that related to the out-door life which one 
 side of her temperament adored. In her youth-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 75 
 
 ful eyes he had held the place that a captain 
 of the eleven occupies to his fag, and for years 
 he was the only being in the world who could, 
 as the expression goes, bring Mabel's heart to 
 her mouth, by a word of praise. Needless to 
 say, he was totally unaware of this and, during 
 the period in question, would have probably re- 
 garded the distinction with indifference. But 
 when the scales fell from his eyes and he saw in 
 his former playmate a vision of beauty at whose 
 feet he fell headlong, this ancient asc'endancy 
 was nearer helping his cause than he might have 
 guessed, even had he known of its existence. 
 
 But with a girl of Mabel's age and unawak- 
 ened emotions, it is a long step from flattered 
 and somewhat touched surprise to anything like 
 falling seriously in love. She rode with her 
 cousin and played tennis with him, and, to her 
 mother's sudden and obvious apprehension, she 
 gave him six valses at the County Ball, to which 
 her parents had brought their house-party. If 
 Gerald, after skilfully arranging that they 
 should drive home together, had mustered up his 
 courage, declared his love, and kissed her in 
 the depths of the family landau, while the mu- 
 sic of their last dance was still throbbing in her 
 brain, instead of selecting the kitchen-garden 
 next morning for the attempt, it is just pos-
 
 76 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 sible that events might have turned out differ- 
 ently for both of them. But as it was, Gerald 
 failed among the vegetables, and failed a few 
 weeks later for the army, and, after a series of 
 violent quarrels with his father, he disappeared 
 out of her ken. One note she received, telling 
 her, under pledge of secrecy, that he was on his 
 way to South Africa to enlist in the Protecto- 
 rate Frontier Mounted Police ; but it is doubtful 
 if even requited love would have turned Gerald 
 into a good correspondent, and Mabel was 
 scarcely surprised that, to the two letters she 
 wrote in answer, she got no reply. 
 
 The incident left her for a time much dis- 
 tressed. She had not been in love with her 
 cousin of that she was sure; and yet when he 
 was gone in the cloud of his misfortunes, for 
 some of which, at least, she felt responsible, he 
 left her inexplicably affected. With a girl of 
 Mabel's disposition a certain sentiment, al- 
 ways a little different from any other, attaches 
 to the man who has been the first to pay the 
 compliment of proposing to her. Perhaps if 
 he had been a budding artist or poet, if he had 
 touched the inner, more pensive side of her 
 character, she might have come to give him, 
 when he was gone, what he had failed to obtain 
 in person. But Gerald was not a romantic in-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 77 
 
 dividual, and, although for some time after his 
 departure Mabel could never see his saddle 
 hanging in the harness-room without some emo- 
 tion, yet, as the months passed, even this trib- 
 ute to his memory, sincere as it was, insensibly 
 died away. 
 
 And now, on this soft Italian evening, across 
 the intervening years of gaiety and marriage, of 
 hope and sorrow, recollections of those long- 
 past events were crowding each other in her 
 brain and, almost unknown to herself, were 
 clothing themselves in sensations which, in the 
 days of their happening, had slept profoundly 
 and were but now awakening. . . . 
 
 At the sound of voices and steps issuing from 
 the French windows of the dining-room below, 
 she put out her hand and, lighting an electric 
 reading-lamp which stood by her elbow, lifted 
 a writing-case from the table. After glancing 
 idly at some letters that had arrived by the after- 
 noon post, she slipped them between the pages 
 of the blotter and, feeling in a pocket of the 
 case, pulled out an envelope. From this she took 
 a sheet of foreign paper, covered with large 
 childish-looking characters, and dated "R.M.S. 
 Norham Castle. Off Madeira." A smile rose 
 to her lips as she glanced down the page.
 
 78 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 'Dear Mabel (the letter ran), Thanks aw- 
 fully for your note. It was very nice of you to 
 write, and I was delighted to get it and to hear 
 that though you had been so seedy you were a 
 bit fitter again. It was very nice of you to sug- 
 gest my coming to Italy instead of going 
 straight home, and the doctors think it a very 
 good scheme, and I am awfully keen on the idea. 
 It will be very jolly to see you again after such 
 a long time and I am looking forward to it 
 tremendously. 
 
 "Leslie is coming too, as he is seedy too, and 
 the doctors do not want him to go home till it 
 gets a bit warmer. The captain says we ought 
 to get to Italy about as soon as this, so I will 
 not write any more just now. St. John is on 
 board and asks me to send you his love. He has 
 been very decent. 
 
 "With ever so many thanks for your letter, 
 and looking forward more than I can say to 
 seeing you again, I remain, 
 
 "Your affect, cousin, 
 
 "GERALD. 
 
 "P.S. I hope you won't mind my bringing 
 Leslie, he is a very decent young chap." 
 
 Mabel laughed aloud as she finished the post- 
 script.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 79 
 
 "Dear old Gerald," she murmured, "he, cer- 
 tainly, hasn't changed ! He might have written 
 that the day he left home. How nice it will be 
 to see him again!" 
 
 For some moments she gazed dreamily over 
 the moonlit lake. Then, laying her cousin's note 
 on the blotter, she rose and, with the case in her 
 hand, lifted the lamp and entered the French 
 window. After placing the light on a small 
 table by her bed, she went to a writing table 
 standing in the centre of the room, and opened a 
 leather despatch box. From the top of a heap 
 of papers she picked up a large envelope, from 
 which she took a cabinet photograph. The elec- 
 tric globe above the table was unlit; with the 
 photograph in her hand, she returned to her bed- 
 side, and, moving the light a little nearer, lay 
 down on the coverlet. 
 
 She scrutinised the picture carefully a smile 
 still lingering at the corners of her mouth. 
 Then her expression softened. "Poor Gerald! 
 What a hard time he must have had." Again 
 her eyes wandered to the moonlight. "I wonder 
 if he will find me much changed," she murmured, 
 "I wonder." 
 
 A knock sounded on a door at the far end of 
 the room. Mabel glanced up. The handle rat- 
 tled and a chink of light from the passage slid
 
 80 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 across the obscurity of the opposite wall. A 
 voice asked, 
 
 "May I come in, dear?" 
 
 Mabel, slipping the photograph into her writ- 
 ing-case, leaned back on the pillows. "Yes, 
 Cousin Grace," she called out, "do come in!" 

 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE door opened and a little, stout lady in a 
 black evening gown entered the room. 
 
 "All in darkness, dear!" she exclaimed briskly, 
 "Shall I turn on your light?" 
 
 "Please do," replied Mabel. "I'm afraid you 
 wouldn't be able to work by this one." 
 
 The newcomer turned the switch beside her, 
 which communicated with the globe in the centre 
 of the room, and, after closing the door, wheeled 
 an armchair towards the bed. 
 
 "Well, dear, how are you this evening?" 
 Mabel's visitor sat down, and, after arranging 
 a Shetland shawl about her plump shoulders, 
 produced another, in process of manufacture, 
 from an embroidered bag, and began to knit. 
 
 Lady Grace Whipham had passed her sixtieth 
 year, but her cheeks were still pink and soft and 
 her blue eyes vivacious. Having no children of 
 her own, she lavished a semi-maternal interest 
 and affection on her younger relatives, among 
 whom Mabel Arbuthnot was her favourite. To 
 many unselfish traits, common to her sex, she 
 added a pelican-like devotion to the members of 
 
 81
 
 82 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 her family circle, which no misfortune and very 
 few misdeeds on their part could shake. Her 
 temper was quick and she had the fussiness 
 which goes often with a kind heart ; but her dis- 
 position was cheerful and uncritical, and, in her 
 devout moments, she nourished a humble satis- 
 faction that she could claim to have learned with 
 the Apostle, in whatsoever state she was, there- 
 with to be content. The coincidence that, so far 
 as this world went, she could not conceive herself 
 wishing to dwell in any state but that to which 
 she had been born, never gave her a moment's 
 reflection, and, if it had, it would but have added 
 to her tranquillity. 
 
 She had been greatly concerned during the 
 long months of Mabel's illness, and it was the 
 hope of persuading the latter to take a course 
 of electric baths which a rising Italian doctor 
 had installed near the Hotel Regina on Lake 
 Como, and of which Lady Grace had heard 
 great marvels, that had prompted her to induce 
 the unwilling Sir Peter to shut up their London 
 house and bring her abroad this spring. Mabel, 
 who was much attached to both her and her hus- 
 band, had welcomed the opportunity of going 
 to Italy in their care, and the success which had 
 so far attended the experiment, pleased her al- 
 most as much on her cousin's account as on her
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 83 
 
 own. So she smiled brightly as she answered the 
 older lady's enquiry. 
 
 "Much better, thank you, Cousin Grace." 
 
 "No headache?" 
 
 "None at all. I think Dr. Florio's baths are 
 beginning to do me good already." 
 
 Lady Grace settled back in her chair. "I 
 should hope so, dear! You've been at them for 
 over a fortnight now." 
 
 "Yes nearly three weeks. But Dr. Florio 
 says himself that it takes some time before they 
 begin to really affect one. I expect it's been the 
 place as much as anything that has helped me 
 so far. I do love it, and that just makes all the 
 difference when one is beginning to get 
 stronger." 
 
 "The place wouldn't have done it without the 
 baths," responded Lady Grace, her needles 
 clicking busily. 
 
 Mabel laughed. "Well, you had better tell 
 Dr. Florio that. He confided to me this morn- 
 ing that he thought baths were becoming rather 
 over-rated things that there was something in 
 the old-fashioned idea of their just being meant 
 for cleaning people when they were dirty." 
 
 "He didn't say that about his electric ones!" 
 said Lady Grace in scandalised tones. 
 
 "Yes, especially electric ones that's why he
 
 84 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 uses a thing like a spade to scrape his patients 
 with," continued Mabel, laughing. "He was 
 only chaffing, Cousin Grace!" she added. "Of 
 course he believes in electricity tremendously. 
 He just meant that half the bathing cures now- 
 adays are beneficial chiefly because people be- 
 lieve in them. As he remarked, 'Zey are not 
 good nor bad, but ze thought make 'em so !' * 
 
 Lady Grace sniffed. "It's a great pity Dr. 
 Florio is so fond of airing his English and of 
 filling his patient's heads with ideas about their 
 treatments, instead of being satisfied with cur- 
 ing what's wrong with them." 
 
 "I love the dottore's English it's so much 
 more fluent than ours," responded her cousin, 
 smiling. "Besides, I might have been able to 
 follow the gist of his remark even if he'd been 
 speaking his native tongue. It has been made 
 before, you know." 
 
 "Not by any good English doctor, Mabel," 
 said Lady Grace firmly. "Of course Dr. Florio 
 is very clever and all that, otherwise he wouldn't 
 have so many English people one knows coming 
 to him; but I've no patience with these new- 
 fangled Continental ideas of one's thoughts af- 
 fecting one's health. When I am ill, I feel ill, 
 and all the thinking in the world won't make me 
 feel well till I either get better myself which is
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 85 
 
 what usually happens, I'm glad to say or until 
 I'm given something to cure me." 
 
 "But surely faith does help the cure?" 
 
 "I am not talking of Faith, dear," responded 
 Lady Grace solemnly, "that is another matter, 
 and of course it helps in everything. But so far 
 as medicines and treatments go, they are like 
 those hotel meals one has to put up with them 
 when one comes abroad for the purpose, but the 
 fewer questions one asks about them the better." 
 
 "I never feel like that," said Mabel. "Being 
 ill is unpleasant enough, in all conscience, but it 
 is a relief when I come across a doctor like Dr. 
 Florio, for instance who doesn't just treat me 
 like a child, but does interest me in ' 
 
 "I don't want to be interested in what's the 
 matter with me!" interrupted Lady Grace. 
 "That's where people nowadays are so silly. I 
 prefer to think about pleasant things not dis- 
 agreeables, like being ill." 
 
 "But so many of the problems of life are con- 
 nected with one's health " 
 
 "I really don't know what you mean by the 
 'problems' of life, Mabel," responded the older 
 lady, taking a new skein of wool from her bag 
 and slipping it over the back of a chair prepara- 
 tory to winding it into a ball. "It's just a way 
 young people have got into of talking now-
 
 86 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 adays. When I was your age, people spoke of 
 problems when they meant things in Parliament 
 like the Reform Bill and so on. But no one 
 certainly no girls ever dreamed of using such 
 expressions about themselves. If you mean the 
 difficulties and illnesses that have to be put up 
 with, of course they're unpleasant, and I dare- 
 say if one thinks about them too much, they will 
 make one ill. But they are no more 'problems' 
 to-day than they were in your great-grand- 
 mother's time that is, if one has any belief at 
 all in Providence or religion." 
 
 Mabel made no reply. The conversation had 
 taken a line which, for a variety of reasons, she 
 tried to avoid in her talks with her cousin, so she 
 turned and gazed out of the window in silence. 
 From her bed, which projected into the room at 
 right angles to the left wall, she could see the 
 mountains and the lake; above, framed in the 
 arch of the loggia, the pale, southern sky shone 
 serene and cloudless. 
 
 "Do you feel the air too much, dear?" she en- 
 quired after a pause. "Shall I close the window 
 a little?" 
 
 Lady Grace drew the shawl she was wearing 
 closer round her neck. "No, thank you. I like 
 it after that stuffy dining-room. What a lovely 
 evening it is."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 87 
 
 "Perfectly lovely. I do wish we didn't have 
 those sudden storms from the lake though! 
 They're the one thing I don't like about this 
 place. Last night when I went to bed, every- 
 thing was still and clear, and, of course, I left 
 both windows and the shutters wide open. I had 
 just fallen asleep when the shutters of the big 
 window blew together with a fiendish crash, and 
 though I wrestled with them for ages I couldn't 
 get them open again. Did you hear the rain? 
 It was an absolute deluge while it lasted." 
 
 "Yes. I made Peter get up and close the 
 window. Our shutters banged, too. Have you 
 had yours seen to?" 
 
 "I told Thomson about it. I think they're all 
 right. Besides, I don't expect we shall have an- 
 other storm to-night it is so beautiful now." 
 
 Lady Grace paused in her winding to unravel 
 a knot. "Oh, you can't judge by that," she re- 
 marked. "The manager says this is the season 
 for them we may expect them every night." 
 
 Mabel's eyes had wandered far away to the 
 shining dome of Monte Crocione; a torrent 
 near the summit flashed in the moonlight like a 
 tiny incandescent wire. "I hope not," she re- 
 joined languidly. 
 
 Lady Grace jerked a refractory strand out of 
 a crack in the chair-back, finished the winding
 
 88 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 of her ball and, pushing the chair away with her 
 foot, took up her knitting. "Well, I hear 
 they're expected at 11," she said briskly, after a 
 pause. 
 
 Mabel turned. "Who, dear? The storms?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Leslie and Lord Daneborough." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 "Yes, the manager has just had a wire. I feel 
 quite excited! How long do you think he will 
 stay?" 
 
 Mabel absently fingered the writing-case ly- 
 ing on the bed beside her. "I've no idea. Until 
 he gets stronger, I suppose. He said nothing 
 in his letter about his knee but it probably 
 bothers him a good deal still. The doctors don't 
 want him to go home till the weather is warmer." 
 
 Lady Grace's needles began to click again. 
 "I didn't mean Lord Daneborough, Mabel! I 
 meant Mr. Leslie, of course." 
 
 "Why 'of course,' Cousin Grace?" 
 
 "What a question, dear! One would think 
 you didn't know that Mr. Leslie is the most- 
 talked-of man in England just now! All the 
 papers have been full of nothing else. I saw a 
 most interesting picture in.one of the illustrated 
 papers downstairs of him carrying Gerald 
 Daneborough all those hundreds and hundreds 
 of miles without anything to eat or drink and
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 89 
 
 with thousands of savages chasing him all the 
 time till they both fell fainting into the camp at 
 MacSweeney I think it was and Bishop Ray- 
 mond picked them up and nursed them back to 
 life." 
 
 Mabel smiled. "It sounds as though it must 
 have been one of those new cinematographs, 
 Cousin Grace." 
 
 "Nonsense, dear! It was a picture in the 
 Graphic. I took it up to my room twice to show 
 to you, but the waiter came and asked for it 
 each time entirely unnecessary of him. But 
 I've got this week's number with me it had 
 
 just arrived " Lady Grace twisted in her 
 
 chair and fumbled behind her. "Here it is I 
 was sitting on it. There's a picture of him and 
 a notice saying he's on his way home, and an- 
 other long account of it all. Look! There he 
 is in uniform. He's very good-looking, isn't 
 he?" 
 
 Mabel leaned forward and took the paper. 
 "Thank you," she said, glancing at the open 
 page. "Yes, I've seen that picture before. I'll 
 read about it afterwards." Laying the maga- 
 zine on the bed beside her, she turned again to- 
 wards the window. 
 
 Lady Grace possessed an interest in her fel- 
 low-creatures which amounted to a hobby. The
 
 90 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 pleasure she derived from general society was 
 that of a tourist with a passion for indiscrimi- 
 nate sight-seeing 1 , but (and of this fact her 
 cousin was well aware) she was quite without 
 the collector's instinct if the phrase may be 
 employed in connection with human, as well as 
 other rarities. Her acquaintanceship was vast 
 and catholic, but to the number of her intimate 
 friends she never added, except, perhaps, when 
 one of her family circle married somebody she 
 approved of. Though her curiosity about 
 strangers was always on the stretch, her emo- 
 tions were left untouched not because they 
 were lacking, but because, like the typical 
 Briton abroad, she kept them with her affec- 
 tions at home. She liked to meet distinguished 
 people just as she would have liked, had she 
 cared for art, to see famous pictures, but, her 
 temperament being what it was, the personali- 
 ties of the former left her as uninterested as the 
 pigments of the latter would have done. 
 Though far from unintelligent herself, or with- 
 out a certain respect for the quality in others, 
 she valued much more highly, as a basis for 
 friendship, those attributes which Providence 
 granted to every individual, not actually crazy 
 or disreputable, who happened to have been 
 born in the circle to which she herself belonged.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 91 
 
 The fact that the exploits or vagaries of celeb- 
 rities entertained her as a performance made 
 her the more indisposed to welcome them by her 
 hearth, and not improbably the pleasure she got 
 out of her "freaks," as she sometimes termed the 
 distinguished persons she met outside her own 
 world, was a reaction of the more volatile ele- 
 ments of her nature upon the intensely tribal 
 quality of her real affections. 
 
 To Mabel, whose inclination was to avoid 
 making an acquaintance unless she saw in the 
 stranger a promise of friendship, and to whom 
 purely social distinctions meant very little, this 
 aspect of her cousin's character was a source of 
 mingled amusement and annoyance. While 
 recognising its harmlessness from Lady Grace's 
 point of view, she could not help noticing the 
 less agreeable impression it sometimes made 
 upon the other parties to the situation when 
 they became aware of its peculiarities. It was, 
 therefore, with no great enthusiasm in her voice, 
 that she added, 
 
 "I rather wonder at Mr. Leslie coming when 
 he has no friends here. There will be very little 
 for him to do." 
 
 "I don't expect he'll want to do much," re- 
 sponded her companion. "I suppose he's com- 
 ing for the same reason as Lord Daneborough
 
 92 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 for the sake of his health. He must need a 
 rest in all conscience! Being wounded is noth- 
 ing to what Mr. Leslie went through, Mabel. 
 I heard to-day that he's to get his V.C. from the 
 Queen herself at Windsor in May. Perhaps 
 he'll stay here till then." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "I wonder who he is," continued Lady Grace 
 meditatively. 
 
 "He was a trooper in the Protectorate Fron- 
 tier Police." 
 
 "Of course, I know that, dear. I'm wonder- 
 ing who his people are. Somebody told me he 
 was Irish. Perhaps he's one of the Kilracket 
 Leslies they're Irish, of course but I expect 
 we should have heard if he were." 
 
 "I expect you would. The cinematograph 
 picture would have had him waving a shillalah." 
 Mabel picked up the illustrated paper and laid 
 it on the table beside her. "I can't see that it 
 matters much. The truth is I am getting a little 
 tired of Trooper Leslie. I'm glad he's to get 
 his V.C., but I think all the fuss that's being 
 made about him is rather hard on Gerald." 
 
 Lady Grace stared. "Why? what did he 
 do?" 
 
 "He must have done a good deal, I think," 
 responded her cousin. "The papers seem to
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 93 
 
 me very silly. They write as though he had 
 been simply a very heavy, brown-paper parcel 
 broken at one end and labelled 'Nobleman. 
 Very fragile. This side up.' It's so absurd to 
 talk like that! Mr. Leslie had only been in 
 Africa a few months, and, however brave he 
 was, he couldn't have known his way and where 
 to get food and all that, unless Gerald had 
 helped him. What I think so unfair is that 
 there would never have been nearly so much 
 fuss if Gerald had not succeeded to his title just 
 then. The public forget all about his having 
 been a sergeant in the best-known irregular 
 corps in South Africa and simply drag in his 
 name the same way as they do a duchess's who 
 ties up parcels at a charity bazaar. Only in this 
 case, Gerald being the parcel himself, Mr. Les- 
 lie is simply flooded in glory!" 
 
 "That's all nonsense, Mabel!" rejoined Lady 
 Grace. "Mr. Leslie would have been a hero 
 anyway ! I know nothing about the public, and 
 so far as I am concerned, the fact that people 
 one knows like St. John Raymond and Bertie 
 Vesey- Vivian, and Lord Daneborough himself 
 of course are connected with the affair, merely 
 makes it more interesting to read and talk 
 about. Nothing more." 
 
 "But, Cousin Grace," cried Mabel, laughing,
 
 94 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "that's exactly what I mean! You are just like 
 every one else 
 
 "If you mean to class me with the general 
 public, Mabel " began the older lady stiffly 
 a knock at the door interrupted her. "My 
 dear," she interpolated hastily, "that's Peter! 
 Do you think you want to see him? He's very 
 tiresome to-night. They wouldn't let him open 
 the windows in the dining-room and what be- 
 tween that and " 
 
 "Yes, of course, Cousin Grace," interrupted 
 Mabel, laughing. "I should love to see him! 
 Come in!" she cried. 
 
 The handle turned and the door opened cau- 
 tiously. "Quite sure you want a visitor?" en- 
 quired a voice. 
 
 Mabel sat up higher against her pillows and 
 tidied the folds of her gown. "Yes, Cousin 
 Peter," she called, "do come in!" 
 
 Lady Grace had been staring at the revolving 
 handle. "Come in, dear, and shut the door!" 
 she cried, sharply, "we're in a draught." 
 
 The door opened another foot, then stopped. 
 A second voice came from the passage. "Hullo! 
 I say, Uncle Peter !" The door closed 
 again on a confused murmur of conversation 
 which rose and fell to the ears of the listeners
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 95 
 
 within the room, as the lock banged gently in 
 the breeze. 
 
 "Drat the man, what is he doing?" ejaculated 
 Lady Grace. Clasping her knitting to her lap, 
 she crossed the room and threw open the door. 
 "Come in or stay out, Peter! Don't stand there 
 making What d'you say ? Oh, it's you, Hugh. 
 What? Bishop Raymond? Really." She 
 turned towards the bed. "Mabel, Hugh's here. 
 He says Bishop Raymond's expected to-night." 
 
 Mabel leaned forward. "Cousin St. John. 
 How delightful! I thought he was going 
 straight home. When did General Mackworth 
 hear?" 
 
 Lady Grace drew her shawl about her. "Can 
 he come in for a minute, Mabel? I can't stand 
 here in this draught." 
 
 Mabel slipped her feet quickly to the ground, 
 and, putting her hand to her hair, rose from the 
 bed. "Certainly," she said, "if he won't mind 
 my room being untidy." 
 
 Lady Grace turned to the others. "Come in, 
 both of you, and shut the door," she said, going 
 back to her chair. 
 
 Two men in evening dress, wearing dinner 
 jackets, appeared on the threshold the 
 younger stepping aside and motioning to his 
 companion to lead the way.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 "GOOD-EVENING, Cousin Peter good-even- 
 ing 1 , General Mackworth." Mabel, smiling to 
 the newcomers, turned and arranged some cush- 
 ions on a sofa which stood across the foot of the 
 bed. 
 
 Sir Peter Whipham was a clean-shaven, spare 
 man of about sixty, with the ascetic features 
 and detached expression of an enthusiast. His 
 lined face and quick yet tranquil blue eyes 
 would have become equally well a priest's bi- 
 retta or a philosopher's skull-cap, but as a 
 matter of fact they had appeared for thirty-five 
 winters and more below the peaked cap of a 
 Master-of -hounds. Horses were more than a 
 kingdom to Sir Peter. But for his home affec- 
 tions which, as he was a humble-minded, simple 
 man, were largely influenced by his wife, the 
 noblest of animals was all the world to him. 
 He remembered places by the horses he had 
 bought, sold, or seen in them; people by the 
 mounts they rode or owned, and his views on 
 public affairs were governed by their influence, 
 
 96
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 97 
 
 as he saw it, on all that affected British stables. 
 He was a retiring" man in general society, but 
 he had an odd habit in conversation of gesticu- 
 lating rapidly with his right hand, and of 
 mimicing, as though unconsciously, any pe- 
 culiarity of the individual he happened to be 
 talking about. "Blind as a bat," he would say, 
 and dart his head forward with tightly closed 
 eyes; "Stone deaf," and his right hand would 
 curve momentarily behind his ear; or, if the idea 
 struck him that the person or horse he was 
 speaking of, walked like a camel, his com- 
 panion would see a rapid interlude depicting the 
 gait of that animal as Sir Peter conceived it. 
 It was all done so swiftly and with so much 
 gravity that the observer was apt to be too 
 much surprised to note, until afterwards, the 
 excellence of the performance. 
 
 "Evenin', Mabel," he rejoined, in answer to 
 his cousin's greeting. "Hot night!" he added, 
 flapping a copy of the Times vigorously across 
 his face. 
 
 "Will you, or will you not, stop making 
 draughts, Peter?" His wife looked up testily 
 from her chair. "If you are hot go to the win- 
 dow." 
 
 Sir Peter strolled obediently to the French
 
 98 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 window and, after glancing at the sky, stepped 
 on to the loggia. 
 
 Mabel had sat down on the sofa and, putting 
 her feet up, was arranging a white Cashmere 
 shawl over them. Her other visitor stepped 
 forward. "Allow me." Bending down he un- 
 folded the wrap and laid it carefully over her 
 ankles. 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Mabel, smil- 
 ing. "Please forgive me for putting my feet 
 up, but I have been walking quite a lot to-day, 
 for the first time. Now, do tell me the news. 
 Sit down, won't you?" 
 
 "Thanks." Her companion pulled forward 
 a chair. "Afraid I'm disturbing you! I just 
 heard this moment from the manager. Bishop 
 Raymond is coming to-night with Lord Dane- 
 borough and young Leslie. I caught sight of 
 Uncle Peter at your door just now, and I 
 thought you'd like to know." 
 
 Major-General Hugh Mackworth was a tall, 
 slight man, very straight and soldierly-looking, 
 with an air of distinction and smartness in spite 
 of rather carelessly-worn clothes, not uncom- 
 mon in a certain type of British cavalry officer. 
 Much foreign service had burnt his thin face a 
 deep brown, but although a little puckered 
 about the eyelids, it was singularly youthful,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 99 
 
 and his dark hair and clipped moustache had 
 an almost juvenile aspect. His expression was 
 unusually intelligent and his eyes betrayed a 
 sense of humour which was reported to be 
 viewed at times with some suspicion by his 
 seniors. But there were traces of stern, even 
 grim lines about his mouth, and the glance of his 
 grey pupils was quick and keen. At the mo- 
 ment he enjoyed the distinction of being the 
 youngest officer of his rank in the army, hav- 
 ing been promoted a few weeks previously on 
 his return from North Africa, where he had 
 earned a reputation as a brilliant organiser and 
 leader of native cavalry. 
 
 "Thank you so much," rejoined Mabel, when 
 he had finished. "It was awfully good of you 
 to come and tell me. Cousin St. John and I 
 used to be great friends. You know him, don't 
 you, Cousin Grace?" she added, turning to the 
 older lady who was engaged just then in num- 
 bering her stitches aloud. 
 
 Lady Grace finished her counting before she 
 replied. "I haven't seen him for years. He 
 used to be fearfully straightlaced and 'high.' I 
 never could get on with him. These Raymonds 
 are all queer; they're either prigs or boors." 
 
 "I hope you enjoy having your relatives cata-
 
 100 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 logued, Mrs. Arbuthnot," remarked General 
 Mackworth, smiling. 
 
 "Well, they're relations of mine, too, if it 
 comes to that," retorted Lady Grace. "Most 
 people I know are. That doesn't prevent one 
 telling the truth about them, does it?" 
 
 "In what the poet calls 'The Stately Homes 
 of England,' I should say never, Aunt Grace." 
 
 "I should hope not! What's more, I hear 
 Gerald Daneborough who's coming to-night, is 
 just the same as the rest of them," continued 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 "Do you mean the same old bishop or the 
 same old boor?" enquired her nephew. 
 
 "They say he's the image of his uncle, Henry 
 Daneborough, who was killed a few weeks 
 ago," declared the other. "I'll say no more!" 
 she added meaningly. 
 
 "If you mean that Gerald is a boor, Cousin 
 Grace," exclaimed Mabel, half -smiling, half- 
 annoyed, "you are really wrong. I've known 
 him all my life. He was fond of horses, and he 
 didn't care much for society, but 
 
 "Exactly I know that type of Raymond!" 
 put in the elder lady. 
 
 "But you don't know Gerald, Cousin Grace, 
 and I do!"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 101 
 
 "You haven't seen him for how many 
 years ?" enquired the other. 
 
 "Eight." 
 
 Lady Grace shook her knitting over her lap. 
 "Just before you married? Well, you wait and 
 see! He's been eight years in the ranks since 
 then not even in the army, but in some dis- 
 reputable colonial police force. If that hasn't 
 made a pretty rough diamond of him, I shall 
 be much mistaken!" 
 
 Mabel flushed slightly, but made no reply. 
 General Mackworth rose with a smile and re- 
 placed his chair by the writing table. "You 
 cut him, Aunt Grace," he remarked, "perhaps 
 that will make a gem of him." 
 
 Lady Grace regarded the speaker disapprov- 
 ingly. "You seem to forget he's succeeded, 
 Hugh," she said. "I don't suppose he has done 
 anything absolutely disgraceful!" 
 
 Her nephew laughed and turned to Mabel. 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Arbuthnot," he said, hold- 
 ing out his hand. 
 
 "I say, Hugh, come and look at the gun- 
 boat!" Sir Peter popped his head through the 
 French window. "She's drawn something 
 I'll take my oath!" He disappeared excitedly. 
 
 "Peter's crazy about that boat!" exclaimed 
 Lady Grace. "One would think he had never
 
 102 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 seen a searchlight in his life before! He broke 
 a water bottle and a tumbler in my room last 
 night waving his arms about to show me what 
 it had been doing while I was saying my pray- 
 ers." 
 
 As she spoke, Sir Peter projected an arm 
 into the room, slanting it rigidly at a point ap- 
 parently beneath the sofa. "They're dead on 
 something!" he exclaimed. "They'll be lower- 
 ing a boat in a minute. Come on, Hugh!" 
 
 "May I?" enquired Mackworth, turning to 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Yes, do," rejoined the latter, smiling. "Tell 
 us if it is anything exciting." 
 
 The gunboat which patrolled the upper 
 reaches of Lake Como was a source of endless 
 interest not only to Sir Peter, but to most of 
 the guests at the Hotel Regina. Commissioned 
 by the Italian Custom's Department to check 
 smuggling from the Swiss frontier above 
 Menaggio, it could be seen every night, as dark- 
 ness fell, creeping over the open water at the 
 junction of the Como, Lecco and Colico arms; 
 and, until dawn, the restless, slanting beam of 
 its searchlight swept the mountains, shores and 
 sleeping villages. The visitors to that part of 
 the lake came to regard the odd-shaped, black 
 craft with its blinding eye, as a more essential
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 103 
 
 feature of the night than the moon or the stars ; 
 storm or fine its ray fell everywhere spark- 
 ling one moment on the naked hill-tops, then, 
 with a vertiginous flash, searching out the dark- 
 ness of walled gardens and vine-covered per- 
 golas by the water-front; flitting over terraces 
 where people sat at dinner, and penetrating 
 with a flood of silent brilliance the open win- 
 dows of their bedrooms. Now and then, in its 
 apparently aimless movements, the beam would 
 pause with a jerk, transform some remote farm 
 or osteria by the shore into a shining fairy pa- 
 vilion, creep watchfully to and fro by the land- 
 ing-place, and, with a pounce, expose a tiny 
 boat, rowing swiftly over the black waters. The 
 news would then run along the hotel terraces 
 that a smuggler had been sighted, and heads 
 would be thrust over the balustrades and out of 
 windows. But these activities of the search- 
 light were apt to be as mysterious as the rest 
 of its behaviour; and after a few seconds, dur- 
 ing which the suspicious craft lay like a dazzled 
 insect in the circle of light, the beam would flash 
 off elsewhere. 
 
 "I wonder if they ever catch anybody," re- 
 marked Mabel, glancing over her cushions to- 
 wards the loggia. Her movement dislodged the 
 writing case which she had lifted off the bed
 
 104 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 when her visitors entered, and had placed on the 
 end of the sofa ; it fell to the floor with a crash. 
 
 "I'll get it, dear, don't move," said Lady 
 Grace, as Mabel turned hastily. "Here it is." 
 Clasping her knitting, the old lady picked up 
 the case and, half rising from her chair, handled 
 it to her cousin. As she did so, the photograph 
 which Mabel had slipped inside the cover, ear- 
 lier in the evening, dropped out. "Something's 
 fallen!" ejaculated Lady Grace; stooping again 
 she picked up the photograph and held it out, 
 glancing casually at it, as she did so. 
 
 "Thank you so much," said Mabel. "That is 
 Gerald," she added, after a momentary pause. 
 "It was done just before he went to the Cape. 
 I found it among some papers to-night. It was 
 very good of him at the time, I think. Did you 
 ever see him?" She handed the photograph 
 back to the older lady. 
 
 The latter looked up sharply and, dropping 
 her knitting, took the picture. She stared at 
 it, then returned it to her cousin. "No, I may 
 have seen him when he was a child. I don't re- 
 member. He is quite nice-looking," she added. 
 
 Mabel made no response. She replaced the 
 photograph within the writing-pad, and, after 
 a short pause, put her feet to the ground and 
 rose. Laying the case on the writing-table as
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 105 
 
 she passed, she crossed to a long mirror at the 
 other side of the room, before which she halted, 
 tidying her hair and shaking out the folds of 
 her gown. 
 
 Lady Grace glanced up as though about to 
 speak, but apparently thinking better of it, re- 
 turned to her work with a somewhat pronounced 
 clicking of her needles. 
 
 Mabel after a final pat to her hair, strolled 
 to the window, and stepped on to the loggia. 
 
 "Well, did they catch anybody?" 
 
 "No." Sir Peter wagged his head disap- 
 pointedly. "Another blank. Storm coming," 
 he added after a pause, leaning over the balus- 
 trade and staring down the moon-lit lake to- 
 wards Lecco. 
 
 "Do you think so? There are no clouds 
 about." 
 
 "Hot as blazes," replied Sir Peter, flicking 
 his handkerchief. "Thunder about." 
 
 "It is hot." Mabel leaned her bare elbows on 
 the stone balustrade and gazed up at the pale 
 depths of the sky. "Have they all got rooms, 
 General Mackworth?" she enquired. 
 
 "I think so," replied the general, moving for- 
 ward, and leaning on the coping beside her. 
 "The hotel is pretty full, and some other people 
 are coming to-night. The manager said he
 
 106 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 might have to put some one next door to you 
 here," he added, nodding along the loggia be- 
 hind him. 
 
 Mabel turned. "Oh, that is impossible!" she 
 exclaimed. "That's Dr. Florio's laboratory, 
 and the manager said distinctly when I took this 
 room that I should have the loggia to myself. 
 I always sleep with my windows wide open, and 
 I couldn't stand having anybody next door at 
 night. I'd better ring and see about it at once !" 
 She hastened into the room and crossed towards 
 the bell by the bed. 
 
 "What is it, Mabel?" enquired Lady Grace, 
 looking up. 
 
 Her cousin explained. "It's most annoying. 
 If they do put some one in there, I must move 
 into my sitting-room. It isn't nearly so nice, 
 and there's no balcony, but at any rate I should 
 be private." 
 
 "Don't bother, dear," responded the other. 
 "Peter will see about it when he goes down- 
 stairs. That's far better than ringing." 
 
 "I don't expect you'll be disturbed," said 
 Mack worth, stepping into the room, and hold- 
 ing out his hand to Mabel, who was standing 
 irresolutely by the bell. "There's no sign of 
 them preparing the other room I've just been
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 107 
 
 reconnoitring. Good-night. Would you like 
 me to do anything to make sure?" he added. 
 
 "Peter will see about it," interrupted Lady 
 Grace. "He's going to pay his bill to-night." 
 
 "So don't trouble," said Mabel, taking Mack- 
 worth's hand. "I'm sure Gousin Peter will be 
 able to attend to it. Good-night! Thanks so 
 much for coming to tell me about Bishop Ray- 
 mond." 
 
 The general bowed. Mabel, giving him a 
 friendly smile, turned and stepped again on to 
 the loggia. "Is the window next door closed?" 
 she asked Sir Peter. "Let us go and explore." 
 
 Mackworth walked to the chair where his 
 aunt was sitting and, bending down, kissed her 
 on the forehead. "Good-night, Aunt Grace," 
 he said. 
 
 The old lady dropped her knitting and 
 caught him by the lapel of his coat. "Hugh, do, 
 do something!" she said urgently. 
 
 "Look out, Aunt!" expostulated the general, 
 trying to free himself. "You're squashing my 
 shirt-front it's got to last to-morrow night!" 
 
 "You'll lose her, Hugh!" exclaimed Lady 
 Grace, disregarding him and glancing agi- 
 tatedly towards the window. "You'll spoil 
 everything if you don't take care ! Why don't 
 you ask her, and have done with it ? She knows
 
 108 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 you're in love with her any one with eyes in 
 
 their head could see that And she likes 
 
 you I'm sure of that. But I'm worried about 
 her, Hugh! She's changed lately I'm always 
 terrified of that romantic side of her coming 
 up, and I don't feel sure about something to- 
 night. Why won't you tell me " 
 
 "The secrets of a young man's heart, my dear 
 Aunt began the general, disengaging 
 himself. "Oh, by Jove, so sorry!" he exclaimed, 
 bowing apologetically to Mabel, who had en- 
 tered from the loggia with Sir Peter. "I'm just 
 going. Aunt Grace has been giving me a wig- 
 ging. Good-night." 
 
 "Expect we ought to be goin', too, Grace," 
 remarked Sir Peter as his nephew left the room. 
 
 Lady Grace glanced at her watch. "My 
 dear, it's past ten! You should have been in 
 bed long ago," she said to Mabel, beginning to 
 fold her knitting. "Miss Coxon will be coming 
 to turn us out." 
 
 "Let's bolt!" exclaimed Sir Peter, moving 
 hurriedly to the door. 
 
 "Please, don't," remonstrated Mabel. "Why 
 are you so frightened of nurse, Cousin Peter?" 
 
 Sir Peter felt for the handle. "Don't know. 
 Am," he said over his shoulder. "Night, Ma- 
 bel. Coming, Grace?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 109 
 
 "So am I, rather." Lady Grace stuffed her 
 knitting inside its bag. 
 
 "I do wish you wouldn't be," exclaimed Ma- 
 bel. "It's quite bad enough me being afraid 
 of her! I don't quite know what to do about it. 
 She was splendid when I was really ill, but I 
 do find her trying now." 
 
 As she spoke, a sharp knock sounded on the 
 door, within an inch of Sir Peter's ear. "Good 
 God!" cried the baronet, "I'm off! Night." 
 Turning the handle, he drew the door fully 
 open, keeping well behind it, and, as the new- 
 comer entered, he skipped past her back, into 
 the passage. 
 
 Mabel crossed to her bed, and lay down. 
 
 "Good-evening, Nurse," said Lady Grace, 
 preparing to rise. 
 
 "Good-evening," responded the newcomer, 
 moving forward to the foot of the bed. Nurse 
 Coxon was a tall young woman of about twen- 
 ty-six, with a fine figure, a striking mass of 
 coarse, auburn hair, a cream-coloured complex- 
 ion and handsome eyes, rather like large brown 
 beads. She was not in "uniform," and wore a 
 pale-blue silk blouse and a dark skirt. 
 
 "Please don't go, Cousin Grace," said Mabel. 
 
 Nurse Coxon glanced at the watch on her
 
 110 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 wrist. "It's after ten. I think we should be 
 putting- you to bed, Mrs. Arbuthnot." 
 
 Mabel smiled. "I am feeling very well to- 
 night, Nurse not a bit sleepy. If you'll just 
 give me my medicine I shall be all right." 
 
 "Dr. Florio particularly wants you to go to 
 bed early, Mrs. Arbuthnot," responded the 
 nurse, stiffly. 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better go, dear," interjected 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 "No, please, I do wish to speak to youl" 
 exclaimed Mabel. "Thomson can put me to 
 bed, Nurse," she continued. "I am really feel- 
 ing better to-night. I'm sure you would like to 
 go to bed early yourself for once. I'll explain 
 to Dr. Florio to-morrow." 
 
 "It's of no importance when Z go to bed. Dr. 
 Florio's orders are 
 
 "But Thomson- 
 
 "Your maid is not well," interrupted the 
 other, "she has gone to bed." 
 
 "Then I shall manage by myself," said Ma- 
 bel, turning to her cousin. 
 
 Nurse Coxon's yellow-brown pupils seemed 
 to protrude slightly. "Dr. Florio will be very 
 angry, Mrs. Arbuthnot 
 
 "Nurse!" Mabel looked up quickly. "Please" 
 she motioned towards the door.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE HI 
 
 "Oh, very well!" replied the other. Turning 
 on her heel, she walked across the room and 
 went behind a screen which stood before the 
 washstand; a moment later she appeared with 
 some medicine in a glass, which she carried in 
 silence to the small table by the bed. Then, 
 brushing past Lady Grace, she crossed to the 
 French window. 
 
 "You can leave it open, Nurse," said Mabel. 
 Nurse Coxon dropped the curtain back in its 
 place with a swish, and, looking straight in 
 front of her, marched to the door. 
 
 "Good-night," said Mabel. 
 
 "Good-night, Nurse," ejaculated Lady 
 Grace. 
 
 ""Good-night." Nurse Coxon left the room, 
 closing the door behind her. 
 
 Lady Grace, after listening a moment, 
 turned to her cousin. "My dear," she said, with 
 some anxiety in her voice. "This is not like you! 
 Is it wise?" 
 
 Mabel lay back and half-closed her eyes. "I 
 don't know yes, it's all right. I can easily put 
 myself to bed for once." She glanced up with 
 a faint flush. "Nurse Coxon mustn't order me 
 about so much! I felt I just couldn't stand her 
 to-night, somehow. Don't let's talk about it 
 any more."
 
 112 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Mabel, are you sure you are feeling quite 
 well?" enquired the older lady, after a pause, 
 concern and some little disapproval showing in 
 her face. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I think so," responded the other, 
 turning away. "I think I'm very well," she 
 added, staring into the darkness. "I just feel 
 a little strange. Perhaps it is the warm weather 
 beginning. We are going to have a storm to- 
 night. Do you feel how hot it is ? and the sky 
 is all overcast. It's only that." She pulled 
 open the neck of her dressing-gown. "I've been 
 irritable and silly, and that always upsets me. 
 I shall be all right if I just lie quiet for a little." 
 
 "Very well, dear, as you please," rejoined 
 Lady Grace, "I hope you will not be the worse 
 for it in the morning. I must go to bed; it's 
 getting quite late. Can I help you?" 
 
 Mabel turned. "No, thank you, dear," she 
 replied. "I do hate losing my temper," she 
 added suddenly, looking up. 
 
 Lady Grace bent and kissed her. "I never 
 do," she remarked promptly. 
 
 Mabel laughed as she passed her arm round 
 the other's neck. "Not even with Cousin 
 Peter?" 
 
 "Oh no, dear," rejoined the old lady, disen-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 113 
 
 gaging herself. "He's far too silly to get 
 angry with! Good-night, dear." 
 
 "Good-night, Cousin Grace," responded Ma- 
 bel. "Will you put out the light, please?" she 
 added, as her cousin reached the door. "It 
 shines straight in my eyes." 
 
 Lady Grace turned the switch beside her, and 
 with another, "good-night," left the room, clos- 
 ing the door softly behind her.
 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MABEL gave a faint sigh of relief. With 
 half-closed eyes she sank back on her pillow, 
 gratefully aware of the sudden quiet and semi- 
 obscurity of the room. The society of her vis- 
 itors, coming at the end of a long day, had been 
 fatiguing, and the scene with Nurse Coxon, 
 trifling though it was, had agitated her over- 
 tired nerves. For some seconds she lay motion- 
 less, her lids closed, her cheeks flushed, her lips 
 apart, conscious only of the thudding of her 
 pulses and of the shrill crescendo of the crickets 
 rising in the night outside. 
 
 Suddenly she stirred ; pulling the laces of her 
 gown further from her neck, she rose and went 
 to the window. The terraces below were shin- 
 ing and silent beneath the enchantment of the 
 moon. Across the sleeping lake lay a radiant 
 path, and the tops of the shadowed mountains 
 shone against the incorruptible depths of the 
 sky. Her chair still stood by the balustrade. 
 She turned and, after extinguishing the lamp 
 by her bed, stepped on the loggia and sank 
 down on the cushions. 
 
 114
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 115 
 
 Mabel had married shortly after her twenti- 
 eth birthday, with all the charm and all the im- 
 perfections of her healthy British upbringing 
 fresh upon her. It was indicative of the impres- 
 sion she made upon her world that, on the whole, 
 people were surprised at the match. Jack Ar- 
 buthnot was two years her senior, one of the 
 most popular young men in London Society, a 
 brilliant sportsman, rich, and unusually hand- 
 some. Yet, when Mabel announced the engage- 
 ment, her intimate friends, at least, were con- 
 scious of being vaguely disappointed. The 
 truth was that she produced the impression of 
 being more complex, and from a matrimonial 
 point of view, more unapproachable, than she 
 really was. Her upbringing and her tempera- 
 ment were alike responsible for this. In spite 
 of the charm and sympathy of her manner, to 
 which she owed much of her popularity, she was 
 reticent both at heart and by force of habit. As 
 a child she had seldom asked questions: such 
 problems as seemed to her important she had 
 turned over endlessly in her brain, placing every 
 likely book under the contribution of a labori- 
 ous research: those issues she judged unessen- 
 tial she had put aside, believing that their solu- 
 tion would come in due course. Until her win- 
 ter in Italy, all thoughts of love, in so far as
 
 116 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 they might concern herself, had figured in this 
 latter category; and when, almost unawares, 
 they slipped into the former, it was to wander 
 amid the dreams of poetry and romance with 
 which her mind was always full, under a like 
 spell of silence. This had the effect of setting 
 a bar across certain lines of intimacy with her 
 own sex, while a frank good-fellowship of man- 
 ner, coupled perhaps with a reputation she had 
 acquired for literary and artistic proclivities, 
 kept the average youth of her world somewhat 
 at a distance. Then too, she was an heiress, and 
 not a few of the men she liked and to whom she 
 gave her friendship, were diffident of offering 
 themselves as her suitors. 
 
 To Jack Arbuthnot, however, this aspect of 
 the matter was simplified; he was an admirable 
 parti from every point of view. So he made 
 love gallantly and whole-heartedly, and Mabel, 
 who admired and liked him, and who had 
 reached the stage of wondering whether her 
 heart was ever to be touched at all, allowed her- 
 self, more or less consciously, to slip under the 
 spell of his devotion, of his accomplishments 
 and of his charming personality, and ended by 
 falling as much in love with him as her pro- 
 found ignorance of the essential meaning of 
 the word permitted. Of the eternal motive
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 117 
 
 which lies at the heart of passion, of the emo- 
 tions which are alike at the root and in the flow- 
 ers of the tree of life she knew nothing. 
 
 To all outward seeming it was a marriage 
 like any other. With their good looks, their 
 popularity and their wealth, the last sentiment 
 which the world might expect to be asked to feel 
 for them would be that of pity. Yet they were 
 profoundly to be pitied. 
 
 The inner sanctuary in the soul of an English 
 girl of Mabel's upbringing and temperament is 
 an edifice so delicate that it could stand secure 
 only in some enchanted valley beyond the realm 
 of nature. There is no analogy in our world to 
 this fragile temple to the god of things as they 
 are not. And when the uncomprehended 
 formulas of the marriage service are uttered, 
 the familiar guards of family and society with- 
 drawn, the threshold invaded, and the veil, be- 
 hind which all has been mystery, rent asunder, 
 small wonder if the shrine be filled with her 
 cries of "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" Much, at 
 such a moment, must depend on the wisdom and 
 experience of the man; much on the nature of 
 the reserves which the crisis calls up in the girl. 
 In the case of Jack Arbuthnot, the irony was, 
 that the very qualities which had instinctively 
 attracted Mabel to him were to be, in part, at
 
 118 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 least, the undoing of them both. In spite of the 
 allurements of his life he had been fastidious 
 and constant, on the whole, to ideals and princi- 
 ples inculcated by a high-minded, puritan fa- 
 ther: and now he was desperately in love. But 
 inexperience and impatience on one side should 
 not ruin two lives, if there be not a grave de- 
 fect in point of view on the other. Mabel was 
 a gentle, unassuming girl, diffident of judging 
 between right and wrong, but she had been 
 brought up to believe that any woman can dis- 
 tinguish infallibly those things in this world 
 which are "nice" from those which are not. 
 Now the laws under which creation travails do 
 manifest themselves at times within even the 
 most strictly brought-up young people's hori- 
 zon, and it was wholly inevitable that a sensi- 
 tive, reticent girl, isolated by circumstances 
 from companions of her own age, and kept pro- 
 foundly ignorant of the genesis of life around 
 her, should shrink repelled from every such indi- 
 cation of the facts of nature which forced itself 
 upon her notice. It was not a puritanical atti- 
 tude : the problem of sex was but a name to her, 
 conveying nothing save a dislike of all expres- 
 sions of the kind, and a vague conviction that 
 they stood for something indelicate and un- 
 pleasant. Her repulsions were so interwoven
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 119 
 
 with her environment as to be instinctive, and 
 it never occurred to her to question the correct- 
 ness or the justice of her standpoint. So, al- 
 though she lacked neither common-sense nor 
 courage, and tried, in the first days of her wed- 
 ded life, with an almost pathetic resolution, to 
 rearrange her ideas in accordance with what she 
 realized were the usages of marriage, those emo- 
 tions which might have responded to the mo- 
 ment had been stunned by too rude an awaken- 
 ing, and, failing to divest herself of her re- 
 pugnance to the demands made upon her, she 
 slipped into a tacit but none the less perilous 
 attitude, of crediting herself with a superior 
 delicacy, in essential matters, to her husband. 
 
 This first puzzled, then seriously angered 
 Arbuthnot. It was much more apparent in 
 their intimate relations than Mabel guessed, and 
 the fact that he was fully conscious of the re- 
 straints he had imposed on himself for the sake 
 of the very ideals in which his wife now ap- 
 peared to find him deficient, made the situation 
 doubly trying for him. Needless to say, he 
 too, had had his shock, which, with the irritation 
 caused by Mabel's attitude, produced an un- 
 fortunate impression, deleterious to a not very 
 strong character. Realizing, as he did, that he 
 had not been over-patient or wise, he blamed,
 
 120 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 with something of a sneer, a continency which 
 had put him at a disadvantage in matrimony. 
 With his virtues apparently at a discount, some 
 less admirable qualities in his disposition began 
 to push forward. He had been spoiled by his 
 mother and by society, and though his temper 
 was sweet enough, it was not of that grain 
 which can bear being thwarted without knowing 
 the temptation to retaliate. So, when Mabel, 
 aware that he was disappointed, and vaguely 
 deploring her inability to satisfy his expecta- 
 tions along one line, tried by many little atten- 
 tons and sacrifices to make things up to him in 
 other respects, the result was to bring out a 
 selfishness, fatal alike to all that was best in his 
 nature and to the growth of the comradeship 
 which his wife sought to make the foundation 
 of their relations. With so popular a man there 
 would have been always a danger of his drifting 
 into interests beyond his own hearth, and, when 
 once a relaxation of his youthful ideals had set 
 in, the absence of that tie which alone, with one 
 of his emotional nature, could have counteracted 
 the temptations of the not over straight-laced 
 world around him, was a serious matter for both 
 of them. 
 
 Needless to say, with two people so young 
 and of such diverse temperaments, married life
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 121 
 
 was beset with many difficulties many disil- 
 lusions. Although both were endowed in a 
 large degree with the good qualities of their 
 race and class, yet they had much to contend 
 with in an existence of leisure which made the 
 dissimilarity of their tastes daily more apparent. 
 Mabel had believed that her husband's gaiety 
 and kindliness would more than compensate for 
 his lack of those interests which, she sometimes 
 feared, exercised too sobering an influence on 
 her own character ; and Arbuthnot had been far 
 too much in love to trouble himself in the slight- 
 est degree either about her "temperament," as 
 he understood the word, or about his own. But 
 their first year together affected both points of 
 view. Jack Arbuthnot's cheeriness and even 
 his kindness were largely dependent upon the 
 strength of his interest and affection a diffi- 
 cult characteristic in a husband even under fa- 
 vourable circumstances : and Mabel, with all her 
 good points, was constitutionally unsuited to 
 neglect. Although preserving bravely her 
 cheerfulness before the world, she began to fall 
 into a state of passive sadness, which, notwith- 
 standing her unremitting sweetness to her hus- 
 band, and her efforts to gain his friendship, 
 was fatal to the accomplishment of her pur- 
 pose.
 
 122 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Before the third anniversary of their wed- 
 ding the estrangement between them was com- 
 plete. Gentle as Mabel's temper was, her feel- 
 ings had been affected by her husband's be- 
 haviour, and her pride wounded by the growth 
 of relations between him and more than one 
 other woman which he had scarcely troubled 
 to keep secret from her and which had already 
 awakened comment in their world. Then, quite 
 suddenly, he died. She had not accompanied 
 him to Scotland, and when she reached his side 
 his malady was already too far advanced to 
 admit of any explanations to pass between 
 them. 
 
 Whether or no death endows with some clear 
 vision of the past and future, him who is enter- 
 ing its portals, assuredly it often sheds an en- 
 lightenment terrible in its brilliance, on those 
 who are left behind. With her husband's death, 
 the pressure of disappointment and despair 
 which had been numbing Mabel's heart relaxed 
 instantly ; the apprehensions that had fallen like 
 a cloud on her brain dispersed with the realiza- 
 tion of her loneliness: all bitterness passed 
 away, leaving only an anguish of regret and of 
 self-reproach. She forgot during those days 
 everything that had been unkind in the man
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 123 
 
 she had married, and remembered only his 
 love. . . . 
 
 It was perhaps fortunate that physical illness 
 supervened. The mere demands on her courage 
 and endurance which had to be met if she were 
 to live at all, served in part to break the spell 
 of memory. Her childish delicacy had never 
 quite left her and, during the next two years, 
 she became much of an invalid; the fight for 
 life degenerated into a permanent skirmish 
 with a wearisome malady ; surrounded by nurses, 
 and at the mercy of all the "treatments" which 
 her circumstances enabled the physicians to pre- 
 scribe and her relations to insist upon, it was 
 small wonder if her nature, sweet and unselfish 
 as it was, became for a time self-centred. When 
 in these long months she thought of the past, 
 it was with intense sadness and an exaggerated 
 self-reproach, but she dared not dwell on it. 
 Her doctors warned her gravely against doing 
 so, and she realised herself how heavily she paid 
 when she disregarded their orders. So, having 
 no longer any responsibilities in life save the 
 duty of trying to get well, no anxieties but those 
 which directly affected herself, and, as she 
 thought, nothing but sadness to look forward 
 to, the habits, mental and physical, imposed
 
 124 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 upon her in the first stages of her illness threat- 
 ened to become fixed. 
 
 Then, as it were in a day, her intellectual in- 
 terests revived. Her reading, as had been its 
 habit in the past, developed into study, and her 
 re-awakened enthusiasm for literature and art 
 broke through the restrictions of invalidism. 
 An improvement in her general health was the 
 immediate result. She refused to continue the 
 existence of the past months, and, her thoughts 
 turning with a sudden longing and emotion to 
 the South, she gladly fell in with her cousin's 
 proposal to spend the spring in Italy. With the 
 first sign of milder days she shut up her Lon- 
 don house and, in company with Sir Peter and 
 Lady Grace, started for the Lakes. 
 
 The afternoon sun was shining over the blue 
 reaches of Como, when she and her party ar- 
 rived at the little town of steep, cobbled streets 
 and green-shuttered windows that lies midway 
 between Colico and Lecco, and looks out upon 
 a view which for spaciousness and delicacy is 
 perhaps the loveliest in Europe. The Hotel 
 Regina stands in a terraced garden full of 
 shade and the scent of flowers. No dusty road 
 lies between it and the lake; from its windows 
 and balconies one can look down, as it were be- 
 tween one's feet, and see the fish steering to and
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 125 
 
 fro in the sunlit water. Even on a hot morning 
 the upper terraces are cool beneath the foliage 
 of many trees ; and with the blaze of early after- 
 noon, the lake whitens and ruffles before the 
 "breva" blowing fresh from Lecco, the leaves 
 rustle along the walls and distant echoes awake 
 in the hotel behind of windows and doors bang- 
 ing in the high, south breeze. With the evening 
 hours a great peace falls on the place. The 
 tinkle of the marble-cutters' hammers dies away 
 from the beach by the port, the wind drops, and, 
 as the glow of the sunset fades from the moun- 
 tain tops behind Menaggio, the air softens, the 
 shadows of the garden are heavy with the scent 
 of orange blossom and oleanders, and full of 
 the sound of lapping water. 
 
 "Here I shall rest," whispered Mabel to her- 
 self, as she lay by her bedroom window on the 
 evening of her arrival, "until I get quite strong. 
 Then perhaps I shall be able to begin again." 
 
 Three weeks had passed since then. Long 
 days spent in the garden where green reflections 
 from the sun-bathed pool by the lake wall 
 danced among the magnolia leaves above her 
 head, and only the faint minor of the washer- 
 girls' song on the beach, came to break the quiet. 
 Moonless evenings when, as she lay in her log- 
 gia, the shadowy expanse of water seemed to
 
 126 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 stretch like a soundless void amid the eternal 
 hills. She read and wrote, and was surprised 
 to find herself at moments beginning for the 
 first time for many months to muse upon the 
 future. More often, however, she lay in a bor- 
 derland between waking and sleep, conscious 
 only of the delicious repose of the world around. 
 But although in those quiet hours of return- 
 ing health her objective brain had, as it were, 
 gone to rest, and she often found difficulty in 
 fixing her thoughts on the pages before her, 
 her subconsciousness was alive with a thousand 
 vague perceptions. The obsession of the past, 
 under which she had suffered so long, seemed to 
 have gone for ever: but upon the soft haze of 
 her daydreams certain impressions, stamped on 
 her mind by the sadness of other days, and in- 
 distinguishable then amid the gloom, came out 
 in the sunshine of the garden like the shadows 
 on a photographic print. Vaguely at first, and 
 then with something of a start, she saw that she 
 could never allow herself to be so unhappy 
 again: that the suffering which lay behind her 
 had not only been almost unbearable at the time, 
 but had threatened to invade the very founda- 
 tions of her being. Whatever it might be for 
 others, she realised instinctively that too great 
 misery had been killing to all that was best in
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 127 
 
 her: that, although she could be gentle and un- 
 complaining in adversity, she had not been her- 
 self and that it was this loss of the control of 
 her own personality, through outside pressure, 
 which had frightened her as nothing else in the 
 world could. 
 
 It was too dim as yet, this realisation, too 
 vague, to bring any guidance. But a convic- 
 tion, forcing through the slumber of her facul- 
 ties, warned her that it is not the incidents of 
 trial that are vital, but the facing of them : that 
 to suffer bravely will not suffice for some 
 strains outlast both health and nerves, and when 
 these are lost courage ceases to exist but that 
 an armour of protection must be donned, 
 against which the onsets of fate will be turned 
 aside. 
 
 For this, a woman of Mabel's temperament 
 turns instinctively to religion. A high personal 
 faith, by transmuting sorrow into a divine 
 means of grace, will, in such natures, change 
 suffering from being a condition of passive 
 dread into one of active, even joyful, acquies- 
 cence, and so rob destiny of all its terrors. But 
 Mabel's upbringing had been adverse to the 
 growth of a fixed belief. The Calvinistic tenets 
 she had imbibed from her first nurse, who had 
 hailed from beyond the Tweed, had merely
 
 128 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 frightened her when she was old enough to un- 
 derstand them, and her parents' intermittent de- 
 votional exercises, having no bases, save those 
 of habit and propriety, repelled her at an age 
 when she might have been deeply affected by in- 
 fluences more transcendental. Those were days 
 when materialism swayed the popular philo- 
 sophic thought of her country, and, as she grew 
 to w T omanhood, her reading still further dis- 
 couraged these mystical promptings which, in 
 such a spirit as hers, are the tendrils of the soul. 
 So the trials of life had come on her when re- 
 ligious faith, though never extinguished from 
 the emotional side of her nature, was too dim 
 to be a ready or present help: and as troubles 
 deepened and she failed to turn to it, it receded 
 further from her view, leaving only a sense of 
 uncertainty and longing. 
 
 And now, in these halcyon weeks of re-awak- 
 ing physical strength, her first sensations were 
 those of mere bodily rejoicing. Her whole be- 
 ing seemed to unite in an instinctive resolve to 
 cling to happiness as the treasure of life, to stay 
 in the sunshine and among the flowers, and to 
 call up again the visions beautiful of her girl- 
 hood. Among the shadows that still drifted 
 across her reveries lay the knowledge that her 
 youth was passing. Her thirtieth birthday was
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 129 
 
 already in sight, and it seemed to her that the 
 day must mark one of the three crucial events 
 of a woman's life of which marriage and 
 death are the others. With the sudden up- 
 rushes of emotion which came to her, unbidden, 
 but strangely sweet, in the sunlit and starlit 
 hours of those quiet weeks, a longing over- 
 whelmed her to open her heart to the joy and 
 beauty of the world ere the summer of her life 
 had gone. And a thousand promptings, some 
 familiar, some new and almost disquietingly 
 poignant, told her that she had never yet known 
 what life had to give. . . . 
 
 And now, as she lay full-length on her chair, 
 the influences of the night and of her thoughts 
 were strong upon her. Drawing her gown over 
 her bare shoulders, she rose and leaned on the 
 balustrade. The heat had become oppressive. 
 A faint haze lay upon the lake, and the moon- 
 light had taken on a golden sheen beneath which 
 the rounded masses of the magnolias on the ter- 
 race, rose in a gorgeous, tropical-like immobil- 
 ity. Amid a giant cypress near by, a nightin- 
 gale fluttered, twittered, and trilled over softly 
 the opening bars of his solo for the night. Ma- 
 bel stood entranced, and, as silence fell again, 
 raised her white arms above the cloud of her
 
 130 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 hair, as though to invoke the peace that lay on 
 earth and sky. 
 
 The clock on the campanile of the parish 
 church behind the hotel chimed as she entered 
 the French window and switched on the electric 
 light by her bed. She glanced at her watch, and 
 seeing that it was eleven o'clock, turned slowly 
 towards the dressing-table, her hands raised to 
 undo her hair. But she was moved and restless 
 inexplicably touched by the beauty of the 
 night, perturbed by the emotions awake within 
 her. For some seconds she lingered before the 
 glass, then, realising that if she wished to sleep 
 she must compose her thoughts by some mental 
 occupation, and feeling, moreover, incapable for 
 the moment, of the toil of undressing, she re- 
 turned to the table at her bedside and lifted a 
 book. The illustrated paper which Lady Grace 
 had brought, fell to the floor; she stooped and, 
 picking it up, glanced idly at the open page. 
 Her cousin Gerald's name attracted her atten- 
 tion. Moving the lamp a little nearer she sank 
 down on the top of the bed and began to read. 
 
 The sound of steps and loud voices approach- 
 ing in the passage outside, disturbed her. The 
 door of the next room was thrown open; the 
 owners of the voices entered and tramped across 
 the wooden floor, while thumps, as of baggage
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 131 
 
 being set down, shook the wall behind her head. 
 With an exclamation of annoyance, Mabel 
 dropped her paper and reached towards the 
 electric bell hang-ing beside the bed. At the 
 same moment the window next-door was flung 
 open and steps sounded on the stone flags of 
 the loggia. Hurriedly relinquishing the cord 
 of the bell, Mabel turned out the lamp, plung- 
 ing the room in darkness, save for the faint 
 radiance, at the window, of the partially ob- 
 scured moon, and a bright shaft of yellow light 
 which fell across the balcony from the adjoining 
 casement. Just as she was about to slip from 
 the bed to close the window, a loud voice came 
 from the loggia, almost at the threshold of her 
 room. 
 
 "This the only other room you've got?" 
 
 Mabel started and drew back. 
 
 "Yes, milord," responded the manager's ac- 
 cents, ingratiatingly, from next door. 
 
 "What's all that litter?" pursued the speaker 
 on the loggia. 
 
 "It is ze room of ze Doctor Florio. Zay can 
 be take away at once, milord." 
 
 "I'm not going to wait for all that," re- 
 sponded the other. "Why the deuce didn't you 
 have our rooms ready for us?" 
 
 "Ze second telegramme which say zat ze new
 
 132 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 gentleman come, only arrive zis evening 
 
 "Well, it's all damned rot!" interrupted the 
 first voice. "Why- 
 
 "Steady, Daneborough! There are people 
 all round," put in a third voice quietly. "I'll 
 take this room you have the other. Leave 
 
 these things to-night, Manager " the words 
 
 sounded fainter as the speaker turned towards 
 the next window. "You can have them taken 
 away in the morning." 
 
 Mabel could catch the manager's "Yes, 
 sair"; then came a pause. "That's all right, 
 isn't it, Daneborough?" enquired the quiet 
 voice. 
 
 "Suppose so," grumbled the first arrival. 
 "Infernal damned nonsense not having our 
 
 " the rest of the remark was lost as the 
 speaker and his companion entered the next 
 room. After a confused murmur of conversa- 
 tion and more moving of baggage, steps 
 sounded again in the hall. 
 
 "Good-night, Daneborough," called the quiet 
 voice. A gruff "Night" came in response: a 
 door closed, and heavy steps receded along the 
 passage. 
 
 Mabel held her breath in the silence which 
 followed; then, glancing at the window, she 
 dropped her feet to the floor. As she rose, a
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 133 
 
 step sounded on the balcony, followed by a 
 scraping on the wall; blue smoke drifted in a 
 wreath past the sill and a match-end flamed 
 through the arch into the darkness. Almost be- 
 fore Mabel could leap back to her bed, a tall 
 figure strolled across the loggia; leaning over 
 the balustrade with his back to her window and 
 whistling softly, he gazed about him into the 
 night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MABEL crouched on the top of her bed 
 watching. The movements of the intruder out- 
 side her window had the leisurely air of one well 
 housed after a journey, and sleepily conscious 
 of the relief of finding himself alone. After 
 gazing up and down the now sombre reaches of 
 the lake, looking at the sky and hanging over 
 the balustrade, apparently to examine the shad- 
 ows of the garden, he paused in his tune, and, 
 yawning audibly, stretched himself to his full 
 height. The last operation, to Mabel's exasper- 
 ated eyes, seemed to require an unconscionable 
 share of time and space. He was exceedingly 
 tall, this neighbour of hers, and when he threw 
 back his head with elbows projecting stiffly 
 from a pair of broad shoulders, and hoisted 
 himself on his toes, he appeared to fill the arch 
 of the loggia, and almost shut out the failing 
 moonlight. Dropping back slowly to his heels 
 and lowering his arms with a jerk, he blew the 
 ash from his cigarette, puffed a cloud into the 
 
 134
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 135 
 
 darkness, and, with immense energy, hurled the 
 glowing end towards the lake leaning over the 
 railing till one foot waved in the air, to watch 
 its flight past the tree-tops into the water. 
 
 "I do wish he'd go to bed!" murmured Ma- 
 bel. 
 
 It seemed for a moment as though she had 
 exerted a telepathic influence on the stranger. 
 He stood up slowly, yawned again and, turn- 
 ing towards the next room, pulled back his cuff 
 to look at his watch. Any doubts Mabel might 
 have had of his identity vanished as he moved 
 into the light which streamed across the log- 
 gia from the adjacent window. The profile 
 suddenly illumined against the darkness be- 
 longed, without question, to the young man 
 whose picture she had been examining in the 
 Graphic a few minutes before. Involuntarily 
 she leaned forward with difficulty smothering 
 a scream as an excruciating cramp seized the 
 foot on which she had been sitting. 
 
 Trooper Leslie was younger than she had ex- 
 pected that was her first impression. His 
 clean-cut features and smooth, tanned skin had 
 a very youthful look, accentuated by the wave 
 of his crisp, gilt-coloured hair and the fresh blue 
 of his eyes. As he bent towards the light, his 
 wrist outstretched, obviously trying to calcu-
 
 136 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 late the hour by local time, he made a vivid pic- 
 ture against the obscurity beyond. A well-cut 
 dark suit threw his colouring into bright relief, 
 and, like the black velvet of a Moroni portrait, 
 emphasised the lines of a graceful, soldier-like 
 figure. Appearing at first view the embodi- 
 ment of health and activity, as he glanced up, 
 Mabel noticed a strained expression about the 
 mouth and eyes w T hich gave a delicate, almost 
 haggard, look to his boyish, handsome face. 
 
 The night had become pitch dark and 
 stiflingly hot. Trooper Leslie took a handker- 
 chief from his cuff and, wiping his forehead, 
 moved towards his room. At that moment a 
 sheet of lightning ran across the masses of 
 cloud above Belaggio. Leslie paused his 
 hand on the balustrade. A roll of thunder rum- 
 bled among the cliffs opposite, almost died 
 away and then exploded with a sudden deafen- 
 ing clap amid the blackness over the open wa- 
 ter. A second flash followed immediately. For 
 a moment the three arms of the lake shone 
 among the mountains like liquid silver in a 
 mould, and the pall of vapour overhead glis- 
 tened with the sheen of white, crumpled satin. 
 Out of the darkness which ensued came a sigh 
 of wind, and the plash of water lapping against 
 the stones rose with sudden distinctness from
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 137 
 
 the shore below. Another crash pealed out, 
 shaking the hotel and detonating to and fro 
 among the mountain tops; a gust blowing in 
 from the loggia filled Mabel's room with chilly 
 air; the curtains waved violently and the elec- 
 tric bell rattled at the end of its cord, against 
 the wall behind her head. Leaning forward, 
 she glanced out of the window; to her relief the 
 young man had disappeared. As she dropped 
 her feet to the floor, a dazzling beam of light 
 swept across the hotel facade and, pausing with 
 a jerk, flooded the casement in a soft radiance. 
 Mabel recoiled for a moment, then, realising 
 that it was merely the searchlight at work, 
 slipped off the bed. Before she could reach the 
 window, Trooper Leslie, muttering an exclama- 
 tion of surprise, stepped across the loggia in 
 front of her and, leaning out on the balustrade, 
 gazed transfixed at the ray which poured over 
 the water with a steady, white brilliance, bewil- 
 dering and theatrical amid the turmoil of the 
 night. Apparently the gunboat was on the qui 
 Vive; the beam quivered once or twice, then 
 swept slowly up and down the length of the ho- 
 tel water-front. Leslie, hanging over the cop- 
 ing, followed its manoeuvres wits absorbed in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Now!" exclaimed Mabel to herself, moving
 
 138 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 noiselessly to the window. Another squall of 
 wind blew the hangings in her face, momen- 
 tarily obscuring her view. Brushing them 
 aside she grasped the door of the sash, then, 
 starting back, pressed her fingers to her eyes. 
 A curtain of flame ran down the sky envelop- 
 ing the little promontory in a blaze of fire; she 
 saw the searchlight's beam fade as though dis- 
 solving to fine dust; the clustering roofs, the 
 tossing water and the mountain-tops beyond, 
 sprang out of the darkness in a dizzy, blinding 
 glare. 
 
 With a cry, drowned by the wind and a hur- 
 ricane roar of rain, she leaped back to shelter. 
 A glimpse, as the flash passed, showed her Les- 
 lie upright by the balustrade, his palms clasped 
 before his eyes; at the same moment the gun- 
 boat wheeled off its beam across the lake, plung- 
 ing the balcony in darkness. In the deafening 
 peal which followed the building trembled from 
 top to bottom, setting the window-sashes rat- 
 tling like those of a street car in motion. Ma- 
 bel, her fingers to her ears, glanced up invol- 
 untarily. She had a vision, against some faint 
 brightness in the clouds, of her neighbour, his 
 hands still raised to his face, leaping through 
 the deluge across the loggia towards her. A 
 commotion on the threshold of her room min-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 139 
 
 gled with the last boom of the thunder, the win- 
 dow banged, an arm reached up to the catch at 
 the top of the sash. The exclamation which 
 flew to her lips was lost in the double crash of 
 the persienne shutters blowing violently to- 
 gether. Instantly total darkness enveloped the 
 bedroom, the tumult of the storm died down as 
 by magic, leaving an oppressive cavern-like 
 quiet. 
 
 The sound of a chair being kicked, came from 
 near the window. "Hang!" exclaimed a voice. 
 
 "What are you doing? Who is there?" cried 
 Mabel, sharply. 
 
 A moment of silence ensued. "Hey," said a 
 voice in inexpressibly startled tones. "Is any 
 one there?" 
 
 "Yes! You have come into the wrong room!" 
 said Mabel, breathlessly. 
 
 Another instant of petrified stillness followed 
 this announcement. "Good Lord!" exclaimed 
 the voice, "I'm most awfully sorry! One mo- 
 ment !" The chair was again noisily kicked, 
 a boot scraped on the floor, the sashes were flung 
 open and the persiennes shaken vigorously. 
 Then came a lull, filled with heavy breathing 
 and much pawing and coaxing of the shutter- 
 handle. Outside, the storm was passing as 
 quickly as it had risen ; Mabel could see the hori-
 
 140 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 zontal lines of the persienne slats becoming mo- 
 mentarily more distinct in the returning moon- 
 light ; against them, the dark outline of her vis- 
 itor swayed agitatedly. 
 
 "Can you open it?" she demanded. 
 
 "One moment !" A vehement encounter 
 with the sash began: for some seconds it was 
 shaken as though the intruder proposed to rattle 
 it bodily out of the frame. "It's got jambed 
 somehow, I'm afraid," he gasped. Another 
 furious and continued assault ensued. "I'm 
 most frightfully sorry 
 
 "Leave it!" cried Mabel. "It's no good, I 
 tried last night. Can you see where the door 
 is?" 
 
 "Yes I think so." 
 
 "Take care there is a table in the middle of 
 the room. Can you see?" 
 
 "Just." Then after a momentary pause. 
 "Er perhaps I'd better have another shot at 
 the window 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Mabel, sharply. "It's no 
 use!" 
 
 "There might be er some one in the hall 
 The intruder's voice hesitated, "It's 
 quite early, and 
 
 "Nonsense! Do go, please. Shall I turn up 
 the light?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 141 
 
 "No, thanks!" replied the voice, hurriedly. 
 "I can see." Uncertain but precipitate foot- 
 steps moved across the room; there was a sud- 
 den thud, a crash of breaking glass and the 
 jangle of falling fragments. 
 
 "What are you doing?" cried out Mabel. 
 
 "Nothing," mumbled the voice. "Ran my 
 head against something electric light, I think 
 Afraid I've smashed it 
 
 "Never mind! Do go!" Mabel's voice rose. 
 
 "Right oh! I'm frightfuUy sorry " An- 
 other collision interrupted the apology; the 
 writing-table jarred heavily on the parquet floor 
 amid further tinkling and crunching of glass. 
 
 A knock sounded on the door. With a 
 squeak, the steps in the middle of the room 
 paused, and silence followed, broken by an- 
 other and sharper rap. 
 
 "Who is it?" caUed Mabel, loudly. 
 
 "Me. Nurse Coxon!" The handle rattled, 
 and a chink of light appeared on the wall near 
 the door. Mabel, leaning forward, saw a tall 
 figure slip from the centre of the room behind 
 the screen by the washstand. 
 
 "Don't come in!" she cried. "I was just fall- 
 ing asleep!" 
 
 The shaft of yellow by the far corner widened 
 perceptibly. "Is everything all right?" en-
 
 142 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 quired the voice in the passage. "I thought I 
 heard your shutters bang?" 
 
 "They're all right, thanks," responded Mabel. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "Wasn't something broken?" The door- 
 hinges continued to creak. "I thought I heard 
 voices." 
 
 "No, Nurse! Everything is all right! Good- 
 night." 
 
 For a further second the bright strip on the 
 wall remained stationary, then the handle 
 turned. "Good-night," responded the voice; the 
 light vanished and the door closed softly. 
 
 During the next moment or two, complete 
 stillness reigned. A door shut on the other side 
 of the passage. Then a click sounded, and the 
 room was illumined by the larnp on the table be- 
 side the bed. Mabel, withdrawing a hand from 
 the switch, shook the laces of her sleeve over 
 her bare arm and, with a quick movement, ar- 
 ranged the folds of her dressing-gown. Sit- 
 ting up against the pillows she leaned forward ; 
 her eyes, as she turned towards the screen oppo- 
 site, were sparkling and her cheeks had flushed. 
 She was obviously exceedingly angry. 
 
 As she gazed, Leslie appeared, straightening 
 himself awkwardly; he seemed very tall as he
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 143 
 
 lingered on the outskirts of the lamplight, his 
 face in shadow. 
 
 Mabel looked up at him. "Why did you do 
 that?" she demanded sharply. 
 
 The other hesitated. "Er " he began, 
 
 and stopped. 
 
 "Why did you go behind the screen?" 
 
 The young man stared at her as though fasci- 
 nated. "I " he cleared his throat. "I was 
 
 afraid she might see me." He nodded nerv- 
 ously towards the door. 
 
 "Well, why not? That was my nurse!" 
 
 "Oh." He stopped. "I thought it might 
 seem a bit " 
 
 "A bit what?" 
 
 "Er a bit awkward." He cast a quick 
 glance at her. 
 
 "There would not have been the slightest 
 awkwardness," said Mabel, coldly. "You had 
 no business whatever to do that!" 
 
 Her companion made no response for a mo- 
 ment. "I'm most frightfully sorry," he said at 
 length. "Afraid I've made a frightful mess 
 of things !" He moved slowly towards the door. 
 
 "Wait!" Mabel, leaning forward, glanced 
 irresolutely at the door and then towards the 
 window. "Try the shutters again, now we have 
 some light."
 
 144 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 The other, turning obediently, stepped out 
 of the shadow, into the lamplight. 
 
 "What is the matter?" exclaimed Mabel. 
 "Have you hurt yourself?" 
 
 "I gave my head a bit of a smash when I 
 broke your lamp," replied her companion, go- 
 ing to the window. "It's nothing." 
 
 "But it's bleeding!" Mabel moved quickly 
 as though about to rise. 
 
 The other put a hand to his head. "So it is. 
 Never mind." Pulling a handkerchief from 
 his sleeve he dabbed a cut above his forehead 
 once or twice, then grasped the handle of the 
 shutter. 
 
 Mabel slipped off the bed. "Let me help 
 you!" 
 
 Leslie, relinquishing the handle to her, at- 
 tempted to force the sash, first at the bottom, 
 then at the top, and, finally, using hands and 
 feet, at both points together. With his exer- 
 tions the blood from the cut streamed down his 
 forehead and into his eyes, causing him to with- 
 draw one hand and wipe his brow. 
 
 "Afraid it's no good!" he ejaculated, hold- 
 ing the handkerchief to his head. "I must go 
 the other way." 
 
 "Try once more!" gasped Mabel, wrenching 
 at the handle with both hands.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 145 
 
 Leslie threw himself against the shutter; the 
 wood bent before his weight, the moonlight 
 showed momentarily through long slits at the 
 juncture of the door-leaves, and the hinges 
 creaked shrilly. 
 
 "Take care!" exclaimed Mabel, afraid lest 
 the whole frame was about to be burst bodily 
 outward. 
 
 With a grunt, her companion relaxed, and, 
 drawing back, leaned against the wall, vaguely 
 mopping his brow. "It's really no use," he said 
 indistinctly. "I'm very sorry." He moved 
 over to the writing-table, against which he 
 steadied himself for a moment, then turned to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 Mabel took a step forward. "I'm afraid you 
 must wait!" she said. 
 
 Leslie looked round. "Hey?" he rejoined, 
 staring. "Wait?" 
 
 "Yes." Mabel gave him a disturbed glance. 
 "Don't you see how impossibly awkward you've 
 made things? There wouldn't have been the 
 slightest difficulty in explaining to my nurse 
 what had happened. But now, I've had to pre- 
 tend and if if any one were to see you now 
 " she paused. 
 
 Her companion looked at her, then, with an
 
 146 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 effort, nodded slightly. "Yes, I see I never 
 thought- 
 
 For a moment they exchanged glances. Ma- 
 bel put a hand to her forehead. "If only you 
 hadn't It's so awkward I can't quite explain 
 I am afraid some one may see you if you go 
 into the hall!" 
 
 "Do you mean ?" 
 
 "Yes," she rejoined hurriedly, "my nurse I 
 don't think I can quite trust her, and " 
 
 "D'you think she suspected anything?" 
 
 "Yes, I do!" 
 
 Again they looked at each other. 
 
 "By Jove!" said Leslie at length. He stag- 
 gered slightly and, steadying himself against 
 the table, sat on the edge. "Can you lend me a 
 towel?" he enquired. "My handkerchief's no 
 good." 
 
 Mabel crossed to the washing-stand and, tak- 
 ing a towel from the rack, handed it to him, 
 scanning his face with some apprehension. 
 
 "Thanks." Crumpling the handkerchief into 
 a pocket he mopped his head. "What about the 
 other window?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 Mabel turned away. "It's impossible! It 
 opens right on the front wall of the hotel." 
 
 Leslie, holding the towel to his brow, stood 
 up. "Let's look," he said. Turning from his
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 147 
 
 companion, he walked across the room to the 
 smaller window. 
 
 "It is really no use!" exclaimed Mabel, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 The other made no response and, stepping 
 behind the dressing-table, opened the shutters. 
 A square of moonlight fell on the floor ; Mabel 
 caught a glimpse, over the dark outline of the 
 looking-glass, of a single star hanging amid the 
 brightness of the midnight sky. She realised 
 suddenly that she was very tired. 
 
 Trooper Leslie leaned out of the window: 
 for some instants his body remained motionless ; 
 then his head and shoulders re-appeared, and, 
 brushing past the corner of the toilet-table, he 
 crossed to where Mabel was standing by the foot 
 of the bed. "Do forgive me," he said, holding 
 out his hand. "I'm most frightfully sorry. 
 Good-night." 
 
 Mabel, with an involuntary movement, put 
 her arm behind her. "What are you going to 
 do?" she asked sharply. 
 
 Her companion nodded over his shoulder to 
 the window. "I'm going that way." 
 
 Mabel stepped forward. "Certainly not!" 
 she exclaimed. "You'll do nothing of the 
 kind!"
 
 148 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Leslie's eyes followed her as she moved be- 
 tween him and the dressing-table. 
 
 "Please stand out of the way!" he said, 
 slowly. 
 
 With a start she looked up for the first time, 
 in the full light of the lamp, seeing him clearly. 
 He stood less than two feet away, very straight 
 and still, and, at these close quarters, towering 
 over her in a fashion she found unusual and 
 disconcerting. The cut above his temple had 
 dried, but his forehead was covered with brown 
 streaks ; under the sunburn his pallor was start- 
 ling, and his eyes showed almost black below 
 the fairness of his disordered hair. He looked 
 very young, and, at the moment, ill. As she 
 gazed, Mabel became impatiently aware of feel- 
 ing anxious about him he seemed as if he 
 might tumble at her feet next moment. It 
 would be dreadful, she reflected, if, after all he 
 had been through, he were to come to grief in 
 her room! Besides, how very how excessively 
 tiresome it would be! She had been too much 
 occupied with the events of the last half-hour 
 to pause for thought, but now, with this tall 
 blood-stained youth tottering before her, order- 
 ing her aside while he proceeded to clamber out 
 of her bedroom window at midnight, she saw 
 that the situation was both odd and embar-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 149 
 
 rassing. Pulling herself together, she tried to 
 hide her apprehensions. 
 
 "Oh, don't be silly!" she exclaimed, "you're 
 behaving like a child !" 
 
 Her companion, without responding, pushed 
 quietly past her and walked towards the win- 
 dow. 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" cried Mabel, now thor- 
 oughly alarmed, "I didn't mean to be rude!" 
 
 Leslie paused at the toilet-table. "I'm not 
 behaving like a child," he said dully. "There's 
 a water pipe the roof of the verandah is just 
 below I can do it easily." He moved behind 
 the table and, lifting his right leg, placed it 
 over the sill. Mabel clasped her hands, then ran 
 forward. Leslie had staggered, his left foot 
 slipped and, but for his grip on the window- 
 frame, he would have fallen. 
 
 "Are you ill?" Mabel, seizing the end of the 
 dressing-table, shoved it aside. "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 The other steadied himself on the sill, then 
 swayed again. "Hey?" he said vaguely. 
 
 "Here, quick!" Mabel pulled forward a chair 
 from the wall and, catching him by the arm, 
 half -dragged, half-helped him to the seat. Les- 
 lie's head sank; with a jerk he looked up, tried 
 to rise and, staggering again, dropped back.
 
 150 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Don't move!" exclaimed Mabel peremptor- 
 ily. She turned to the toilet-table, and after 
 selecting a medicine bottle, went to the washing- 
 stand, reappearing a moment later with a tum- 
 bler in her hand. "Drink this!" She touched 
 the other's shoulder. "It's only sal volatile." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation her companion 
 obeyed and, choking slightly, leaned forward 
 and put the glass on the table; he felt in his 
 sleeve, then began to search in his pockets. 
 
 "Here!" said Mabel hastily, holding out her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "Thanks!" He took the tiny lace and cam- 
 bric square, and, after gingerly dabbing his 
 eyes, laid it, with an embarrassed air, on the cor- 
 ner of the table ; then made an effort to rise. 
 
 "Mr. Leslie!" Mabel's voice was composed 
 and firm. "I've heard of you from my cousin, 
 Lord Daneborough, you know Please don't 
 be foolish any more. If you were well I should 
 let you slide down that waterpipe and stamp 
 about on the glass of the dining-room verandah, 
 if you wanted to. But it is quite impossible 
 now!" She paused and smiled slightly. "You're 
 not in training for circus tricks. Don't 
 make things more difficult. Are you feeling 
 better?" 
 
 Her companion looked at her vaguely. "Yes,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 151 
 
 thanks. I'm all right." After a pause he added, 
 "I could climb down there easily 
 
 "Nonsense!" she interrupted. "If you are 
 feeling better, go by the door like an ordinary 
 mortal and don't think any more of this ab- 
 surd performance. Wait a moment!" she added, 
 as the other was about to rise; she crossed the 
 room and, after dipping a sponge in the ewer, 
 returned to the window. "You really must 
 wash your face first!" She held out her hand, 
 then, seeing, as Leslie glanced up, that he was 
 still alarmingly pale, she continued, "Stay! I'll 
 do it." Lifting the towel from the floor where 
 her companion had dropped it, she moved be- 
 side him and, placing the damp sponge to his 
 head, held it there. "That's better," she said 
 with a smile, wiping his forehead and giving 
 some pats with the towel. "You looked just 
 like one of the pictures that have been appear- 
 ing of you in the papers penny plain, tup- 
 pence coloured!" 
 
 At this remark Trooper Leslie's hue changed 
 to a bright crimson and, rearing up in the chair, 
 he seized the towel. "Thanks awfully," he mum- 
 bled from behind its folds, adding, amid a spas- 
 modic dabbing and rubbing, "you're really most 
 awfully good!" 
 
 Mabel took the towel and placed it and the
 
 152 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 sponge on the washing-stand. "Let's have one 
 last try at the shutters," she said as she re- 
 turned. "Wait a moment, I'll bring the light 
 nearer." She went to the table by the bed and, 
 lifting off the shade, carried the lamp to the 
 window. "Is that better?" 
 
 "Thanks, yes, much better," responded Les- 
 lie, bending to examine the fastening. "Hold it 
 a little lower, will you? Yes, by Jove, I see 
 what's wrong! They've put on a new catch and 
 the wood has swollen. One moment!" He 
 took a knife from his pocket, and, opening the 
 small blade, inserted it between the leaves of 
 the shutter and began, with some difficulty, to 
 shave away the outer edges. 
 
 Mabel, the lamp in her hand, stood watch- 
 ing. Now that the episode seemed reasonably 
 near a conclusion for her companion had ap- 
 parently recovered and was making progress 
 with his blade she was aware of feeling not 
 only extremely tired, but rather faint, and 
 found herself devoutly wishing she were in bed, 
 with the adjacent wall between her and the 
 youth at her elbow. 
 
 "D'you mind holding the light still?" expos- 
 tulated the latter mildly, glancing over his 
 shoulder. "Just a moment more so sorry to 
 bother you
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 153 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" Mabel started, and, 
 grasping the lamp in both hands, lifted it 
 higher. 
 
 "Thanks," said Leslie. "Afraid you're aw- 
 fully tired !" he added, staring at her. 
 
 "Not a bit!" declared Mabel, hastily. 
 
 "Here we'll put the light on this." Leav- 
 ing the knife sticking between the doors of 
 the sash her companion lifted a chair forward 
 and placed the lamp on the seat. "That'll do me 
 perfectly. One moment I won't be a minute !" 
 He crossed to the end of the bed and returned 
 with the big armchair. "Now," he added, lower- 
 ing it carefully to the floor at her side, "Sit 
 down." 
 
 In spite of her fatigue, Mabel was conscious 
 of some amusement at the ease with which the 
 heavy piece of upholstery had been handled. 
 "Thank you," she murmured, sinking obediently 
 on the seat and leaning back. 
 
 During several minutes, save for the soft 
 crunching of the knife against the wood and 
 the creak of Leslie's boots as he moved, silence 
 fell on the room. Mabel watched him through 
 half-closed eyes. She felt better now that she 
 was sitting down, and, although relieved to see 
 from a couple of experimental shakes which 
 were being given to the shutter, that the catch
 
 154 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 was at last beginning to yield, she was suddenly 
 aware of being vaguely entertained by the sit- 
 uation. The hour was preposterously late she 
 felt too languid to look at her watch but, after 
 all, during the last year, she had slept a great 
 deal more than most people without apparently 
 deriving much benefit from the practice, and al- 
 though to-night's performance certainly could 
 not be said to fit in with the rules of "treat- 
 ment" which were still supposed to guide her 
 life, yet, to be fair, she had longed, in coming 
 abroad, for change almost more than for further 
 opportunities for repose and this, assuredly, 
 was a change! To have a strange youth mis- 
 taking her room for his in the middle of a moon- 
 light night on Lake Como was a nuisance 
 there was not a doubt as to that, but nobody 
 had been to blame in the matter ; and he had been 
 nice about it. Yes, on the whole in spite of 
 his silliness about the screen he had been quite 
 nice. . . . Mabel scrutinised her companion 
 again as he bent beside the lamp. Involuntarily 
 she smiled at the thought of Lady Grace's satis- 
 faction on the morrow when the "Hero of Mac- 
 teali," as the papers called him, made his ap- 
 pearance. That Trooper Leslie looked his part 
 amazingly well Mabel had realised at her first 
 view of him on the loggia : she was almost sorry,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 155 
 
 on her cousin's account, that the pallor and the 
 bloodstains could not have been retained over- 
 night they had "fitted in" so admirably! She 
 found herself wondering whether he would be 
 spoiled by the fuss that would be made of him 
 in England. She hoped not. He appeared to 
 have escaped so far; in fact, his boyishness, 
 and something engaging in his expression, were 
 quite attractive 
 
 "I'm getting the bulge of it!" 
 
 Mabel glanced up with a start. Her com- 
 panion, after placing the knife on the chair by 
 the lamp, grasped the handle, put his knee 
 against the shutter and threw forward his 
 weight. The sash bent, hinges groaned, but the 
 catch still held. Leslie strained on his left leg, 
 his face crimsoning with the effort: Mabel saw 
 blood beginning to ooze again from the cut on 
 his head. 
 
 "You're hurting yourself! Please " 
 
 "Wait! It's giving There!" After a last 
 moment of resistance, the pieces of swollen 
 wood parted, and, with a crash, the shutters 
 flew open, flooding the sill and threshold in 
 moonlight. 
 
 Mabel rose hastily. "Thank goodness!" she 
 exclaimed, drawing a long breath.
 
 156 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Good business!" said Leslie, pocketing his 
 knife and feeling for his handkerchief. 
 
 Mabel swayed suddenly by her chair. For 
 a moment, after the stuffy semi-obscurity be- 
 hind the shutter, she was conscious of the cool 
 fragrance of the air, of the immensity and bril- 
 liance of the night ; then a sea of blue and silver 
 eddied and flashed before her, its waters rushed 
 up out of a swimming blackness and blotted out 
 the moon. . . . 
 
 From a vast distance, a murmur reached her 
 ears through the silence; a voice rose and fell 
 in a monotonous chant. Suddenly some one 
 said, 
 
 "Let me put your feet up I say, do speak 
 if you can- 
 She opened her eyes. Just out of the moon- 
 light she was lying in the big chair her feet 
 were being lifted on to the small one. She re- 
 membered perfectly. . . . 
 
 Again the voice sounded by her shoulder. "Is 
 
 that better? Can you do speak " She 
 
 snapped up her lids once more. 
 
 Trooper Leslie was bending over her some- 
 thing was hurting her back. . . . With a 
 great effort she moved. 
 
 "Are you feeling better?" urged the speaker,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 157 
 
 his voice sweeping again into the rhythm in her 
 ears. 
 
 With a jerk Mabel looked round, suddenly 
 aware that she had been fainting and must rouse 
 herself at once. 
 
 "Yes, thanks!" she gasped. "I'm so 
 sorry " she tried to lean forward. 
 
 "That's all right," exclaimed her companion 
 in accents of great relief. She felt an arm 
 being withdrawn from behind her back. "I say, 
 would you rather not move?" enquired her sup- 
 porter hastily, the arm ceasing to stir. 
 
 Mabel laughed weakly. "Of course not!" 
 Sitting forward, she felt for her handkerchief. 
 "I'm really all right. Do forgive me. I I 
 can't think why I was so silly!" 
 
 "Hadn't you better have some of that stuff?" 
 suggested the other, rising from his knees, still 
 fixing her with an anxious eye. 
 
 "It's on the dressing-table. Thanks so much! 
 Give me what's left in the bottle in a tumbler 
 with a little water." Mabel sat back in the chair 
 and, as her companion crossed towards the 
 screen, hastily tidied her hair. 
 
 A moment later Leslie returned with a glass. 
 "Thank you!" she said gratefully. "I'm so 
 sorry. I'll be quite all right now." Handing
 
 158 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 him the tumbler she leaned back, dabbing her 
 mouth and eyes with her handkerchief. 
 
 "Sure?" asked the other, regarding her du- 
 biously. 
 
 "Yes, really! Don't bother about me any 
 more. You must be quite worn out." 
 
 "Not a bit!" declared her companion, going 
 to the table and depositing the glass. "Er if 
 you're really feeling better, I'll just fix up 
 things here, and then clear. D'you mind stop- 
 ping still a minute? I'm just coming back." 
 
 Mabel nodded and, after watching him step 
 on to the balcony and disappear in the direction 
 of his room, allowed her head to sink on to the 
 cushion behind her. 
 
 A radiant silence enveloped the hotel. Not 
 a leaf stirred among the tree-tops opposite the 
 loggia, and the scent of orange blossom rose 
 heavy from the garden below. Under the high 
 moon, the terraces lay white and shadeless, their 
 traceries of foliage still and delicate as ivory; 
 patches of lustre on the tiles of the sleeping 
 houses by the port sparkled like gems against 
 the sheen of the water beyond. In immense 
 folds of shadow, the mountain valleys flowed 
 down to the shores, and grey, remote summits 
 stood encircled above, like giant spectres guard- 
 ing an enchanted hour.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 159 
 
 Mabel, still bewildered by her abrupt awak- 
 ening from the darkness and infinite space of 
 unconsciousness, leaned forward and stared, 
 with troubled eyes, at this white, dazzling world. 
 Her heart was beating loudly and, as she lis- 
 tened, straining her ears for some sound of 
 life amid the intense silence, she was assailed 
 by a sudden inexplicable terror, purely physi- 
 cal and unreasoning, born of fatigue, the late- 
 ness of the hour, the unfamiliar aspect of the 
 night, and the dizziness which, despite the sal 
 volatile she had swallowed, still clouded her 
 brain. Thrusting a hand into her gown in an 
 effort to stifle the throbbing in her breast, she 
 looked hurriedly over her shoulder and, feeling 
 herself in danger of being overcome by a fear 
 which, even at the moment, she knew to be cause- 
 less and absurd, she rose and stepped towards 
 the loggia. As she moved, a door immediately 
 behind her, opened softly. Mabel reeled against 
 the wall with a muffled cry. 
 
 "Do you mind?" said a voice. "It's better 
 than walking about the verandah Hullo! 
 What is it ?" Leslie, encountering Mabel's 
 terrified eyes, stepped forward. "Are you ill?" 
 he asked in startled tones, putting out a hand 
 to steady her. 
 
 Involuntarily she caught his arm. For a mo-
 
 160 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ment she leaned on him, revealing by the spas- 
 modic twitch of her fingers the extent of her 
 agitation and the effort she was making to re- 
 gain control. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon," she said, with a 
 gasp, relaxing her hold. "Can I sit down, 
 please?" 
 
 "What is it?" repeated the other anxiously, 
 hooking round the armchair with his foot and 
 guiding her to it. "D'you feel faint again?" 
 
 "No." She sank down and raised her hands 
 to her face, which had suddenly flushed. "I 
 w r as just " she stopped. 
 
 "Didn't you call out as I opened the door? 
 I thought something had happened!" Leslie 
 stared at her with perturbed eyes. 
 
 "No yes " stammered Mabel from be- 
 hind her handkerchief. "Nothing happened. I 
 was just just frightened," she added, with 
 an effort, looking up. 
 
 "Frightened?" repeated the other, puzzled. 
 "Did any one ?" he glanced towards the 
 door at the far end of the room. 
 
 "No it wasn't anything. I was only foolish ! 
 When you went away " 
 
 "Yes?" Leslie stooped to catch her words. 
 
 "Something seemed to come over me. I I 
 suddenly felt nervous and silly, and when you
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 161 
 
 opened the door, it it startled me. That is 
 really all!" She put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. "I'm so sorry I am not in the habit of 
 behaving like that," she added, forcing a smile. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry," said her companion, re- 
 morsefully, "I shouldn't have left you till you 
 were really better." 
 
 "It wasn't your fault in the least I was 
 better. It was only something something about 
 the night, I think everything looked so strange 
 it's very late, you know, and perhaps I 
 wasn't quite myself. It was like waking up 
 alone in a haunted house ! I can't explain you 
 wouldn't understand!" With a little gesture of 
 impatience she dabbed her eyes and prepared to 
 rise. 
 
 "Oh, I expect I should," said the other, 
 quickly. 
 
 Mabel glanced up. She was feeling acutely 
 ashamed of her temporary weakness. "Under- 
 stand being afraid of nothing of simply being 
 left by oneself in the moonlight?" she asked, 
 astonished. 
 
 Trooper Leslie met her gaze. "Yes," he said, 
 "rather!" 
 
 Mabel dropped her eyes suddenly. Like 
 many highly-strung women she had an exacting 
 standard of physical courage both for herself
 
 162 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 and for others, and, trivial as the circumstances 
 were, her pride had suffered in confessing to 
 feelings which, in the nature of things, her 
 present companion was presumably the last 
 person in the world likely to comprehend. That 
 he did understand, and had thought it worth 
 while to tell her so, even more by his manner 
 than by his words, startled and touched her. In 
 spite of her remarks to Lady Grace earlier in 
 the evening, she had been, in her heart, no less 
 thrilled than other people by the story that had 
 made the youth beside her famous, and the very 
 fact that, for one reason or another, she had 
 said little on the subject, affected her now the 
 more strongly. 
 
 Before she could reply, Leslie turned to the 
 writing-table, and, laying down a newspaper 
 and an electric globe which he had brought from 
 his room, began to detach the remains of the 
 broken lamp; this done, he screwed the new 
 globe in its place under the lace shade. "That's 
 better," he remarked, pushing the lamp up its 
 cord. "I don't need the new one. It was fixed 
 over a table with a lot of the doctor's things on 
 it. Now I'll just tidy up this broken glass, and 
 then clear." Going down on his hands and 
 knees, he proceeded, with the aid of a clothes
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 163 
 
 brush, to sweep on to the newspaper the rem- 
 nants of the shattered globe. 
 
 Mabel, leaning on her elbow, watched him. 
 Her cheeks were still flushed, but she was smil- 
 ing faintly. In the midst of his occupation her 
 companion, crawling out of the shadows beyond 
 the table, glanced up, his fair hair and blue eyes 
 shining in the light of the lamp. "You all 
 right?" he enquired encouragingly. 
 
 Mabel nodded. 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 As he bent his head again, she suddenly 
 pressed her hands to her cheeks and looked out 
 into the night. . . . 
 
 A moment later the other rose to his feet, 
 crushing the newspaper into a ball. "Oh, by 
 the way, the towel ! Do you mind if I take that? 
 I know where it is." Without waiting for a 
 reply he disappeared behind the screen, return- 
 ing a moment later with a damp, bloodstained 
 object which he placed, with the paper, under 
 his arm. "I'll take these to my room," he ex- 
 plained. "If any one sees the cut to-morrow 
 I'll say I'd been writing at the doctor's table 
 and smashed my head against the globe getting 
 up. That's about everything, I think," he 
 added with a smile.
 
 164 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Mabel raised herself. "Thank you," she said, 
 glancing up at him quickly. 
 
 "I say, are you sure you are feeling better?" 
 he enquired, pausing by her chair. 
 
 "Yes really." 
 
 "Well," he edged towards the sill. "Er 
 good-night! I do hope you'll be all right to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Thanks," said Mabel again. "Good-night." 
 
 Trooper Leslie lingered. "Er I suppose 
 you are Mrs. Arbuthnot. Daneborough told 
 me you were to be here. I feel awfully bad 
 in case this business may have knocked you 
 up! I heard you were ill." 
 
 "I am much stronger, thank you. Please 
 don't worry about it it was nobody's fault." 
 Then after a pause, "Was that was that my 
 cousin with you to-night?" 
 
 "Next door?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Yes, rather ! You know him quite well, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "I used to." 
 
 "He's a most awfully good chap been most 
 awfully good to me!" Leslie's eyes lit up. 
 
 Mabel smiled faintly. "I thought it was 
 rather the other way." 
 
 "How d'you mean?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 165 
 
 "Well, you you saved his life, didn't you?" 
 she rejoined. 
 
 Her companion became suddenly scarlet 
 under his sunburn. "Oh, that!" he said, awk- 
 wardly. "That's all rot I mean there's been 
 far too much fuss ever so much too 
 
 much " He hung fire for a moment. "I 
 
 didn't mean about that," he added, brusquely. 
 
 "What did you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, well I meant he was my sergeant, 
 you know. Every one thought a tremendous 
 lot of him out there. You'll see when you meet 
 him!" He gazed at her eagerly. "How long 
 is it since you last saw him?" 
 
 "Eight years." 
 
 "By Jove! You'll see a tremendous differ- 
 ence in him, I expect." 
 
 "Yes. I am rather afraid I shall!" 
 
 "Oh, but I expect he'll be just the same to 
 you you know. I mean " 
 
 "I didn't quite mean that," interrupted Ma- 
 bel, smiling in spite of herself. "Never mind! 
 You really musn't stay talking any longer. 
 Good-night! What time is it ?" 
 
 Leslie drew back his cuff. "Quarter to one," 
 he said. 
 
 Mabel, rising slowly, gazed out through the 
 arch of the loggia. Her companion moved be-
 
 166 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 side her. "By Jove, what a night!" he whis- 
 pered in an awed voice. "You don't mind it 
 now?" he added, looking down at her. Mabel 
 shook her head and smiled faintly. For some 
 moments they stood, their shoulders touching. 
 The moon was sinking, and great shadows lay 
 like the background of dreams on the surface 
 of the sleeping lake. 
 
 "It's like a spell," said Leslie softly. "As 
 if everything were 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Waiting waiting for something wonder- 
 ful," he whispered. 
 
 Mabel glanced at him quickly; his eyes were 
 fixed on the distant shore. 
 
 At length she moved. "Good-night," she 
 said, holding out her hand. 
 
 With a start her companion turned. "Good- 
 night!" he murmured. "You've been most aw- 
 fully good. Do forgive me!" 
 
 Mabel dropped his hand. "Yes," she said, 
 looking hard at him. "Yes, I forgive you." 
 
 Leslie paused as though puzzled. "Sure?" 
 
 "Yes. Go away now! Good-night." 
 
 He moved towards his room. "Good-night. 
 We'll meet to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Again Leslie glanced at her. She stood, one
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 167 
 
 knee resting on the chair by the sill, gazing into 
 the night. As he halted, she looked round at 
 him, her eyes shining. . . . 
 
 "Good-night!" said Trooper Leslie, awk- 
 wardly ; he backed along the loggia, and, a mo- 
 ment later, disappeared through his window. 
 
 For some seconds Mabel remained staring be- 
 fore her. Then she started and glanced round : 
 the door between the rooms closed softly and 
 the key turned in the lock. Muffled sounds of 
 footsteps and the thump of baggage being 
 moved, came from the next room, accompanied 
 by soft intermittent whistling. She smiled 
 faintly, and, after another long look at the lake, 
 turned indoors. Lighting a lamp on the dress- 
 ing-table, she paused for some moments before 
 the mirror, then, going to the table by the bed, 
 unpinned her watch from the front of her gown 
 and laid it among the books. Her eye fell on 
 the Graphic; she picked it up, and, bending 
 towards the light, gazed at Trooper Leslie's 
 picture. The smile still on her lips, she folded 
 the paper and after crossing to the table in the 
 centre of the room, opened her writing-case. 
 From under its cover the photograph of her 
 cousin slipped on to the cloth : with a slight con- 
 traction of her brows Mabel lifted it and stood 
 for some seconds looking thoughtfully before
 
 168 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 her. Suddenly she turned, and, placing the 
 Graphic inside her case, opened the drawer of 
 the table and dropped the photograph out of 
 sight. Then she moved to the toilet-table and, 
 sitting down before the glass, raised her hands 
 to her hair.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE afternoon sunlight was pouring through 
 the arch of the loggia next day as Lord Dane- 
 borough, escorted by a small boy in a khaki liv- 
 ery, ornamented with large bone buttons, en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "Signora Arbutanote viene subito" 
 
 "Hey?" said his lordship, swinging round 
 and staring. 
 
 His guide retreated and, grasping the door 
 handle, repeated the message. 
 
 "Oh er, all right." 
 
 The door closed, and the visitor, after glanc- 
 ing round the room, walked to the fireplace 
 and, putting his hands into his trousers pockets, 
 leaned against the mantelpiece. 
 
 Except for a slight limp, Lord Danebor- 
 ough seemed to have quite recovered from his 
 recent hardships. Indeed, since the rescue at 
 Macteali, he had begun to put on flesh for the 
 first time in over seven years, and the lean 
 frame and sun-blackened features of Sergeant 
 Brown were expanding and mellowing to an 
 
 169
 
 170 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 aspect more in keeping with the days of plenty 
 that had then dawned. 
 
 Gerald had taken the news of his altered 
 circumstances with a calm that bordered on im- 
 passivity. After a couple of startled oaths, for 
 which he apologised, he had listened to Bishop 
 Raymond's narrative without comment, except 
 to ask some questions about money matters. 
 Thereafter he kept his thoughts on the situation 
 to himself; but, when alone, his face would fre- 
 quently relax into a broad grin, and during the 
 weeks of his convalescence, he had more than 
 once astonished the nurses who attended him in 
 the private hospital at Cape Town, by sudden 
 guffaws of laughter which he had explained as 
 being due to his appreciation of "the whole 
 blooming show," as it was beginning to strike 
 him. 
 
 Gerald's mental qualities and attainments 
 were of the primitive type, still not infrequently 
 to be found among the aristocracy of Britain. 
 His education had followed two divergent lines : 
 along one loomed the schoolroom tasks he had 
 to learn in order to avoid being punished; on 
 the other lay the lore of the stable and field, 
 which not only absorbed his own instincts and 
 ambitions, but held the key to the approval of 
 every one around him, including his father.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 171 
 
 That he had, in due course, infuriated the lat- 
 ter by failing for the army, and had, thereafter, 
 become a very efficient trooper and non-com- 
 missioned officer of constabulary on the Afri- 
 can veld, was a natural sequence to his upbring- 
 ing and a tribute to his powers of advancing 
 along his own line of development. 
 
 Now, however, in the military phase, his fate 
 had "changed direction," and Gerald found 
 himself, for the first time in his life, uncertain 
 of his bearings. The truth was that tempera- 
 ment and environment alike had, for the mo- 
 ment at least, wholly unfitted him for his new 
 position. He was democratic in the sense that, 
 like the Brahmin in Kipling's story, caste had 
 no particular meaning for him ; and his present 
 social prominence had already begun to bore 
 him. Without having what are called low 
 tastes, he had, as a boy, felt most at home with 
 the grooms and game-keepers who could teach 
 him what he wanted to know; and the subse- 
 quent seven years in the ranks of a corps where 
 the proportion of gentlemen, in his view of the 
 word, was at least as great among the troopers 
 as among the officers, had roughened his habits 
 and language without affecting him with any 
 sense of deterioration. 
 
 So he had been unprepared for the feelings
 
 172 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 of awkwardness which had beset him from the 
 moment when he left the hospital and found 
 himself among people of society. The situation 
 was further complicated by his prejudices. 
 When, to quote his own words, "it had to be a 
 question of social rot," the people, even in 
 England, wiiose pretensions he recognised, were 
 strictly limited in number and, not unnaturally, 
 Cape Town circles could boast of none of 
 them; while he had, on the other hand, all an 
 up-country and Crown Colony man's contempt 
 for the Cape and its ways. It was not sur- 
 prising, therefore, that his efforts to hide his 
 shyness sometimes took a form which did not 
 commend itself to local society, and that, very 
 soon, his new acquaintances, and particularly 
 the ladies among them, began to remark that 
 Lord Daneborough was rather a rough dia- 
 mond. 
 
 As Gerald had always nourished the theory 
 that, except for the romance which had attended 
 his flight from England, he was not and never 
 had been a "lady's man," it might be supposed 
 that this lack of success would have left him 
 unmoved; but he was undergoing, at this junc- 
 ture, a reaction from the deprivations of his 
 up-country life that disclosed itself in divers 
 forms, among which a somewhat indiscriminate
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 173 
 
 craving for female society became conspicu- 
 ous. 
 
 Mabel's letter suggesting that he should break 
 his journey to England and join her party on 
 Lake Como, while stimulating these prompt- 
 ings, had the effect of diverting their course. 
 Its references to other days called up memories 
 that had already visited him during his conva- 
 lescence, and inspired him, further, with the 
 soothing belief that the sooner he said goodbye 
 to Colonial society and got back to what he 
 termed his "own crowd," the better. His feel- 
 ings towards Mabel herself were so vague that, 
 for the time being, he preferred not to review 
 them too closely. While he was shrewd enough 
 to see that her letter was merely intended to 
 re-open an old friendship, he was not without 
 an impression that, in the altered circumstances 
 both of his life and of hers, it at least paved 
 the way for further developments. 
 
 This contingency, however, he decided to put 
 aside for the present; and, supported by the 
 approval of his doctor, he changed his home- 
 ward plans to include a month in Italy, with no 
 more definite feelings than those of exhilaration 
 at the prospect of an earlier departure from 
 the Cape, and of meeting the one person asso-
 
 174 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ciated with his old life from whom he felt cer- 
 tain of a warm welcome. 
 
 But on the voyage his mood fluctuated, and 
 doubts began to assail him as to whether this 
 Italian trip were wise. Like many simple peo- 
 ple Gerald had a horror of anything which 
 even faintly suggested a trap, and although 
 never in his cogitations on the subject did he 
 dream of suspecting Mabel of intentions other 
 than had appeared in her letter, yet he was far 
 from being sure where his own feelings might 
 land him. This view of the matter was ac- 
 centuated by a progress among his fellow- 
 passengers which, after his Cape Town experi- 
 ences, surprised and gratified him. He was, 
 as he expressed it, "beginning to wake up"; 
 and on board a Castle Liner, this process can- 
 not overtake a marquis with a fair share of good 
 looks and a romantic past, without producing 
 results. In the present case, these supplied 
 Gerald with opportunities of which he took full 
 advantage, and he left the ship at Madeira with 
 a view of his capabilities as a Don Juan that 
 materially complicated the feelings with which 
 he headed for Lake Como. 
 
 For on the journey he found himself, almost 
 for the first time in his life and much against 
 the grain, involved in a subjective dilemma.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 175 
 
 Either he wanted to marry or he did not: if he 
 did, and if there were any prospect of Mabel 
 accepting him, he now had an unpleasant feel- 
 ing that he was pushing the matter with un- 
 necessary haste; if, on the other hand, he did 
 not contemplate such a step, or if as he more 
 than suspected, his cousin was without the 
 smallest intention of marrying him, then this 
 trip to Italy was a waste of time, and he wished 
 himself back among his adventures on board. 
 Put thus simply, his present course seemed ill- 
 judged either way; and, as the train rushed in 
 and out of the tunnels between Genoa and Spez- 
 zia, Gerald turned to the manipulation of the 
 carriage window with the gloomy conviction 
 that he had been "had." 
 
 At Milan his spirits were further affected by 
 an attack of nerves. He was a shy man, and the 
 recollection of his recent successes on the high 
 seas failed to support him when he thought of 
 meeting his cousin next day. The agreeable 
 memories that had hitherto encouraged him re- 
 ceded, giving way before lively reminders of 
 Mabel's intellectual and moral superiority to 
 himself, which, although a potent feature of 
 the spell she had wielded in the past, seemed 
 somehow less enthralling now, than formerly. 
 A further period of introspection, in the smok-
 
 176 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ing-room of the Hotel Cavour, left him with 
 an uncomfortable feeling that time was unlikely 
 to have bridged the gulf between them in these 
 respects. Gerald had a good disposition, but 
 there was a sullen streak in his temper that had 
 always been apt to come out when he was afraid 
 of showing to disadvantage, so, after a rest- 
 less night, he had boarded the train for Lecco 
 in a state of gloom which his fellow-travellers 
 found distinctly trying. 
 
 And now the moment had arrived. As he 
 waited for Mabel to appear, he began to move 
 about restlessly, staring at the objects around 
 him. Since mid-day the room had been trans- 
 formed: the bedroom furniture was now re- 
 placed by the hotel "salon suite" to which had 
 been added various purchases made by Mabel 
 during a recent visit to the antiquarii at Menag- 
 gio, together with many flowers, books, and 
 soft-coloured cushions. Gerald, in his progress 
 round the room, paused before a chest of eigh- 
 teenth-century Italian tarsia work standing be- 
 tween the windows, the lower drawer of which, 
 carelessly closed, showed an end protruding, and 
 the ex-sergeant, whose training had made him 
 neat in such matters, mechanically raised his 
 toe and shoved. The drawer, true to the ways 
 of its kind and period, remained immovable, but
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 177 
 
 the cassone rocked heavily on its legs, upsetting 
 a vase of roses standing on its top. Gerald 
 swore softly, replaced the vase and its contents, 
 mopped up the water with his handkerchief, 
 and retreated towards a table, littered with 
 books, in the centre of the room. A brief glance 
 at several volumes on Renaissance Art and His- 
 tory, drove him to a small Bologna table by the 
 sofa, on which he espied a heap of loose photo- 
 graphs; these he turned over hopefully but, 
 after staring at half-a-dozen "details" of pillar- 
 capitals in St. Ambrogio at Milan and at a 
 number of typical early-Lombard ecclesiastical 
 fa9ades, he shuffled the others together and 
 turned away discouraged. The subjects on the 
 walls framed reproductions of some of Ma- 
 bel's favourite pictures were less inexplicable, 
 but no more to his taste: he moved from Car- 
 paccio's "Vision of S. Ursula," and Bellini's 
 "Sacra Conversazione" to Botticelli's "Spring," 
 in a dull surprise, which, brightening momentar- 
 ily before {he "Birth of Venus," sank, on a 
 closer view, to renewed apathy. Returning to 
 the fireplace he inspected his reflection in a Ve- 
 netian mirror above the mantelpiece : having no 
 experience of eighteenth-century glass, his as- 
 pect startled him into the conviction that he 
 must look even more "dicky" than he felt. With
 
 178 THE 'RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 a grunt of impatience he strode to the door 
 and, pressing the electric bell, leaned gloomily 
 against the wall. 
 
 After a short pause a knock sounded by his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Come in!" he shouted, without moving. 
 
 The handle turned and a young waiter sidled 
 into the room. 
 
 "Find out if Mrs. Arbuthnot is coming 
 down!" 
 
 The waiter faced about with a jump. 
 fl Command^ signore?" 
 
 "Tell Mrs. Arbuthnot Madame Arbuthnot 
 can't you speak English?" 
 
 " Commands, signore?" 
 
 "Oh, hang it, never mind!" Gerald pushed 
 past and, walking to the table, seized a book. 
 "Get out!" 
 
 "Prego," responded the other effusively, and, 
 with a sudden inspiration, slipped round the 
 table, closed both windows fast and retreated 
 into the passage, shutting the door behind him. 
 
 Lord Daneborough dropped his book an- 
 grily; as it struck the table a number of loose 
 Kodak photographs slid from between the 
 pages and scattered over the floor. 
 
 "Oh, curse the infernal things!" exclaimed his 
 lordship, exploding suddenly, and diving after
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 179 
 
 the prints; he was impeded by his lame knee, 
 and, after trying vainly to reach some sheets 
 that had eddied inwards below the table, he low- 
 ered himself sulkily to the floor, his wounded 
 leg projecting before him. At this juncture 
 the door opened and Nurse Coxon entered. 
 
 For a moment the newcomer stared in as- 
 tonishment ; then, as Gerald, becoming aware of 
 her presence, pulled his head from below the 
 table and turned in her direction, she closed 
 the door and stepped forward. 
 
 "Let me help you!" Bending quickly, she 
 picked up the remaining sheets, then, straight- 
 ening herself, put out a hand to steady her 
 companion as he climbed to his feet. 
 
 "Thanks," said the latter gruffly, dropping 
 the rescued prints oji the table and dusting him- 
 self with his handkerchief. 
 
 "Where do they go?" enquired Nurse Coxon. 
 
 Daneborough pointed to the book. "In 
 there." 
 
 Having replaced the photographs, the new- 
 comer turned to her companion. 
 
 "Lord Daneborough?" 
 
 Gerald nodded. "Yes." 
 
 "How d'you do? Mrs. Arbuthnot asked me 
 to tell you she would be here directly." 
 
 "Thanks. Will she be long?"
 
 180 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Oh no! She had to change her room this 
 morning so she took a rest after lunch. She'll 
 be here immediately." 
 
 Lord Daneborough had retreated to the fire- 
 place. A pause followed during which the 
 nurse went to the sofa and, after refolding a 
 Cashmere shawl, arranged a couple of small 
 lace-covered cushions. 
 
 Gerald watched these preparations. "She's 
 fitter, isn't she?" he enquired. 
 
 "Oh, much!" Nurse Coxon laid the shawl 
 over the foot of the sofa. "She had a bad 
 night, that's all. The storm disturbed her, and 
 some new arrivals came, just after she had 
 dropped asleep, and made a lot of noise next 
 door." 
 
 Her companion stared. "Very sorry," he 
 said in aggrieved tones. "Didn't think we made 
 much noise." 
 
 "Oh, you were the culprits, were you?" Nurse 
 Coxon looked up playfully. "Mrs. Arbuth- 
 not is quite cross with you!" 
 
 "Nothing to do with me. My room's upstairs 
 somewhere other end of the hotel." 
 
 "Then it certainly can't have been your 
 fault," said the other pacifically, pulling the 
 small table beside the head of the sofa. "I was 
 only chaffing," she continued. "Mrs. Arbuth-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 181 
 
 not isn't a bit angry. Her nerves aren't very 
 good, and she had a headache this morning, 
 that's all." 
 
 Lord Daneborough was still frowning. 
 "Very sorry." 
 
 Miss Coxon turned towards the fireplace. 
 "Please don't let her know I said anything 
 about it she'd be furious!" As she met her 
 companion's eye she smiled appealingly. "It 
 is so difficult sometimes when one is looking 
 after a patient, not to seem disagreeable to 
 other people don't you know. I didn't mean 
 to be horrid!" 
 
 Gerald stroked his moustache. The speaker 
 was dressed in a very becoming "uniform" of 
 dove-coloured grey; the tight snowy bands of 
 the apron and bib accentuated the curves of 
 her figure, and her red-gold hair and the dull 
 pink of her skin showed effectively against the 
 starched ribbons of her cap. 
 
 "All right." His face relaxed. "I expect 
 its pretty tough having to do with invalids 
 especially women!" 
 
 Nurse Coxon glanced past him towards the 
 mirror and smoothed her fringe. "Do you think 
 men are better?" 
 
 Gerald stared. "Yes!" he said, after a pause. 
 
 "Isn't that rather conceited of you?"
 
 182 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 remarked the other, turning towards the 
 window. 
 
 Lord Daneborough followed her with his 
 eyes. "Don't know about that. You asked 
 me a question and I answered it." 
 
 "I didn't say I agreed with you, though!" 
 
 "Perhaps you've never looked after men?" 
 
 Nurse Coxon gazed into the sunshine. 
 "That's guessing," she said. 
 
 Subtle but exhilarating memories of the sea 
 visited Gerald. "Is it? I bet I know the an- 
 swer!" Detaching himself from the mantel- 
 piece, he moved across the floor. 
 
 His companion seated herself on the back 
 of the sofa and dangled a foot. "Aren't the 
 mountains lovely?" she observed brightly, point- 
 ing in front of her. 
 
 Lord Daneborough continued to advance. 
 "That's not the question!" 
 
 "Really?" The other wrinkled her brow. "I 
 thought it was I that asked you something a 
 moment ago." 
 
 "Well, I answered you." 
 
 "You did!" Nurse Coxon giggled, "like a 
 man!" 
 
 "This is another!" interrupted his lordship a 
 little incoherently, rounding the foot of the 
 sofa. "Shall I tell you the answer?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 183 
 
 "No, thanks." Nurse Coxon slipped from 
 her perch and retreated downwards. "Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 "No, look here! Don't go stay and talk 
 for a bit!" 
 
 The other paused on the threshold. "I am 
 sure you would much rather read some of those 
 nice books!" 
 
 "No fear !" Dropping on the end of the sofa, 
 Lord Daneborough patted a cushion invitingly. 
 "Come on come and talk!" 
 
 Miss Coxon felt for the handle. "Put your 
 feet up and rest your knee! Goodbye!" 
 
 "You little !" Gerald sprang to his 
 
 feet. 
 
 "Ta-ta!" Pulling open the door, Nurse 
 Coxon dashed for the passage, recoiling, with 
 a cry, as Mrs. Arbuthnot, carrying a writing- 
 case and some books, appeared on the thresh- 
 old. 
 
 Involuntarily Mabel drew back. "Is any- 
 thing Oh!" 
 
 "Sorry there! By Jove How d'ye do, Ma- 
 bel?" Lord Daneborough, after cannoning 
 into the nurse, pulled up heavily on the mat. 
 
 "Why, how do you do, Gerald?" Mabel held 
 
 out her hand. "Is anything ?" She looked 
 
 round, still startled.
 
 184 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "I wanted the window opened, Mrs. Arbuth- 
 not; we'd been ringing for ages. Lord Dane- 
 borough was just going to make a row about 
 it." 
 
 "Awful ass of a waiter," corroborated his 
 lordship, volubly. "Can't understand a word 
 of English. Don't expect he knows what a bell 
 means!" 
 
 "Oh." Mabel advanced into the room. "I'm 
 so sorry; Luigi is usually so quick. Couldn't 
 you open it?" Still puzzled, she turned to 
 Nurse Coxon. 
 
 "It's stuck," responded the latter, with a 
 stare. 
 
 "But " 
 
 "Like it's been doing lately." The nurse's 
 brown eyes became bead-like. "Perhaps 
 you 
 
 "No, look here, I say!" Lord Daneborough 
 dashed over and attacked the sash with great 
 energy. 
 
 "Please open the other window, Nurse," said 
 Mabel, "the room is very hot." 
 
 For a moment the other hesitated, then, as 
 Mrs. Arbuthnot continued to look at her, she 
 turned and, after crossing to the smaller win- 
 dow, opened it noisily.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 135 
 
 "There!" With a crash Lord Daneborough 
 threw back the French sashes. 
 
 "Thank you, Gerald." Mabel put her writ- 
 ing-case on the table by the sofa. "Come and 
 sit down, won't you? Thank you, Nurse. Will 
 you go and see about my room? It is still very 
 uncomfortable. ' ' 
 
 As the other marched out of the door, clos- 
 ing it behind her, Mabel turned to her cousin 
 with a smile. "I'm so sorry to have kept you 
 waiting! I had to rest after lunch. Won't 
 you sit down?" Settling herself on the sofa 
 she pointed to an armchair. 
 
 "Thanks." Lord Daneborough, after sur- 
 reptitiously fumbling at his necktie which had 
 been disordered by his recent activities, wheeled 
 the chair forward and obeyed. 
 
 "And how are you?" Mabel gazed at her 
 cousin affectionately. "It's so nice to see you 
 at last. I do hope you are feeling better?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks. I'm all right again. Er 
 hope you're feeling fitter?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm ever so much better." Mabel leaned 
 back among the cushions. "I expect very soon 
 to be able to live like an ordinary mortal again. 
 I shall be so glad when I've finished with doc- 
 tors and nurses!" 
 
 "Yes, I daresay," acquiesced Gerald.
 
 186 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 A momentary pause ensued. Daneborough 
 fiddled with his collar. Mabel, glancing up, 
 caught his eye turned on her. 
 
 "Did you have a comfortable journey?" she 
 pursued, smiling. 
 
 "Er " Gerald glanced away awkwardly. 
 
 "Not bad. Lost most of my kit at Milan sta- 
 tion. Expect some of those Dago chaps bagged 
 it." 
 
 Mabel laughed. "The Italians won't like you 
 if you call them Dagos, Gerald!" 
 
 Her cousin settled in his chair and crossed 
 his legs. "Can't help that. That's nothing to 
 what I called 'em at the station yesterday," he 
 said, with a grin. 
 
 Mabel smiled. "Tell me about yourself. You 
 arrived late last night, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes. Afraid we woke you up " 
 
 "Oh, but you didn't! I hadn't gone to bed 
 when you arrived." 
 
 "Oh, I thought the row next door had put 
 you off your sleep made you change your 
 room, and all that." 
 
 "No, really. I should have changed any- 
 way. I I just heard you, that was all." 
 
 "Sorry. Must have been the other man, 
 though. My room's at the other end of the ho- 
 tel."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 187 
 
 "Oh." Mabel paused. "It really doesn't 
 matter," she went on with a smile. "I wasn't 
 disturbed the least little bit. I can't think who 
 can have put such an idea into your head!" 
 
 "By Jove! I forgot shouldn't have said 
 anything. Promised your nurse not to." 
 
 "Nurse Coxon ? I said nothing to her !" Ma- 
 bel looked up surprised. 
 
 "Oh." Gerald stared at his toes. "Sorry. 
 Thought you did." 
 
 "No, really !" Mabel cast a puzzled glance at 
 her companion. After a short silence she con- 
 tinued pleasantly, "I was so surprised to hear 
 that Cousin St. John was with you." 
 
 Gerald nodded. "Yes, he's here." 
 
 "I'm so glad. I'm looking forward tre- 
 mendously to seeing him again. Do tell me 
 about him. Is he well?" 
 
 "Yes, he's all right." 
 
 "There was a good deal about him in the 
 papers at the beginning of the war, but it was 
 when I was ill so I didn't read any of it. He 
 has a wonderful reputation in Africa, hasn't 
 he?" 
 
 "Well " Gerald grinned, "I don't know 
 
 depends." 
 
 "Oh ?" Mabel looked up interroga- 
 tively.
 
 188 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Depends what you call wonderful. Per- 
 sonally speaking, I wouldn't be seen dead at a 
 dog-fight with it!" Her companion laughed. 
 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "You would if you'd been out there. Most 
 people think he's not much better than a 
 traitor!" 
 
 "But why, Gerald? How dreadful !" Mabel 
 sat forward. "You don't mean he's done any- 
 thing that he's being sent home to be pun- 
 ished! I can't believe St. John 
 
 "Ha ha!" Gerald looked up, genuinely 
 amused. "Good old 'Trekking Moses' that's 
 one for him!" 
 
 "But you said " 
 
 "Well, perhaps it's a bit thick to call him a 
 traitor! He's not a bad chap, St. John, in 
 some ways he's been jolly decent to me over 
 all this business, and he and I are very good 
 pals, and all that. It's his infernal politics that 
 do for him among decent people." 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 "I mean he backs the niggers against the 
 whites, and tries to make out they're as good 
 as we are a darned sight better, in fact." 
 
 "Well " Mabel hesitated, "I suppose, 
 
 perhaps, it's difficult for a missionary. He has
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 189 
 
 to teach them religion and self-respect, you see. 
 If he didn't believe in them, and 
 
 "He needn't teach them treason, though!" 
 
 "Of course notbut 
 
 "Well, he teaches them to cheek white men 
 and refuse to work it amounts to the same 
 thing!" Gerald stuck his hands in his pockets 
 and looked out of the window. 
 
 As his cousin did not answer he continued 
 in aggrieved tones. "That's the worst of peo- 
 ple at home! You think because we've got to 
 keep the natives in order and try to make 'em 
 do some work and stop fooling about killing 
 each other, like they used to, that they're being 
 ill-treated, and all the rest of it. And when 
 chaps like St. John side with them and write 
 to the papers, every one believes what they say 
 because they're parsons. Then when a war 
 comes simply because the niggers have been 
 allowed to do what they like and have got their 
 heads swelled then these fellows in Parlia- 
 ment get up and say it's all our fault!" Ger- 
 ald paused and stared into the sunshine. "It's 
 
 no use talking, of course " he continued, 
 
 as Mabel remained silent, "but I've seen a good 
 bit of that sort of thing, and I don't mind tell- 
 ing you eh?" He stopped and glanced at his
 
 190 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 companion, "I suppose you don't agree with 
 me?" 
 
 Mabel had turned towards him with a quick 
 movement. "The others will be here immedi- 
 ately, Gerald," she said in a low voice. "Don't 
 let's Never mind just now. I " she hesi- 
 tated. "I've been looking forward so awfully 
 to seeing you and to to talking over old times. 
 We don't seem to have done anything but argue 
 
 about things that that don't matter " she 
 
 paused and glanced away. 
 
 "Right oh, Mabel," Gerald turned apologeti- 
 cally. "Sorry! Didn't mean to worry you. It's 
 only that a fellow feels rather strongly about 
 Never mind fire away." 
 
 "I thought we might have such a nice time 
 here. We used to be such friends, you 
 
 know " Mabel bent and picked up her 
 
 handkerchief, which had fallen beside her. 
 
 "All right, Mabel!" Gerald eyed her ap- 
 prehensively. "All right, old girl! I didn't 
 mean anything " He rose and moved awk- 
 wardly beside the sofa. "Really!" 
 
 His companion put out her hand. "Please 
 forgive me I haven't meant to be horrid! It's 
 just well, I suppose I'm not very strong yet 
 
 and " she dabbed her eyes and looked up 
 
 with a smile. "It wasn't your fault a bit and
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 191 
 
 I was foolish to mind about last night you 
 couldn't know I could hear you It's all right!" 
 She smiled again and prepared to rise. 
 
 "Right oh." Gerald, looking somewhat 
 harassed, relinquished her hand. "Thought it 
 was all right about that last-night business. I'll 
 give young Leslie blazes !" he muttered ir- 
 ritably. 
 
 "Mr. Leslie?" Mabel glanced up. "Please 
 don't! He didn't say anything." 
 
 A light dawned on her companion. "Oh 
 you mean when I was slanging the manager?" 
 
 Mabel rose and stood beside him. "It doesn't 
 
 matter, really " she repeated. "Don't 
 
 let's- 
 
 Gerald drew back a little. "I simply told 
 him I didn't think much of his rooms ! Where's 
 the harm in that?" he expostulated, as the other 
 remained silent. "Especially as we'd wired all 
 over the place to have 'em ready. Of course, 
 I'm sorry it disturbed you and so on I've told 
 you that, but " he paused. 
 
 "It didn't, Gerald it wasn't that. Please 
 don't- 
 
 " What was it then?" 
 
 Mabel glanced appealingly at the speaker. 
 
 Gerald's face clouded. "You mean I swore 
 at him?" he demanded.
 
 192 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 As the other made no response, he turned 
 and stared out of the window. "Well, all I 
 can say is, I think it's rather rot, Mabel!" he 
 said at length. "If you've never heard a man 
 
 swear before Besides, you say yourself I 
 
 couldn't know you were listening. What on 
 earth's the use ?" 
 
 "It wasn't what you said, Gerald. You don't 
 understand " Mabel stopped. 
 
 "What don't I understand?" 
 
 "I'd just just been reading your letter, 
 and- 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You sounded so different so rough 
 
 Oh, I don't know " Mabel bent, and, res- 
 cuing her handkerchief again, moved towards 
 the fireplace. 
 
 Gerald stared at her back. "I'm hanged if 
 I see the sense in all this," he said after a pause. 
 "I've told you I'm sorry! What on earth's 
 the good of nagging ?" 
 
 "I haven't done that, Gerald!" Mabel put 
 an elbow on the mantelpiece and leaned her 
 forehead on her hand. 
 
 "Well, it's jolly like it! What was the use 
 of writing and asking me to come here " 
 
 "I only suggested it." 
 
 "Well, same thing! What's the good of
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 193 
 
 doing that and then messing up things like this ? 
 I daresay you don't mean any harm but all this 
 about last night is such rot! I thought at first 
 when your nurse told me you were in such a 
 sweat, that young Leslie had been kicking up a 
 row- 
 Mabel turned. "Gerald! Please don't speak 
 to me like that!" 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 "I don't want to know what you and Nurse 
 Coxon may have said about me. And I should 
 leave Mr. Leslie out of it; he, at least, did his 
 best to " she paused. 
 
 "To what? Stop my swearing!" Gerald 
 sneered. 
 
 Mabel turned back to the fireplace. 
 
 "Just like his cheek!" Her companion 
 laughed contemptuously. "He's getting a 
 dashed sight too much side on if I had him 
 back in the corps, I'd toe that out of him fast 
 enough!" 
 
 Mabel raised her head. "That is a generous 
 way to speak of the man who saved your life!" 
 
 "Oh, rot!" Gerald flung angrily to the win- 
 dow. "There's been a dashed sight too 
 much " 
 
 "That sounded better from him! How can 
 you, Gerald!" Mabel's voice broke and she
 
 194 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 buried her face in her handkerchief. "Oh, please 
 go!" 
 
 Removing his hands from his pockets her 
 companion turned and stared. "Sorry, Mabel," 
 he said, after a pause. As she made no sign, 
 he moved towards the door. "Oh, all right!" 
 On reaching the threshold he faced about. 
 "Sorry I lost my hair. That's all rot about 
 Leslie," he continued awkwardly. "He and I 
 are very good pals you'll see when you meet 
 him!" Obtaining no response he felt for the 
 handle. "Well, expect I'd better be going. 
 Afraid I've tired you. Don't expect I'm much 
 good with ill people, you know!" he added, 
 mustering up a smile. 
 
 A knock sounded on the door behind him. 
 
 Mabel glanced up from her handkerchief. 
 "Don't go!" she exclaimed, dabbing her eyes 
 and tidying her hair. 
 
 "But er " Gerald looked at her un- 
 easily. 
 
 "No please!" As the knock was repeated, 
 she slipped to the sofa; her companion, hastily 
 relinquishing the handle, retreated to the cen- 
 tre of the room and picked up a book from 
 the table. 
 
 "Come in!" cried Mabel.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE door opened and Lady Grace entered 
 hastily. 
 
 "Mabel, dear " catching sight of Lord 
 
 Daneborough, she paused. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Cousin Grace," Mabel rose 
 and went forward smiling. "You know Gerald, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, we met this morning." The newcomer's 
 tone betrayed a momentary decrease of enthu- 
 siasm. "Mabel, dear!" she continued, "are you 
 able to see visitors?" 
 
 "Well," Mabel hesitated. 
 
 "Because I've got Mr. Leslie outside," Lady 
 Grace's voice sank confidentially. "He's quite 
 presentable charming, in fact! May I bring 
 him in?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly if he's there. I'm not 
 very " 
 
 "Not very what?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing!" Mabel smiled quickly. 
 "Bring him in, do." 
 
 195
 
 196 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Hugh is here too. Do you mind him?" Lady 
 Grace moved towards the door. 
 
 "Not at all." Turning to the mirror Mabel 
 adjusted the large hat of black straw she was 
 wearing. 
 
 "Mr. Leslie! Hugh!" Lady Grace called, 
 "you can come in." 
 
 Steps sounded on the threshold and General 
 Mackworth and his companion entered. 
 
 Mabel greeted the former with a friendly 
 smile and held out her hand. 
 
 "I'm quite well, thanks," he responded, in 
 reply to her enquiry. "May Aunt Grace sit 
 down?" 
 
 "Yes, of course." Mabel looked surprised. 
 
 "She's going to introduce Mr. Leslie to you," 
 explained the general. "You and the bar- waiter 
 are the only people left in the hotel he doesn't 
 know. Sit down, Aunt, you're all of a twit- 
 ter." 
 
 "Nonsense, Hugh!" Lady Grace turned her 
 back on her nephew. "Mabel dear, this is Mr. 
 Leslie." 
 
 The latter, looking very tall and boyish in 
 a suit of white flannels, stepped forward. 
 
 "How d'you do?" Mabel, glancing pleas- 
 antly at him, held out her hand ; then she turned
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 197 
 
 to Daneborough who had remained by the table 
 in the centre of the room. 
 
 "Have you met General Mackworth, Ger- 
 ald?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks. We met this morning." 
 
 "Aunt Grace introduced us," confirmed the 
 general, "I don't want to disillusion you," he 
 continued, addressing Leslie, "but I think you 
 ought to know that to-day's performance is a 
 mere nothing to my aunt. Introducing people 
 is what I believe they call in America, her 'long 
 suit.' " 
 
 "Do be quiet, Hugh," Lady Grace stared 
 suspiciously at the speaker. 
 
 "It's no mere social convention with her 
 it's an art. When I was at home last, she steered 
 me alongside a lady and said, 'Hugh, let me 
 introduce you to Mrs. So-and-so who has 
 brought us that beautiful new religion from the 
 Congo! Mrs. So-and-so, this is my nephew, 
 General Mackworth, who er has just recov- 
 ered from a severe attack of influenza.' ' 
 
 "Hugh that is not true!" 
 
 "I'm sure it's not, Cousin Grace," exclaimed 
 Mabel, laughing, "why do you let him tease 
 you?" Putting her hand on the older lady's 
 shoulder, she turned with her towards the win- 
 dow. "Won't you take Gerald out and show
 
 198 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 him the view from the loggia? It is always so 
 lovely at sunset." 
 
 As Daneborough and her cousin stepped 
 through the French window, Mabel looked 
 at Leslie who was standing before the fire- 
 place. 
 
 "Won't you sit down, Mr. Leslie?" she said, 
 seating herself on the sofa and pointing to a 
 chair. 
 
 "Thanks" Leslie hesitated and glanced at 
 Mackworth who was turning over the pages of 
 a book at the table. 
 
 Mabel smiled. "There are plenty of chairs! 
 Come and sit down, General Mackworth," she 
 added, over her shoulder. 
 
 "Thanks very much. Do you mind if I look 
 over your books for a moment? I've finished 
 the last one you lent me." 
 
 "Certainly." Mabel turned again to Leslie; 
 with a slight gesture she motioned to the chair 
 beside her. 
 
 "Do you know Italy well?" she asked, as 
 the other seated himself. 
 
 "No." Leslie met her gaze shyly. "This is 
 my first visit," he explained. 
 
 "I envy you!" 
 
 "Yes, I daresay." Leslie nodded and his face 
 brightened. "I've never seen anything in the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 199 
 
 world to touch it! Not that I've seen much," 
 he added. 
 
 "But you've travelled a great deal, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I'd never left home except a 
 couple of years away at school until I went 
 to South Africa eight months ago." 
 
 "You've seen a good deal since then." 
 
 Leslie glanced away. "Yes, I suppose I 
 have," he said indifferently. "Not the sort of 
 thing I mean though. South Africa's all right 
 in some ways, but it's the most different thing 
 in the world from this." 
 
 "But it is beautiful too, isn't it many parts 
 of it?" 
 
 "Yes, in a way. The Cape peninsula is lovely 
 round Table Mountain. If you like that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 "How do you mean?" Mabel glanced at 
 him. "I've met very few people who've been 
 out there so I am interested." 
 
 "Well, I mean that it doesn't appeal to one 
 very much at least it didn't to me. The trees 
 and flowers are wonderful and I've never seen 
 such sunsets anywhere as one gets looking over 
 the Cape Flats to the Blue Bergs; but it's all 
 so so frightfully clear and hard somehow 
 like a coloured photograph, you know." He
 
 200 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 paused. "I can't explain very well, but if you 
 tried to paint out there, you'd see what I mean." 
 
 "Perhaps the light is too brilliant you don't 
 get what artists call 'atmosphere.' ' 
 
 "I daresay," acquiesced Leslie, doubtfully; 
 "one doesn't of course; but well, not only 
 that it isn't interesting somehow just to look 
 at the way other places are. You'd never 
 think of of making up stories about it at 
 least not the sort I mean, any more than you'd 
 want to paint it. It hasn't any " he hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "Romance?" suggested Mabel. 
 
 Leslie nodded quickly. "Yes," he said, "that's 
 
 it !" It hasn't any of that. Whereas here 
 
 turning in his chair he gazed through the arch 
 of the loggia, past the great cypress to the vine- 
 covered slopes glowing in the golden afternoon 
 light. 
 
 "Yes," said Mabel, as the other remained 
 silent. "People have made up stories and 
 painted pictures, here always." 
 
 Her companion nodded again, and, meeting 
 her eyes, reddened beneath his sunburn. "I 
 expect you think I've been talking rather rot," 
 he said awkwardly, "I've never said that about 
 the Cape before don't believe I ever even 
 thought it exactly. It's only since coming here,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 201 
 
 you know, and " he paused and glanced at 
 
 her quickly. 
 
 "Yes I understand." Bending, she picked 
 up a cushion that had slipped towards the floor. 
 "But surely there's romance out there too," she 
 said. "Adventure and war always mean that; 
 think of how much you've seen and done." She 
 looked up. 
 
 Leslie's face clouded. "Oh, that I didn't 
 mean that sort of thing!" He turned away. 
 
 Mabel gazed at him curiously; then, smil- 
 ing, she leaned forward. "I beg your pardon," 
 
 she said, "I do see. General Mackworth " 
 
 she continued, raising her voice, "do come and 
 be sociable! Mr. Leslie has been telling me 
 about South Africa. He says Cape Town is 
 like a coloured photograph and that the veld 
 isn't romantic. I am so disappointed. I had 
 always wanted to go there; it sounded so big 
 and- 
 
 "I expect it's its size that doesn't appeal 
 to him," Mackworth closed a book he had been 
 examining, and moved towards her. "Mr. 
 Leslie's the greatest living authority on the 
 number of steps it takes to get from one end 
 of it to the other, you know." 
 
 Mabel laughed. "I forgot about that! I 
 was thinking of life out there at ordinary times
 
 202 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 the riding and camping. I've never done 
 that sort of thing, but I'm sure I should love 
 it." 
 
 "You ought to talk to Daneborough, Mrs. 
 Arbuthnot. He's got the horseman's point of 
 view about the veld; Mr. Leslie's got the 
 horse's. It probably gives him sore back and 
 blind staggers to listen to you!" 
 
 "Oh, very well!" Mabel turned laughingly 
 to Leslie. "Let's talk of something else. You 
 sketch, don't you?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. I'm not much good though." 
 
 "But you must try here. Every one who can 
 paint, does. Don't they, General?" 
 
 "That's rather understating it, I should say," 
 rejoined Mackworth. 
 
 "Well, some of the productions one sees about 
 the hotel are pretty bad, I admit!" said Mabel, 
 smiling. "But I'm sure Mr. Leslie ought to 
 see what he can do. There are such lovely bits 
 among the valleys behind," she continued, turn- 
 ing to the younger man. 
 
 "Yes; I had a look round this morning. I 
 want to try some of those little towns high up 
 on the hills with the church towers and the 
 
 pink and yellow and white houses You 
 
 know the ones I mean?" 
 
 "Yes, they're quite fascinating," agreed Ma-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 203 
 
 bel. "You're not going?" she added, as Mack- 
 worth held out his hand. 
 
 "Afraid I must," replied the latter. "Er 
 I suppose you don't feel like coming for a 
 turn?" 
 
 Mabel hesitated. "I'd love to, but " she 
 
 glanced up with a smile. "I've had a headache 
 all day, so perhaps I'd better keep quiet; d'you 
 mind?" 
 
 "Not a bit!" replied the other hastily. 
 "Quite right. Very sorry you're feeling seedy 
 though," he added, with a quick look of con- 
 cern, "I had hoped you w r ere better." 
 
 "Oh, but I am! This is nothing. I just had 
 rather a bad night at least I didn't sleep 
 much." Mabel glanced at her watch. "Won't 
 you stay to tea and go for your walk after- 
 wards? It will be here directly." 
 
 "Thanks very much " replied Mackworth 
 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Do. Be kind and go and see how Cousin 
 Grace and Gerald are getting on," she added, 
 smiling. "I'm so afraid of their quarrelling!" 
 
 As the older man stepped on to the loggia, 
 Mabel sank back against the cushions and mo- 
 tioned to Leslie to sit down again. 
 
 "I'm glad you like Italy," she said, after a 
 pause.
 
 204 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "You do, too?" 
 
 "I love it. I adore my own country, but Italy 
 holds one of the keys to my heart." 
 
 "I think I understand that!" Her com- 
 panion looked up eagerly. "I like my own coun- 
 try, too, awfully, and I hated leaving it. But 
 since I came here I feel as if well, just what 
 you say as if something had been unlocked 
 inside me." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes I felt it awfully last night " He 
 
 stopped "After I got back, you know " 
 
 he continued awkwardly, as the other remained 
 silent. "In my own room. I can't describe 
 exactly, but when I turned out the light and 
 opened the shutters, the beauty and the soft- 
 ness seemed to come in with the dark and simply 
 fill the room. I wonder if you understand?" 
 
 "I think I do. I've often felt it." Mabel's 
 voice was low. "I felt it last night, too." Rais- 
 ing her face slowly, she met Leslie's eyes. 
 
 Her companion blushed and, jumping up, 
 stared at the "Vision of S. Ursula" on the wall 
 beside him. 
 
 "Is that an Italian picture?" he asked, after 
 a pause. 
 
 "Yes, a very famous one." 
 
 "It looks wonderful!" Leslie gazed at the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 205 
 
 big photograph. "I've never seen anything like 
 it. I want awfully to learn about the pictures 
 out here," he continued, turning away. "I sup- 
 pose you know a lot?" 
 
 "Not much a little." 
 
 "Will you tell me would you mind?" 
 
 "No." Mabel spoke shortly. "I mean I will, 
 of course, if you want me to," she added. 
 
 "Only " Rising, she smoothed her dress 
 
 and crossed to the hearth. 
 
 "Only what?" Leslie turned and looked at 
 her. 
 
 Mabel fingered a vase of flowers on the man- 
 telpiece. "Oh, I don't know!" She glanced 
 at him. "You are rather an unexpected per- 
 son, you know." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "Well," she turned back to the vase. "I'd 
 somehow formed quite a different impression 
 about you and it was silly, I suppose, but I 
 never imagined you caring about Italy and 
 things of that sort. I'd only heard of you in 
 connection with Africa and the war, and it 
 seemed natural to think you'd care most for 
 that kind of life. Men who've lived out there 
 seem to get like that." 
 
 "But I'd only been out there a short time." 
 
 "I always forget that. You seem to hate my
 
 206 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 saying so Mabel glanced over her shoul- 
 
 der, "but you managed to do a good deal, you 
 know!" 
 
 Her companion remained silent. 
 
 "Why do you mind?" Mabel's voice soft- 
 ened. "Every one knows it." 
 
 "I didn't really." The other looked down. 
 "It was all luck, you know." 
 
 "Do you call carrying a man hundreds of 
 miles on your back, luck?" 
 
 "Not exactly I mean 
 
 "Do you mean staying, when you might 
 have saved yourself? Is that what you call 
 luck?" 
 
 The other made no reply. 
 
 "Is it?" Mabel looked up rather breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" Leslie turned with a 
 brusque gesture to the table by the sofa and, 
 snatching up a pencil, fingered it so roughly 
 that the point broke. "Please don't! I know 
 awfully little about Africa really I do 
 and " He stopped and, dropping the pen- 
 cil on the cloth, moved towards the window. 
 "Well, I just can't talk about it!" 
 
 Mabel watched him over her shoulder. 
 "Don't go away," she said gently. "I think I 
 understand."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 207 
 
 "Eh?" Her companion faced round and 
 stared. 
 
 "Yes." Mabel met his eyes. "I understand 
 
 and " she paused. "I think it splendid! 
 
 Much more splendid than to do what you did. 
 It may be easy to some people to be brave, but, 
 to think as little of it as you do I don't believe 
 
 many men would be like that; and " her 
 
 voice sank "and you are only a boy!" With 
 a quick movement she turned back to the man- 
 telpiece. 
 
 The silence was broken by a knock on the 
 door. Mabel glanced up. 
 
 "There are the others!" She moved from the 
 fireplace; catching sight of her companion she 
 stopped. "What is it?" Her eyes were both 
 puzzled and hurt. "I meant it all so much 
 you can't mind " 
 
 "Don't!" cried Leslie suddenly, "please don't 
 I- 
 
 The knock was repeated more sharply. 
 
 "All right never mind I won't!" Mabel 
 smiled, moving past him to the sofa. "Come 
 in! Cheer up!" she murmured, as the door 
 opened. "I do understand." 
 
 "Well, Mabel!" Bishop Raymond appeared 
 on the threshold and came forward with out- 
 stretched hand.
 
 208 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Cousin St. John!" Mabel ran to meet him. 
 "I am so glad!" She took the newcomer's 
 hand in both of hers. "How splendid it is to 
 see you again!" 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," the bishop gazed 
 at her affectionately. "You are wonderful, 
 Mabel, you've scarcely changed at all!" 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, St. John !" The other blushed 
 and laughed. "Why, we haven't seen each other 
 for how long is it?" 
 
 "A long time, I'm afraid!" 
 
 "Yes, don't let's talk about it. Come and sit 
 down." Putting her hand on his arm she led 
 him towards the sofa. "Good morning, Cousin 
 Peter," she added, smiling over her companion's 
 shoulder. "How are you?" 
 
 Sir Peter, who had entered with Bishop Ray- 
 mond, removed a hand from his breeches pocket, 
 and prodded a forefinger at the sunset. "Eve- 
 nin'," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, I know!" Mabel laughed. "I'm very 
 much ashamed of myself for being so late 
 especially to-day, too. You've met Mr. Leslie, 
 haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes, twice." The baronet grunted. 
 "Breakfast, and asleep after lunch." 
 
 "Do you mean you met him in your dreams?" 
 
 "Sort of. Grace turned up with him again
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 209 
 
 when I'd stuck a rug round me and gone to 
 sleep in a chair on the terrace. Says she thought 
 I was the old German woman she wants to in- 
 troduce him to! Said she only saw my legs." 
 Sir Peter waggled a knickerbocker and a wrin- 
 kled grey shooting stocking. "Silly rot!" 
 
 "Lady Grace tried to introduce him to me, 
 too!" remarked Bishop Raymond, smiling, "but 
 I reminded her that Mr. Leslie and I are old 
 friends." 
 
 Mabel turned to the speaker with an amused 
 glance. The bishop, since his arrival in Eu- 
 rope, though neglecting to don his episcopal 
 apron and gaiters, had so far followed conven- 
 tion as to lay aside the nondescript garments 
 he employed in his diocese; his tall figure was 
 now clothed in a black jacket and waistcoat 
 and a pair of rather shabby black trousers 
 which, with a clerical collar, made his weather- 
 tanned face and neck, and knotted, roughened 
 hands even more conspicuous in ordinary so- 
 ciety than they would otherwise have been. 
 
 "Please sit down, all of you!" Mabel moved 
 to the bell. "I'll ring for tea." As she pressed 
 the button another knock sounded at the door. 
 "Ah, there it is, I expect. Avanti!" 
 
 The handle turned. "May I come in?" en- 
 quired a voice.
 
 210 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Yes, Dottore, do come in! We are just 
 going to have tea." Mabel turned from the bell 
 to greet the owner of the voice. 
 
 "How do you do, Meesis Arbut'not?" The 
 newcomer shut the door behind him and hur- 
 ried forward with outstretched hand and a 
 beaming combination of professional concern 
 and friendliness. "How are you to-day? 
 Better?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you." Mabel's face lit up bright- 
 ly. "Really better! I've had a little headache, 
 but nothing of importance." 
 
 "Ha!" The other gave her a sharp look and 
 slipped his fingers over her wrist. "You must 
 not get too tired. But," he burst into a reas- 
 suring smile, "you w r ill be all raight!" Drop- 
 ping her arm with an encouraging tap of the 
 thumb, he stepped forward. "How do you do, 
 Beeshop? How do you do, Sir Peter?" Shak- 
 ing hands effusively with each, he turned to 
 Leslie, "How do you do?" 
 
 "You know Mr. Leslie?" enquired Mabel. 
 
 "Yais, oh yais! Lady Grace introduced us 
 zis morning, and I think perhaps another time. 
 No? She is saw kind!" 
 
 Dr. Cesare Florio spoke English with en- 
 gaging fluency and an admirable mastery of the 
 vocabulary, but he had never troubled much
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 211 
 
 about pronunciation, and Mabel averred that 
 she relied entirely on his version of British vow- 
 els for surmounting her difficulties with those 
 of the Italian tongue. He was an alert, very 
 attractive-looking little man with the fair com- 
 plexion and light-coloured hair not uncommon 
 among the Milanese. A true Italian in his 
 vivacious utterance and gesture, he possessed 
 a gay catholicity of outlook that adapted itself 
 to the minds of his patients with results proba- 
 bly no less beneficial to their health than the 
 effects of his medicines and .electric baths on 
 their bodies and nerves. He was extremely in- 
 telligent and the northern strain in his blood 
 came out in a shrewd judgment and profes- 
 sional thoroughness, very reassuring to those 
 who, like Lady Grace, looked with some 
 suspicion on his more volatile character- 
 istics. 
 
 "Mabel!" Lady Grace put her head in at 
 the French window. 
 
 "Yes, Cousin Grace." 
 
 "Is Mr. Leslie there? Oh, yes, there you are!" 
 She beckoned excitedly. "Please come quick! 
 Baroness von What's-her-name is down below. 
 She wants to meet you dreadfully, and she can't 
 climb stairs, so it's such a good opportunity. 
 Quick!"
 
 212 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Leslie backed. "Do you mean I must go 
 down I really don't think 
 
 "No! I'll introduce you from here she's 
 just below in the garden. Quick!" 
 
 "Come on, man!" General Mackworth 
 waved over his aunt's shoulder. "Bring a chair 
 to stand on she's as blind as a bat." 
 
 "Baroness! Baroness!" Lady Grace, push- 
 ing her nephew aside, craned over the balus- 
 trade, while Leslie moved forward unwillingly. 
 
 "Louder, Aunt!" urged Mackworth. "She's 
 as deaf as a post!" 
 
 "Here's Mr. Leslie, Baroness!" Lady Grace 
 raised her voice. "Baroness! Oh, she doesn't 
 hear," she exclaimed, "she's going!" 
 
 "Stick to it! She's got no pace she's wrong 
 on both feet! Don't give in, Aunt!" Mack- 
 worth waved liked a bandmaster to the others. 
 "Now then, all together!" 
 
 "She's gone!" Lady Grace turned disap- 
 pointedly. "I wish you wouldn't be so silly, 
 Hugh." The speaker stared with much re- 
 sentment at her nephew, as she turned towards 
 the sitting-room. "I suppose you think it's 
 clever to spend your time playing the fool, and 
 preventing people older than yourself from 
 doing things that really matter!" 
 
 Mackworth stood aside politely to let her
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 213 
 
 pass. "It's become second nature, Aunt. I've 
 got all my promotion from a grateful War Of- 
 fice for doing that!" 
 
 "Well," responded Lady Grace viciously. 
 "You'd better take care! I sat next to Sir 
 Michael de Bathe-Hunter the other evening 
 and he was talking about you. D'you know 
 what he said?" 
 
 "I hope the old boy didn't swear! The mel- 
 lowing effects of evening take him that way 
 sometimes." 
 
 "Well," rejoined the other with hostile em- 
 phasis, "if you wish to know he did, and I quite 
 understood it ! He said the War Office for his 
 sins these were his words had sent you to be 
 his chief of something-or-other " 
 
 "Staff. I remember. I'd been very wicked 
 too about that time!" 
 
 "At some manosuvres," continued Lady 
 Grace, drowning the interruption. "And when 
 you left, he turned to old Lord What's-his- 
 name, and he said, 'Well, they seem to think a 
 lot of Mackworth at the War Office. Per- 
 sonally speaking, I think he's damned flippant !' 
 Those were his very words he repeated them 
 several times. So there!" 
 
 "Hurrah!" Her nephew cut a caper. "My 
 future is assured! When I'm Commander-in-
 
 214 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Chief I'll pile up old Hunter's grave with 
 crosses and ribbons a foot high!" 
 
 Lady Grace sniffed. "Well, don't say I 
 didn't warn you ! Mabel, dear," she continued, 
 turning her back to her nephew, "are we going 
 to have tea ?" 
 
 "Yes, Cousin Grace. Mr. Leslie, will you 
 ring again, please?" 
 
 "You mustn't make Mr. Leslie move about, 
 dear," said the older lady, taking her knitting 
 from behind a flower-pot on a side table, and 
 seating herself in the armchair. "He's got a 
 very sore head." 
 
 "I'm so sorry " Mabel started and 
 
 glanced at Leslie as he moved across the room. 
 "I didn't notice " 
 
 "You couldn't be expected to notice, dear 
 his hair covers the place. But he cut it quite 
 badly last night. Dr. Florio says it might have 
 been quite serious." 
 
 "Aw no, Lady Grace!" Dr. Florio looked 
 up from an animated discussion on Bantu cra- 
 nial development with Bishop Raymond. "Not 
 serious only a leetle troublesome. I have suf- 
 fered more than Mr. Leslie, for I have lost my 
 photographic globe." 
 
 "Oh," Lady Grace began counting her 
 stitches.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 215 
 
 "Yais! Ze manager he is a good fellow, 
 but how you say a bit of an ass. He for- 
 got to remove my red globe from over my lab- 
 oratory-table next door, and when Mr. Leslie 
 lift his head suddenly last night from his writ- 
 ing, he smashed it, and his own head ! Mr. Les- 
 lie he is all raight he is only how you say 
 bent in the lid? No?" the speaker giggled en- 
 quiringly. "But my globe it is broken, and now 
 I must send to Milano, perhaps who knows 
 to Parigi for another!" 
 
 "I'm so sorry." Mabel rose from the sofa; 
 moving towards the table, she glanced beneath 
 the lace shade of the centre light, then, turning, 
 met Leslie's gaze fixed on her across the room, 
 in agitated enquiry. With a slight nod she 
 strolled to the window. "There's the last of the 
 sun," she remarked, placing one foot on to the 
 sill. 
 
 As Leslie crossed the room to her side a knock 
 sounded on the door. "One moment " Ma- 
 bel paused. "Avanti! Take care!" she whis- 
 pered, as her companion, in his haste, almost 
 tripped over her. 
 
 The door opened and a waiter bearing a tray 
 loaded with cups and saucers, edged into the 
 room, followed by Nurse Coxon. 
 
 "You can clear those things and put it there."
 
 216 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Mabel pointed to the centre table. "Will you 
 pour out tea, Nurse, please?" she added, "I'm 
 just going to look at the sunset." 
 
 Nurse Coxon nodded stiffly ; Mabel, with Les- 
 lie at her heels, passed out of the window, and 
 moved along the loggia. 
 
 The sun was sinking behind the mountains. 
 Within the sitting-room the light faded rapidly, 
 and shadows of the stone balustrade which, a 
 moment before, had lain fantastically elongated 
 on the polished floor by the French window, dis- 
 solved into the gathering dusk; a bat flitted in 
 and out of the arch of the loggia. Voices rose 
 from the pier; a sudden tattoo of paddles beat 
 on the still water, a bell clanged and the evening 
 steamer bound for Mennaggio and Colico 
 glided in a long curve past the lower terrace and 
 disappeared round the darkening outline of the 
 promontory. 
 
 "What sort of a globe were you using?" 
 Mackworth turned from watching the boat's de- 
 parture and joined Dr. Florio at the tea-table. 
 
 "Just an ordinary one but with red glass 
 very dark how you say dyed? for my pho- 
 tographs." Dr. Florio handed a cup to Lady 
 Grace. 
 
 "Humph," remarked the latter, laying aside 
 her knitting. "I hope you got it all out of his
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 217 
 
 head! Broken glass is always horrid dyed 
 pieces sound very dangerous." 
 
 The other giggled. "I wish I could do with 
 my globe out of Mr. Leslie's head, laike zoze 
 what you call conjurors? do with ze eggs 
 pull it out whole!" He went back to the table, 
 and after exchanging a few words with Nurse 
 Coxon took his cup and joined Daneborough 
 and Mackworth at the fireplace. 
 
 "Any one seen a paper?" Sir Peter gulped 
 down his tea and turned to the others. 
 
 "I have the Times here." Bishop Raymond 
 looked up from examining Mabel's photo- 
 graphs. "I see both Vesey- Vivian and Robert- 
 son are coming home," he added, putting down 
 his cup and taking the newspaper from his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Is that the Capt. Robertson every one is 
 talking about, who did so well?" enquired Lady 
 Grace. "I should like to meet him." 
 
 "Well, that won't be difficult," replied the 
 bishop, smiling, as he handed the Times to Sir 
 Peter. "He and I are old enemies, so I suppose 
 I must look him up when he arrives he's been 
 invalided." 
 
 "Hang it, Grace!" Sir Peter glanced across 
 at his wife. "Don't let's start this Leslie devil- 
 ry with some other chap directly we get back!"
 
 218 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Peter!" Lady Grace stared and motioned 
 towards Bishop Raymond. 
 
 "Sorry, Bishop. Silly rot, all the same!" Sir 
 Peter, whipping on his eyeglasses, folded back 
 the newspaper. "Let's have some light!" He 
 peered over his shoulder. "Where's the " 
 
 Mackworth and Daneborough paused in their 
 conversation and looked for the switch. 
 
 "It's here. I'll turn it on." Nurse Coxon 
 put down her cup and went to the door. 
 
 "Wait, Nurse!" Mabel spoke from the win- 
 dow. "That globe is spent." 
 
 Nurse Coxon paused and glanced over her 
 shoulder. Mabel, very conspicuous against the 
 last glow of the sky, was gazing along the log- 
 gia towards the next room ; as the nurse looked, 
 the other made an impatient movement, beck- 
 oned, and then, with an air of relief, turned to 
 enter the sitting-room. "I noticed it was black," 
 she continued. "Don't ring it takes for ever 
 to get it changed. Mr. Leslie is bringing an- 
 other." 
 
 Something in the speaker's tone arrested the 
 nurse's attention. She darted a glance at the 
 lace shade above the table. "Let's see, anyway!" 
 she said sharply, thrusting out her hand ; as Les- 
 lie entered, carrying another globe, she switched 
 on the light.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 219 
 
 A moment of amazement followed. 
 
 "What the !" Sir Peter twisting in his 
 
 chair the Times at arm's length before him 
 stared over his shoulder. 
 
 Lady Grace, in the act of putting down her 
 cup on the table, started back, her teaspoon fall- 
 ing to the floor with a clatter. 
 
 "Dio!" Dr. Florio spun round from the fire- 
 place. 
 
 "Will it explode?" Lady Grace retreated 
 hastily. 
 
 "It is all right!" cried the doctor, pushing 
 past Mackworth and Daneborough. "It is only 
 my globe ma " 
 
 He was interrupted by a crash, the tinkle of 
 broken glass, and a momentary scuffle of feet; 
 his little greenish eyes darted to the window. 
 Through the lurid obscurity the aspect of the 
 salon being for the moment transformed to that 
 of an unusually large photographer's "dark 
 room" with a single globe glimmering redly in 
 its centre he saw Trooper Leslie recoil hur- 
 riedly towards the loggia he caught a glimpse 
 of Mrs. Arbuthnot's face over the other's shoul- 
 der of a hand put quickly on Leslie's sleeve. 
 
 "Ha, ha! It is all right I" With loud shouts 
 of laughter Dr. Florio jumped forward. "It 
 is my globe! You are surprised I also!" He
 
 220 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 beamed in the pantomime-like glow with the air 
 of a benevolent imp. "Ze manager is what 
 you say a silly ass! He has told me all my 
 globes are broken, and has mixed them up with 
 ze ordinary ones ! Ha ha !" 
 
 "That's likely!" Nurse Coxon laughed 
 shrilly. "Any one could see with half an eye 
 
 "Ha-ha !" The doctor's mirth took a slightly 
 ferocious tone. "You think so, Nurse? You 
 are very clever are you not? See!" Reaching 
 up, he pulled down the shade. "Will you light 
 zat other lamp, General? Mr. Leslie has 
 dropped ze globe he brought." 
 
 Mackworth turned and switched on the lamp 
 standing on the small table. 
 
 "So! Turn out zis one, Nurse! So." While 
 Dr. Florio rapidly unscrewed the red globe, his 
 companions blinked and began to move from 
 the table. 
 
 "See! It is just what Messis Arbut'not say 
 " the doctor held up his hand, "laike a spent 
 one! Zat silly waiter he knows nothing, he 
 is always mixing them up !" Slipping the globe 
 into his pocket he turned to Mabel. "Now I 
 must say good-bye. Thank you very much, for 
 my globe and for such a funny sight! Was it 
 not?" He beamed at Lady Grace. "We all
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 221 
 
 looked like devils in ze Inferno with our faces 
 red and our eyes sticking out so ' Gesticu- 
 lating 1 and going off into renewed giggles, in 
 which the others joined mildly, he moved to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 "Well," Lady Grace rolled up her knitting, 
 "we must be going too, Peter." 
 
 "Yes, I am sure you must have had enough 
 of us." Bishop Raymond went forward with 
 outstretched hand. "I hope you won't be too 
 tired." 
 
 "Oh, no, not a bit!" Mabel smiled and shook 
 hands. "Good-bye, General Mackworth. Good- 
 bye, Gerald. Bye-bye, Cousin Peter!" 
 
 Dr. Florio, holding open the door as the 
 others trooped out, waved gaily. "Good-bye 
 again. I shall see you later. Have a good 
 rest!" 
 
 Mabel smiled and turned with extended hand 
 to Leslie. For a moment the doctor regarded 
 the two with a lively and delighted eye, then, 
 catching sight of Nurse Coxon lingering by the 
 table, said sharply, "Come! I have some things 
 to give you." 
 
 The nurse gave him a sulky glance. "I must 
 see Mrs. Arbuthnot settled." 
 
 "That is not necessary. You talk too much, 
 Nurse!" Holding the door wide, the speaker
 
 222 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 stared at his subordinate with the slightly bulg- 
 ing eye that Orientals and Latins reserve for 
 domestic purposes ; as the other, instantly cowed, 
 left the room, he waved a debonnair hand to- 
 wards the fireplace and slipped after her, closing 
 the door behind him. 
 
 "Good-bye!" Mabel held out her hand. 
 
 Leslie took her fingers in his. "Good-bye," 
 he said without raising his eyes. 
 
 "What was the matter?" Mabel gazed at 
 him. "Why were you so " she paused. 
 
 "I was afraid afraid they'd guess." 
 
 "Yes, I know it was awkward, but " 
 
 Mabel looked at him curiously. "It didn't do 
 any good to " she paused again. 
 
 Her companion glanced up quickly. "I was 
 thinking of you!" 
 
 Mabel's eyes cleared. "I think I see," she 
 smiled. "But you mustn't ever be afraid,, even 
 for my sake. That's not like you you know!" 
 With a final shake she released his hand. "Still, 
 I do understand. Good-night!" 
 
 Leslie's arm dropped to his side. "Good- 
 night." He moved towards the door; at the 
 threshold he glanced round. Mabel was still 
 smiling. "Good-night do forgive me!" he 
 said hurriedly and, turning the handle, left the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "I SHALL be sorry to leave this place." 
 General Mackworth was sitting on the iow 
 wall of the terrace by the lake, meditatively 
 picking pieces of mortar from between the 
 stones and dropping them one by one into the 
 sunlit water where, seeming to pause momen- 
 tarily just beneath the surface to invite the in- 
 spection of the agonis that swarmed among the 
 rocks, they sank past averted noses and 
 affronted, goggling eyes, into the green dusk 
 below. As he spoke, Mackworth, letting his 
 arms fall by his side, gazed around him. 
 
 Spring had changed in the last few days to 
 summer. Each morning the sun, piercing a 
 dense white haze, had filled the terraces and 
 gardens by the shore with pale amber reflec- 
 tions that foretold noonday heat. The after- 
 noons had become a gorgeous blaze of light ; the 
 evenings a vast glory of opalescence and gold 
 amid which the mountains rose in smoky, 
 shadowed masses. 
 
 223
 
 224 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Mabel stirred in a deck-chair beside him. She 
 lowered her parasol, for, as her companion 
 spoke, the sun dipped behind the hills. 
 
 "Don't talk of going." 
 
 Mackworth turned quickly. Mabel had raised 
 herself in her chair and was gazing across the 
 water. 
 
 "You will be sorry too?" 
 
 With the vanishing of the sun a great quiet 
 seemed to fall on the shore; a fish rose close to 
 the wall and disappeared with a clumsy splash. 
 
 "I have never been so happy anywhere." 
 
 Mackworth's eyes were fixed on her. "I am 
 glad!" he said quietly. 
 
 Mabel glanced round and, meeting his gaze, 
 looked back to the distant slopes. "I suppose 
 one is always happy in a place where one has 
 begun to feel strong again," she said. "Be- 
 sides I have longed for years to come back to 
 Italy, and now it is more beautiful than my 
 dreams. How lovely it would be if one could 
 stay here always !" 
 
 "Yes," responded the other doubtfully. "I 
 expect you'd find it a bit lonely though, at 
 times." 
 
 Mabel smiled. "Oh, I was wishing for the 
 impossible! That we could all remain just as 
 we are always well, with spring always turn-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 25 
 
 ing to summer living just this sort of life and 
 not thinking of anything else." 
 
 Mackworth extracted a small stone from the 
 coping and stared at it thoughtfully. "Unfor- 
 tunately there's always 'something else,' " he 
 said. 
 
 "Why should there be ? This world is so beau- 
 tiful so full of peace. The things that tire 
 one and make life difficult are out of tune with 
 days such as we've had since we came here 
 with an evening like this. I'm sure there must 
 be something wrong in us ! We long for beauty 
 for rest, and nature is full of both, but we're 
 always thinking, as you say, of 'something 
 else.' " 
 
 "I'm afraid life is like that." 
 
 "We've made it so!" 
 
 "I doubt it. Desire, in one form or another, 
 must have been there from the beginning, and 
 the moment we became conscious, it must, to 
 paraphrase the song, have 
 
 * . . . marred the beauty of the day 
 And mocked the sweet nepenthe of the night,' 
 
 till it was satisfied." 
 
 "Ah, but it was a slave who sang that!" Ma- 
 bel glanced up. "His state represents the
 
 226 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 quintessence of what I dread most in life the 
 unforgiveable sin against nature!" 
 
 Mackworth smiled. "He would have sung 
 the same if he'd been in love!" 
 
 Mabel made no response. For some moments 
 they gazed over the radiance before them to the 
 far shore, stretching hazy and unsubstantial, 
 like a mirage suspended against the immense 
 background of the mountains and their reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 "All this" Mackworth moved his arm 
 slightly, "if one stops to look if one feels it 
 at all, you know only makes the desire for 
 'something else,' for the accomplishment of what 
 we want in life, whatever it may be, suc- 
 cess, love," he paused, "anything infinitely 
 stronger. I expect, if we knew the truth, that 
 is the secret of sunsets and dawn, just as it 
 is the secret of beauty in flowers and in peo- 
 ple." 
 
 Mabel began to trace patterns in the gravel 
 with her parasol. "I wonder," she said, "to me, 
 the peace and loveliness of this time here has 
 made existence, merely from day to day, pos- 
 sible again, after well, after it had seemed 
 no longer worth while." 
 
 "You were ill and tired. Surely that was 
 only a phase." Her companion watched the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 227 
 
 movements of the parasol. "You do find it 
 worth while now?" he added, after a pause. 
 Mabel glanced up. "Yes." 
 "Well?" 
 
 The other scraped some lines at random on the 
 path before she replied. "I know what you 
 mean. But well, I think men are different. 
 If they have imagination, I suppose it is only 
 natural that emotion such as that awakened by 
 beauty in nature, or in music, let us say, should 
 express itself in an impulse towards what you 
 call accomplishment. But women aren't like 
 that at least I don't think so. They may, at 
 such times, desire something emotionally 
 she paused, "that is true, but it is the fulfillment 
 of the moment they want not any further 
 view." 
 
 "But a man feels the demand of the moment 
 too only, if he has anything in him, that's the 
 lesser part." 
 
 "The greater lies in the future?" 
 "Yes I was going to say, obviously." 
 Mabel smiled. "I knew you were. Why?" 
 "Why, because moments such as we are talk- 
 ing of, don't seem to me of any value or impor- 
 tance unless they influence one's life as a whole. 
 Excuse the 'copy-book' form my remarks are 
 taking "
 
 228 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "You mean that otherwise they are mere 
 dreams or, if some one else happens to come into 
 them, what are called 'episodes.' ' 
 
 "Yes if you like to put it that way. The 
 things that really matter work, success love, 
 in the real meaning of the word only count in 
 their cumulative aspect." 
 
 Mabel paused before replying. "You put 
 love last is that because you think it the great- 
 est of these?" 
 
 Mack worth was staring across the water. 
 "Certainly," he said. 
 
 "By 'the real meaning of the word,' you mean 
 self-sacrifice, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes undoubtedly," he replied, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Well" his companion laid her parasol 
 against the arm of the chair "I think that is 
 the difference between a man's point of view 
 and a woman's. Somehow, a woman knows that 
 the sacrifice and consequently the supreme sen- 
 sation, comes to her in what is, after all, a mo- 
 ment. The future can never mean anything to 
 her symbolically, so far as emotion is concerned. 
 That is why when she is profoundly stirred, she 
 
 demands so much from the moment; and " 
 
 Mabel bent to pick up her gloves from the path, 
 "why she makes such mistakes."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 229 
 
 "But, surely if she knows that- 
 worth stooped to help her, "can't sh( 
 
 "Learn to see things like a man? Never, 
 the contrary, she realises, in nine cases out of 
 ten, that the dreams she had as a girl before 
 she understood either herself or life dreams 
 full of much you described just now, that they 
 are but a vanity and vexation of spirit. That 
 one moment of real emotion," Mabel's voice 
 sank, "would have been worth them all a thou- 
 sand times over!" 
 
 Mackworth glanced at her quickly. 
 
 "Even if it had meant a mistake?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 "Ah, then " Mabel shrugged her shoul- 
 ders and rose slowly. "Then she may suffer 
 if the moment comes !" 
 
 "But that can't be the end." Her compan- 
 ion rose and stood by her. "Say what you like, 
 there's always something ahead! Granted a 
 woman of a certain temperament perhaps the 
 finest, the essentially feminine, if you like has 
 suffered, either by finding that the visions of her 
 girlhood wouldn't bear the strain of life, or," he 
 paused, "by having made a mistake. Even so, 
 the future, when that phase is over, is bound, 
 if she lives on at all, to matter to her, just as it
 
 230 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 does to others. Don't you think " Mack- 
 worth stooped to examine a weed on the coping 
 beside him, "if, perhaps, she knew there was 
 someone who understood, who could make her 
 secure for that's what it all turns on she 
 could, in time, face life again? I don't mean at 
 any particular moment," he added quickly. "I 
 recognise that the pressure of the past, or well, 
 of the present, may be too much for that. She 
 could be the only judge of when it was possible. 
 But well some time?" 
 
 "It might be too late." 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "But ' Mabel's laugh was a little forced. 
 "The world isn't like that! One can't expect 
 
 to find to go on finding someone " she 
 
 stopped. 
 
 General Mackworth stood up and looked at 
 her. "Oh yes, you can, you know!" 
 
 Mabel, meeting his eyes, glanced away and 
 turned slowly towards the steps. 
 
 They moved along the path in silence ; at the 
 foot of the flight leading to the upper terrace, 
 she faced round. "Please don't think I don't 
 understand!" she said quietly, "that I'm 
 not grateful not immensely touched. I am." 
 She paused, her eyes turned towards the 
 sunset.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 231 
 
 Her companion stood very straight and still 
 beside her. 
 
 "But, well oh, don't you see," she said, with 
 a sudden catch in her voice, "how easy it is to 
 understand all that ? It is so straight so loyal ; 
 so everything that the best kind of men have al- 
 ways been like ! But when it comes to oneself 
 
 " she threw out her hand, "what is one to 
 
 say ? We mean such different things by fulfill- 
 ment, somehow. . . . To you it represents 
 a definite progress to 'travel faithfully' as 
 Stevenson calls it. Success, love anything 
 however much they may be desired at moments, 
 are only incidents by the way, battles won, and 
 
 " she smiled and held up her hand as the 
 
 other was about to interrupt, "perhaps the fair 
 lady rescued! And she would be rescued," she 
 added quickly. "I haven't a shadow of a doubt 
 about that ! You'd hew her foes limb from limb 
 make her, as you say yourself, secure; and 
 she'd travel like the princess in the fairy story and 
 fall more and more in love with her knight every 
 day. I defy you " Mabel looked up laugh- 
 ingly, "to deny the truth of that allegory! But 
 
 " she reached out and smoothed the glossy 
 
 surface of a magnolia leaf beside her, "when we 
 
 come to the woman to one like myself " 
 
 she stopped.
 
 232 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "I was hoping that perhaps we had!" ob- 
 served Mack worth. 
 
 Mabel shook her head. "That's just the trou- 
 ble," she said gravely. "Women like me don't 
 seem to fit into other people's fairy-tales very 
 well. I don't mean that you won't find some 
 who will. People like Cousin Grace " 
 
 "Thank you. May we stick to one story at 
 a time? The tale of 'The Good Aunt and the 
 Wicked Nephew' provides other fields of in- 
 terest." 
 
 Mabel smiled. "I meant the survivals of her 
 type nowadays. In some mysterious way they 
 do seem able to keep alive the traditional atti- 
 tude of men and women to each other but they 
 are in a minority to-day. We others under- 
 stand them almost as little as men understand 
 
 us or for the matter of that " she 
 
 dropped the leaf and turned away, "as we un- 
 derstand ourselves." 
 
 "Isn't that er a little difficult?" asked 
 Mackworth after a pause. 
 
 "Difficult?" Mabel halted on the step and 
 glanced at him over her shoulder. "Oh, yes, but 
 it's true unfortunately! A girl nowadays is 
 apt to start out with ideals very like a man's. 
 She, too, wants to 'travel faithfully' to fulfil 
 her own destiny. But somehow, there seems
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 233 
 
 to be no continuous path for her ; it goes a little 
 way and then stops ; it isn't built on the founda- 
 tions of life, as a whole, I suppose. Marriage, 
 at its best, shows her a new heaven and a new 
 earth, with other visions and other roads. More 
 often, I'm afraid, it removes landmarks and ob- 
 scures familiar stars, leaving her to stumble and 
 hurt herself and, what is much more tragic 
 others, among pitfalls she never even guessed 
 at." 
 
 "But sooner or later, she finds her feet one 
 sees that!" 
 
 "Perhaps," Mabel looked down sadly. "But 
 it may be too late then, you see." 
 
 They ascended the steps in silence ; at the top 
 she paused for the other to overtake her. "That 
 is the real tragedy of a girl's life," she continued 
 quietly, "to have failed at the meeting of the 
 ways when perhaps, in her heart, she had flat- 
 tered herself she could guide. Do you wonder 
 if, as a woman having suffered disillusionment 
 she mistrusts emotions that expend themselves 
 in dreams?" She smiled a little bitterly. 
 
 "But she must have something " The 
 
 other glanced at her. 
 
 Mabel looked away. After a moment she re- 
 plied: 
 
 "She has this." With a motion of her hand
 
 234 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 she indicated the quiet shores and the sunset. 
 "I told you when you asked me, that sadness 
 passes at last. That this beautiful world with 
 its sunshine and peace, its flowers and sky, does 
 make living possible life worth while again. 
 Perhaps it might not give so much to all women, 
 but to me it has been very good very wonder- 
 ful!" She halted and her eyes wandered to the 
 shadowed mountains opposite a flush on her 
 cheek. "You don't know what it means to me 
 
 " she continued, softly, "Italy this 'pleas- 
 ant country,' as Shakespeare calls it. For years 
 I longed to come back. And now, to have awak- 
 ened, as it were, from the grey passivity of the 
 past, to a world where romance and beauty call 
 again from every cypress by the road, from 
 every little town among the hills that is a real 
 Risorgimentot" She stopped with a catch of 
 
 her breath. "And I do want to feel it all " 
 
 she added, half to herself, "to miss none of it. 
 I I've missed so much, somehow!" 
 
 For some moments she stood as though ob- 
 livious of her companion; then she turned with 
 a quick smile. "Forgive me. You see I'm very 
 happy, really! Don't worry about me; I shall 
 
 be all right. And " she laughed a little, 
 
 "perhaps my choice of word was rather ambi- 
 tious. It suggests an awakening of a more
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 235 
 
 strenuous kind that I propose to allow myself 1 
 I just want not to think too much not to strug- 
 gle, for a time," she continued, as they paced 
 along the terrace. "Just to see and feel and en- 
 joy; to learn about art and people. To begin 
 afresh on a gayer, more human plane. Surely 
 you understand?" She glanced impulsively at 
 the other. "I want it to be Renaissance really, 
 not Risorgimento!" 
 
 Her companion smiled faintly, but made no 
 response. 
 
 "You see I am hopeless!" Mabel laughed. 
 "I ought to have awakened in the past, as one 
 of Lorenzo's ladies, with no duties in life save 
 to please and to try to grace the most beautiful 
 moment of the ages; and no emotions beyond 
 the day." 
 
 Mackworth smiled a little sadly. "Perhaps 
 you are right," he said, "for a time, at least. 
 Only- 
 
 "Yes?" Mabel's glance softened as she 
 turned to him. 
 
 "Well look out for what you call Romance! 
 Your Italian friends of the Renaissance only 
 played at it, you know. With us Northerners 
 it's in the blood, and may lead us into strange 
 places." 
 
 "But why not?" Mabel laughed. "It's our
 
 236 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 one redeeming vice! Without it without the 
 spirit of adventure, we English would never 
 
 She broke off as Lady Grace Whipham 
 emerged suddenly from an adjacent path and 
 stared in their direction. 
 
 have built up the British Empire?" in- 
 terpolated her companion, raising his voice. 
 "There's something in that. Ah, here you are, 
 Aunt ! You seem to be in a hurry." 
 
 Lady Grace bore down on them. "What is 
 the time, Hugh?" she said, disregarding her 
 nephew's greeting. 
 
 General Mackworth stopped, and, feeling in 
 a waistcoat pocket, extracted a rusty gunmetal 
 watch. "If it's anything important," he re- 
 marked, scrutinising the dial, "perhaps you'd 
 better apply to some one else, Aunt Grace. 
 What between English time and Central Euro- 
 pean time and its own time, this particular in- 
 strument " he paused and shook it tenta- 
 tively. 
 
 "What does it say?" 
 
 "Twenty-five past six; but it may be an hour 
 or so earlier or later." The general pocketed 
 his property apologetically. 
 
 "It's later!" said Lady Grace quickly. "Ma- 
 bel, dear, I met Mr. Leslie wandering about the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 237 
 
 hotel just now. He said you'd arranged to go 
 with him to those cypresses on the hill. I told 
 him you'd been out ever since tea, and I was 
 sure you'd be too tired that you'd have to rest 
 before dinner." 
 
 Mabel drew herself up slightly. "Will you 
 give me my gloves, General Mackworth? 
 Thank you. I'm sorry you said that, Cousin 
 Grace," she continued, turning to the elder lady. 
 "I particularly want a walk before dinner 
 we've been sitting about all the afternoon. I 
 had thought of putting Mr. Leslie off and ask- 
 ing you to come for a turn by the lake instead, 
 but I can't very well do that now. I must go at 
 once!" Without affording the other time for a 
 rejoinder, she moved towards the path leading 
 to the hotel terrace. "Where did you see him?" 
 she enquired. 
 
 "He's somewhere about the upper hall at 
 least he was." 
 
 "Thank you." With a little nod, Mabel dis- 
 appeared among the bushes ; a moment later she 
 ran up the broad steps of the terrace and van- 
 ished through the hotel door. 
 
 General Mackworth broke the silence. 
 "Rather a poor effort of yours, that, Aunt!" he 
 remarked, taking the Corriere delta Sera from 
 his pocket and moving towards the path.
 
 238 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "What d'you mean?" demanded Lady Grace 
 tartly. 
 
 Her nephew halted for a moment and gazed 
 across the lake; then, slapping his leg thought- 
 fully with the paper, he turned away without 
 replying. 
 
 "Where are you going, Hugh?" exclaimed 
 the other querulously. "You're very trying 1 
 You don't suppose I make those 'efforts/ as you 
 call them, for my own amusement, do you? I'm 
 sure I don't know why I take the trouble for 
 all the thanks I get!" 
 
 "Sorry, Aunt. Why do you?" The general 
 glanced at his relative with some disfavour. 
 
 "Because I can't help it!" rejoined the other 
 spiritedly, "when I see you making a mess of 
 things both of you the way you're doing! 
 These walks and art lessons and Italian lessons 
 and nonsense of that kind, with that young Les- 
 lie I've no patience with Mabel! And you're 
 just as bad ! When you do have a chance of get- 
 ting her alone for the first time, so far as I 
 know, this week, you " 
 
 "I am interrupted at the most interesting 
 point by my aunt " 
 
 "Nonsense!" said the old lady sharply. "If 
 you call that really, Hugh you don't sup-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 239 
 
 pose I couldn't hear? You were talking poli- 
 tics!" 
 
 General Mackworth backed up the path. "I 
 meant most interesting for the public, Aunt 
 Grace ! The rest of the conversation was, as the 
 novelists say in the last chapter, 'of importance 
 only to the young people themselves.' Forgive 
 my running off, will you?" He waved the Cor- 
 riere and lifted his cap. "I've got some letters 
 to write."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE Ave Maria was rising in a distant 
 clamour from the bells of the village church, as 
 Mabel and her companion emerged on to the 
 tiny plateau no bigger than the floor of a room 
 about which, in a circle, stood the cypresses 
 that marked the spot for miles around. The last 
 yards of the ascent had been a scramble in the 
 semi-obscurity of the bushes thronging the back 
 of the knoll, and the sensation of stepping on to 
 the level patch of sward perched high upon the 
 face of the slope, was like that of issuing from 
 a dim stairway on to the topmost platform of 
 a tower. 
 
 The sun had set; the afterglow welling up 
 the western sky had crept over the mountains 
 and filled the air around with a suffused, rose- 
 coloured glory, that, dazzling the eyes, cast im- 
 palpable shadows about the feet. An intense 
 stillness reigned ; the surface of the lake far be- 
 low seemed to have receded into the darkness 
 under the opposite shores, exposing vast declivi- 
 
 240
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 241 
 
 ties of snadow falling dizzily into a void of 
 crimson. 
 
 Mabel paused, her eyes momentarily confused 
 by the radiance of the sky and the effects of 
 height and depth around her. 
 
 "Take care!" she exclaimed, as her compan- 
 ion crossed the grass and leaned over the edge. 
 
 Leslie turned his head and smiled. "It's all 
 right, thanks. It isn't nearly as steep as it looks 
 from over there. Come and look !" 
 
 "I think I'd rather not." Mabel sank down 
 on a little mound of turf near the back of the 
 knoll. 
 
 "I say, you're not too tired, are you?" asked 
 her companion. 
 
 "Not a bit ; only out of breath. That last part 
 was rather steep." 
 
 "Why didn't you let me help you?" Leslie 
 glanced at her reproachfully. 
 
 "Short of carrying me ' Mabel smiled, 
 
 "I don't know what more you could have done." 
 
 "Why not? I will, if we've any more climb- 
 ing to do!" 
 
 "Perhaps I'm heavier than you think." 
 
 Leslie laughed. "Never mind. I can carry 
 anything!" 
 
 Mabel looked at him through half -closed eyes. 
 "Yes," she said, after a pause. "I forgot!"
 
 242 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Her companion turned his back abruptly and 
 retreated to the edge. 
 
 Mabel smiled a little maliciously. "I suppose 
 we may regard that remark as putting an end 
 to the conversation," she observed. 
 
 The other picked up a stone from the grass 
 and jerked it far over the tree-tops below; then, 
 leaning against the smooth trunk of a cypress, 
 he stared down at the lake. 
 
 Mabel watched him the smile still on her 
 lips. Her companion looked, in his white flan- 
 nels, more than usually youthful just then; he 
 was bareheaded and his hair, which had sprouted 
 recently from its normal cropped condition, 
 clustered round his forehead in, at the moment, 
 rather moist and distinctly juvenile curls. The 
 South African tan had reddened and deepened 
 during cloudless hours of fishing in the past 
 fortnight, and his shirt-sleeves, rolled up above 
 the wrists, displayed a pair of forearms that 
 brought memories to Mabel of country cricket 
 grounds in a hot summer. He had taken off his 
 jacket, and, as he stood by the column of the 
 tree among the irises and clumps of flower- 
 ing grasses fringing the brink, his tall figure 
 showed with some of the grace of a sylvan 
 statue against the dark background of the 
 mountains.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 243 
 
 "Please come and sit down I" Mabel pointed 
 to the grass beside her. "We'll have to go back 
 in a very few minutes." 
 
 The clangour of the bells ceased abruptly in 
 the campanile below; a few regular beats fol- 
 lowed, decreasing in volume and dying away in 
 a deep melodious vibration. 
 
 Leslie moved across the sward and dropped 
 down by her feet. 
 
 "Listen!" Mabel held up a hand. 
 
 Across the water and from the slopes around, 
 like notes struck gently from the sides of a vast 
 crystal bowl, came the chiming of a dozen vil- 
 lage belfries. Blending in mellow bursts of 
 sound, clear and resonant from valleys hidden 
 amid the neighbouring chestnut groves, infi- 
 nitely sweetened and remote from mountain 
 townlets and little ports by the shore, the call of 
 the Angelus floated over lake and hill, filling the 
 evening air with a soft musical confusion. 
 
 For some moments Mabel and her companion 
 listened. Gradually the volume of sound dimin- 
 ished; one by one the campaniles ceased their 
 orison, and an immense quiet as of benediction 
 descended on the world around. Then, from 
 behind an adjacent ridge, a single bell tolled. 
 After the melody of the chimes, its regular 
 stroke, now deep and clear, now muffled and
 
 244 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 faint as it travelled through the heavy atmos- 
 phere, fell solemnly on the ear. 
 
 Leslie sat up with a jerk. "By Jove!" he 
 said. 
 
 Mabel glanced at him. "What is it?" She 
 followed his eyes towards the ridge. 
 
 Her companion, leaning on his elbow, listened 
 intently; then, as the tolling ceased with a final 
 plaintive beat, he dropped back on the turf be- 
 side her. 
 
 "I beg your pardon! I was listening to that 
 bell. It it reminded me of something. That's 
 all." 
 
 "It sounded a little sad." Mabel leaned back 
 and closed her eyes. "What did it make you 
 think of?" 
 
 "Oh, something I heard out at the Cape 
 once." 
 
 "A bell?" 
 
 "Yes. Not a church one something quite 
 different. On the veld. It isn't the sort of 
 thing you'd care about," he added. 
 
 Mabel laughed. "How do you know? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 "It isn't, really! As a matter of fact it was 
 something rather beastly. Let's go on about 
 
 "No, please! D 'you mind? I really am a lit-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 245 
 
 tie tired. I'd been talking ever since tea about 
 all sorts of serious things, and then you made 
 me combine the climb up here with a most ex- 
 haustive and exhausting lecture on early Lom- 
 bard art. It's your turn now. Go on ! I want 
 a story." 
 
 Leslie plucked a stem of grass and chewed it. 
 "I'd rather not, you know. I hate " 
 
 "You hate talking about South Africa. I 
 know. But this evening please ! Think of all 
 the Italian lessons and art lessons you've got out 
 of me in the last fortnight !" 
 
 Leslie glanced at her. "All right," he said, 
 unwillingly. "It isn't much, really. It's only 
 something that happened in British KafFraria 
 before I went up to the Protectorate. I went 
 out to enlist in the C.M.R. Cape Mounted 
 Rifles, you know. But when I got to King Wil- 
 liam's Town " 
 
 Mabel interrupted. "Did you go out there 
 just to enlist?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why? Just because you wanted adventure? 
 You tell me so little about yourself, you know!" 
 
 "Well " Leslie hesitated. "Yes, in a way. 
 
 Not exactly. I thought I'd like the life I 
 wanted a chance to " he paused. 
 
 "To what?"
 
 246 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Oh, I don't know to see what it was like. 
 I'd never had that sort of thing riding, shoot- 
 ing, that kind of life before. I wanted well 
 to find out whether I was any good, you 
 know!" 
 
 Mabel smiled. "I see. Go on." 
 
 "At King William's Town I met a fellow 
 who'd been up in the Protectorate and he ad- 
 vised me to chuck the idea of the C.M.R., and to 
 try for the P.F.M.P. instead. He said I'd find 
 more Englishmen of my own class in the ranks 
 up there, and that it was a great score to serve 
 in a Crown Colony instead of at the Cape. Be- 
 sides, the Amatonga were getting up steam by 
 that time, and he said there was certain to be a 
 row before long." 
 
 "So you thought that would give you a better 
 chance of discovering your various failings?" 
 put in Mabel. 
 
 Leslie glanced at her. "Er yes. At least 
 
 " meeting the amused look in her eyes, he 
 
 reddened. "Well, anyway, I decided to have a 
 
 shot at it, and after a bit I went up to Kimber- 
 
 ley and then on to Derby, you know." 
 
 Mabel nodded. 
 
 "But this bell business happened near King 
 William's Town before I went north. I 
 stopped on there till I got an answer to a letter
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 247 
 
 to a friend of Hill's at Fort Derby Hill was 
 the fellow I told you of and while I was wait- 
 ing, I got a temporary job in the Public Works 
 Department at King. The P.W.D. out there 
 are always taking on chaps as timekeepers and 
 that sort of thing. 
 
 "Part of my job was to pay the natives on 
 some road works about ten miles out, and one 
 evening, just about this time, I was riding back 
 by myself to King, over the veld." 
 
 Leslie paused and chewed another stem of 
 grass. 
 
 "It's rather a queer feeling being alone on the 
 veld at sundown, if you're not used to it. You 
 can see for miles and miles; it's like being 
 planked down in the centre of a huge browny- 
 green map with everything small and clear and 
 a tremendous distance off, and little flat-shaped 
 mountains and clouds round the edges instead 
 of a horizon, but seeming farther away, some- 
 how. The mimosa bushes look like dwarfed big 
 trees as if you were seeing them and every- 
 thing through the wrong end of a telescope, you 
 know, only all gloomy-coloured instead of 
 bright, and getting darker each minute not 
 slowly like here, but as though some one were 
 turning down the light while you watched. 
 It gets frightfully lonely-looking. . . .
 
 248 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 There's not a soul about, of course, and the 
 Kaffir kraals when there are any sink out of 
 sight as the light gets bad. Besides, though you 
 can see such distances, the veld isn't level, really ; 
 it rolls up and down and hides things near you. 
 
 "One can find one's way easily enough in that 
 part of the colony if you stick to the waggon 
 tracks and watch out. It's pretty slow going 
 through, and you ride on and on with what look 
 like the same bushes and stones rising up and 
 down against the skyline all the time. It's aw- 
 fully difficult not to begin thinking you've 
 missed your path. The light bothers one a lot. 
 The sky keeps pale and dazzling for a long 
 while after sunset, and the ground gets darker 
 and darker till you can't see a yard before you 
 and your horse begins stumbling. I wasn't 
 much of a rider, then, you know I'd just 
 started picking it up at King and I daresay I 
 used to jab his mouth a lot, thinking I saw 
 things that weren't there. Anyhow he used to 
 get jolly nervous." Leslie paused. 
 
 "There are any amount of noises about. 
 They've got birds out there that start when it 
 gets dark one called the 'kiewiet' with a long 
 mournful sort of cry. Then the wind comes up 
 directly the light goes. The veld is awfully dry 
 and you hear it rustling for miles. Little puffs
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 249 
 
 come as hot as an oven and then frightfully 
 cold and dusty. It doesn't last long but it chills 
 you right through. . . . 
 
 "I wasn't sure of my way, that evening. The 
 wind was blowing sand in my face and my horse 
 chucked his head about and kept listening all 
 round. I wanted to ride west but the light had 
 pretty well gone, and after dark in the open, 
 out there, there's a sort of whiteness some kind 
 of optical illusion, I suppose that keeps danc- 
 ing along the horizon wherever you look, and 
 confuses you awfully if you start noticing it. 
 
 "Just as I was beginning to get that jumpy 
 feeling, you know, wondering if I were going 
 right, I heard a bell. I pulled up and listened. 
 I was crossing a kopje and the sound came 
 along the wind, like that one just now, a long 
 way off, but clear and loud. I thought it must 
 be some Kaffir church and was thinking of turn- 
 ing off that way, when it stopped dead! It 
 wasn't the wind shifting. It gave out in the 
 middle of a toll as if some one had jumped on 
 it. Then suddenly it began again, banging 
 away clearer than ever. As I listened it died 
 out. It didn't stop like last time but got muf- 
 fled, just as though it had been carried into a 
 room; you could just hear it beating very softly. 
 
 "I began to wonder what the deuce it could
 
 250 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 be ! I say I thought it was a Kaffir church, but 
 as a matter of fact, after the first go off, I knew 
 jolly well it wasn't. It didn't sound like a 
 church bell. My horse started of his own accord 
 down the other side of the kopje. There was a 
 hot, shut-in feeling down there compared to up 
 above, and I was awfully surprised to hear the 
 bell beginning to beat, beat, beat like the noise 
 you'd expect if it were ringing under water. I 
 knew in a second, then, what it had been remind- 
 ing me of! It was just like a buoy at sea. The 
 same slow ding-dong, and then stopping with 
 a sort of jerk, and going on again. It had the 
 lonely sound too, like bell-buoys have out at sea, 
 you know. . . . 
 
 "There was a little donga at the foot of the 
 gully and my horse stumbled and then tore up 
 the other side, almost chucking me off. He 
 slowed up at the top, and I heard the bell again. 
 It startled me awfully this time ! The wind had 
 dropped and I could hear it clanging away, to 
 and fro, exactly as if it were being knocked 
 about by waves and coming nearer. I man- 
 aged to pull up. It was a beastly feeling sitting 
 and listening to it coming on wondering what 
 on earth it could be. Of course the sound rose 
 and fell, and sometimes it seemed to stop alto- 
 gether. But the next moment it would bang
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 251 
 
 out with a tremendous clatter, and you could 
 hear it coming on very slowly, but moving all 
 the time. 
 
 "My horse got restive and began backing and 
 kicking. It was almost pitch dark, except for 
 the stars, and I was awfully afraid of losing the 
 track if we once got off it, so I let him go 
 on. We went over a couple of rises the bell 
 getting nearer all the time. My heart was 
 thumping so loudly I could hardly hear ! Then 
 suddenly, at the foot of the next gully, the toll- 
 ing sounded out with a tremendous clanging 
 right above me and I saw a huge, black shape 
 lurch up against the skyline and bear down on 
 me. For a moment I couldn't make out what 
 the deuce it was! Then I realised it was a big 
 trek-waggon drawn by a span of oxen. It 
 seemed to be heaped up with something, and, as 
 it bumped over the brow, I got a glimpse of 
 a high triangle on the top with a bell swing- 
 ing, and a couple of fellows on horseback 
 riding on each side with rifles slung behind 
 them. 
 
 "I gave a sort of shout, but there was such 
 a bang and clatter, as the waggon bumped down 
 the kopje, that no one heard. Then my horse 
 neighed, and somebody called out in Dutch: 
 'Who goes there?' I answered something, and
 
 252 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 a fellow rode forward and shouted to me to get 
 out of the way." Leslie paused. 
 
 "Who were they?" asked Mabel breathlessly. 
 
 "Lepers, going down under guard to Rob- 
 ben Island. I heard afterwards they take them 
 like that." Leslie threw away his wisp of grass 
 and clasped his hands round his knees. "I told 
 you it was rather a beastly story." 
 
 There was a pause. "How awful!" said Ma- 
 bel. "Poor creatures ! Where did you say they 
 were going?" 
 
 "First to the Cape by waggon. Then over 
 to Robben Island, off Cape Town. It's a leper 
 settlement. At least it's rather more than that. 
 The population consists of convicts, lunatics and 
 lepers ; and the fellows who look after them, of 
 course." 
 
 "How dreadful!" 
 
 "Yes. It must be a cheery place!" Leslie 
 leaned back on his elbow and gazed around 
 him. 
 
 The glory had faded from the sky. Soft and 
 luminous with the blue of the South, night 
 gathered in the great valleys across the lake, 
 spreading its shadows over the mountain slopes 
 and flowing in wreaths of cobalt mist on to the 
 face of the still water. A faint chill crept into 
 the air; the irises by the edge of the plateau
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 253 
 
 shivered momentarily on their tall stalks ; a sigh 
 rose from the olive groves below. 
 
 Mabel broke the silence. "What a dreadful 
 story ! I can't get it out of my head." 
 
 "I shouldn't have told you !" Leslie glanced 
 at her penitently. 
 
 Mabel made no response. For some moments 
 she lay motionless; then she turned on her side 
 and looked at her companion. "Do you realise 
 that you're a very difficult person to under- 
 stand?" she said. 
 
 "How d'you mean?" 
 
 "Just what I say. Hasn't any one else ever 
 told you so?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so." 
 
 "Really? DoteUme. I want to know!" 
 
 Leslie gave her a puzzled glance. "No 
 really!" 
 
 Mabel played with the tall grasses by her side. 
 She looked up again. "Have you ever described 
 that ride to other people?" 
 
 "I don't know yes; I expect I did at the 
 time to the fellows at King." 
 
 "I don't mean that. As you did just now 
 to any one who had never seen the veld?" 
 
 Her companion reflected. "I don't think so." 
 
 "Not since the war since you rescued Ger- 
 ald?"
 
 254 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "O, Lord, no!" Leslie turned away. 
 
 Mabel followed his movement with her eyes, 
 then, leaning back, she continued absently twist- 
 ing and pleating the stems beside her. "Don't 
 think me horrid," she said after a pause, "but 
 do you know you are a little apt to hurt people's 
 feelings sometimes?" 
 
 Leslie glanced quickly at her over his shoul- 
 der. "I'm sorry how?" 
 
 "Well by being as you are just now ; by your 
 manner when any one refers to what you did in 
 Africa. I do understand your getting tired of 
 people, you scarcely know, asking about it all 
 and making a fuss over you. But I don't think 
 it's quite fair to go on being like that to well, 
 
 to your friends. Especially " she paused, 
 
 and her voice sank slightly. "When they've told 
 you that they understand!" 
 
 "But they don't!" Leslie sat up with a jerk. 
 "They don't understand that's just it!" 
 
 Mabel gazed at him for a moment in silence. 
 "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "do you think 
 perhaps that that is quite fair?" 
 
 Her companion stared at her. "I don't 
 know," he muttered. "It's true, you know!" 
 
 "As a matter of fact," continued Mabel, a 
 faint flush rising to her cheeks, "I didn't intend 
 to mention that ! I haven't, since the first after-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 255 
 
 noon when you said you'd rather not talk about 
 it, although sometimes well, just because we've 
 become friends and have found so many inter- 
 ests in common, I should have liked to know a 
 little of that side of your life which, after all, 
 
 must be the one that counts. But " she 
 
 looked away, "I won't ever again, if you'd rather 
 not. ..." 
 
 After a pause she continued quietly. "I was 
 thinking of something quite different, just now 
 of your story of the way you told it. When 
 I said you were rather puzzling I only meant 
 something I noticed when we first met. I was 
 surprised then, you know, by your caring so 
 much about Italy not just the scenery, but the 
 3pirit of it all. . . . You remember?" 
 
 Leslie nodded. 
 
 "You seemed so much more affected by it than 
 most people. Of course when you said you 
 painted, that explained a little. But even then 
 well, it was rather unexpected in a young man, 
 especially " Mabel smiled slightly, "please for- 
 give my saying so in you, somehow ! It wasn't 
 only, as I said then, that you were associated in 
 my mind with Africa and the war, but you 
 looked so exactly like a person whose interests 
 would be in outdoor life and adventure and that 
 sort of thing. Any one less like an artist and
 
 256 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 more like well, what you really were one 
 couldn't imagine!" 
 
 "How do you know?" Leslie glanced at her 
 quickly. "What one really is, I mean?" 
 
 Mabel smiled. "Don't make me drag in ta- 
 booed subjects," she said, "that isn't fair!" 
 
 Her companion looked away. 
 
 "Well, this evening she continued, 
 
 "when you were telling that story, I noticed the 
 same thing again. I don't know how well you 
 described the veld, because I've never been there, 
 but you made me feel it more clearly than any- 
 one else ever has, simply because just as you 
 voiced something of my own emotions about 
 Italy that first afternoon you touched a chord, 
 just now, that always thrills me when I think 
 of big open spaces at night." 
 
 Leslie glanced at her. "What chord?" 
 
 "Fear. All the time you were describing sun- 
 down and the coming of the dark and the wind, 
 I felt as if I were listening to someone who had 
 the same nightmarish dread of being lost in 
 places like the veld, as I have myself, instead 
 of- 
 
 "Instead of what?" 
 
 Mabel laughed. "Instead of the person Gen- 
 eral Mackworth calls 'the greatest living author- 
 ity on the number of steps it takes to stroll from
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 257 
 
 one end of it to the other' ! Now do you see how 
 puzzling you can make yourself? You talk 
 about Italy like an artist and you talk of the 
 veld like a " 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 Mabel looked at him. "Well like an artist 
 too, I suppose." 
 
 Leslie leaned forward, suddenly pale. "I 
 don't!" he said, "I feel that way!" 
 
 "What way?" 
 
 "The way you describe! I wasn't talking 
 about the veld any more than about Italy. As 
 a matter of fact I didn't know I was" he hesi- 
 tated "well, giving myself away, but appar- 
 ently I was !" He gave a short laugh. 
 
 Mabel gazed at him. "Do you mean you 
 know what it's like, to be" she hesitated 
 "to be nervous, in such circumstances?" 
 
 Leslie nodded. "Yes rather!" 
 
 For a moment Mabel remained silent; then 
 she raised her eyes to his. "And yet you " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Oh, don't you see ?" she exclaimed, half- 
 
 laughing, half in vexation. "Don't you see how 
 this absurd what am I to call it? modesty 
 sensitiveness of yours, defeats everything? 
 How can we talk like this if you won't allow me 
 even to mention the thing it all turns upon?
 
 258 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 You tell me something that is intensely inter- 
 esting something I never imagined for a mo- 
 ment, that makes the whole story of what you 
 did of your staying with Gerald immeasur- 
 ably more wonderful and exciting, and then you 
 won't let me 
 
 "But it doesn't!" cried Leslie. "It's the 
 other way round! I tell you, you don't under- 
 stand! It isn't only you. I've tried to explain 
 from the start, but nobody pays the slightest 
 attention. They won't listen!" 
 
 "But what is it you want to explain?" 
 
 "That there's been a mistake that the whole 
 thing's wrong from start to finish!" 
 
 "But- 
 
 "It's Daneborough who ought to have the 
 V.C., not me!" 
 
 "Gerald?" 
 
 "Yes! Don't you see? I was no good! I'd 
 have lost my way in a moment, or got caught 
 you've forgotten the Amatonga! And when 
 I was carrying him he did it all knew the way 
 and found water and everything!" Leslie 
 stopped breathless, his face flushed. 
 
 Mabel gazed at him. "Is that all?" she en- 
 quired, after a pause. 
 
 He stared at her. "Yes at least " 
 
 She leaned a little nearer; through the gather-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 259 
 
 ing dusk the oval of her face shone close to 
 his. 
 
 He stammered. "No at the start, I " 
 
 he stopped. 
 
 For a moment Mabel waited, her eyes fixed 
 on his, a faint smile on her lips; then she put 
 out her hand. 
 
 "You silly boy," she said gently, "I know 
 all that so does every one! Of course you 
 couldn't find your way and all the rest of it. 
 You'd only been in the country a few weeks! 
 It's just because you were so new to it all that 
 your staying with Gerald was so splendid. 
 And now after what you've told me this even- 
 ing, I realise better than any one else in the 
 world how fine it was! Thank you for telling 
 me that!" 
 
 The clock in the campanile below clanged out 
 loudly. 
 
 "Good heavens!" Mabel jumped up. "I had 
 no idea it was so late. Cousin Grace will think 
 something dreadful has happened. Come! we 
 must go immediately. Where's the path?" 
 Leslie rose slowly. "Over there." 
 He followed her across the grass ; by the open- 
 ing in the bushes he halted. "I wish," he stam- 
 mered, "you'd let me explain! I can't bear- 
 Mabel put her hand lightly on his arm. "Not
 
 260 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 now please! We must go really. And be- 
 sides," she paused, "I do mind your being like 
 that, with me. . . . You almost made me 
 think there was some real tragedy, just now. 
 It's sweet of you to feel as you do about it all 
 but, you mustn't be stupid, you know, and 
 frighten your friends !" 
 
 She smiled and stepped on to the path. 
 "Come! You must go first and lead the way."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HUGH MACK WORTH, dressed in a major- gen- 
 eral's full uniform and wearing a long row of 
 medals and orders on his breast, strolled across 
 the hall of the Whiphams' house near Windsor. 
 After placing his cocked hat and white gloves 
 on a chair by the wall be unbuckled his sword 
 and laid it beside them; then he turned to a 
 large round table, littered with books, news- 
 papers, and magazines which stood in the mid- 
 dle of the floor, and opened the morning pa- 
 per. 
 
 Through the widely-opened double-door the 
 sun was shining brilliantly; the broad, white 
 steps leading down to the carriage drive, the 
 gravel and the lawn beyond, all presented the 
 sparkling trimness of aspect which it is the 
 peculiar privilege of inanimate things in the 
 English countryside to wear on a fine summer 
 morning. Within, the chintz covers, the pol- 
 ished furniture legs, and the gilt frames of the 
 family portraits, diffused a scarcely less joy- 
 ous, though more subdued radiance, while a 
 
 261
 
 262 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 multitude of freshly-cut roses in bowls and 
 vases filled the place with fragrance. 
 
 A door opened behind him, and Lady Grace, 
 wearing- a morning gown and carrying an arm- 
 ful of account books and seedsmen's catalogues, 
 entered. She paused on her way across the 
 floor. 
 
 "Dressed already, Hugh?" 
 
 Mackworth glanced up. "Yes, I've got to go 
 over to the Castle early." 
 
 "How nice you look, dear! I didn't know 
 you had so many medals. What are they all 
 for?" 
 
 The general went back to his reading. "Oh, 
 various things, Aunt." 
 
 Lady Grace disengaged a forefinger and 
 pointed. "What's that one? Sir Michael de 
 Bathe-Hunter was wearing one just like it the 
 other evening." 
 
 Her nephew squinted down at the decora- 
 tion in question. "Yes. We won that together. 
 It was a great day. Nearly did for me let 
 alone your old friend ! I can still hear his cries 
 for brandy as I rode off and left him when all 
 was over." 
 
 "But why did you, Hugh?" exclaimed Lady 
 Grace, much shocked. "Was he wounded? 
 Where did you leave him?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 263 
 
 "At the door of the 'Senior.' I'm not a 
 member." The other returned to his paper. 
 "That's the Jubilee medal, Aunt." 
 
 His relative turned away with a sniff. Ar- 
 riving at a big writing-table near the window 
 she bent her knees and deposited the house- 
 books in a small avalanche. She picked up one 
 and fingered the pages absently. 
 
 Mackworth, pulling forward a chair, sat 
 down. 
 
 "Hugh!" Lady Grace glanced up from her 
 account book. 
 
 "Well, Aunt Grace?" 
 
 His companion took a big breath. "I wish 
 you would tell me, Hugh!" 
 
 "Tell you what?" The general lowered the 
 Times and stared at her. 
 
 "Oh, you know!" Lady Grace met his eye 
 appealingly. 
 
 Her nephew's head disappeared again behind 
 the paper. "Oh, don't bother, Aunt there's a 
 good sort!" 
 
 "But I can't help bothering, Hugh!" Lady 
 Grace dropped her book agitatedly. "You 
 won't tell me anything you don't seem to do 
 anything and everything is going wrong! 
 What's the use of your being my favourite 
 nephew if you won't tell me anything?"
 
 264 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Don't know what?" 
 
 There was no reply. Lady Grace stared at a 
 widely-opened sheet of the largest daily jour- 
 nal in the kingdom. "What don't you know, 
 Hugh? Do speak!" 
 
 Mackworth dropped his improvised shelter 
 with a gesture of some irritation. "I say, I 
 don't know what's the use of being your fa- 
 vourite nephew, if you're going to worry me 
 about things I'd rather not talk about! Please 
 don't, Aunt." 
 
 His relative pushed a chair aside and moved 
 towards the table. "You know how much I 
 want you to settle down, Hugh?" 
 
 The general flicked some dust off the gold 
 lace of his cuff and glanced back at the cricket 
 news. 
 
 "Don't you?" demanded Lady Grace, per- 
 suasively. 
 
 "Not being deaf or a complete idiot, I do!" 
 
 "Well " continued the other, somewhat 
 
 reassured, moving nearer, "do be sensible, dear. 
 It would be so good for you in every way. I 
 know you've done very well in the army and all 
 that, but every one says people who really 
 know that there are not going to be any more 
 wars, and it's so silly spending your time in
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 265 
 
 places like India and Egypt when you might be 
 at home. Look at Sir Michael! He's Deputy 
 Ranger, or something, of Tooting Common. 
 That would be just the thing for you! It's 
 very well paid and it's a sort of court appoint- 
 ment. Think of the difference if you got that, 
 and married well, someone with a little money. 
 You'd have quite a decent income when you 
 succeeded." 
 
 "My income's all right." 
 
 "How can you say that, Hugh! You know 
 what a time you've had to keep out of debt ever 
 since you went in to the 4th Lancers." 
 
 "I said there was nothing wrong with my 
 income" responded the other flippantly, pre- 
 paring to rise. "Neither there would be if it 
 weren't frittered away paying tradesmen's 
 bills." 
 
 "I'm not asking you to marry for money, 
 Hugh." Lady Grace waved him down. "You 
 know I wouldn't do that. Of course, Mabel 
 is well off", but " 
 
 "Now, Auntie " her nephew rose firmly, 
 
 "you ought to know better than to begin match- 
 making at your age!" 
 
 "I'm doing nothing of the sort!" rejoined 
 the other, incensed. "You know you've been 
 in love with Mabel for years! She's my fa-
 
 266 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 vourite niece she's much more of a niece than 
 a cousin and you're my favourite " 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" The general beat his brow. 
 
 "Yes, you are!" And because I want to see 
 you two married, it's absurd to say I'm match- 
 making. If you call it that then I'm old-fash- 
 ioned enough to believe that matches are made 
 in heaven!" 
 
 Mackworth smoothed the front of his tunic. 
 "Someone said that that was only because the 
 fire in the other place never goes out." 
 
 "Hugh!" Lady Grace's cheeks became 
 pink. "I'm ashamed of you! I don't believe 
 anyone said that except yourself! It's just the 
 sort of horrid thing you're always saying. And 
 and I think it's horrid of you to speak like that 
 when when " she paused and, digging in 
 her waistband, produced a handkerchief. 
 
 "Sorry, Aunt!" her nephew patted her lightly 
 on the back. "Don't worry about me I'll be 
 all right." 
 
 "But you won't!" complained the other, still 
 sniffing in her handkerchief. 
 
 "Yes I shall you'll see!" rejoined the gen- 
 eral cheerily. "If your friends are correct and 
 the millennium is really come I promise to beat 
 my sword into a billhook, or whatever old 
 Hunter ranges Tooting with, when I reach his
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 267 
 
 age. But in the meantime let us take a less 
 gloomy view and hope that battle, murder and 
 sudden death will give a fellow a chance be- 
 fore that rather distant date arrives." 
 
 "And that'll mean you'll go and get killed 
 before you've even tried marrying Mabel !" 
 
 " 'Marrying Mabel,' as you express it, isn't 
 an experiment any one can make who wants to, 
 Aunt Grace!" 
 
 "Other people will, if you don't. Let me 
 tell you that!" responded the old lady crossly. 
 
 "Hadn't we better leave that to her?" Mack- 
 worth spoke a little sharply. "Now, Aunt, let 
 me go, please!" He pushed gently past her 
 and, going to the chair by the wall, lifted his 
 sword and began to buckle it on. 
 
 "Do wait, Hugh you're so impatient! It's 
 so unkind to always lose your temper just be- 
 cause I want you and Mabel to marry!" The 
 speaker paused, and then, as her companion, 
 without replying, bent and picked up his gloves, 
 she continued, desperately. "You're ruining 
 everything by 'leaving it to her,' as you call it! 
 Don't you see that while you're standing doing 
 nothing Mabel is making a fool of herself 
 allowing herself to to get mixed up 
 with " 
 
 "Steady, Aunt!"
 
 268 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Yes, she is! I can't help it! I'm out of 
 all patience with Mabel! I don't know what's 
 come over her. First of all, just when things 
 were going so nicely she writes and asks Ger- 
 ald Daneborough to come to Lake Como. She 
 wasn't in love with him! She hadn't seen him 
 for eight years. She'd no idea whether she'd 
 even like him! All she cared about was that 
 he'd been tremendously in love with her when 
 he went abroad and she wanted to see whether 
 he'd do for her to make herself into a story 
 with. That's the way with romantic people 
 they think of no one but themselves! She 
 wouldn't listen to me. Any fool might have 
 known what one of those Raymonds would 
 be like after being a common policeman for 
 eight years! He can't even behave decently 
 
 "Daneborough isn't a bad chap." 
 
 "Isn't he? He's not a gentleman, anyway! 
 Look at the way he's been carrying on with 
 Mabel's nurse!" 
 
 "My dear Aunt Mackworth adjusted 
 a buckle of his sword belt, "remember he's been 
 a policeman! All members of the 'Force' are 
 like that where nurses are concerned. It's the 
 blue blood coming out!" 
 
 "Well, it's disgusting! Mabel pretended
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 269 
 
 she didn't notice, but every one else did. Any- 
 way, it nipped that romance in the bud! But 
 now " Lady Grace paused and glanced ap- 
 prehensively at her companion, who was slowly 
 buttoning his gloves. "Hugh, I simply don't 
 know what to think! You think I'm a stupid 
 old woman, but you're wrong. I am older than 
 you, and I am a woman and I do know more 
 about them than you do. Mabel may fancy 
 she'd be happy married to young Leslie. She 
 thinks her romantic side is the best thing in her. 
 It isn't, it's the worst! I don't mind as long 
 as she keeps it for her books and pictures, but 
 it's going to ruin her if it gets the upper hand 
 of her with people it just becomes selfishness 
 then! If she marries with her head full of it 
 she'll be judging everything the man does by 
 the way it fits in with her story. She'll feel 
 she's given up everything to marry him and, in 
 return, she'll expect him to be romantic! A nice 
 thing to expect of a man you're going to live 
 with ! And she'll be as hard as nails if he isn't. 
 All his other good points will go for nothing. 
 I know Mabel she's a dear, there's no one I'm 
 so fond of but she won't bear being unhappy 
 again having what she calls her ideals shat- 
 tered a second time!" 
 
 Lady Grace paused for breath; Mackworth,
 
 270 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 whose eyes had wandered to the window be- 
 fore him, moved slightly. 
 
 "Hugh!" the speaker turned appealingly. 
 "Don't you understand? It isn't only that I 
 want you and Mabel to marry I want her to 
 be happy! She'd never be happy with that 
 young Leslie never in this world!" The old 
 lady put out her hand. "Don't go on like this ! 
 Don't lose your chance! Perhaps I've said 
 things about Mabel just now that sounded hor- 
 rid. It isn't like that. She'd be the dearest 
 girl in the world if she only married the right 
 man. She had a difficult time with Jack we 
 know that and now she's got it into her head 
 that her only chance of being happy is this ro- 
 mantic stuff expecting goodness-knows-what 
 from the man she marries. So she falls in love 
 with people who aren't real people at all, and 
 of course, they do all right, for the moment 
 till she finds out." 
 
 "But she might find out I wasn't real 
 either." 
 
 "She couldn't!" Lady Grace moved close 
 to him excitedly. "You are real ! Any one can 
 see what you are. You don't suppose she could 
 be romantic about you! You're just the sort of 
 man for a girl like Mabel to marry. You're 
 the right age, she's known you a long time, and
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 271 
 
 you're nice. That's what really matters! Lots 
 of people aren't. If Mabel married one of the 
 wrong kind now it would break her heart, and 
 if you did, I believe you'd beat her! That's 
 where you have such an advantage. Mabel 
 knows that." 
 
 "Aunt! Really!" interjected her nephew, 
 staring. 
 
 "Yes, you would! You know what I mean! 
 She knows that although you'd be awfully 
 good to her and, of course, she'd be proud of 
 you you're still very nice-looking and people 
 seem to think you're funny Still all the same 
 she knows you wouldn't stand any nonsense 
 that she'd have to be nice to you. And when 
 a wife sets out to be really nice to her husband, 
 she hasn't time for much else ! And that would 
 make a girl like Mabel perfectly happy! Do 
 you suppose I'd be happy with Peter for a day 
 if I thought about myself? Well, it's the same 
 with her it's the same with all women who're 
 nice at all." 
 
 "Perhaps she won't marry anybody." 
 
 "Nonsense!" Lady Grace crumpled her 
 handkerchief and poked it into her waistband. 
 "Mabel could no more help marrying than she 
 could help " she paused in search of a meta- 
 phor.
 
 272 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Flying?" suggested the other. 
 
 "Yes no." Lady Grace turned away, fa- 
 tigued. "You know what I mean!" 
 
 The sunlight shone with increased brilliance 
 upon the white steps and the lawn ; through the 
 open door came a sleepy hum of insects, and a 
 trio of buccaneering wasps, among the roses 
 on the hall table, buzzed intermittently. 
 
 General Mackworth lifted his cocked hat 
 from the chair, smoothed its plumes and turned 
 to his companion. "Well, goodbye, just now, 
 Aunt Grace," he said, "I must be going." 
 
 "You'll think of what I've said?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied seriously, "I shall. Thank 
 you." He bent and kissed her on the forehead. 
 
 Lady Grace put her hand among the medals 
 on his breast. "And you'll do something be- 
 fore it's too late?" 
 
 "Aunt, I'm not such an ass as I look. Of 
 course I shall, if I get half a chance. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 Lifting his sword, he moved round the table 
 towards the steps. As he paused on the thresh- 
 old, a door at the far end of the hall opened 
 and Mabel entered. 
 
 "Ah, here you are, dear!" exclaimed Lady 
 Grace brightly. 
 
 Mabel walked slowly towards them. "Good
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 273 
 
 morning, Cousin Grace. Good morning, Gen- 
 eral." 
 
 "Good morning, dear." Lady Grace kissed 
 the newcomer affectionately. "You look tired. 
 Nothing wrong, is there?" 
 
 "Nothing at all. I didn't sleep very well. 
 Are you just off?" she continued, turning to 
 Mackworth. 
 
 The general smiled. "Just." 
 
 "Shall I ring for the carriage, Hugh?" en- 
 quired Lady Grace. 
 
 "No, thanks, I want to go round to the sta- 
 bles about something." 
 
 Lady Grace glanced at her cousin. "Won't 
 you go and see him off, Mabel? The air will 
 do you good." 
 
 Mabel shook her head. "I'd love to," she 
 said, "but the truth is, I've got rather a head- 
 ache this morning, and I'm a little afraid of 
 the sun." She turned towards the table. 
 
 "Of course don't think of it! So sorry." 
 The general retreated hastily across the 
 threshold. "Good-bye see you all later!" 
 
 "Yes." Mabel waved her hand and went to 
 the door. "How splendid you look!" she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 Mackworth, descending the steps, looked over 
 his shoulder. "Don't !" He pointed laughingly
 
 274 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 to his spurs. "You '11 make me fall!" On reach- 
 ing the gravel he saluted cheerily as Mabel 
 waved again, and, turning to the left, disap- 
 peared along a side path towards the stables. 
 
 Mabel moved indoors to the big table, and 
 opened an illustrated paper. 
 
 Lady Grace looked up from her accounts. 
 "They're all coming over to tea after the af- 
 fair at the Castle is over." 
 
 "Who are 'all,' Cousin Grace?" 
 
 "Lord Daneborough, Mr. Leslie, Bertie Ve- 
 sey- Vivian and that Captain Robertson." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 "And I've asked Dr. Florio. He's in Lon- 
 don attending a conference." 
 
 "That will be nice." 
 
 Lady Grace tore the wrapper from a seed 
 catalogue. "I had to ask the others as we're 
 so near Windsor," she continued peevishly. "I 
 didn't think they'd all come. I thought, of 
 course, that Mr. Leslie would have some people 
 of his own he'd be going to after getting his 
 V.C.!" 
 
 "His people live in Ireland, I think." 
 
 "Well, surely he's got some friends, hasn't 
 he?" 
 
 Mabel glanced listlessly over the pages of 
 the magazine without replying.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 275 
 
 Lady Grace turned in her chair. "Who is 
 Mr. Leslie, Mabel?" 
 
 "You've asked me that before, Cousin Grace. 
 I really don't know. I've never asked him." 
 
 "Well, Z have, and I couldn't get anything 
 out of him! I don't think he's a gentleman!" 
 
 "He's a friend of ours!" said the other, 
 quietly. 
 
 "He is in a way," Lady Grace turned crossly 
 back to her desk. "But that doesn't prevent one 
 noticing things look at his letter!" Picking 
 up an envelope from amid a litter of papers 
 beside her, she leaned from her chair and handed 
 it to her companion. 
 
 Mabel glanced through the missive without 
 comment. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, Cousin Grace." 
 
 "Don't you see what I mean?" 
 
 "Not in the least. It seems a very nice note." 
 
 "There's nothing either nice or the reverse 
 in it!" retorted the old lady. "What I mean 
 is, the man doesn't know how to write ! He calls 
 Lord Daneborough 'the Marquis of Danebor- 
 ough,' when he says he'll be delighted to come 
 over here with him. He might as well say he 
 was coming over with John Jones, Esquire! 
 Look at the address !"
 
 276 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Involuntarily Mabel glanced at the envelope 
 in her hand. 
 
 "He doesn't even put a 'The' before my 
 name !" 
 
 Mabel folded the letter and handed it back 
 to her cousin in silence. 
 
 "Don't you agree with me, Mabel?" demand- 
 ed the latter sharply. 
 
 "No, Cousin Grace, I don't. He hasn't ad- 
 dressed his envelope properly and it looks rather 
 silly to write of Lord Daneborough in that way, 
 but it doesn't prove that Mr. Leslie isn't a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 Lady Grace sniffed. "Doesn't it? With the 
 other things I've noticed 
 
 "No," interrupted the other. "It merely 
 means that he doesn't happen to have lived 
 among people with titles not that he hasn't 
 been brought up among gentlefolk. I thought 
 every one knew that England was different 
 from other countries in that way that there 
 were thousands of nice people who have no 
 title, nor any particular connection with people 
 who have." 
 
 "It depends on what you mean by 'nice' !" 
 
 "I mean nice as Mr. Leslie is." 
 
 "Exactly have it your own way, Mabel ; you 
 are very obstinate! But let me tell you this!"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 277 
 
 Lady Grace dropped the offending note on her 
 table. "If a woman who has been brought up 
 as you have I say no more has a great deal 
 to do with 'nice' people of that kind who don't 
 know the mere elements of behaviour of the class 
 to which she belongs she's going to find herself 
 rubbed up the wrong way more often than she 
 expected. I'm not saying anything against 
 either them or her, but there it is!" 
 
 Mabel made no reply ; the older lady, pulling 
 a pair of spectacles from a case attached to 
 her waistband, gave her chair a jerk forward 
 and went back to her accounts. 
 
 A sleepy quiet fell on the room. Mabel, her 
 face resting on her hand, gazed over the top 
 of the pages before her at the polished surface 
 of the table. 
 
 Her reverie was broken by the sound of foot- 
 steps outside. Sir Peter, carrying a spud and 
 wearing extremely shabby country clothes with 
 a battered straw hat on his head, appeared at 
 the door. "Mornin', Mabel," he remarked. "I 
 say, Grace, it was your infernal cat that ate 
 the chickens not a fox. Told you it was !" 
 
 His wife was counting on her fingers. 
 "Three, nine, six eighteen; sixpence and carry 
 one. Nonsense !" 
 
 "It isn't nonsense, woman !" Sir Peter rapped
 
 278 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 with his spud on the door. "I saw his feathers 
 on the wire. You don't find foxes with black 
 fur!" 
 
 "Well, I can't help it. Do go away! I'm 
 busy. Seven, eleven, four twenty-one; and 
 sixpence. One pound and sixpence no, one 
 pound one and sixpence. Has he gone, Ma- 
 bel?" 
 
 "Yes, he saw Sims on the lawn he's gone 
 to speak to him." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 The other leaned forward and stared through 
 the door. "I think he's telling him what he 
 said just now about the chickens. Yes 
 you'd better go, Cousin Grace, he's imitating 
 Tom pouncing!" 
 
 "Drat the man!" Lady Grace threw down 
 her pen and jumped up. "Sims hates Tom!" 
 She crossed the room hurriedly, ran down the 
 steps, and, joining the others, marched them 
 off in the direction of the stables. 
 
 Mabel watched them disappear among the 
 rhododendron bushes that flanked the house, 
 then, after moving slowly across the floor, 
 picked up her magazine and sank into a chair.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 FOR some moments she sat without moving, 
 her elbows on the table, the opened pages of 
 the magazine disregarded before her. Then, as 
 a door at the far end of the hall opened, she 
 started and raised her face from her hands. 
 
 Bishop Raymond crossed the floor towards 
 her. "All alone, Mabel?" 
 
 She glanced over her shoulder and smiled 
 faintly. "Yes." 
 
 "I've just seen Mackworth off in all his war- 
 paint," remarked the other, leaning on the back 
 of a chair beside her. "What a charming fel- 
 low he is!" 
 
 Mabel resumed her former attitude, her chin 
 on her hands. "He teases Cousin Grace too 
 much!" 
 
 The bishop smiled. "I don't think she minds ; 
 she's devoted to him. I'm very glad to have 
 met him. He's a new type to me a keen sol- 
 dier who's seen a lot of service and yet an in- 
 tellectual man who's not ashamed of the fact. 
 
 279
 
 280 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Men of his stamp will be the saving of our 
 army." 
 
 Mabel made no response; the bishop, slap- 
 ping the dust of the stable yard from his black 
 gaiters, picked up a book and was about to 
 sit down, when the door opened and Nurse 
 Coxon entered, carrying a silver tray on which 
 was a tumbler of hot milk and a couple of bis- 
 cuits on a plate. He bowed as she approached 
 and was greeted by a curt nod. 
 
 Mabel glanced up and shook her head. "No, 
 thank you, Nurse not to-day, please." 
 
 Nurse Coxon stared at her patient. "The 
 doctor is very particular, Mrs. Arbuthnot " 
 
 "I can't to-day really! I've got a head- 
 ache. If you think Dr. James would like me 
 to take some soup instead " 
 
 "I'm not here to think what you should take, 
 Mrs. Arbuthnot. Dr. James has ordered milk 
 if you won't take it there's nothing more to 
 be said!" 
 
 Mabel made no reply. Nurse Coxon, sweep- 
 ing some magazines out of the way, put down 
 the salver with a clatter. "I'll leave it here in 
 case you change your mind!" 
 
 Bishop Raymond, who had been glancing 
 over the pages of his book, looked up sharply
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 281 
 
 and followed the speaker with his eyes as she 
 turned her back and walked across the hall. 
 
 Mabel picked up her handkerchief and 
 pressed it to her face; as the door closed, she 
 sobbed startlingly. 
 
 The bishop put down his book and, step- 
 ping beside her, placed his hand on her shoulder. 
 
 For a moment she shook convulsively, then, 
 as her companion removed his hand and stood 
 quietly at her side, she wiped her eyes and 
 glanced up. "Sorry, St. John!" 
 
 "What is it, Mabel?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know " she dabbed her 
 
 cheeks with the handkerchief; as another sob 
 overtook her she reached out a hand suddenly. 
 "I'm so so miserable!" 
 
 The bishop turned a vindictive glance at 
 the door. "If it's that wretched nurse 
 
 "Hush St. John!" Mabel smiled faintly 
 through her tears. "It wasn't that at least not 
 exactly. I suppose I'm not very well to-day 
 and if people are rude, it hurts. But 
 
 "But why do you keep her, Mabel? She may 
 be efficient but there are thousands as good in 
 London who are nice too. Forgive me for in- 
 terfering, but 
 
 "Don't, St. John. Never mind about her." 
 Mabel dropped an arm on the table and mechan-
 
 282 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ically fingered the edges of a book. "I'm mis- 
 erable and " she stopped; for a moment she 
 seemed about to break down again. Her com- 
 panion put out his hand and laid it on hers; 
 she clutched his fingers and, controlling herself 
 with an effort, glanced up at his face; then 
 dropped her eyes again. 
 
 "You believe in confession, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Could you help me? I've nobody " she 
 
 paused, her eyes on the book before her. 
 
 Bishop Raymond released her hand. "I don't 
 know," he said simply. "I'll try." 
 
 "For some moments she remained silent; at 
 length she spoke in a low voice. "St. John is 
 it wicked to fall in love?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not even if if it all seems impossible?" 
 
 The bishop waited. "You must help me a 
 little," he said gently. 
 
 "I mean if you know that everybody will 
 be against it that it will make some people 
 very unhappy that it means giving up a great 
 deal that we are told matters " she stopped. 
 
 "No," responded the other slowly. "It some- 
 times means all that." 
 
 Mabel's head drooped lower. "Even if you're 
 not quite sure that the other person understands 

 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 283 
 
 cares And wait!" she clasped her 
 
 hands in front of her eyes. "If it means for 
 
 oneself caring awfully " she paused " in 
 
 just one way." Her voice died away, and she 
 sat quite still. 
 
 "No." The bishop spoke with an effort. "If 
 the heart be pure, not even then is it a sin." 
 
 The other remained motionless for some sec- 
 onds; then she glanced up. "But you 
 think " 
 
 "Ah, that is another matter." Bishop Ray- 
 mond looked away. "One that concerns this 
 world." 
 
 There was another silence. "I see." Ma- 
 bel's voice was almost inaudible. "St. John!" 
 she exclaimed, "forget that you're a priest, then. 
 I've no one else to help me." 
 
 Again her companion paused before reply- 
 ing. "I'll try, Mabel. But " he hesitated, 
 
 "my advice on worldly affairs I've lived so 
 far from that sort of thing 
 
 "That is why I turn to you!" Mabel looked 
 up quickly. "Just because you hate worldly 
 things while every one else I know cares about 
 them and yet because, in a good sense of the 
 word, you can't ever help being 'a man of the 
 world,' too. Don't you see?" 
 
 "That is the tragedy, Mabel." The bishop
 
 284 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 glanced at her sadly. "I think I guess some- 
 thing of what you wish to tell me. As a priest 
 while I could speak with a mind freed from 
 worldly considerations it was easy enough; for 
 I do not believe that what may be in your heart 
 is wrong in the sight of Almighty God. But 
 that it may be foolish, nay, almost wicked, in 
 the eyes of the world, our world, whose wretched 
 bondservant I still am, God forgive me that, I 
 fear, is more than probable. The law of God 
 is righteous, and, as I understand it, very mer- 
 ciful to those who love, but the law of the world 
 is exceeding hard." 
 
 "Then you do think me a fool?" There was 
 a defiant note in Mabel's voice. 
 
 "You must tell me more, if you wish me to 
 help you," responded her companion, gently. 
 
 "St. John, I don't know how to I can't even 
 understand myself! It's so lately that every- 
 thing seems to have changed that " she 
 
 laughed bitterly, "I don't seem to have got ac- 
 customed to my new self! You know what I 
 was like as a girl you know how it used to 
 annoy mother that I was wrapped up in books 
 and art even after I came out. I liked having 
 a good time, too, of course, and I liked men's 
 
 society, and I I fell in love, and " she 
 
 paused, "married. But ' her voice sank,
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 285 
 
 "it wasn't real. At least it wasn't what people 
 what men, call love ever! That was hard on 
 Jack perhaps that was why things began to 
 go wrong. I was never told I didn't under- 
 stand when I married and afterwards, I 
 couldn't; I tried to, but I couldn't! And my 
 being like that seemed to spoil everything for 
 
 Jack and " her voice fell to a whisper, "he 
 
 was too impatient. ... So we drifted apart. 
 We got on well enough, so far as the world was 
 concerned the world through which we moved ; 
 but the world where I lived and had my being 
 the world of pictures and poetry and romance 
 where I hid myself like a lonely child Jack 
 never came there: he hadn't the key. And yet 
 I know now that it was full " she paused, 
 "of emotions. . . ." She looked up sudden- 
 ly. "St. John, do you understand? I cannot. 
 Through all the centuries they have talked and 
 written of the life of the spirit. Like other 
 people I thought it was the great mystery 
 the only thing that mattered whether under 
 the guise of religion or philosophy or the wor- 
 ship of beauty or any other ideal But now 
 
 " her eyes dropped, "but now it seems to me 
 
 that there is a life of the body just as hard to 
 understand more mysterious. Stronger, St. 
 John " her voice trembled, "it seems to mat-
 
 286 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ter more to thrust aside everything when the 
 time conies!" She buried her face in her hands. 
 
 "But, Mabel, the two are not antagonistic! 
 It is a perversion of religion to regard them as 
 such. I have told you it is no sin to love." 
 
 "You say that to me, St. John " his com- 
 panion rose and faced him, "because I am a 
 widow because Jack has been dead three years ! 
 Suppose he were alive suppose I were living 
 now, as I lived the last years of our married 
 life alone, miserable; and that, while I was 
 the wife of another, 'the man with the golden 
 key' had come like a dream in the night to throw 
 open my heart what then, St. John? Would 
 not that have been sin?" 
 
 Bishop Raymond, his eyes fixed on the soft 
 distances of trees and sky, made no response. 
 
 "Wouldn't it?" Mabel turned to him imperi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Yes." The bishop met her gaze sadly. "But 
 the man would have been the greater sinner." 
 
 "In this case you would have had your Mas- 
 ter's command to forgive him; 'he knew not 
 what he did!'" 
 
 Bishop Raymond made no response, his 
 glance, thoughtful and troubled, went back to 
 the horizon. 
 
 "Listen, St. John! Jack is dead. He had
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 287 
 
 ceased to love me he had made us both very 
 unhappy. Why? Because I had come to love 
 some one else? No, but because I had never 
 learned to love at all as men understand love ! 
 The affection I gave him when we married 
 which was very real, St. John that would not 
 do. I tell you it would have been better if this 
 other man, the man with the key had come and 
 that I had learned what love was, before Jack 
 died. It might have brought me nothing but 
 misery that is almost certain. But I should 
 have been delivered from a worse sin than lov- 
 ing ever is I should never have hated Jack 
 as I did sometimes I should never have been 
 unfair unkind! I should, at any rate, have 
 understood!" Mabel pressed her hands to her 
 cheeks and moved unsteadily towards the win- 
 dow. 
 
 "Forgive me, St. John " she resumed, in 
 
 a quieter voice, as the other remained silent. 
 "But you see it is difficult! You say that this 
 thing, which would have been so wrong then, is 
 all right now 
 
 "Pardon me, Mabel." The bishop looked 
 round. "I said it would not be 'sin.' ' 
 
 "Exactly. When, through my own suffer- 
 ing, I might at least have learned what love was 
 and so perhaps have saved the disaster of Jack's
 
 288 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 life for he wasn't unfaithful by nature, and 
 the last years were tragic to him too then, you 
 say, love would have been sin. Now that it 
 seems likely to bring nothing but unhappiness, 
 you assure me that in God's eyes it is blame- 
 less, although " she smiled faintly, "the old 
 Adam of Eton and Christchurch is panting to 
 add how unwise how wrong not wicked, you 
 know but wrong it would be! You needn't, 
 St. John ' she turned wearily back to the 
 table. "I understand all that!" 
 
 "But if you say it can only bring unhappi- 
 ness ' the bishop took a step towards her. 
 "Why go on with it? Is it fair apart from 
 anything else is it fair to him to Mr. Leslie? 
 Do forgive me I am trying to think of you 
 
 and him only as woman and man, but " he 
 
 paused. 
 
 Mabel smiled again. "You are thinking that 
 he's not even a man?" she said. 
 
 Her companion started and glanced at her 
 sharply. 
 
 "Neither he is ' she raised her hands to 
 her hair and turned slowly to the window, "this 
 'man with the golden key.' He is only a nice 
 boy who doesn't understand, either, and who 
 
 " she smiled, "in spite of the Victoria Cross 
 he is to get from the Queen to-day, would be
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 289 
 
 very much frightened if he knew what he has 
 done ! Do you think I should be very ashamed?" 
 She faced her companion. "I cannot be I 
 have learned so much, somehow. ... I 
 
 could make him care for me. But " she 
 
 looked back at the sunshine. "I dread " she 
 
 hesitated, "the thought of perhaps failing again 
 
 He has the right to expect so much from 
 
 life and Am I able for it all? I couldn't 
 
 bear to make him unhappy . . ." She turned 
 impulsively. "You see, St. John, I don't un- 
 derstand ! I do see him as the hero of a story 
 as my 'Prince of Romance' and yet " 
 
 "Take care, Mabel! Take care!" Her com- 
 panion put out an urgent hand. "For God's 
 sake do not let what you call 'romance' fly away 
 with you in this case in this case of all others !" 
 
 "Why 'in this case of all others'?" Mabel 
 gazed at him quietly. 
 
 "I have reasons! They are only conjectures, 
 and may be seriously unjust. But I scarcely 
 think so." Bishop Raymond paused. 
 
 "Shall I tell you them?" He turned to the 
 other, who was slipping a ring off and on her 
 finger. 
 
 "No " Mabel spoke a little breathlessly, 
 
 "It's no good! The fact is " she went with 
 a restless movement to the table, "there's not
 
 290 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 much to be gained by discussing this. I was 
 foolish to begin it. I've said more than I should 
 even to you." 
 
 "But, Mabel " 
 
 "Please, St. John never mind!" She moved 
 beside him and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 "Help me about something else something I 
 really need your advice about. Will you?" 
 
 "Certainly." The bishop looked puzzled and 
 somewhat put out. 
 
 "I'm in rather a difficulty." Mabel dropped 
 her arm and spoke as though choosing her 
 words. "It's about Nurse Coxon. You remem- 
 ber the night you arrived at the Hotel Regina?" 
 She glanced at her companion. "There was 
 one of those lake storms?" 
 
 Bishop Raymond nodded. "Yes, I remem- 
 ber. Most unpleasant." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Leslie's room was next to mine, 
 on the loggia, you know. Just after he arrived, 
 while he was standing on the loggia, the storm 
 came on and he jumped into my room by mis- 
 take. You remember what a tremendous gust 
 of wind there was? Well, it crashed the shut- 
 ters to behind him and he couldn't open them 
 again. He was just going by the door when 
 Nurse Coxon came to find out if I wanted any- 
 thing."
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 291 
 
 "And she saw him?" 
 
 Mabel knitted her brows. "No, she didn't. 
 Mr. Leslie was silly the room was dark, you 
 know, and he got confused, and when she opened 
 the door he stepped behind the screen in front 
 of the washing-stand." 
 
 "By mistake, do you mean?" The bishop 
 looked up sharply. 
 
 Mabel hesitated. "Yes I suppose so. But 
 you see how difficult it made things. I had 
 to pretend to Nurse Coxon and send her away." 
 
 "Did she suspect anything?" 
 
 "I'm afraid so. And then that silly busi- 
 ness of Dr. Florio's globe next afternoon you 
 remember?" Mabel smiled faintly, "when Dr. 
 Florio said we all looked like imps in the In- 
 ferno " 
 
 "Yes, I remember but how " 
 
 "Mr. Leslie cut his head against my globe 
 in the dark, so he brought one from his own 
 room to replace it. He didn't notice that it 
 was one of Dr. Florio's red ones, and, of course 
 although Dr. Florio explained it all away so 
 cleverly next afternoon, it rather, well, gave the 
 show away from Nurse Coxon's point of view!" 
 
 Bishop Raymond plucked at his beard. "But, 
 but, it is rather unpleasant, Mabel!" 
 
 "Yes, it's a nuisance."
 
 292 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 The bishop glanced at the door. "I dislike 
 the woman particularly, and it is intolerable to 
 
 think that she is under the impression " he 
 
 looked round. "That explains her manner?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. I just haven't felt able 
 to go into the whole business." 
 
 "I am glad you told me! If you like I shall 
 
 be present when you speak to her. You had 
 
 better do so on the next occasion when she is 
 
 impertinent, and then dismiss her. By the way 
 
 er how did Mr. Leslie get out?" 
 
 "We managed to open the window finally. It 
 had stuck very badly. He wanted to climb out 
 of the other one and down the water-pipe." 
 Mabel smiled. "I was quite alarmed, for he 
 wasn't at all well then, and I'm sure he'd have 
 killed himself!" She picked up her magazine 
 and moved across the hall. "There's the lunch 
 gong; we must go." 
 
 "It sounds a piece of rather sorry gasconade!" 
 said her companion contemptuously. 
 
 Mabel turned as they reached the door, her 
 cheeks flushed. "In another person, yes, per- 
 haps! You forget who Mr. Leslie is. I knew 
 I had to deal with a man who, whatever his lim- 
 itations may be, is, at any rate, without fear!"
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE sunshine had shifted from the front 
 of the house, and the quiet of a warm after- 
 noon lay upon the gardens and lawns as Nurse 
 Coxon sauntered up the steps and entered the 
 hall. She went to the table and began to turn 
 over the illustrated papers. 
 
 Nurse Coxon's appearance had some of the 
 immobility common to all who wear the garb of 
 a sisterhood, but it had some peculiar to herself 
 as well. Sir Peter, in moments of irritation, 
 declared that she reminded him of a 'staring 
 picture,' and, when her face was in repose, her 
 Venetian-red hair, creamy skin and rather pro- 
 truding brown eyes, gave colour to the descrip- 
 tion. Her mouth, however, was apt to betray 
 her feelings and now, as she turned the pages 
 of the Queen,, her lips were set in a distinctly 
 sullen curve. 
 
 The truth is that Nurse Coxon was in a bad 
 temper. Not only, to use her own expression, 
 was she 'sick' of her present 'case' which, from 
 a medical point of view, had entirely ceased to 
 
 293
 
 294 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 interest her, but, very largely for that reason, 
 her brain was fermenting with grievances 
 against her patient and the other members of 
 the household which, following a process of her 
 own, had developed spontaneously from the mo- 
 ment that the claims upon her strictly profes- 
 sional services had relaxed. She was one of 
 those women who pursue the calling of mercy 
 with skill and patience as long as they see their 
 authority sure and their aid indispensable; be- 
 yond that point the quality of the virtue was 
 apt to become distinctly strained. She could 
 devote herself to her patients during their con- 
 valescence if, through choice or necessity, they 
 remained under her rule and were willing to 
 become what she called 'friends' ; but if, like her 
 present charge, they preferred to take their own 
 way of getting well and failed to show a social 
 desire for her presence equal, in her view, to 
 their former dependence upon it, she became 
 first aggrieved, then hostile. In this frame of 
 mind she was a difficult and rather dangerous 
 member of a household, and unfortunately, in 
 the present case, matters were made worse by 
 a fundamental antagonism between her em- 
 ployer and herself, which became more obvious 
 each day that the former improved in health. 
 For the consequent friction, Mabel Arbuth-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 295 
 
 not was unconsciously a good deal to blame. To 
 her, Nurse Coxon in a social aspect, seemed 
 forward and rather vulgar; she was grateful 
 for the other's care but could not contemplate 
 any intimacy with her and considered her own 
 part in their daily relations to be fulfilled by 
 pleasantness and civility. The fact that her 
 manner, which, to an equal, would have seemed 
 merely reserved, appeared to the nurse stiff and 
 offensively condescending, never entered her 
 head. When, moreover, events had happened 
 during the past month that were peculiarly 
 fitted to increase the friction between them, she 
 had, with an indifference based, as it seemed 
 to Nurse Coxon on a purely social advantage, 
 ignored the attitude of the latter in so far as 
 it implied any criticisms of herself, while show- 
 ing, at the same time, by an increased distance 
 of bearing, her disapproval of conduct which 
 the nurse chose to consider as infinitely less com- 
 promising than her own. 
 
 It was characteristic of Nurse Coxon that 
 whatever she wished to believe, of anyone she 
 disliked, was apt to take possession of her brain 
 despite facts or even probabilities; and she had 
 soon reached the point where her grievance 
 against her patient's manner was merged in a 
 furious resentment at what she termed the lat-
 
 296 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 ter's 'hypocritical cheek,' in objecting to her 
 relations such as they were with Lord Dane- 
 borough while 'carrying on for all she was worth 
 on her own account.' Thereafter, on the nurse's 
 part war, with any weapons, was silently de- 
 clared between them, and, her departure having 
 been delayed on the return of the household 
 from Italy by Mrs. Arbuthnot's London doctor, 
 she had, more or less consciously, allowed her 
 mind to become obsessed by projects for 'get- 
 ting even,' as she expressed it, with her patient 
 before they parted. 
 
 Preoccupied with such reflections she gazed 
 frowningly at the columns before her. Sud- 
 denly she glanced up. Through the open door" 
 came the sound of approaching wheels and 
 voices. Throwing down the paper she turned to 
 retreat across the hall; then, as the carriage 
 pulled up some distance down the drive and the 
 voices, after a short discussion, died away in the 
 direction of the West Garden, she moved back 
 to the table and, perching herself on t'he arm of 
 the chair, picked up the paper and returned to 
 her reading. 
 
 As the minutes passed her expression, which 
 had brightened at the sounds of the arrival 
 outside, became impatient, and she glanced from 
 time to time at the door. Then she smiled sud-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 297 
 
 denly and raised the paper before her face; 
 hurried footsteps approached along the drive 
 and mounted the steps. 
 
 Lord Daneborough, tightly encased in a new 
 deputy-lieutenant's uniform, appeared on the 
 threshold. He halted, on catching sight of the 
 nurse, and glanced quickly round the room; 
 then, having deposited his cocked hat on a chair, 
 strolled towards her and extending a hand re- 
 moved the Queen from her grasp. 
 
 "You might say how d'you do!" he remarked. 
 
 "How d'you do." 
 
 Daneborough looked her up and down. 
 "Nothing else you want to say? I haven't seen 
 you for nearly a week!" 
 
 Nurse Coxon, her knees crossed, swung a 
 foot to and fro. "Haven't you?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Oh." The speaker drawled at him, her eyes 
 fixed on his. 
 
 "Don't be silly!" Daneborough thrust his 
 foot in the path of her shoe. "Say something!" 
 
 His companion tucked her ankle beneath the 
 chair. "Can't think of anything. You're so 
 fond of telling me what I ought to say I've 
 given up thinking when you're about!" She 
 dropped her eyes suddenly.
 
 298 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Daneborough took a half -step and stood over 
 her. "Do you think when I'm away?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean about me!" 
 
 Nurse Coxon leaned out of the chair away 
 from him. "No," she said. 
 
 "Don't talk rot!" His lordship breathed 
 audibly, "say 'yes' !" 
 
 The nurse leaned further outward, her face 
 averted. "Yes, then!" she said, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 Daneborough snatched her wrist but, as he 
 bent to thrust his arm round her shoulders, she 
 leaped up. "Let go, Lord Daneborough ! Let 
 me go ! The others will be here directly !" She 
 tugged to release her hand. "Don't be silly!" 
 
 "The others are stuck in the garden for tea." 
 Daneborough pulled her towards him. "Come 
 on ! You can't get away !" 
 
 Nurse Coxon was a powerful young woman 
 and for some moments, aided by the slipperiness 
 of her starched bands and tight linen dress, she 
 avoided his grasp; then, just as he managed to 
 get an arm round her waist, she pulled back 
 suddenly and pointed over his shoulder. "Take 
 care!" she cried, "Here they come!" 
 
 Daneborough turned involuntarily, relaxing 
 his grasp. His prisoner snatched away her
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 299 
 
 wrist and shoving the armchair violently against 
 his legs, darted to the door. 
 
 His lordship, much incommoded by his sword, 
 toppled heavily into the seat. 
 
 "Silly!" said Nurse Coxon from the threshold, 
 pausing to tidy her cuffs. 
 
 Daneborough was up in an instant. "You 
 
 little " Seizing his cocked hat he dashed at 
 
 her. 
 
 "Ta-ta!" His companion waved her hand 
 and lifting her skirt ran down the steps. "Silly !" 
 She fled across the drive and, with Danebor- 
 ough a couple of yards behind, disappeared 
 along a path into the shrubbery. 
 
 The afternoon light was beginning to fade; 
 a grey mist floated up from the meadows be- 
 yond the lawn and, within the house, the shad- 
 ows deepened. Scarcely had Nurse Coxon 
 and her pursuer vanished across the drive when 
 a door, at the back of the hall, opened and Gen- 
 eral Mackworth, still in uniform but without 
 his sword, entered. He glanced round, then 
 opened the door wide. 
 
 "Come in," he said, "there's no one here." 
 Clasping his hands behind him he strolled 
 towards the table. 
 
 Bishop Raymond, his face unusually grave
 
 300 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 followed immediately and, after crossing the 
 room, leaned against the mantelpiece. 
 
 The sound of a slight stumble came from the 
 door. 
 
 "On ye get, man!" exclaimed a voice. 
 
 Trooper Leslie entered hurriedly. He paused 
 on the threshold, then with a quick glance 
 round, retreated to the writing-table by the wall, 
 against which he leaned with bowed head. He 
 wore the uniform of a trooper of the Protecto- 
 rate Frontier Mounted Police; from his left 
 breast, suspended by its brilliant red ribbon, 
 hung the Victoria Cross. 
 
 Captain Robertson appeared at his heels, and, 
 with a clank of heavy boots and spurs, stepped 
 into the room and shut the door. 
 
 A short silence followed. Robertson pulled 
 off a white gauntlet and taking a handkerchief 
 from his cuff, wiped his face and moustache. 
 He was in the full uniform of his regiment; 
 the handsome white cord of a company-com- 
 mander's whistle looped about his neck, his 
 sword slung in a sam-brown belt from his shoul- 
 der, the broad-brimmed regimental hat, turned 
 up on one side, under his arm, and on his breast 
 the Distinguished Service Order and three 
 South African native-war medals. In the dim 
 light and amid the flowers and soft-coloured
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 301 
 
 stuffs of the hall he seemed, with the clatter of 
 shining steel he brought about him, as burnished 
 and formidable as a piece of Woolwich ord- 
 nance. 
 
 Returning the handkerchief to his sleeve he 
 gave a twist of his moustache. "Well, what 
 is't?" His little, blood-shot eyes turned to Les- 
 lie. " We're waitin'!" 
 
 Leslie started and dropped a letter-clip he 
 had been fumbling with. 
 
 "Excuse me, Robertson!" Bishop Raymond 
 looked over from the fireplace. "I'm not up 
 in such matters, but shouldn't General Mack- 
 worth as the senior ?" he paused. 
 
 "Certainly not, Bishop !" Mackworth glanced 
 up. "This is a regimental affair as I under- 
 stand it. It would be much better, really, if 
 you and I were to leave Mr. Leslie to say what 
 he wants, to Captain Robertson, alone." 
 
 "No, please!" Leslie started forward. "I'd 
 rather you stayed!" 
 
 Robertson stared at him and then turned bel- 
 ligerently. "D'ye see, Bishop?" 
 
 "Yes. I beg your pardon !" With a nod the 
 bishop resumed his former attitude. "Go on." 
 
 "We're waitin' on him." The captain looked 
 at Leslie. "Out wi' it, man," he added, more 
 kindly. "We're no' goin' to eat ye!"
 
 302 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Leslie glanced quickly over his shoulder at 
 the door. "Don't don't let Major Vivian 
 come!" 
 
 "Losh!" Robertson grunted. "I'd forgotten 
 
 Veevian! See here, man " he continued 
 
 sharply, but still quite kindly, "if ye're after 
 what I'm thinkin' ye are, the major should be 
 here. It was him that got ye yon!" He nodded 
 towards the cross on the other's breast. "I'll 
 see ye get fair play. Ye'll no forget, General 
 " he continued, turning to the others, "nor 
 you either, Bishop, that Vesey- Vivian's no' a 
 major in my regiment now. He's gone back to 
 the regulars as a captain with three years senior- 
 ity. I've five!" 
 
 Bishop Raymond and General Mackworth 
 nodded the latter with a faint smile, and the 
 speaker moved towards the door. 
 
 "Stop!" Leslie jumped forward. "If you 
 call him I won't say a word! D'you hear!" he 
 cried imperiously, "Stop!" 
 
 "Ye young divvle!" Robertson paused, as- 
 tonished into a sour smile, "who asked ye to?" 
 Then, as the other threw out a hand excitedly. 
 "Stop yer nonsense now!" With a sudden 
 glare, "Is yon the way to speak to me or to 
 stand before an officer?"
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 303 
 
 Mechanically the other jerked himself to at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Watch yerself, lad!" Captain Robertson 
 paused again. "See here, Leslie," he continued. 
 "YeVe been goin' yer lengths this afternoon 
 and we've all had enough of it. It mun be one 
 thing or another. Ye carried yerself to-day 
 before Her Majesty and a' the rest of them like 
 a whipped dog, more than a man gettin' his 
 V.C. ! There's neither sense nor decency in yon, 
 and for the credit of the regiment, if for nothing 
 else, I'll have no more of it. Pull yerself to- 
 gether man, and have done!" 
 
 Leslie moved and opened his mouth. 
 
 "Haud yer tongue and mind what I'm 
 sayin'!" continued the speaker. "I know more 
 than ye think, mebbe, of what's troublin' ye. It's 
 no' as it should be there's no denyin' that 
 but others are to blame besides you, and such 
 things have happened before. Take my advice 
 and keep quiet! If ye'd anything in yer mind 
 it should have been said before ye got yon," he 
 pointed to the Victoria Cross. "As it is, least 
 said, soonest mended! Eh, Bishop?" 
 
 Bishop Raymond lifted his arm from the 
 mantelpiece. "I think Captain Robertson is 
 right, Mr. Leslie," he said quietly, moving for- 
 ward. "We've all been in a difficult position
 
 304 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Captain Robertson and myself as well as you. 
 You wish to tell us, I think, that you don't 
 really deserve the honour you received to-day 
 that this is preying on your mind. Well, Cap- 
 tain Robertson and I have guessed as much for 
 some time. We suspected, almost from the first, 
 that the motives which led you to stay with Lord 
 Daneborough were different er less disinter- 
 ested than the authorities and other people be- 
 lieved. I daresay you are wondering why, if 
 this is so, neither of us said anything at the 
 
 time or since. Well " he paused, "you see 
 
 we did not know the facts ; we could only guess 
 at them: and neither you nor Lord Danebor- 
 ough were in a state to enlighten us at Macteali. 
 Then, I doubted from the first I doubt still 
 whether the facts in this case are everything. 
 And when it came to trying to divine the er 
 psychological causes behind to acting upon 
 them Well they were too much for me, as 
 I suspect they were for you too!" 
 
 "He had a try at sayin' something at Mac- 
 teali," interposed Robertson. 
 
 "Yes." The bishop nodded. "I'd forgotten 
 that. Well, be that as it may, once Major Vi- 
 vian had taken the matter into his own hands 
 
 " the captain snorted loudly, "and the news 
 
 had spread among the men and got into the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 305 
 
 papers the time seemed past for interference 
 especially as you were in hospital." The 
 speaker glanced at Mackworth. "You see, don't 
 you?" 
 
 The general nodded. 
 
 "Besides " Bishop Raymond paused and 
 
 turned again to Leslie. "There was the other 
 side of the affair The plain fact that you did 
 accomplish the feat for which you were deco- 
 rated to-day that you did save your comrade's 
 life in circumstances of great hardship and 
 danger. That, apart from anything else " 
 
 "But it wasn't apart! It isn't! You don't 
 understand!" Leslie's voice, rising to a shrill 
 note, rang startlingly across the darkening hall. 
 
 In the pause that followed a door opened; 
 Lady Grace and Dr. Florio appeared, with Ve- 
 sey- Vivian and Sir Peter immediately behind 
 them. 
 
 A complete silence fell on the room. The only 
 movement was made by Sir Peter who, being 
 behind the others and unable to see what was 
 going on, shouldered slowly forward propelling 
 Lady Grace in front of him. His touch aroused 
 her. 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" she said lamely. "I 
 only wanted Tea's ready in the drawing- 
 room."
 
 306 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 With a clatter Leslie dropped the letter-clip 
 on the floor, straightened himself, backed 
 against the wall and faced the room. 
 
 "I wish ' he said huskily, then pausing, 
 straightened himself further, his eyes fixed be- 
 fore him. "I've got something to say " He 
 
 moistened his lips. 
 
 There was a scurry of feet on the gravel and 
 the swish of a skirt up the steps. Nurse Coxon, 
 breathless and laughing, darted over the thresh- 
 old. For a second in the comparative obscurity 
 of the hall she glanced about unseeingly, then 
 the scarlet and gold of Vesey- Vivian's tunic 
 caught her eye; with a startled exclamation she 
 looked round and, distinguishing the others re- 
 treated precipitately, colliding on the door-mat 
 with Daneborough: the latter, seizing her skil- 
 fully round the waist, kissed her twice. 
 
 At the same moment a door near the window 
 opened and Mabel entered behind them. 
 
 Nurse Coxon wrenched herself free, furious- 
 ly. "Let go!" She halted, panting, with her 
 back to the newcomer. 
 
 "Hang it, Gerty !" His lordship stared, 
 
 aggrieved at her violence, then, catching sight 
 of Mabel over her shoulder, he stopped dead 
 and, glancing quickly round the room, saw the
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 307 
 
 onlookers, "I beg your pardon, Nurse Very 
 sorry!" 
 
 The other turned away angrily and, cannon- 
 ing into Mabel, recoiled upon him with a start- 
 led scream. 
 
 "Take care, Nurse !" said Mabel coldly, step- 
 ping out of her way. 
 
 "Look out!" expostulated Daneborough, 
 fending her off. 
 
 The nurse's temper went suddenly to pieces. 
 "Take care of yourself, Mrs. Arbuthnot !" Her 
 big, bead-like eyes rolled and she took a step 
 forward. 
 
 Mabel, ignoring her, moved to the table and 
 lifted a paper. 
 
 "D'you hear!" Her adversary followed, 
 panting. "You dare to push me about! Just 
 you take care or " 
 
 "Steady Steady," exclaimed Daneborough 
 pacifically. 
 
 "Leave me alone!" The nurse flung past 
 him. "You won't listen, won't you!" She 
 snatched the paper out of Mabel's hands. 
 "Now! Just you take care! You touch me 
 again if you dare. Say one word and I'll tell 
 what I know about your goings-on. It's no 
 kissing matter with you!"
 
 308 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Nurse Coxon!" Bishop Raymond raised his 
 hand imperiously. 
 
 "Who's speaking to you!" Nurse Coxon 
 turned on him in shrill fury. "I know! She's 
 your cousin! You pretend to be a bishop and 
 all the rest of it but when it's one of your pre- 
 cious relations that kicks over the traces then, 
 of course, it's all right! Faugh!" 
 
 "Look here, Gerty " interrupted Dane- 
 borough angrily. 
 
 "Oh yes, of course!" The speaker flung 
 round. "She's your cousin too! You cad!" she 
 cried, bursting out at him. "After disgracing 
 me before every one, to turn and back her up 
 when she's treated you like a dog, whistling you 
 here and throwing you over for that young fool 
 half her age!" 
 
 "Nurse Coxon, leave the room!" interrupted 
 Lady Grace with dignity. 
 
 "I won't!" screamed the other. "I'll not 
 leave the room! It's true! I'll teach you all 
 to treat me like this. Ask her! Ask him! Ah 
 
 ha " she pointed. "See there! Who's right 
 
 now? Ask him where he spent the night he ar- 
 rived. Ask him how Dr. Florio's red globe got 
 into Mrs. Arbuthnot's room in the middle of 
 the night! She'll brazen it out and lie same as 
 she did at tea next day but see what he's got
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 309 
 
 to say! He hasn't the pluck to deny it!" The 
 speaker's finger wavered with the excitement 
 of a sudden inspiration as she pointed at 
 Trooper Leslie. "He's too much of a coward,, 
 that's what he is !"
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 NURSE COXON'S words produced a series of 
 sensations. 
 
 Leslie, leaning on the writing-table, his head 
 bowed, had watched her outburst with a look of 
 dazed surprise. At the phrase, 'a young fool 
 half her age,' his face flushed crimson. He 
 turned hastily to Mabel as if in apology, then, 
 recoiling under the sudden onslaught of the 
 nurse's explicit accusation, halted before her 
 denouncing finger in horrified silence. 
 
 . . . ask him! Ah ha. See there!' 
 The shrill voice rose in triumph, ' . . . ask 
 him . . . She'll brazen it out . . . but 
 see what he's got to say!' 
 
 His eyes raced round the room. 
 
 ' . . . hasn't got the pluck to deny it!' 
 
 For an instant his glance returned to the 
 speaker, and he shook his head vehemently; 
 then, with a stagger and a slip on the polished 
 floor, he backed against the wall. 
 
 'He's too much of a coward, that's what he 
 is!' 
 
 310
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 The final insult seemed, as it were, to break 
 a spell. 
 
 "How dare you!" Mabel, with an indignant 
 gesture, stepped towards him. 
 
 "Dear !" Lady Grace ran to her. 
 
 "Lady Grace! " began Bishop Raymond, 
 
 raising a peremptory hand. 
 
 " Signorina! !" 
 
 "What the devil are you talking about, Ger- 
 
 Dr. Florio and Lord Daneborough advanced 
 hastily on Nurse Coxon from opposite points. 
 
 "Damn that woman! What rot!" exclaimed 
 Sir Peter. 
 
 For the moment attention passed from Les- 
 lie. Then Captain Robertson tramped heavily 
 behind the others towards him. "Speak up, 
 man I" he said in a gruff undertone. 
 
 "Well, he looks it!" The nurse's voice rang 
 out defiantly, "that's all I mean!" 
 
 Leslie met his superior's eye and nodded; he 
 swallowed once or twice and motioned him aside. 
 
 "Excuse me, please!" stepping between Lady 
 Grace and Mabel, he made his way round the 
 table. His hand was pressed to his side, and his 
 face had turned suddenly grey, but his shoul- 
 ders were erect and he held himself with some 
 dignity.
 
 312 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 He halted before Nurse Coxon. 
 
 "You've made a mistake " He paused* 
 
 and straightened himself further. "I under- 
 stand in a way but You're frightfully 
 wrong, all round, about about Mrs. Arbuth- 
 not! It's so awfully unlike what what you 
 seem to think. I " 
 
 "You needn't go into that, Mr. Leslie." 
 Bishop Raymond stepped forward. "I know 
 the whole story! Nurse Coxon has chosen to 
 put a disagreeable and silly construction upon 
 a perfectly simple event. There is not one shad- 
 ow of truth " 
 
 "Isn't there?" The nurse flared up. "All 
 very fine to call me a liar!" She turned to the 
 others. "Just you listen " 
 
 Leslie raised his hand. "Don't! Please don't 
 begin about that again. You are utterly wrong 
 about all that really! 3 ' he met her eye. "But" 
 his face contracted in a spasm "the other 
 thing I don't know how you meant it exactly 
 but you were right about it!" 
 
 "About what, Mr. Leslie?" exclaimed Lady 
 Grace sharply. 
 
 "About me. When she said that about 
 my being being a coward!" 
 
 There was a painful silence. With a quick
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 313 
 
 movement Mabel, putting out an arm, steadied 
 herself against the table. 
 
 Mackworth walked over to Leslie and placed 
 a hand on his shoulder. "Leslie," he said, smil- 
 ing, "to use your own words 'don't begin about 
 that again!' Most of us know your peculiar 
 point of view about yourself. It's most orig- 
 inal but, don't you think you might give it 
 a rest for a bit?" 
 
 The younger man stared at him. "Don't!" 
 He lifted the hand from his shoulder. "You 
 don't understand. I can't rest I've got to 
 tell!" 
 
 The general, suddenly grave, turned away. 
 
 "Don't go!" Leslie caught his arm. "You 
 must listen ! I wanted to speak to-day at the 
 Castle before it was too late. You don't 
 know what to-day's been like I think it's about 
 killed me," he caught his breath startlingly. 
 "But I just couldn't! And then then I 
 nearly pushed the Queen away when she was 
 
 pinning it " he clutched the cross on his 
 
 breast, "on to me. It's been awful!" He 
 paused. "I tried to tell you when we got back 
 and you wouldn't listen, and talked and talked 
 till you nearly drove me mad! From the start 
 nobody's done anything but talk the papers 
 and everybody till till I didn't know where
 
 314 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 to God I was ! ... It isn't fair ! It's not 
 
 my fault ! I tried at Macteali, but you " he 
 
 turned on Vesey- Vivian, "wouldn't listen. You 
 talked and talked and wouldn't try to under- 
 stand!" 
 
 Captain Vivian stared at him irritably. "I 
 don't know now, what you're going on about. 
 Sounds absolute nonsense! What didn't I un- 
 derstand?" 
 
 "That I'd funked! Funked from start to 
 finish that I ought to have been kicked out 
 of the regiment and shot, instead of getting the 
 V.C.!" Leslie clapped the palms of his hands 
 over his face. "That's what you've none of you 
 understood !" 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" Mabel caught up her gown 
 and ran to him. "You're telling it wrong! 
 Don't !" She gazed over her shoulder round the 
 half -circle of faces. "I know! He's told me. 
 There's nothing wrong. It's only because he's 
 
 not well he's telling it that way. Please " 
 
 she touched Leslie's elbow. "Please wait! 
 Please!" 
 
 "Don't!" Leslie thrust out both hands as 
 though to ward her off. "You mustn't! You 
 understand less than any one that's what's so 
 awful!" 
 
 "Never mind tell me some other time it's
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 315 
 
 only " her voice rose piteously, "because you 
 
 are ill " 
 
 "111!" cried the other, loudly, stepping away 
 from her. "Yes that's it! That's the truth! 
 I've always been ill that way always! Good 
 
 God! " he turned to her. "Can't you see? 
 
 It's been that every time about the screen 
 about the doctor's globe Just now when I 
 couldn't speak! Can't you understand that the 
 reason I stayed with Daneborough was that I'd 
 rather have died anything anything than 
 tried to get back to Derby alone that night ! I 
 didn't care about Slade's patrol or anything 
 
 !" he choked. "Of course, I carried him 
 
 and looked after him! If anything had hap- 
 pened to him I'd have gone mad! I couldn't 
 have found my way back to Derby that night 
 let alone getting to Macteali! And then those 
 frightful days hiding, with the Amatonga all 
 round. How could I have got through them? 
 How could I have got water? food? any- 
 thing? Of course, I stuck to him!" 
 
 "But " Mabel put a hand to her forehead. 
 
 Leslie stared at her. "I funked!" he said, 
 and repeated, "I funked!" 
 
 Mabel sank into a chair and covered her 
 face.
 
 316 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Here, I say! " Vesey- Vivian pushed 
 
 forward. "If all this is true " 
 
 Leslie faced him and put out an elbow. 
 "Wait! There's no use kicking up a row." He 
 fumbled with both hands at the ribbon on his 
 breast, trying to undo the pin. "It's all up. 
 I've tried. It's her like what you think now, 
 either! I've always been trying all my life. 
 I only wanted a chance " 
 
 "But you got your chance!" Mabel looked 
 up slowly. 
 
 "It came too soon! It wasn't fair, somehow. 
 Leslie gazed at her. "I wanted a chance to 
 learn first. You won't understand. I'd never 
 had that sort of thing horses that sort of life 
 . . . the way fellows you know, have: and 
 they're part of it all of not minding . . . 
 
 to a fellow like me. I can't explain " he 
 
 paused moodily, "I'd have been all right if " 
 
 "I shouldn't make excuses if I were you!" 
 interrupted Vivian contemptuously. "Please 
 give me that !" he pointed to the Victoria Cross. 
 
 "I won't!" Leslie raised his arm angrily. 
 "I knew you'd none of you understand! It's 
 
 it's a caddish shame to " his voice rose 
 
 hysterically and, tearing the cross from his tu- 
 nic, he darted to the open door and threw back 
 his hand.
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 317 
 
 "Stop him, Brown!" cried Robertson sharply. 
 
 Lord Daneborough seized the trooper's arm. 
 "Don't be an ass !" he said gruffly. 
 
 "Give it to me!" Vesey- Vivian stepped for- 
 ward with outstretched hand. 
 
 "Here!" Captain Robertson shoved past him. 
 
 Leslie handed the ribbon listlessly to his su- 
 perior. 
 
 "Here, General." Robertson turned to 
 Mackworth. 
 
 "After a moment's hesitation the latter took 
 the cross. 
 
 "General Mackworth " exclaimed Vivian 
 
 angrily, "I appeal to you! I got this fellow 
 his V.C.! Right or wrong, I'm responsible. 
 Now that he turns out on his own showing to 
 be a coward and a cur the least I can do is to 
 hand it back and explain!" 
 
 "One moment, Vivian." The general 
 smoothed the ribbon in his hand. "What are 
 you going to explain? Leslie got this for sav- 
 ing Daneborough's life. You can't explain that 
 he didn't do that?" 
 
 "No, but he funked first he says so himself! 
 Why didn't Lord Daneborough do his duty and 
 report that, either at the time, or since?" 
 
 "You'd better ask him, Vivian."
 
 318 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 "Why didn't you?" Vesey- Vivian turned 
 sharply to Daneborough. 
 
 Gerald had had a trying hour: he was now 
 becoming more puzzled, and consequently, more 
 sulky, every minute. 
 
 "How the " he gulped in an effort to 
 
 limit his vocabulary, "blazes was I to know he 
 'funked,' as you call it? I never heard such 
 rot in my life! If you think you're going to 
 drag me into all this talk, talk, talk, you're 
 damned well mistaken ! So there ! How was I 
 to know he didn't know the way!" he added, 
 muttering angrily. 
 
 This remark produced something of a sensa- 
 tion; Captain Robertson laughed loudly. 
 
 "D'you mean to say " demanded Vesey- 
 
 Vivian, outraged, "you would have accepted 
 that as an excuse for refusing to obey orders?" 
 
 "Really, Lord Daneborough!" exclaimed 
 Lady Grace. 
 
 "Look here " Gerald faced his former 
 
 commander, "You leave him alone, will you, and 
 me too! I've had about as much as I can stick 
 for one afternoon ! I haven't understood a sin- 
 gle word from start to finish, first about Mabel 
 and then all this rot about Leslie. All I know 
 is, any one with half an eye could see that Les- 
 lie's knocked out and has talked a lot of bun-
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 319 
 
 kum ; and if you think I'm going to turn round 
 and call him a funk, simply because he's been 
 trying to make out he's not the hero you took 
 him for, you're dashed well wrong !" 
 
 "You haven't answered my question, Lord 
 Daneborough," said Vesey-Vivian, with dig- 
 nity. 
 
 "I've answered as much as I'm going to!" 
 Daneborough turned on him roughly. "See? 
 Leslie stuck to me like a good 'un. It isn't 
 only that he saved my life as you call it, but 
 well he was jolly decent when I was feeling 
 bad and when he must have been pretty near 
 dead-beat carrying me jolly decent, I can tell 
 you!" Gerald paused, then continued irrita- 
 bly, to cover his feelings. "You take my tip, 
 Vivian, and watch out about calling people 
 funks! If you knew a bit more about active 
 service you'd be jolly careful about slinging 
 names ! Most fellows who are worth a blow get 
 the funks sometimes, only they don't talk about 
 it. If it's a true bill, and the fellow's a cur and 
 a rotter like you're now trying to make out 
 Leslie is, you may bet your boots it'll get spotted 
 without him having to tell you all about it him- 
 self for half-an-hour on end. And it's the same 
 with all this rot about heroes! Why the devil 
 can't you take chaps as they come instead of
 
 320 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 going on like a newspaper or a lot of women? 
 You don't hear fellows who've been through the 
 real thing talking about heroes and funks ask 
 the Bishop or Robertson they know a darn 
 sight better. That's what's wrong here a 
 dashed sight too much talk! Any fool could 
 see that Leslie's neither one thing nor the other 
 he's simply a very decent sort of young ass 
 who hasn't found his feet! That's all!" 
 
 "Good for you, Brown!" Captain Robert- 
 son banged his hands together in delight. 
 "Ye've hit it, man ye've hit it!" 
 
 "General Mackworth " Vesey-Vivian 
 
 turned angrily. 
 
 Mackworth glanced away with a curt nod. 
 "I've nothing to add, Vivian." 
 
 "Bishop surely you " 
 
 "I think Daneborough has said the last word 
 in the matter, Vivian!" 
 
 At Bishop Raymond's reply, Mabel, as 
 though in sudden pain, clasped her fingers be- 
 fore her eyes. Mackworth, who had been watch- 
 ing her across the table, looked round. 
 
 "Leslie!" he called, "come here, will you?" 
 
 The younger man started, and went forward 
 to the table. 
 
 Mackworth smiled. " 'Shun!" he said. 
 
 Leslie came clumsily to 'attention.'
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 321 
 
 The general bent forward and, with some 
 difficulty, re-pinned the Victoria Cross upon the 
 other's tunic. 
 
 "Three cheers !" called out Daneborough from 
 beside the door. 
 
 "Nonsense, Daneborough!" Mackworth 
 looked up good-humouredly, "you'll bring the 
 
 house down! Aunt Grace " he turned to 
 
 the old lady, "don't you think we might have 
 tea?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly, Hugh," replied Lady Grace, 
 in subdued tones. "Will you come, dear?" she 
 added, turning to Mabel. 
 
 Mabel rose and crossed the hall. 
 
 General Mackworth stood by the door as the 
 others filed out: motioning to Sir Peter to gff 
 on ahead, he touched Leslie on the arm. 
 
 "One moment, Leslie. I heard to-day at the 
 Castle that you'd got your commission it's to 
 be gazetted to-morrow. General Stuart is just 
 starting for this row in West Africa. He wants 
 an A.D.C., and I spoke to him about you. If 
 you care about it, he'll take you ; but you'll have 
 to go and see him to-night at the 'Naval and 
 Military,' and be ready to start off at once. 
 What d'you think?" 
 
 The blood rushed to the other's face. "It's
 
 322 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 awfully good of you, Sir most awfully " 
 
 he stammered, "but " 
 
 "If I were you, I'd go! There will be some 
 pretty stiff fighting, I expect. It's a good 
 chance." Mackworth looked at his companion. 
 
 There was a short pause. "Thanks awfully, 
 Sir you're most awfully good." Leslie glanced 
 up. "It'll be a chance!" He swayed suddenly 
 and put out a hand. 
 
 The general grasped it pleasantly. "All 
 right. Very glad you can go !" He steered the 
 other through the door. "Then you'll see Gen- 
 eral Stuart to-night. We can take that as set- 
 tled."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE twilight faded. Shadows crept across 
 the lawn from the shrubberies and plantations, 
 and the bend of the drive vanished before the 
 gathering dusk. Within the hall the great ob- 
 longs of the open door and windows shone with 
 the last reflection of the sunset. 
 
 Mabel walked across the floor and gazed into 
 the gloaming; Bishop Raymond closed the door 
 through which they had entered and followed 
 her slowly. 
 
 "Never mind, St. John." She put out a hand, 
 without turning her head. "Don't worry! It 
 was sweet of you to come away I'll be all 
 right ... I just couldn't stay longer. The 
 room the room was hot, I think." She pressed 
 a handkerchief quickly to her eyes and moved 
 nearer to the threshold of the door. 
 
 "Perhaps perhaps it's better I don't know. 
 
 I " her voice shook. "He was such a dear 
 
 boy! So exactly what one ... I don't 
 
 323
 
 324 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 seem able to realise it even now." She turned 
 and sank into a chair. 
 
 "But, Mabel, there's nothing really wrong 
 I mean 
 
 "Don't, St. John. Please oh! can't you 
 see . . ." 
 
 "You heard what Gerald said what we all 
 said- 
 
 "Yes, you were all very good. I think men 
 are always good that way but, it's no use! I 
 suppose it's just because I'm a woman I can't 
 feel like that can't forgive. It isn't his fault! 
 I made a mistake ... I thought because 
 because I had suffered, perhaps that some- 
 thing had been given that I was being allowed 
 to 'dream true,' so to speak. It wasn't life at all 
 . . . Even he, was never real, quite. I was 
 like a child with a story. I recognised the Prince 
 by 'something' and you see," she smiled pain- 
 fully, "it was something he hadn't got at all! 
 Don't think I'm hard ' she glanced up. 
 "But, you see he never knew ... I can't 
 think of him yet. Poor boy ! I think he's very 
 brave . . . But 'the glory is departed' 
 . . . 'A very decent sort of young ass who 
 hasn't found his feet !' ' Her lips trembled and 
 she hid her face. 
 
 The gloaming deepened. Bishop Raymond
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 325 
 
 moved to the doorway and gazed out over the 
 darkening fields. 
 
 Lady Grace entered noiselessly. "Mabel, 
 dear Mr. Leslie is just off. Would you like 
 to say good-bye? He has to go at once." She 
 glanced at Bishop Raymond who, turning to 
 the threshold, walked out on to the steps. 
 
 Mabel started and looked up. "Where ?" 
 
 "He's going as A.D.C. to General Stuart. 
 Hugh has just told us. They leave for West 
 Africa to-morrow or the next day." 
 
 Mabel rose and went towards the fireplace. 
 
 "Perhaps you are too tired, dear " 
 
 "No, where is he?" 
 
 "He's just here!" Lady Grace, after a dis- 
 turbed glance at her cousin, slipped out of the 
 room. 
 
 Leslie entered. He hesitated in the semi- 
 darkness, then made his way across the hall. 
 
 "I've come to say good-bye." 
 
 For a moment Mabel remained leaning 
 against the mantelpiece. Then she turned. 
 
 He looked up. "Can you ever ?" 
 
 Mabel took his hand in hers. "Remember, I 
 understand at last!" she said quickly. 
 
 Leslie gazed at her. 
 
 "Yes," she continued. "You must forgive me 
 for being as I was, here, a little while ago. I
 
 326 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 was thinking of myself . . . You must 
 please forgive me! But now just this mo- 
 ment, when I heard you were going away I un- 
 derstood quite suddenly : the way one does when 
 people go or die. . . . 
 
 "We have only a moment I can't express 
 myself well. But you must never be afraid 
 again afraid of yourself, I mean. All that is 
 past! You heard what they said. Men who 
 know. You've fought far too hard too 
 bravely . . . " she paused. "And remem- 
 ber, you've made your reconnaissance that's the 
 word, isn't it? once and for all! When you 
 went out with Gerald over the veld that evening, 
 you found the real enemy within yourself. 
 You had gone out to look for him, hadn't you?" 
 
 Leslie nodded. "I'd always been looking." 
 
 "And yet you say you are a coward? Well 
 . . . don't search don't reconnoitre 
 among these imaginary perils, ever any more. 
 Trust to what is brave and steadfast in yourself 
 to what made Gerald speak as he did of you, 
 just now, before us all." She released his hand. 
 
 "And remember " she turned her face 
 
 away, "you must be true to something else in 
 yourself to something that will make people 
 believe in you and and care for you, always
 
 THE RECONNAISSANCE 327 
 
 Her voice died away. 
 
 A door at the farther end of the room opened, 
 throwing a brilliant shaft of light along the 
 floor; a footman, carrying Leslie's regimental 
 hat and cloak, walked across the hall to the front 
 door. From the drive came the sound of voices : 
 a carriage drove round the corner of the house 
 and pulled up beside the steps. 
 
 General Mackworth appeared on the thresh- 
 old. 
 
 "Tell him to hurry up, Hugh!" called Sir 
 Peter, from the drive. "He'll lose his train!" 
 
 "Good-bye," Mabel held out her hand. Her 
 face shone very white in the gloom. 
 
 Leslie, after a momentary hesitation, bent and 
 kissed her fingers. "I can't ever thank you " 
 
 She looked at him intently. "Good-bye 
 good-bye!" Releasing her fingers she turned 
 back to the mantelpiece. 
 
 For a moment he lingered; then, as she did 
 not move, he walked to the front door. General 
 Mackworth stood outside on the step. 
 
 Leslie came to 'attention.' "Good-bye, sir." 
 
 "Good-bye, Leslie." The general held out his 
 hand. "I'll see you to-morrow." 
 
 Leslie put on his uniform hat and adjusted 
 the chin strap. Suddenly he faced round and 
 gazed across the hall.
 
 328 THE RECONNAISSANCE 
 
 Mabel leaned motionless, as he had left her, 
 her black dress showing dimly against the mar- 
 ble of the fireplace. 
 
 He raised his hand and saluted ; then, crossing 
 the threshold, descended the steps. A moment 
 later the carriage door slammed. 
 
 "Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good luck to you !" 
 A confusion of farewells rose from the bystand- 
 ers. 
 
 "Right behind!" called Sir Peter. 
 
 The footman jumped on to the box and the 
 carriage started. 
 
 "Three cheers!" shouted Daneborough some 
 distance down the drive. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 As the last cheer died away Mabel raised her 
 head and, lifting the train of her gown, ran to 
 the window. She peered after the receding car- 
 riage, her handkerchief fluttering; then, as the 
 hoofs clattered round the bend, she swayed and 
 caught hold of the sill. General Mackworth 
 took a quick step forward. She glanced round 
 and put out her hand towards him. 
 
 THE END
 
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