Agnes Giberne

“ Peirce!" Polly yawned.
"Jack and Mr. Peirce, quotha! Why, 'tis the French! Cannot you understand, child? I've ever said 'twas nonsense, and they'd never truly come. But they're off! they're on their way! And the wind is favourable, and tis all up with us." Mrs. Bryce frantically wrung her hands, standing beside the curtained bed, in her flowered dressing-gown, her hair hanging loose, though not descending so low as Polly's abundant mane, while her face was yellow-white with terror. "And what we're to do nobody knows. Two French fleets of transports, and a whole French army aboard! ”

“ Jack replied at once. "In which case you would have missed me, Molly? As much as you miss Roy?"
Molly laughed outright. "Jack!—Jack!—why, Jack! Roy is my twin. He is more to me than all the world beside. Never in my life shall I care for any other as I care for Roy."
Jack laughed in his turn derisively.
"Never, never, never!" repeated Molly. "O never! I love my father and my mother dearly, and I love Polly, and Denham is a brother to me. And I love my grandmother, And I—like you and Bob too. I like you both. But Roy—Roy—he is more than all!" ”

“ And here's Polly, the prettiest girl in all London, past twenty-one, and not yet married! No, nor like to be, while old Nap lives, if she wait for Captain Ivor; and depend on 't, old Nap'll not die yet for many a long year. Is Polly to delay till her prettiness goes, and she turns into an elderly maiden, whom no man of ton will deign to cast eyes upon, while Captain Ivor spends fifteen or twenty years in France, and forgets his past fancy, and marries some beauteous young Frenchwoman?"
Molly gazed at Polly's downcast face. "But Polly knows Denham better," she said. ”

“ Denham Ivor was one, Jack Keene was another, among scores who looked upon John Moore as the living embodiment of all that a soldier and a gentleman ought to be, who loved him with unbounded ardour.
Buonaparte was worshipped, and was followed unto death by his soldiers, as a great captain. Moore, in addition to being so followed, was loved as a man, with that love which men only give to strong men, and not to many among them. ”

“ But long before they came together he had cherished a warm interest in the man—an interest awakened first in boyish days by Ivor's vivid descriptions of campaigning in the West Indies; descriptions of which Moore was always the chief figure. Jack had seized with avidity upon all such details.
When at length the two met, he could feel no wonder at Ivor's intense and reverent love for Moore. He counted himself thenceforward ready to live or to die for him, and one day in a fit of confidence he said so to Polly.
"Nay, Jack; live for him. Do not wish to die for him," pleaded Polly. ”

“ Colonel Baron's grasp of Ivor's hand and his fixed gaze were like those of Roy. Mrs. Baron's delight was even more plainly expressed.
"This is joy! O this is joy!" she said. "Nothing else could be so great a happiness—except going home. Welcome, welcome!" Then she held his hand, with eyes full of tears searching his face. "But, my dear Denham, you have been ill—surely you have been ill. How thin!—how altered! What have you been doing to yourself?"
"He has walked the whole way here from Valenciennes," cried Roy, before Denham could speak. ”

“ Ivor's was deep and quiet, with clear enunciation; while that of Captain Peirce was some semitones higher in key, with a rapid and rather indistinct intonation.
The other face, too, came up before Polly's mind—a face generally of still outlines, grave and handsome, with eyes which looked other men straight in the face, and level brows, not quick to frown, though when they did there was no mistake about it, and a smile as quiet as his voice. Captain Peirce was of smaller and slighter make, and his features as well as his tone underwent much more rapid changes. An impulsive man altogether ”

“ And indeed, the extraordinary lustre of Sir John Moore's character and career, together with the radiant glory with which the close of his life was crowned, form a picture scarcely to be excelled. No man ever lived more exclusively, or fought with more absolute self-abandonment, for his country—"that country," to quote once more from Sir George Napier, "which he loved with an ardour equal to the Roman patriot's, and had served to the hour of his death with a zeal and gallantry equalled by few, surpassed by none." ”

“ Preoccupied though Ivor could not help being with Polly, his gaze rested with satisfaction upon "his friend Roy." The boy who had left Verdun for the dungeons of Bitche was a man now: broad-shouldered, well-built, soldier-like, frank as ever in manner, yet with something in the young face which told not only of endurance past, but of the sharp touch of sorrow.
"I am glad—more glad than words can say! Little I dreamt who I should find here. And you are free! But how is it? You don't say old Boney has let you off? Of his own free will? How did it happen? Lucille! No! Bravo, Lucille!" ”

“ The sharp discipline of life, especially sharp of late, had left its traces. The face was thinner, with a worn outline of cheek; and a touch of pensive gravity, even of sadness, lay deep in the hazel eyes. But this was only during silence and repose. The moment Moore spoke, his face lighted up with all its former brilliancy, while the old wonderful charm of manner was unchanged, or rather was intensified.
Roy noted all this, and more. In one flash he knew why Denham Ivor so loved Sir John, and why men could with very gladness die for him. ”

“ Then there's young Susie yonder—something of a hoyden, maybe, and calls herself 'a dasher,' but uncommonly pretty, and prodigiously good spirits. And if you'd sooner have a bluestocking, why, I've but to introduce you to Miss Jane Austen herself."
"And if I have no sort of wish for none of these good people, madam?" demanded Jack, dropping involuntarily into the fashionable jargon of the day, so much affected by Mrs. Bryce.
"Why, then, Jack, I'll declare you are no true cavalier, nor worthy of your profession," smartly responded the good lady. ”

“ Equal to Ivor in height, gracefully built, every inch a soldier, with a figure and face alike faultless in outlines, he could not but draw attention. So young still in look and air that none would have guessed him to be already over forty in age, already a Lieutenant-General in rank, there was about him an extraordinary and commanding force; and while the large brilliant hazel eyes, under their dark arched brows, were brimming with laughter at Roy's comical imitation of Denham, their slightest glance was of a kind to search men's hearts, to enforce instant obedience. ”

“ Nor have I a word to speak against Captain Denham Ivor, save only that to expect Polly to wait for him twenty years, losing her bloom and growing old, would be altogether unreasonable."
"Polly is yet a good way off from growing old," persisted Molly.
"Well, well, that's as may be. But you've not divined my secret yet. Jack will be at my Lady Hawthorne's to-night; and 'tis not Jack of whom I speak. Bob Monke is like to be there, for aught I know, and 'tis not Bob. Captain Peirce will be there, and 'tis not Captain Peirce. Somebody else will be there,—and 'tis he." ”

“ Perhaps he will have brought you a message from him."
"No," answered Polly. "Roy comes from Bitche, not from Verdun. 'Tis a great while since he saw them. And, Molly, you must not ask."
"Not ask!"
"Not for me. Nothing for me. How can I tell now,—so long as it is since any letter came? And no message, none at all, in the last that did come. Do you not see?"
"You mean—But Polly, you do not think Denham has changed towards you? He cannot have done so."
"I cannot tell. It may be. I am a woman, dear, and I may not be sure, without reason. In my heart, I think I do trust him. ”

“ I wanted so much to have dear little Molly; and now I know she does not care to come. Molly, you little goose, don't you know people can't be always together? And you and I can't alter the world, to please ourselves. Roy is glad to go to Paris, of course. Fie, fie, Molly! cheer up, and don't be doleful. If you are unhappy, it makes other people unhappy; and that is such a pity. You don't want to make me cry too, do you?"
The elder girl's eyes had a look in them of tears not far distant; as she bent over the child. ”

“ Bryce's finger-tips roused her from a dream.
"Wake up, Molly. Are you asleep? Here he comes."
Molly looked around in eager quest. But she saw no wondrous form to correspond to the image in her mind. A lame man, rather robust in make, certainly not "elegant," with brown hair, flaxen eyebrows, a long upper lip, and a genial expression,—no, that was no embodiment of Molly's ideal. His eyes were light grey in colour, not dark and wild, as a poet's should have been. ”

“ From very boyhood Denham had revered and worshipped Moore, with that reverent worship which can only be called out by the superlatively good and great and lovable. It had grown to be part of Denham's nature, part of his being. Polly was the one woman on earth for him. But Moore was the one man whom he longed to follow, to whom he looked up as to a superior being, with whom he craved to be, for whom he would joyously have died. No other affection could detract from this devotion.
Roy's remark was unnoticed, perhaps unheard. Ivor stood, gazing steadfastly, until his chief was out of sight. ”

“ Four years out of a boy's life are a goodly slice of time; and Roy had now been nearly four years a captive. He might, and not seldom did, chafe and fume. Still, he had good health and unquenchable spirits; and however impatient he was by fits and starts, no one could have described him as unhappy. He had the gift of making the best of things, and a certain breezy spirit of philosophy stood him in good stead. Hard as it had been to find himself cut off from Molly for an indefinite period, harder still to lose Denham, he managed to enjoy life, finding entertainment in everything and everybody. ”

“ And as Roy ran off, in high glee, she had looked up, and had seen Denham Ivor holding Polly's hands in a firm clasp, while Polly's sweet face was downward, bent and blushing. But it was not Polly who, in one moment, had left an indelible impression upon Molly's childish memory. When she thought of that day, it was always Ivor's face, always the young Guardsman's look of silent grave devotion, which, unbidden, came up.
"How can Mrs. Bryce say such things? He will never, never forget," murmured Molly, her lips moving. ”

“ Napoleon had talked largely of such an invasion, and had openly made preparations for it, on no mean scale. England also had made ready for it, had feared it, had laughed at it. And at the last, partly through Continental complications, causing Napoleon to withdraw most of the great military force which had long sat at Boulogne, waiting for a safe chance of crossing the Channel, but much more through the magnificent and crushing victory of Nelson, in the course of which he received his death-wound, England escaped it. ”

“ Molly's brow puckered, and Jack's drew into a frown.
"She is wondrous pretty," Molly said softly.
"But Peirce—what business has Peirce? He knows, sure, as to Ivor!"
"Why, Jack, all the world knows."
"And Polly permits!"
"Does Polly permit? Can Polly help it? If she holds aloof, and seeks to check those who come after her, they do but come the more. Polly cannot be sharp with folks. She is so sweet, and 'tis not her way. And Mrs. Bryce too, ever talking—" Molly breathed this very low—"ever seeking to persuade Polly that Den will forget, and will care no more for her." ”

“ No wonder Roy Baron was altered. He had grown fast in body, faster still in spirit. He had left Verdun a careless and light-hearted lad, almost a child, young in all respects for his age. Eight months at Bitche had ground every remnant of childishness out of him.
Not the whole of that time had been spent in the crowded dungeon. The gendarmes knew better, when a prisoner possessed a little money. For some weeks, by paying heavily, he had been permitted to occupy a smaller room above ground, in company with a few other prisoners of better grade. ”

“ Polly was in nowise unwilling. It was as natural to her to adorn her dainty self, as to a wren to preen and perk. Molly, being no professed beauty, made shorter work of her toilette. Her white muslin gown was of the simplest, and her short black hair was all but hidden under a turban of white silk. But every strand of Polly's abundant mane needed attention, though crowned by a fantastic hat with lofty white feathers ”

“ Other men would wish to marry her. Could he expect such constancy on her part as that she should wait for her absent lover, refusing every other chance that might present itself? What would her grandmother think and say? Polly, with all her charms, was a portionless maiden.
The whole question rolled itself out before Denham's mental gaze, as they drove along the chief street of the place, exciting less attention than usual. With his bodily eyes he saw little, yet in a manner he was aware that a considerable stir prevailed, and he heard, almost without hearing, Roy's rapid questions. ”

“ And he is in Bath at this moment, say you?"
"Ay, ma'am. And if you desire to find another who reckons General Moore to be the foremost British soldier of his day, and to be the noblest among men,—why, I've but to refer you to Ivor."
"And now I bethink myself," exclaimed Mrs. Bryce. "Was not that a Mrs. Moore to whom in the Pump Room yesterday Mrs. Peirce introduced me, saying I should feel myself honoured, knowing her son's name? I protest, I had forgot the matter till now, having had my attention drawn off, and not bethinking me of General Moore." ”

“ Grandmother, a letter from Paris!" cried Molly, as she rushed into the dining-room of Mrs. Fairbank's house at Bath. "And it is in my papa's handwriting."
Mrs. Fairbank, a comely elderly lady—in these days, with the same weight of years, she would have been cheerfully middle-aged—adjusted her horn spectacles, tied her loosened capstrings, and scrutinised Molly's eager face.
"You make too much of things, child," she remarked. "Whatever befalls, it is not worth while to discompose yourself." ”

“ By the greater number in Moore's force this long ten days' retreat to the coast had to be done on foot.
There were steep mountains to be climbed, there were deep valleys to be passed, there were rapid rivers to be crossed; while an overwhelming and confident Army, accustomed to unvarying success—an Army which had twice failed by only twelve hours to cut them off from every hope of escape—pressed with ever-growing fierceness upon the British rearguard. ”

“ News in those days travelled with deliberation, and prisoners travelled with greater deliberation still. But a day arrived, though not till many weeks after the Battle of Coruña, when Jack Keene found himself within the ramparts of Verdun.
It was early spring, and he carried his right arm in a sling. When he moved, too, a distinct limp might be seen. He had just been to report himself at the citadel, and he now stood outside, meditating on his next move.
A young man, with a keen and clever face, passed him quickly, then pulled up, turning in his direction. ”

“ Baron was a fond and tender mother, yet when first that dread word left the doctor's lips, even she fled in horror from the sick-room. From infancy she had been used to admiration, and she knew too well to what a mockery of the human face many a lovelier countenance than hers was reduced. ”

“ When Will Peirce, with the consent of his friends, and under strictest vows of secrecy, confided to Roy their plan, Roy threw himself into it with fervour. Anything to be free!
He stood in the prison-yard one cold day in late autumn, leaning against the wall, with folded arms and abstracted look. A grey sky was overhead, and some drops of half-frozen rain had fallen. Hundreds of prisoners were assembled there: some walking about to keep themselves warm; some leaping or wrestling; some fighting in good earnest; others absorbed in games of chance ”

“ It was over ten days since Roy had reached Salamanca, and already he felt at home there. Many changes in his short life had made ready adaptation to fresh surroundings an easy matter.
The great Plaza was full of people—British soldiers marching past, Spanish sightseers gazing. Every soldier wore a red cockade, in compliment to the nation he had come to help. Banners fluttered gaily, and the bracing wintry air was stirred by the incessant throb of drums. As one band died away, another drew near.
Drilling and marching were the order of the day. The Army had to be welded into shape ”

“ Roy liked to speak of himself as a prisoner, even while he chafed furiously against the restraints of imprisonment. He objected to the indignity of being counted so young as not to be worth detention. "I am quite as old as lots of middies," he would declare. "And only two or three years younger than General Moore when he began to be a soldier." This assertion generally brought laughter, for nobody ever guessed Roy at thirteen to be more than ten or eleven.
"You should not startle your mother, Roy," the Colonel said gravely, as Mrs. Baron's eyes grew wide and terrified. ”

“ In a moment Roy was up in the slanting embrasure. Jean's hand met his; and together, noiselessly, they wrenched the bar aside.
"Hist! Be still as death!" whispered Jean.
Roy worked himself through the opening, Jean's grasp steadying him. He found his feet to be resting on the topmost rung of a ladder. Jean whispered one or two directions; then he went down himself, and held it firm while Roy followed. Little need was there to bid the boy be quiet in his movements. The slightest sound might betray them. ”

“ To be free again! Ah, to be free!—free under the blue sky, free to breathe heaven's breezes, free to sun himself in heaven's smile, free to stretch his limbs, free to be a light-hearted English boy once more instead of a careworn man before his time! Roy flung his arms out and clutched the prison wall, in that craving for liberty.
Midday came, and the crowd of prisoners was, as usual, ordered in. A hand touched Roy, and a rough voice ordered him to follow. ”

“ Jack and Roy, taking a stroll together in a leisure hour, passed Moore's quarters at the moment when Wellesley rode up and dismounted. Their eyes met, and Roy murmured, "Wonder what's up now!"
"Something will have to be up soon, if things are not to go to a complete smash," returned Jack. "England won't stand long throwing men and money away for nothing. If battles are to end as that did the other day—" he referred to Vimiera—"there'll be a rumpus somewhere. Shouldn't wonder if a change is coming soon. ”

“ Her black eyes looked less big and less anxious, partly because the face had lost its peakiness. A healthy complexion and an expression of straightforward earnestness served in lieu of good looks. Though Molly Baron would never be a "belle," she might become a woman to whom men and women alike would turn, with a restful certainty of finding in her what they wanted. Her reply, no less prompt than Polly's, consisted of a single syllable—
"Roy!"
"But Roy, like Captain Ivor, is a prisoner, child. Like to remain so also. Who next?"
"Jack!"
"Nay, Jack is nobody. ”

“ She was cut off from her father, from her mother, from her twin, from Polly and from Jack. News from the prisoners arrived very seldom, and plenty of room was left for Molly's childish imagination to bring her misery.
Those were days of far severer imprisonment than these are; dungeons and chains being in constant use. Molly had heard enough, even in her short life, of fettered and half-starved captives, to cause her to be haunted by doleful visions as to the durance vile which Roy might have to endure.
In the daytime, when she was fully occupied, it was easier to take a cheerful view of life ”

“ Colonel Baron insisted on giving him an arm as far as the house; after which he and Curtis went off together, and Denham dragged himself slowly upstairs. Lucille was gone out; and Mrs. Baron came to meet him. "My dear Den—how ill you look! What made you go so far?"
Ivor was past speaking, and she busied herself for some minutes, bathing his brow, till he could murmur, "I'm a trouble to everybody."
"One does not talk of trouble when people are—what you are to us."
He could not smile, thinking of that which might have come to Roy. ”

“ Wirion just thinks he can screw a lot of money out of my father. And that's the worst of it," declared Roy, in an undertone. "I hate to have done such a stupid thing; and I hate the worry of it for Den, just now when he's like this. But you know they couldn't really send me to Bitche, only for smashing a paltry image. It would be ridiculous."
"Ah, Roy! even you little know—you—what it means to be under a despot such as—but one may not dare to speak."
Lucille's tears came fast. They stood listening. From the staircase rose loud rough voices, alternating with Ivor's not loud but masterful tones. ”