The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood. Griffiths Arthur
that is very nice for you," said old Hyde, with a tinge of contempt in his tone. "They're not much use to you though, these fine relations. Surely Lord Essendine could have got you a commission by holding up his hand?"
"That's just what he would not do, and why I hate him and the whole of the Wilders family. Lord Essendine has never recognised us."
"Why? Is there any reason?"
"The Honourable Anastasius made a poor match, married against his father's wish, and was cut off with a shilling. His brother, the next earl, was disposed to make it up, but my grandfather died, and my grandmother married again—an honest sea-captain—and the noble peer cut her dead."
"And so you joined the Royal Picts. But I wonder you came to this regiment to serve with your cousin."
"I enlisted, you know, a couple of years before he was gazetted to the corps."
"Do they know you took the shilling?—that you are now a colour-sergeant in the Royal Picts?"
"I don't think they are aware of my existence even."
"Well, never mind. Don't be cast down. The time may come when they will be proud to recognise you. It all depends upon yourself?"
"I will do all I know to force them, you may be sure."
"And you will have your chance, in a great war like this which is coming. Everything is possible to a man whose heart is in the right place. You have pluck and spirit."
The young fellow's eyes flashed.
"Trust me, Hyde; I sha'n't flinch, if I only get the chance."
"You are well educated; you can draw; you have picked up Spanish since you have been here; and I suppose you inherit a taste for languages from your Polish father?"
"I don't know; at any rate, I can talk French fluently, and I speak Russian of course."
"Why, man! the game is positively in your own hands. You are bound to get on: mark my words."
"Not if we stay here, Hyde, keeping guard upon this old Rock and losing all the fun. Can you wonder why I am so anxious the regiment should get the route?"
"It will come, never fear. They will want every soldier that carries a musket before this war is over, or I'm a much-mistaken man. Only have patience."
"How can I? I am eating my heart out, Hyde."
"Was it to tell me this you came down here? What brings you to Waterport this morning? Only to gossip with me?"
"That, and something more. I am on duty, detailed as orderly sergeant to one of the Expeditionary Generals; he is just going to land from a yacht in the bay."
"Do you know his name?"
"Yes, Wilders—another of my fine cousins. You can understand now why I am so bitter against my relations to-day: there are too many of them about."
"I suppose that is what's brought our Mr. Wilders here to-day—to meet his cousin."
"And his brother; for they are on board Lord Lydstone's yacht."
"They! How many of them?"
"General Wilders has his wife with him, I believe, accompanying him to the East."
"Old idiot! Why couldn't he leave her at home? Women are in the way at these times. Soldiers have no business with wives."
"That's why you never married, I suppose?"
Hyde did not answer his question, but got up and left his comrade abruptly, to re-enter the guard-room.
CHAPTER VI.
ON DANGEROUS GROUND.
The Arcadia, Lord Lydstone's yacht, was a fine three-masted schooner of a couple of hundred tons. She was lying far out in the bay, amidst a crowd of shipping of every kind—coal-hulks, black and grimy; H.M.S. Samarang, receiving-ship, and home of the captain of the port; British vessels, steamers and sailing-ships, of every rig; foreign craft of every aspect native to its waters: zebecques, faluchas, and polaccas, with their curved spars and heavy lateen sails.
A fleet of small boats surrounded the yacht, native boats of curious build, and manned by dark-skinned natives of the Rock, in nondescript attire—a noisy, pushing, quarrelsome lot, eager to do business, gesticulating wildly, and jabbering loudly in many strange tongues. Here was a pure Spaniard, with a red sash round his waist, and a velvet cap, round as a cartwheel, on his head, with a boatful of vegetables and early fruit. There was a grave and sedate Moor, in green turban and white flowing robes, with an assortment of gold-braided slippers and large brass trays. Next a Maltese milk-seller, in scanty garments, nothing but short canvas trousers and a shirt, who had come with cans full of goats'-milk from the herds he kept on the barren slopes of the Rock. Not far off was the galley of the health-officer, with a crew of "scorpion" boatmen in neat white jackets and straw hats.
On the deck of the yacht, under an awning—for the spring sun already beat down hotly at noon—were the owner and his guests. Lord Lydstone, cigar in mouth, lounged lazily upon a heap of rugs and cushions at the feet of Mrs. Wilders, who took her ease luxuriantly in a comfortable cane arm-chair.
Blanche Cyprienne, Countess of St. Clair, had changed little since her marriage. Her beauty had gained rather than lost; her manner was more commanding, her look more haughty. Her fine eyes flashed insolently, or were veiled in lazy disdain, and her voice spoke scornfully or drawled with careless contempt, according to her mood.
"So that is the Rock—the great Rock of Gibraltar," she was saying. "What an extraordinary-looking place!"
"You will say so, Countess, when you get on shore," said Lord Lydstone.
"Is there anything really to see?" she asked. "Is it worth the trouble of landing?"
"Why, of course! I thought it was all settled. The general sent some hours ago to say he proposed to pay his respect to the Governor. You cannot help yourself now."
"Oh! the general," remarked Mrs. Wilders, as she was generally styled—the title Countess was only used by intimate friends—in a tone that implied she was not at all bound by her husband's plans.
"Where is the good man just now?" inquired Lord Lydstone, in much the same tone.
"There, forward," said Mrs. Wilders, pointing to the part of the deck beyond the awning. "Trying to get a sunstroke by walking about with his head bare."
"He does that on principle, Countess, don't you know. He wants to harden his cranium, in case he loses his hat some day in action."
"I hope he may never go into action. If he does, I should be sorry for his men."
"Not for him?"
"That may be taken for granted," she replied, in a matter-of-fact way.
"How fond you are of him! What devoted affection! It's lucky you have little to spare!"
"I keep it for the proper person."
"Is there none for his relatives?" asked Lydstone, with a meaning look.
"Do any of them deserve my affection?"
"I try very hard, Countess; and I should so value the smallest crumb."
"Don't be foolish, Lord Lydstone! you must not try to make love to me; it would be wrong. Besides, we are too nearly connected now."
"You never throw me a single kind word, Blanche."