A Song of a Single Note Part 27

"Not I. I did not want to see him. I heard the drums and got out of sight and hearing as quickly as possible. I believe his father has managed the affair very wisely; I should not wonder if the rogue's march turns out more of a triumph than an ignominy."

In a measure Neil's judgment proved to be correct. Respectable young men, charged to discountenance riotous abuse, began to join the procession at its outset, and this element was continually augmented. As they pa.s.sed Bradley's shop, Bradley himself stepped out of it and walking at the head of the line, took his place at Harry's right hand.

No one interfered. The drummers and fifers in front did not see him, and the stupid Waldeckers, ignorant of English and of everything but the routine of their regiment, took him as a part of the event. He was dressed in black cloth, with a white lawn band around his neck, and if they speculated about him at all, they thought he was a clergyman, and concluded the prisoner was to be hung at the barrier.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DRUMMERS AND FIFERS IN FRONT DID NOT SEE HIM.]

But Harry turned to his father a face full of love and grat.i.tude. The youth's self-control was complete, for his disdain of the whole proceeding was both breastplate and weapon to him. He was bare-headed and with the wind in his hair and the sunlight in his eyes he went swinging onward to the song of victory he heard in his own heart. By the side of his father's ma.s.sive contour and stern countenance, Harry looked like some young Michael, bright-faced and fearless.

Now and then a taunt was hurled at the lad, and occasionally a jibe far more tangible, but of neither missile did he show the least consciousness. The presence of his father touched the rudest heart. He removed his hat when he saw his son's uncovered head, and his grey hairs evoked far more pity than contempt. When they pa.s.sed through the fas.h.i.+onable residence streets, the sympathy was even remarkable; windows were thrown up, handkerchiefs fluttered, and now and then a shrill little _"bravo!"_ made Harry look up and catch the influences of pity and admiration that women, young and lovely, and women, old and wayworn, rained down on him. As Medway predicted, the crowd melted away long before the barrier was reached, for the mood of mischief was not in it.

The fifes screamed and the drums beat, but could not summon the devilish spirit of mob violence, and Harry Bradley's tramp to the Rogue's March was a much more quiet and orderly affair than the Police Court intended it to be.

At the barrier the gate was flung open, and, in the midst of a fanfaronade of discordant sounds and scornful shouts Harry was hustled outside. But his father had found opportunity to give him gold and to tell him a negro was waiting with a swift horse behind the gates; and just at the last moment, amid the scoffing and jeering of the soldiers, he put his arms about his son's neck and kissed and blessed him. He had drunk the shameful cup to the dregs with the lad, and he turned to the little gathering a face that awed them. As one man they moved aside to let him pa.s.s, and for a few moments watched him, as, with a mighty stride he took the road homeward. For he looked beyond his nature large and commanding, and he walked as if moved by some interior force that was beyond his control. Men gazed at him with awe and pity, but no one ventured to speak to him.

As he approached his home the inner momentum that had carried him without let or hinderance at a marvelous speed seemed to fail; he faltered, looked round wearily, and then stumbled forward, as if he had charged his spirit for the last mile of life. When he reached his gate he could not open it, and Agnes ran out to help him; speech was impossible, but with a pitiful glance he let her lead him into the house. Leaning on her, he stumbled forward until he reached the sofa, then, with a great cry he fell backward.

Fortunately, Neil Semple at that moment entered the house, and he was instantly at Bradley's side, rendering, with Agnes, the help at once necessary, and soothing the afflicted man with words of such sympathy and affection as few mortals had ever heard pa.s.s the lips of Neil Semple. "Mr. Bradley," he entreated, "do not fail yourself at this hour!

We are all so sorry for you--all ready to weep with you--think of Agnes--are you suffering?--Shall I go for a physician? What is the matter? Speak to me, Mr. Bradley."

"Sir," he answered, stretching out his trembling arms, "sir, I can neither see nor hear."

CHAPTER IX.

THE TURN OF THE TIDE.

Every misfortune has its horizon, but as yet Maria was not able to lift up her eyes and see any comfort coming from afar. It seemed to her that all the joy and glory of living was over. It was not only that Harry was taken out of her schemes of happiness for the future; the present, also, was denuded of every hope and clouded by very real annoyances. She felt bitterly the publicity given to her name, and she knew that this publicity would supply those who disliked her with continual opportunities for her humiliation.

"I shall have to stop at home," she thought; "and grandmother is sick and grandfather fretful, and Neil's whole care is given to Agnes Bradley. I think he might consider me a little; but n.o.body does; I am only Maria. Yet my life is ruined, quite ruined;" and the unhappy child wept over herself and wondered how she was to live through the long, long years before her.

Very frequently, however, this tearful mood gave place to indignation against her friends in general, and Agnes in particular. For she still held steadily to the opinion that all the trouble had arisen from her selfishness and inability to remember any one's desires but her own.

And so, in plaintive or pa.s.sionate wandering from one wrong to another, she pa.s.sed some very miserable days. Finally, Neil persuaded her to go and see Agnes. He said, "Even the walk may do you good; and Agnes is certain to have some comforting words to say."

Maria doubted both a.s.sertions. She could not see what good it could do her to go from one wretched house to another even more wretched, and Neil's a.s.surances that John Bradley was better and able to go to his shop did not give her any more eager desire to try the suggested change.

Yet to please Neil she went, though very reluctantly; and Madame sympathized with this reluctance. She thought it was Agnes Bradley's place to come and make some acknowledgment of the sorrow and loss her family had brought upon the Semples; and she recalled the innate aversion the Elder had always felt for the Bradley family.

"The soul kens which way trouble can come," she said. "But what is the good o' its warnings? n.o.body heeds them."

"I never heard any warning, grandmother."

"There's nane so deaf as those who won't hear; but go your ways to your friend Agnes! I'll warrant she would rather you would bide at hame."

The morning was cold and damp and inexpressibly depressing, but Maria was in that mood which defies anything to be of consequence. She put on her hat and cloak and walked silently by her uncle's side until they came to the Bradley cottage. All the prettiness of its summer and autumn surroundings was blighted or dead; the door shut, the window covered, the whole place infected by the sorrow which had visited it. Agnes opened the door. She was wan and looked physically ill and weary, but she smiled brightly at her visitor, and kissed her as she crossed the threshold.

"My father has been very ill, Maria, or I should have been to see you before this," she said; "but he has gone to the shop this morning. I fear he ought not."

"My grandfather has been very ill and is still unable to leave his room," replied Maria. "My dear grandmother also! As for myself--but that is of little importance, only I must say that it has been a dreadful thing to happen to us, a cruel thing!"

"It was a wrong thing to begin with. That is where all the trouble sprang from. I see it now Maria."

"Of course! You ought not to have deceived your father, Agnes."

"I was to blame in that, very much to blame. I have nearly broken my heart over the sin and its consequences."

"Consequences! Yes, for they fell upon the innocent--that is what you ought to be sorry for--my grandfather and grandmother, my Uncle Neil, and even myself."

"But as for yourself, Maria, you also were to blame. If you would have been content with seeing Harry here----"

"Oh, indeed! You did not permit me to see Harry here, or even to bid him good-bye that night. If you had----"

"It would have made no difference. Harry as well as you seemed willing to run all risks to meet--elsewhere."

"I never thought of meeting Harry elsewhere. I have told you this fact before."

"If you had not done so, if Harry had not known you would do so again, he would not have asked you."

"This is the last time I will condescend to tell you, Agnes, that I never once met Harry by appointment; much less, at nine o'clock at night. Please remember this!"

"It is, then, very strange, that Harry should have asked you that night."

"Not only very strange, but very impertinent. Why should he suppose Maria Semple would obey such a command? For it was a command. And it was a further impertinence to send me this command on a bit of common paper, wrapped around a stone and thrown at me through a window. It was a vulgar thing to do, also, and I never gave Harry Bradley the smallest right to order me to meet him anywhere."

"Oh, if you look at things that way! But why did he ask you? That is a question hard to answer."

"Not at all. He was jealous of Macpherson and wished to show off his familiarity with me and make Macpherson jealous. Under this distracting pa.s.sion he forgot, or he did not care, for the risk. It was your selfishness put the idea into his head, and it was his selfishness that carried it out, regardless of the consequences."

"And your selfishness, Maria, what of it?"

"I was not selfish at all. I knew nothing about it. If I had received the note, I should not have answered it in any way."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Absolutely sure. It angered me, humiliated me, wronged me beyond words.

And to have it read in the Police Court! How would you feel, Agnes? It has ruined my life."

"Poor Harry!"

"Oh, but poor Maria! All this misery was brought to me without my knowledge and without any desert on my part. And don't you suppose I love my grandparents and Uncle Neil? Think what I have suffered when I saw them dragged to prison, tried, fined and disgraced, and all for a scribble of presumptuous words that Harry Bradley ought to have been ashamed to write. It was very thoughtless, it was very cruel."

"Harry suffered for his presumption; and as for the fine, my father will repay it to your grandfather. He said so this morning; said it would only be just; and I think so, too."

"The fine is the least part of the wrong. Who can repay grandfather and uncle for the loss of their good name and their honorable record? Who can give uncle his business back again? These are wrongs that cannot be put right with money. You know that, Agnes."

"Do not quarrel with me, Maria. I am not able to bear your reproaches.

Let us at least be thankful that Harry's life is spared. When the war is over you may yet be happy together."