Blake's Burden

"But the taint – the stain upon your name!"

"I have the advantage of bearing it alone, and, to tell the truth, it doesn't bother me much. That a man should go straight in the present is all they ask in Canada, and homeless adventurers with no possessions, which is the kind of comrades I've generally met, are charitable. As a rule, it wouldn't become them to be fastidious. Anyhow, sir, you must see the absurdity of believing that Bertram could have failed in his duty in the way these tales suggest."

"I once felt that strongly; the trouble is that the objection applies with equal force to you. Your mother had a resolute character; your father was a daring man."

Blake coloured as he answered: "I'm glad you mentioned this; my parents can't be held responsible for my faults. You must know that rather surprising variations are apt to appear in a family strain. It's possible I'm what gardeners call a sport; a throwback to some inferior type. There may have been a weakling even among the Challoners."

"I have dreaded that there was one in the present generation," the Colonel answered with stern gravity. "But we get no farther. Do you deny the stories these people have told me?"

Blake felt that his task was hard. He had to convict himself and must do so logically, since Challoner was by no means a fool. As he nerved himself to the effort he was conscious of a rather grim amusement.

"I think it would be better if I tried to show you how the attack was made. Is the old set of Indian chessmen still in the drawer?"

"I believe so. It must be twenty years since they were taken out. It's strange you should remember them."

A stirring of half-painful emotions troubled Blake.

He loved the old house and all that it contained and had a deep-seated pride in the Challoner traditions. Now he must show that he was a degenerate scion of the honoured stock and could have no part in them.

"I have forgotten nothing at Sandymere, but we must stick to the subject." Crossing the floor he came back with the chessmen, which he carefully arranged, setting up the white pawns in two separate ranks to represent bodies of infantry, with the knights and bishops for officers. The coloured pieces he placed in an irregular mass.

"Now," he continued, "this represents the disposition of our force pretty well, and I've good reason for remembering it. I was here, at the top of the ravine" – he laid a cigar on the table to indicate the spot – "Bertram on the ridge yonder. This bunch of red pawns stands for the Ghazee rush."

"It agrees with what I've heard," said Challoner, surveying the roughly marked scene of battle with critical eyes. "You were weak in numbers, but your position was strong. It could have been held."

"We'll take Mrs. Chudleigh's suggestion first." Blake began to move the pieces. "The Ghazees rolled straight over our first line; my mine, which might have checked them, wouldn't go off; a broken circuit in the firing wires, I suppose. We were hustled out of the trenches; it was too dark for effective rifle fire."

"The trench the second detachment held should have been difficult to rush."

"Oh! well," said Blake, "you must remember that the beggars were Ghazees; they're hard to stop. Then our men were worn out and had been sniped every night for the last week or two. However, the bugler's the key to my explanation; I'll put this dab of cigar ash here to represent him. This bishop's Bertram, and you can judge by the distance whether the fellow could have heard the order to blow, 'Cease fire,' through the row that was going on."

He resumed his quick moving of the chessmen, accompanying it by a running commentary. "Here's another weak point in the woman's tale, which must be obvious to any one who has handled troops; these fellows couldn't have gained a footing in this hollow because it was raked by our fire. There was no cover and the range was short. Then you see the folly of believing that the section with which the bugler was could have moved along the ridge; they couldn't have crossed between the Ghazees and the trench. They'd have been exposed to our own fire in the rear."

He added more to much the same effect, and concluded: "I think that disposes of Mrs. Chudleigh's theory."

Challoner made a sign of agreement without speaking, and Blake, lighting a fresh cigar, leaned back in his chair. He believed he had succeeded so far, but he was feeling the strain.

"Now I'll deal with Clarke's suggestion; it's certainly ingenious," he said presently and began to rearrange the chessmen.

Proceeding much as he had already done, he followed the movements of the pieces with short explanations, and when he finally swept them up into a heap looked hard at his companion.

"I think you ought to be convinced," he said.

"It all turns upon the bugler's movements," Challoner remarked.

"And he was killed. Mrs. Chudleigh's account presupposes that he was in one place, Clarke's in another, while I've tried to show you that he couldn't have been in either."

Challoner was silent for a time and Blake watched him anxiously until he looked up.

"I think you have succeeded, Dick, though I feel that with a trifling alteration here and there you could have cleared yourself. Now we'll let the painful matter drop for good, unless, indeed, some fresh light is ever thrown on it."

"That can't happen," Blake replied and added with a gleam of humour: "As a matter of fact, I'd sooner remain in friendly obscurity."

Challoner rose and laid a hand on his arm. "If you were once at fault, you have since shown yourself a man of honour. Though the thing hurt me at the time, I'm glad you are my nephew. Had there been any baseness in you, some suspicion must always have rested on your cousin. Well, we are neither of us sentimentalists, but I must say that you have amply made amends."

He turned away and Blake went out into the open air to walk up and down. The face of the old house rose above him, dark against the clear night sky; in front the great oaks in the park rolled back in shadowy masses. Blake, who loved Sandymere, had thought of it often in his wanderings, and now he was glad that through his action his cousin would enjoy it without reproach. After all, it was some return to make for the favours he had received. For himself there remained the charm of the lonely trail and the wide wilderness, unless, indeed, Harding succeeded better than Blake really expected with his petroleum exploitation scheme.

For all that, he had been badly tempted. Poverty and disgrace were serious obstacles to marriage, and had he been free to do so, he would eagerly have sought the hand of Millicent Graham. He knew now that he loved her and it was hard to hold his longing for her in check, but while this must be done for the present he did not altogether despair. He was hopeful and believed that if she loved him, she would not shrink from his painful story, while it was possible that another of his disadvantages might be removed. Harding was confident that they were going to be rich. Thinking about the girl tenderly, he walked up and down the terrace until he grew calm, and then went in to talk to Miss Challoner.

The next fortnight passed uneventfully and then one afternoon he met Millicent in a field-path and turned back with her to Hazlehurst. It was a raw day and the wind had brought a fine colour into her face, while she wore a little fur cap and fur-trimmed jacket which he thought became her very well.

"You have not been over often; Foster was remarking about it," she said to him.

"That's true," said Blake, who had kept away for fear of his resolution melting if he saw much of her. "Still, my uncle seems to think he has a prior claim, and I mayn't be able to stay with him long."

"Then you are going back to Canada?" The quick way the girl looked up, and something in her tone, suggested unpleasant surprise, for she had been taken off her guard.

"I shall have to go when Harding needs me. I haven't heard from him since I arrived, but I'll get my summons sooner or later."

"I thought you had come home for good."

There was rueful humour but no bitterness in Blake's smile. "Oh! no; though I'm very fond of it, Sandymere is not my home. It will be Bertram's by and by and he is married. I'm the poor relation and no great credit to the family."

Millicent's colour deepened, but she looked at him steadily. "I think that is wrong. Since you have been so frank, I may perhaps say that I know there has been a serious mistake somewhere."

"I'm flattered," Blake rejoined, and something in his voice was out of keeping with his half whimsical bow. "It's nice to know your friends think well of you; but you mustn't let your good-nature get the better of your judgment."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have ventured so far." There was a hint of impatience in Millicent's gesture. "But are you content with your life in the North-West?"

"It has its charm. There are very few restrictions, one feels free. The fences haven't reached us yet; you can ride as far as you can see over miles of grass and through the clumps of bush. There's something attractive in the wide horizon; the riband of trail that seems to run forward for ever draws you on."

"But the Arctic frost and snow?"

"After all, they're bracing. Our board shacks with the big stoves in them are fairly warm, and no one can tell what developments may suddenly come about in such a country. A railroad may be run through, wheat-land opened up, minerals found, and wooden cities spring up from the empty plain. Life's rapid and strenuous; one is swept along with the stream."

"But you were in the wilds."

Blake laughed. "We were, but not far behind us the tide of population pours across the plain, and if we had stayed a year or two in the timber, it would have caught us up. That flood won't stop until it reaches the Polar Sea."

"But can people live in a rugged land covered with snow that only melts for a month or two?"

"It depends upon what they find there. So long as the country has natural resources, the climate doesn't count. One hears of precious metals and some are being mined." He paused and added in a tone of humorous confidence: "My partner believes in oil."

They were now close to Hazlehurst and Millicent could ask no more questions because as they reached the high-road Mrs. Keith joined them.

"You might go in and write the letter I told you about," she said to Millicent, and then turned to Blake. "As I want a quiet walk, Dick, I daresay you will keep me company."

Blake said he would be delighted, and when Millicent had left them remarked: "I didn't know you were given to this form of exercise."

"I may as well tell you that I came out because I couldn't take part in the meaningless chatter that was going on. As a matter of fact, I was too disturbed to stay in."

"May one ask what disturbed you?"

"Mrs. Foster's announcement that Mrs. Chudleigh is coming down again. She only heard this morning."

"You think this means a fresh attack upon my persecuted relative?"

"Judge for yourself. Mrs. Chudleigh had no pressing invitation to come back and has not been away long; after all, she and Lucy Foster are not great friends. Now she has only a flimsy excuse for the visit – I've seen her letter. Why should the woman force herself into Hazlehurst, unless it's to be within striking distance of your uncle?"

"I don't know. I suppose she couldn't have come down independently and called on him, because it would have excited remark; but that's not the question. The Colonel mustn't see her."

"How would you prevent his doing so if she goes to the house?"

"I think," said Blake, "the matter could be most effectively dealt with by letting her see me."

"An excellent plan, but if your uncle's to be kept in ignorance, it will need some arranging."

"Undoubtedly," said Blake; "that's your business."

"I suppose I must undertake it. The probability is that Mrs. Chudleigh doesn't know you are at home and she must, if possible, be kept from learning it until she sees you. As she's only down for a few days, I expect she'll make her first move to-morrow. Is your uncle going to the Croxleigh meet?"

"He is; so am I. Is there any risk of Mrs. Chudleigh's turning up at the cover?"

"I don't think so. Foster has only one spare horse, and as he promised it to Millicent I'll see she goes. I'm more afraid that Mrs. Chudleigh will make Lucy Foster take her across to Sandymere in the afternoon, and if I'm able to prevent that, she'll go alone. She has cultivated an acquaintance with your aunt."

"Well," said Blake, "it's a long way to Croxleigh, and the Colonel won't ride hard. He'll probably be satisfied with seeing the hounds throw off and then go quietly home. As it happens, there isn't a direct road."

"Where does all this lead?"

"I should imagine it will be four o'clock when he gets back, while by leaving the hunt and heading straight across country I ought to beat him by some time. In fact, I might get rid of the lady before he arrives. After she has seen me she mayn't wish to stay."

"Very well," said Mrs. Keith. "If Lucy goes to Sandymere, I'll go with them and hurry them off as soon as I can. Then I'll try to make an opportunity for you."

After a few more words she dismissed him and turned back to Hazlehurst. She thought the plan would work.

CHAPTER XXX

MRS. CHUDLEIGH'S DEFEAT

Challoner kept one or two good horses, though he no longer used them much, and he and his nephew were well mounted when they rode to Croxleigh gorse. As the place was difficult of access, the meet had been arranged late, and it was after mid-day when they drew near a broad stretch of furze on the crest of a grassy hill. Mounted men and a few women were climbing the slope, the scarlet coats shining in a gleam of light, carriages and motors were drawn up in the shelter of a beech wood, and from the summit there fell a faint blast of a horn.

It was a raw day, with a nipping wind and blinks of sunshine that swept across grass and ploughland and faded again. There were glistening pools in the narrow road and drops of moisture hung on the briars and withered fern along the hedgerows. Both Challoner and Blake were dressed in sober tweed, for the Colonel said he only wore the pink when he felt fit to follow the hounds and now he must be content to see them find. Glancing at his watch, he pulled up his horse to a walk.

"We are in good time, and it's generally a lengthy matter getting a fox out of the gorse," he said. "Though we haven't hurried, it's rather a long way, and I feel I have done enough. Don't trouble about me when the hounds get off. I expect to pick up some elderly crony, and, if the fox does not run straight, may be able to see something of the hunt after an easy ride; then I'll jog quietly home."

"I'll stay with you, if you'd prefer it, sir," Blake declared, though this was far from his wish, but Challoner shook his head.

"Get a good run if you can, my boy. Old folks mustn't be selfish, and I know what young blood is." He turned and regarded Blake affectionately. "You have been a good nephew, Dick, and since you came home I have felt that I ought to make some provision for you. That, of course, was my intention when you were young, but when the break occurred you cut yourself adrift and refused assistance."

Blake coloured, for there were, he thought, adequate reasons why he should take no further favours from his uncle. If the truth about the frontier affair ever came out, it would look as if he had valued his honour less than the money he could extort and the Colonel would bear the stigma of having bought his silence.

"I'm grateful, sir, but I must still refuse," he said.

"But why? The property would stand the cost of the arrangement I thought of making, and Bertram wouldn't feel that I had been unfair to him; besides, his wife has means."

"Bertram's as generous as you are; he pressed me to take some help from him in Montreal, but I could not consent."

"I think you were wrong, and see I have made a mistake. I should have stuck to my first intention of saying nothing about it and putting you into my will, but it struck me that you would like to know how you stood, in case you thought of marrying or going in for farming on a remunerative scale in Canada."

"Thank you, but if my future is to be provided for, I'm the person who ought to look after it. There's no reason why it should become a charge on you."

"I think there is," Challoner rejoined. "In fact, I feel somewhat hurt that you don't see it."

Blake was touched, but his determination held. "I'm glad you made me the offer, sir, because it shows I haven't forfeited your regard. You must, however, let me have my way, particularly as I see a chance of making money."

"Then you have some plan?"

"My partner has," Blake answered, smiling. "I leave that kind of thing to him. I told you about the oil."

"You did, and Clarke had something to say upon the subject. He, however, gave me to understand that capital was needed."

"That is so," Blake replied unguardedly, for he did not see where his uncle's remark led. "Boring plant is expensive, and transport costs something. Then you have to spend a good deal beforehand if you wish to float a company."

"But you believe this venture will pay you?"

"Harding is convinced of it, and he's shrewd. Personally, I don't know enough about the business to judge, but if I had any money to risk I'd take his word for it."

"Well," said Challoner, urging his horse to a trot, "perhaps we had better get on."

They joined the company gathered round the edge of the gorse and when Challoner greeted an acquaintance Blake found what he thought was a good place for getting a start from. He could hear the cries of the huntsman and an occasional blast of his horn among the furze; once or twice a ranging dog broke cover and disappeared again. Outside, red-coated men and some in grey jammed their hats tight and tried to keep their fidgeting horses quiet. Close by a young girl, finely habited, with a glowing face, gracefully controlled her plunging mount, and a few older women seemed to have some trouble in holding their thoroughbreds. Everybody wore a strained, eager look, but Blake was disappointed, for although he looked round for Millicent and Foster he did not see them.

By and by a deep baying broke out and swelled into a burst of thrilling sound, the horn called sharply, somebody shouted, and there was a rush of well-mounted riders towards a corner of the gorse. Then the hounds streamed out, speeding across the grassy slope with a small, red-brown object travelling very fast some distance in front. Blake, who let his chestnut go, swept down the hill at a furious gallop, and felt the horse rise and heard a thud of hoofs on sloppy ground as a fence was cleared. Then he toiled across a strip of ploughing, with firm grip on the bridle, for, exhilarating as the chase was, he could not enjoy it long. In his younger days he had hunted the country he was now riding over, he had been a crack polo player, and had covered wide stretches of the Canadian prairie in the saddle. He could feel the power of the good horse he bestrode, the speed fired his blood, and for the first few minutes he had been in danger of forgetting that the keen pleasure he was conscious of could not be enjoyed long.

There was a crash as they broke through the top of a bending hedge, he heard a rail break beneath the hoofs, and they were flying across a wide pasture, the chestnut pulling hard. It needed some strength of will to hold him, but Blake did so, keeping his place behind the foremost while the rest of the hunt tailed out. After another awkward jump or two most of the rearguard were out of sight, scattering, no doubt, in search of gates, and Blake was not pleased to find himself level with two well-mounted, red-coated men. There was a brook with a fringe of willows along its side not far ahead and, a short distance to the right, a deep, tree-shrouded hollow. This was where he must break off, but, sitting a good horse in the company of hard-riding men, it was not pleasant to look as if he shirked the leap.

"'Ware rotten bank!" cried one, glancing round at him. "Head for the pollard stump!"

"Give me a lead," Blake shouted. "You know the country."

With a strong effort, he held the chestnut back, and saw the first red-coated figure rise above the willows and alight with the mire flying among the rushes across the stream. Then he swung to the right, where he remembered there was a broad, shallow place, and drove the chestnut at its widest part. They came down with a great splash and the horse floundered badly, for the bottom was soft, but Blake had done what he meant to do, and as the second horseman leaped across a narrower spot he caught a sympathetic, "Hard luck!"

Then he turned the chestnut and scrambling out upon the bank he had left trotted to the hollow, where he was lost among the trees before the tail of the hunt came up. He thought he had withdrawn himself neatly and must now get home as soon as possible, because if his uncle saw no opportunity of picking up the hounds again after an easy ride, he might return before Mrs. Chudleigh could be dealt with.

Crossing a sunk lane by and by, Blake, who glanced at his watch, held straight across the fields, and was glad to find that the hunt-club subsidies had had some effect in determining the nature of the fences. The most part could be jumped without much trouble, but the chestnut was foul-coated and flecked with spume when at length he turned into a road. There he pulled up to a steady trot and got home, rather wet and splashed with mire, early in the afternoon, and after a bath and change felt himself ready for the encounter. He had not much diplomacy, but thought he could make up for that by stubbornly sticking to his point.

As he sat in the library with the door left open he heard Mrs. Foster and her friends arrive and recognized the voices. Mrs. Keith had come and Millicent, besides another lady whom he surmised was Mrs. Chudleigh. He hardly thought his aunt, whom he had not taken into his confidence, would mention him, and it might be better if he waited until tea was served, after which the party would probably separate and saunter about the hall and picture gallery. It was important that he should have a few words with Mrs. Chudleigh alone. Fortune favoured him, for when he entered the gallery she stood before a picture and the nearest of her companions was some yards further on. She started when he came up and joined her.

"You remember me, though I imagine my appearance is a surprise to you," he said with a bow.

"Yes," she answered calmly, though she had received something of a shock. "Nobody told me you had returned from Canada."

"There was no obvious reason for thinking you would be interested. But will you sit down? My uncle has some rather good miniatures which might please you. They're in yonder drawer."

She looked at him sharply. "You may bring them. I suppose you have something to say."

Blake placed the case of miniatures on a table and she took up one or two. "They are worth seeing, and in good French style; beauties of Marie Antoinette's court, perhaps, though this one in the high-waisted dress may have been attached to Josephine's." Then she put them down with a smile. "Now they have served their purpose. What have you to say?"

"You must excuse the bluntness which I feel is needful. You came over to see my uncle and I'm afraid you were disappointed in finding me instead."

"Suppose I admit it? That wouldn't prevent my seeing Colonel Challoner another time."

"Certainly not, provided that you still wished to do so, but I'm inclined to think you won't consider it necessary when you know what my attitude is. You must realize that a good deal depends on this."

"Yes," she said frankly, "in a sense, you're important. I see you understand the situation."

"You believe you have the power to force my uncle into furthering a plan of yours. You found him obstinate at your first attempt, but you think his resolution may since have given way."

"Yes," she said; "if I insist, he cannot refuse me."

"That is where we differ. I'm in your way, and you'll excuse my saying that you'll find me rather troublesome to remove. Then a secret loses its value when people find it out, and it's perhaps news to you that a man from Canada called upon my uncle not long since with a story very like yours. He found the Colonel no more amenable than you did."