Cupid in Africa Part 40

And then his heart stood still, as Mrs. Stayne-Brooker stepped from the companion-platform on to the deck, and came towards him-her face shining and radiant, her lips quivering, her eyes suffused.

He realised that she was alone, and felt that he had turned pale, as his heart sank like lead. But perhaps _she_ was behind. . . . Perhaps she was in another boat. . . . Perhaps she was coming later. . . .

He rose to greet her mother-who gently pushed him back on the long cane couch-chair and rested herself on the folding stool that stood beside it.

Still holding his left hand, she sat and tried to find words to ask of his hurts, and could say nothing at all. . . . She could only point to the sling, as she fought with a desire to gather him to her, and cry and cry and cry for joy and sweet sorrow.

"Yes," said Bertram, "but that's the only bad one. . . . Shan't lose the use of it, I expect, though. . . . Would she-would a woman-think it cheek if a maimed man-would she mind his being-if she really . . . ?"

"Oh, my dear, my dear! Don't! Oh, don't!" Mrs. Stayne-Brooker broke down. "She'd love him ten thousand times more-you poor, foolish . . ."

"Will she come?" he interrupted. "And dare I tell her I . . ."

_And Mrs. Stayne-Brooker understood_.

She was a brave woman, and Life had taught her not to wear her poor heart upon her sleeve, had taught her to expect little (except misery), and to wear a defensive mask.

"_Eva is engaged to marry Mr. Macteith_," she said in a toneless voice, and rose to go-to go before she broke down, fainted, became hysterical, or went mad. . . .

Had two kind people ever dealt each other two such blows?

She looked at his face, and knew how her own must look. . . .

Why _should_ G.o.d treat her so? . . . To receive so cruel a wound and to have to deal one as cruel to the heart she so loved! . . .

He looked like a corpse-save that his eyes stared through her, burning her, seeing nothing. She must go, or disgrace herself-and him. . . .

She felt her way, blindly fumbling, to the companion, realising even then that, when the stunned dullness immediately following this double blow gave place to the keen agony that awaited her recovery of her senses, there would be one spot of balm to her pain, there would be one feeble gleam of light in the Stygian darkness of her life-she would not be aching and yearning for the pa.s.sionate love of her own son-in-law! . . .

And, were this veracious chronicle a piece of war-fiction woven by a romancer's brain, Bertram Greene would have been standing on the deck that evening, looking his last upon the receding sh.o.r.es of the country wherein he had suffered and done so much.

On his breast would have been the Victoria Cross, and by his side the Woman whom he had Also Won.

She would have murmured "Darling!" . . . He would have turned to her, as the setting sun, ever obliging, silhouetted the wonderfully lovely palms of the indescribably beautiful Kilindini Creek, and said to her:

"_Darling_, _life is but beginning_."

Facts being facts, it is to be stated that Bertram sat instead of standing, as the _Madras_ moved majestically down the Creek; that on his breast, instead of the Cross, a sling with a crippled arm; and by his side, instead of the Woman, a Goanese steward, who murmured:

"Master having tea out here, sir, please?" and to whom Bertram turned as the setting sun silhouetted the palms and said: "_Oh_, _go to h.e.l.l_!"

(and then sincerely apologised.)

Captain Stott pa.s.sed and recognised him, in spite of changes. He noted the hardened face, the line between the eyes, the hollowed cheeks, the puckers and wrinkles, the steel-trap mouth, and wondered again at how War can make a boy into a Man in a few months. . . .

There was nothing "half-baked" about _that_ face.

And so, in ignorance, the despised and rejected boy again avenged his father, this time upon the woman who had done him such bitter, cruel wrong.

CHAPTER V _Finis_

After war, peace; after storm, calm; after pain, ease. . . .

Almost the first people whom he met in the Bombay Yacht Club after visiting the Colaba Hospital and being given six months' leave by the Medical Board, were his father and Miranda Walsingham.

Major Walsingham Greene had been severely wounded in Mesopotamia-but he had at last won decoration, promotion, recognition. He was acting Brigadier-General when he fell-and it was considered certain that he would get the Victoria Cross for which he had been recommended.

When he beheld his son, in khaki, war-worn and wounded (like himself, like his father and grandfather, like a true Greene of that ilk), his cup was full and he was a happy man-at last.

And Miranda! She could scarcely contain herself. She almost threw her arms round her old playmate's neck, then and there, in the middle of the Yacht Club lawn. . . . How splendid he looked! Who said her Bertram might make a scholar and a gentleman-but would never make a _man_?

Oh, joy! She had come out to bring home her "Uncle" Hugh and generally look after him-and now there were _two_ patients to look after.

It was a happy voyage Home, and a very happy six months at Leighcombe Priory thereafter. . . .

And when acting Brigadier-General Walsingham Greene and his son returned to India, Miranda Walsingham went with them as Mrs. Bertram Greene.

But Bertram was no longer "Cupid"-he seemed to have left "Cupid" in Africa.

NOTES.

{17a} Plain.

{17b} Loin-cloth.

{21a} Good.

{21b} Make.

{21c} "I want the Colonel. Where is he?"

{30} Cupboard.

{38a} "Is all well?"