Some time in December Captain Langrishe came home.

Nelly knew the day and the hour that he was expected, but she was as terrified of meeting him as though she had not had so much assurance of his love for her. She knew the events of the day as though she had been present at their happening. Cyprian Rooke’s brother, a young, distinguished doctor well on his way to Harley Street although only a few discriminating people had found him out, had gone down to Southampton with Mrs. Rooke and her mother to meet the invalid, who even yet must bear traces of the terrible illness through which he had passed. Nelly could see it all, from the moment the big boat came into Southampton Docks till the arrival in London. Captain Langrishe was going down to his sister’s cottage in Sussex. The mother and sister, who already claimed Nelly as their own, had been eager for her to be there on their arrival, or to come later. But Nelly was adamant.

“He must come to me,” she said. “And I think the one thing I could not forgive is that anyone should interfere: anyone, even you two whom I dearly love. Promise me that you will not.”

They had promised her. They were women of discretion; and they felt that now he was come back to them things might safely be left to take their own course. To be sure, as soon as he could he would go to Nelly as to his mate, naturally, joyfully. In an early letter, written before Nelly’s embargo, Mrs. Rooke had told him that Nelly’s engagement had been broken off. Later, she had conveyed the news that Robin Drummond had consoled himself with rapidity, and was to be married to the Miss Gray whose book on the conditions of women’s labour among the poor had made such a stir, and not only in political circles. Godfrey Langrishe in his letters had not commented on these communications.

“Let Godfrey be!” said the sister, who knew him with the thoroughness of a nursery companion. “He will do his own wooing. He would not thank us for doing it for him.”

All next day Nelly waited. After the very early morning she did not dare go outdoors lest he should come in her absence. The General went off to his club to be out of the way. At a quarter to seven he opened the door with his latch-key and came in, more than half-expecting to find an overcoat which did not belong to him in the hall. There was none; and he went on to the drawing-room with a vague sense of disappointment. Langrishe must have been and gone.

In the drawing-room he found Nelly alone.

“Well, papa,” she said, as he came in, and offered no further remark.

“No one been, Nell?” he asked, with a little foreboding.

“No one.”

“Ah, well, to be sure the boat must have arrived late. They may not have got back to town till to-day.”

The next day passed in the same way, and the next day. The fourth day Nelly went out and did her Christmas shopping. She held her head high now, in a spirited way which hurt her father to see, for her face was very pale. That evening she put on a little scarlet silk dinner-jacket, in which the General declared that she looked every inch a soldier’s daughter. But the brilliant colour only made her look paler by contrast.

On the fifth day the General, instead of going to his club, went to see Mrs. Rooke and fortunately found her at home. He hardly knew the little woman, but she was a friend of Nell’s and had been good to her. Besides, he was so bent upon getting to the root of the business about Langrishe and Nell that he felt no embarrassment on the subject of his errand.

“My dear,” he said, bowing over Mrs. Rooke’s pretty hand he had a charming way with women “I have come without my daughter knowing. Perhaps she would never forgive me if she knew. Tell me: what is the mystery about your brother? Why has he not been to see us?”

“I am so glad you came to ask me, Sir Denis,” Mrs. Rooke replied. “I was just about to go to Nelly. Godfrey is so obstinate. The doctors cannot say yet if he is going to be a cripple or not. His sword-arm was almost slashed through. Jerome Rooke, my brother-in-law, says it will be all right. On the other hand, Sir Simon Gresham shakes his head over it. Godfrey is to see him again in a few weeks’ time. He is waiting for his verdict before he speaks to Nelly. My opinion is that if the verdict is adverse he will never speak at all.”

“Why, God bless my soul, then!” shouted the General in his most thunderous voice, “he must speak before! he must speak before! Everything must be settled. They shall hear Sir Simon’s verdict together.”

Those people had been right who had called Sir Denis unworldly. Mrs. Rooke blinked her pretty eyes before his outburst.

“You know, of course, Sir Denis, that his profession will be closed to him in case his arm doesn’t get well. Godfrey has always felt that he had too little to offer your daughter. But now it will be a maimed life if the worst happens. Both my mother and I appreciated Godfrey’s reasons. We could not say that he was not right. Poor Godfrey! I don’t know what he will do if he loses his profession. You know he was devoted to his work.”

“I know, ma’am.” The old soldier’s eye lit up with a sudden spark. “In any case, with the help of God, he will have Nell to comfort him. Your brother’s address is

“You are going to him?”

“It seems the one thing to do. I’ve no pride about offering my girl where I know she is deeply loved.”

“You are a trump, General!” Mrs. Rooke said, with sparkling eyes.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the General answered, blushing like a school-boy. “I was never one to sit with folded hands. The Lord didn’t make me like it. And I’ve asked His direction, ma’am; I’ve asked His direction humbly, and I hope humbly that He is granting it to me.”

“Well, God speed you!” Mrs. Rooke said. “Godfrey will be good to Nelly, Sir Denis. He has always been so trustworthy. And he has had so many hard knocks. He deserves happiness in the end.”

“He shall have it, with the help of God.”

The General never made any forecast without the latter proviso, although that was often said only in the silence of his heart.

The railway journey, unlike the last made in the cause of Nelly’s happiness, went without a hitch. The day was a beautiful, bright, sunshiny one, with clear skies overhead. The General had the carriage to himself, so that he was able to sit with both windows open as he liked it. He felt the winter air quite invigorating as the train rushed through the pale golden landscape. Robins were singing in the bare trees, which showed their every twig outlined delicately against the pale sky. The brown coppices and hedges by which the train hurried were bright with the scarlet of many berries.

The General, sitting up spare and erect he had never lolled in his life, and held all such soft ways only suitable for ladies contrasted the journey with the last; and took the radiant day like a good omen. He wished Nell could have been with him to have the roses blown in her cheeks by the delicious fresh wind. However, he was going to bring her home roses, pink roses; the white rose in his Nelly’s cheek did not at all please him.

The little house was quite near the railway, a gabled, two-storied cottage with diamond-paned windows, and creepers and roses all over its walls. Even yet on the sheltered side there was a monthly rose or two on the leafless bushes. The house basked in the sun; and Mrs. Langrishe’s red-and-white collie came to meet the General, wagging his tail with a friendly greeting.

The maid who opened the door smiled on him. She knew him for Miss Nelly’s father; and Nelly had a way of making herself beloved by servants wherever she went, and not only because she was ready always to empty her little purse among them.

Mrs. Langrishe? Mrs. Langrishe was out, but was expected in to lunch. The Captain had just come in. Would Sir Denis see him?

Sir Denis would see the Captain. He followed the maid through the clean, orderly little house, every inch of it shining with the perfection of cleanliness, to the study at the back which opened on the garden. Captain Langrishe was sitting in a chair in a dejected attitude at the moment the General first caught sight of him. He sprang to his feet, turning red and pale when he saw who his visitor was.

“Well, my lad,” the General said, taking the uninjured left hand in a cordial grip. “And how do you feel?”

Langrishe looked up at him with shy eyes.

“To tell the truth, Sir Denis, not very cheerful. I have been, in fact, keeping company with the blue devils pretty well since I came home. You know

“Yes, I know. We must hope for the best. But, if you can’t carry a sword any longer, why it must mean that the Master of us all has another post for you. And now, why didn’t you come to Sherwood Square?”

“I couldn’t, with this in suspense,” Langrishe stammered. “It is most kind of you to come to see me.”

“My dear boy,” the General put his hand on Langrishe’s shoulder, “you must come, with this in suspense. Do you know that my girl has looked for you day after day?”

The young man flushed and stared at the General’s kind face in bewilderment.

“I would rather die than cause her a minute’s pain,” he said, with quiet fervour.

“You have caused her a good many,” the General said grimly. “Not willingly, I am sure of that, or I wouldn’t be here. Haven’t you heard how she suffered? Why, God bless my soul, I was afraid at one time that I might be going to lose her; and all through you, young man all through you. Now I’ll have no more shilly-shally. If Nell is fond of you and you are fond of Nell

“God knows how I love her!” Langrishe cried out, a glow of passion lighting up his worn, dark face. “But you don’t understand, Sir Denis. I feel sure you don’t understand. I have nothing in the world but my sword. My uncle, Sir Peter, gave me that. He gave me nothing else. Lady Langrishe, who nursed my uncle through an attack of the gout before he married her, has just presented him with an heir. I have no hopes from my uncle. If I lose my sword-arm I lose everything. I am likely to lose my sword-arm, Sir Denis.”

“Whether you do or whether you do not is in the hands of God,” the General said. “I don’t think Nell will mind very much if your sword-arm is ineffectual or not. You’ve done enough for honour, anyhow. And I’m not going to betray any more of the child’s secrets. You’d better come and hear them yourself. I’ll tell you what: come on Christmas Day. Come to lunch and bring your bag with you. I daresay you won’t want to cut your visit short?”

“You really mean it, Sir Denis?”

“Mean it, my lad? I’ve meant it for a long time. I’ve watched your career, Langrishe. I know pretty well all about you. You’d never give me credit for half the cunning I’ve got.” The General rubbed his hands softly together and tried to look Machiavellian, failing ludicrously in the attempt. “There’s no man I would more willingly trust my girl to. Why, I went after you to Tilbury when you were going out to find out what you meant. I’ll tell you about it.”

For the moment the General forgot completely how he had man[oe]uvred in the second place to marry Nelly to Robin Drummond. In fact, he didn’t remember about it till he was going home, and then, after a momentary shamefacedness about his unintentional disingenuousness, he decided, like a sensible man, that there was no use talking about that now.

Before that time, however, he had lunched with Mrs. Langrishe and her son after a talk with the latter. Now that he had succeeded in breaking down the lover’s scruples, Godfrey Langrishe was only too anxious to fling himself into the next train and be carried off to his love. But the General would not have it so, though he was pleased at the young man’s impatience.

“It wants but five days to Christmas Day,” he said. “Come then. You can spare him, ma’am?” to Mrs. Langrishe.

“I have had to spare him for less happy things,” the mother responded cheerfully.

There was no happier old soldier in all his Majesty’s dominions than was Sir Denis Drummond on his homeward journey. In fact, he found himself several times displaying his gratification so evidently in his face that people smiled and looked significantly at each other. One lady whispered to another of the Christmas spirit.

It was by a stern effort of his will that he composed his face as he went up the stairs of his own house. He didn’t deceive Pat, who had admitted him for once the General had forgotten his latch-key. Pat reported to Bridget:

“Sorra wan o’ me knows what’s come to the master; he’s gone up the stairs, and the heart of him that light that his foot is only touchin’ the ground in an odd place.”

“‘Twill be somethin’ good for Miss Nelly then,” Bridget replied sagely.

The General schooled his face to wear an absurdly transparent look of gloom as he entered the drawing-room, but it was quite wasted on Nelly, who didn’t look at him. She had a screen between her face and the fire as she sat in her fireside chair, and her little pale, hurt, haughty profile showed up clearly against the peacock’s feathers of the screen.

The General had meant to have some play with Nell, but that forlorn look of hers went to his heart.

“I saw Langrishe to-day, Nell,” he said. “He’s coming for Christmas. We can put him up hey?”

“Papa!”

He heard the incredulously joyful half-whisper, and he felt the pang that comes to all fathers at such a moment. Nell was not going to be only his ever again. He had been enough for her once on a time; yet, here she was, come to womanhood, breaking her heart for a stranger.

“If I were you, Nell,” he said gently, “I’d be seeing about my wedding-clothes.”