Laurence Jen was a major, a bachelor, and the of a small estate at Hurstleigh, in Surrey. On leaving the service, he decided--not unwisely--that it was better to be a Triton in the country than a minnow in town; and upon this theory he purchased "Ashantee" from a ruined . the place had been called Sarbylands, after its original owners; but Jen had changed the name, in honor of the one campaign in which he had participated.
He had been present at the downfall of King Koffee; he had contracted during the expedition an ague which him greatly during his later life, and he had received a wound and a medal. In , it is to be presumed, for these gifts of fortune, the major, with some , had converted the name Sarbylands into the barbaric of a West African kingdom; and here, for many years, he lived with his two boys.
These lads, named respectively Maurice Alymer and David Sarby, were in no way related to the major, who, as has been stated before, was a bachelor; but they had entered into his life in rather an odd fashion. Alymer was the son of a beautiful girl with whom Jen had been in love, but she did not return his affection, and married one of his brother officers, who was killed in the Ashantee war. On returning to England Jen cherished a hope that she would reward his love by a second marriage, but the shock of her husband's death proved too much for the fragile widow. She died within a week after receiving the terrible news, and left behind her a infant, which was to the cold charity of indifferent relatives.
It was then that the major displayed the goodness of his heart and the nobility of his character. Forgetting his own sorrows, he obtained permission from the relatives to adopt the child, and to take charge of the trifle of property coming to the lad. Then he bought Sarbylands; set estate and house in order under the name "Ashantee," and his life to cherishing and training the lad, in whose blue eyes he saw a look of his dead love. This affection by the deathless memory of the one passion of his life, filled his existence completely and rendered him happy.
With regard to David Sarby, he had passed with the estate to Jen. The boy's father, a , a drunkard and a confirmed gambler, had been forced, through his , to sell his ancestral home; and within a year of the sale he had dissipated the purchase money in debauchery. Afterward, like the and pitiful coward he had always proved himself to be, he committed suicide, leaving his only son, whose mother had long since been worried into her grave, a and an .
The branches of the old Sarby family had died out; the relatives on the mother's side refused to have anything to do with a child who, if heredity went for anything, might prove to be a chip of the old block; and little David might have found himself thrown on the parish, but that Major Jen, pitying the forlorn condition of the child, saved him from so a fate. His heart and his house were large enough to receive another , so he took David back to the old , and presented him to Maurice as a new playfellow. Henceforth the two boys grew to manhood under the devoted care of the cheerful old bachelor, who had protected their helpless .
The major was fairly well-to-do, having, besides his pension, considerable private property, and he in the goodness of his heart, that "the boys," as he fondly called them, should have every advantage in starting life. He sent them both to Harrow, and when they left that school, he called upon them to choose their professions. Maurice, more of an athlete than a scholar, selected the army, and the delighted major, who highly approved of his choice, entered him at Sandhurst. Of a more reflective nature and studious mind, David wished to become a lawyer, with a possible idea of ending as Lord ; and accordingly his sent him to .
Both lads proved themselves of Jen's goodness, and were soon in active exercise of the professions which they had chosen. Maurice joined a and David was admitted to the bar. Then the major was thankful. His boys were provided for, and it only remained that each should marry some charming girl, and bring their families to gladden an old bachelor's heart at "Ashantee." The major had many day dreams of this sort; but ! they were never to be fulfilled. In the summer of '95 Fate began her work of casting into confusion the hitherto lives of the two young men.
Frequently the young barrister and the soldier came to visit their guardian, for whom they both cherished a deep affection. On the occasion of each visit Jen was accustomed to celebrate their presence by a small festival, to which he would ask two or three friends. With simple craft, the old man would invite also pretty girls, with their mothers; in the hope that his lads might be into matrimony.
The major, owing to circumstances heretofore related, was a confirmed bachelor, but he did not intend that his boys should follow so bad an example. He wished Maurice to marry Miss Isabella Dallas, a charming blonde from the West Indies; and David he designed as the husband of Lady Meg Brance, daughter of Lord Seamere. But Jen was mistaken in thinking that he could guide the affections of youth, as will hereafter be proved. Sure enough, the lads fell in love, but both with the same woman, a state of things not anticipated by the major, who was too simple to be a matchmaker.
On this special occasion, however, no ladies were present at the little dinner, and besides Jen and his two boys. Dr. Etwald was the only guest. About this man with the strange name there is something to be said.
He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question, he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and ; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician, but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is termed "a good bedside manner," and the of the cathedral city and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties. Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret past which he declined to yield up to the most questioner, the distrust caused by his sombre looks and speeches. Provincial society is intolerant of .
Etwald had become acquainted with Jen professionally, and having cured the major of one of his frequent attacks of ague, he had passed from being a medical attendant into the closer relationship of a friend. The boys had met him once or twice, but neither of them cared much for his sombre personality, and they were not overpleased to find that the major had invited the man to meet them on the occasion of this special dinner.
But Jen, good, simple soul, was rather taken with Etwald's mysticism, and, moreover, pitied his loneliness. Therefore he welcomed this intellectual to his house and board; and on this fine June evening Etwald was enjoying an excellent dinner in the company of three cheerful companions.
Outside, the peaceful landscape was filled with a warm light, and this poured into the oak-paneled dining-room through three French windows which opened onto a close-shaven lawn. Dinner was at an end; Jaggard, the major's valet, butler and general , had placed the wines before his master, and was now handing around cigars and cigarettes. All being concluded to his satisfaction--no easy , for Jaggard, trained in military fashion, was very precise--he departed, closing the door after him. The warm light of the evening flashed on the polished table--Major Jen was old-fashioned to have the cloth removed for desert--and lighted up the four faces around it with pale . This quartette of is not unworthy of a description.
Major Jen's calls for least. His face was round and red, with a terrific blonde mustache fiercely curled. He had merry blue eyes, hair, more than touched with gray, and an expression of good-humor which was the index to his character. Man, woman and child trusted Jen on the spot, nor was it ever said that such trust was misplaced. Even the most censorious could find no fault with the frank and major, and he had more friends and more and fewer enemies than any man in the shire. Can any further explanation be required of so simple and easily understood a character?
Maurice Alymer was also blonde, and also had blue eyes and a mustache, somewhat smaller than his senior's. His hair was yellow and curly, his features were boldly cut, and his six foot of flesh and muscle was straight and . Athlete was stamped strongly on his appearance, and if not clever, he was at least sufficiently good-looking and good-natured to make him almost as popular as the major. Jen always maintained that Maurice was the living image of himself when a dashing young officer, out in Ashantee; but as the good major was under the middle height and Maurice considerably over it, this statement must be accepted with some reserve. It passed as one of Jen's jokes, for a mild quality of which he was .
The other two men had dark and strong faces, which differed entirely from the Saxon and good looks of the major and Maurice. David was clean-shaven and almost as swart as Etwald, and his expression was that of a being with powerful passions, held in check by sheer force of will. He was broad and strongly built; and his smooth black hair, parted in the middle, was brushed carefully from a bold and rather forehead. The young barrister was somewhat of a dandy, but no one who once looked at his face thought of his dress affectations or dapper appearance. They saw intellect, pride and will stamped upon the pale . Men with such faces end usually in greatness; and it seemed unlikely that David Sarby, barrister and ambitious youth, would prove an exception to the rule.
Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. , mentally, morally he was an to the inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh.
Major Jen sustained the burden of conversation, for Maurice was absent-minded, and David, physiognomically inclined, was silently attempting to read the inscrutable countenance of Etwald. As for this latter, he sat smoking, with his brilliant eyes upon Maurice. The young man felt uneasy under the mesmeric gaze of the doctor, and kept twisting and turning in his seat. Finally he broke out impatiently in the midst of the major's , and asked Etwald a direct question.
"Does my face remind you of anyone?" he demanded rather sharply.
"Yes, Mr. Alymer," replied Etwald, , "it reminds me of a man who died."
"Dear me!" said Jen, with a sympathetic look.
"Was he a friend of yours, doctor?"
"Well, no, major, I can't say that he was. In fact," added Etwald, with the air of a man making a simple statement, "I hated him!"
"I hope you don't hate me?" said Maurice, rather annoyed.
"No, Mr. Alymer, I don't hate you," replied the doctor, in a colorless tone. "Do you believe in palmistry?" he asked, suddenly.
"No!" said Maurice, ,
"All rubbish!" added the major, selecting a fresh cigar.
"What do you say, Mr. Sarby?" asked Etwald, turning to the lawyer.
"I am a , also," said David, with a laugh. "And you?"
"I am a believer."
Here Etwald rose and crossed over to where Maurice was sitting. The young man, guessing his errand, held out his left hand with a smile. Etwald it closely, and returned to his seat.
"Life in death!" he said calmly. "Read that , Mr. Alymer. Life in death."