The Four Feathers | Page 8

other things. You know, Jack?" The direct appeal he had to repeat, and
even then Durrance answered it absently:--
"Yes, I know," and he added, like one quoting a catch-word. "If you
want any whiskey, rap twice on the floor with your foot. The servants
understand."
"Precisely," said Feversham. He continued, carefully weighing his
words, and still intently looking across the shoulders of his companions
to his friend:--
"Besides, there is Ethne herself. Dermod for once did an appropriate
thing when he gave her that name. For she is of her country, and more,
of her county. She has the love of it in her bones. I do not think that she
could be quite happy in India, or indeed in any place which was not
within reach of Donegal, the smell of its peat, its streams, and the
brown friendliness of its hills. One has to consider that."
He waited for an answer, and getting none went on again. Durrance,
however, had no thought of reproach in his mind. He knew that
Feversham was speaking,--he wished very much that he would
continue to speak for a little while,--but he paid no heed to what was

said. He stood looking steadfastly out of the windows. Over against
him was the glare from Pall Mall striking upward to the sky, and the
chains of light banked one above the other as the town rose northward,
and a rumble as of a million carriages was in his ears. At his feet, very
far below, lay St. James's Park, silent and black, a quiet pool of
darkness in the midst of glitter and noise. Durrance had a great desire to
escape out of this room into its secrecy. But that he could not do
without remark. Therefore he kept his back turned to his companion,
and leaned his forehead against the window, and hoped his friend
would continue to talk. For he was face to face with one of the
sacrifices which must not be mentioned, and which no sign must
betray.
Feversham did continue, and if Durrance did not listen, on the other
hand Captain Trench gave to him his closest attention. But it was
evident that Harry Feversham was giving reasons seriously considered.
He was not making excuses, and in the end Captain Trench was
satisfied.
"Well, I drink to you, Feversham," he said, "with all the proper
sentiments."
"I too, old man," said Willoughby, obediently following his senior's
lead.
Thus they drank their comrade's health, and as their empty glasses
rattled on the table, there came a knock upon the door.
The two officers looked up. Durrance turned about from the window.
Feversham said, "Come in;" and his servant brought in to him a
telegram.
Feversham tore open the envelope carelessly, as carelessly read through
the telegram, and then sat very still, with his eyes upon the slip of pink
paper and his face grown at once extremely grave. Thus he sat for an
appreciable time, not so much stunned as thoughtful. And in the room
there was a complete silence. Feversham's three guests averted their
eyes. Durrance turned again to his window; Willoughby twisted his

moustache and gazed intently upward at the ceiling; Captain Trench
shifted his chair round and stared into the glowing fire, and each man's
attitude expressed a certain suspense. It seemed that sharp upon the
heels of Feversham's good news calamity had come knocking at the
door.
"There is no answer," said Harry, and fell to silence again. Once he
raised his head and looked at Trench as though he had a mind to speak.
But he thought the better of it, and so dropped again to the
consideration of this message. And in a moment or two the silence was
sharply interrupted, but not by any one of the expectant motionless
three men seated within the room. The interruption came from without.
From the parade ground of Wellington Barracks the drums and fifes
sounding the tattoo shrilled through the open window with a startling
clearness like a sharp summons, and diminished as the band marched
away across the gravel and again grew loud. Feversham did not change
his attitude, but the look upon his face was now that of a man listening,
and listening thoughtfully, just as he had read thoughtfully. In the years
which followed, that moment was to recur again and again to the
recollection of each of Harry's three guests. The lighted room, with the
bright homely fire, the open window overlooking the myriad lamps of
London, Harry Feversham seated with the telegram spread before him,
the drums and fifes calling loudly, and then dwindling to music very
small and pretty--music which beckoned where a moment ago it had
commanded: all these details made up a picture of which the colours
were not