Chapter XIII: By the Express for Lubeck

Though Trevor Chute's old habits of decision and activity remained, a new kind of life had come upon him of late; thus he who had found the greatest pleasure in his military duties and attending to the wants of his men, in the saddle hunting, enjoying the day-dawn gallop, or with his rifle and hog-spear, watching under the fierce sun-glare for the red-eyed tiger or the bristly boar, as they came to drink in some secluded nullah, had now changed into one of the veriest day-dreamers that ever let the slow hours steal past him uselessly in succession.

So that time were got through, he cared little how. Would Vane join him? He rather fancied that he would not.

Nor did he wish it, though Jerry was the friend he valued most in the world, for the urgent reason that through him alone could he hear aught of her to whom he could not write, and who would not write to him.

Thus Chute lived in a little world of his own, lighted up by the remembered face of Clare and the hopes she had bade him cherish.

He marvelled much how Jerry's love affair was progressing, and whether Ida would yet forget his other friend, Jack Beverley.

He thought not, by all he knew of her, yet wished that she should do so, for Jerry's sake.

There was much of humility in the latter, and he held himself of small account with her.

Though proud enough with his own sex, even to hauteur at times, his love for Ida made him her very slave; and now how often came back to Vane's memory, with regret and reproach, the bygone scoffs and silly ironies he had often cast on his friends, who, when he was heart-whole, were suffering from the lost smile of those they had loved, perhaps more truly than wisely.

Recollections of his own laughter, his gibes and his quips, came back to him as if in mockery now.

Trevor Chute and Clare were separated again; but not as before: now he did not feel, as in the old time, that he had lost her, and he looked back to his last interview with joy.

Long though the time seemed since then, it was but recently that her dark eyes had smiled lovingly into his; that all the nameless charms of her presence had been with him, that she had spoken with him, and that he had listened to her.

When would all this come to pass again?

Till then what mattered it how he killed the time, or whither he went?

Yet pleasure and amusement palled on him; the sea breeze had lost its charm, and the sparkling waves their beauty; flowers seemed to be without fragrance; the fertile green pastures of Germany and Denmark, in all their summer glory, and the woods with the first tints of autumn, were without interest to his eye; for he was, more than ever, a man of one thought, and that thought was Clare Collingwood.

In this mood of mind, without thinking how or why, he started for the famous old Hans town.

The train took him to Korsor, in Zealand; there he crossed the Great Belt, and from the deck of the _Maid of Norway_ steamer could see the Danish Isles steeped in the noon-day heat, when every sandy holm and green headland seemed to vibrate in the sunshine that glistened on the blue waves which roll round Nyeborg and picturesque old Odensee; and after running through Sleswig and Holstein on a pleasant afternoon in autumn, he found himself at Hamburg, in the train for Lubeck, 'the Carthage of the North.'

Tom Travers had seen to the luggage and the inspection thereof; procured the tickets for himself and his master, and the latter had just lit his cigar, and composed himself for his journey, pleased to find himself the sole occupant of a carriage, when he suddenly observed a lady, undoubtedly an Englishwoman, procuring a bouquet of rose-buds from a Vierlander _fleuriste_, one of those picturesquely costumed girls who wear a bodice that is a mass of spangles and embroidery, a straw hat shaped like a Spanish sombrero, and thick, bunchy skirts, such as we may see in an old picture of Teniers, and who come from that district which lies between the Elbe and the Bille, where the whole population are market-gardeners.

There was some delay, during which the train was shifted a little, and amid the bustle of the platform the lady looked about in confusion, uncertain which was her carriage.

Already the starting bell had been rung and the shrill steam-whistle had sent up its preparatory shriek.

'Dritte klasse, zweite klasse!' the bearded German guard was shouting, while waving his little flag of the North Germanic colours. 'Hierher--nach hinten--nach vorn--Bitte, steigen sie ein, madame!' ('Pray get in,' etc.)

Mechanically, Chute, in mere politeness, opened the carriage door, and she was half handed, half pushed in by the hasty guard, for already the train was in motion, and she found herself, it would seem, separated from her friends, and swept away by the express in companionship with a total stranger.

'How awkward,' she said in German; 'I have been put--almost thrust, I may say--into the wrong carriage.'

'You can change at Buchen, the only place where the express stops,' replied Chute.

'Ah! you are English,' said she, her countenance languidly lighted up. 'So glad; for though I speak German pretty well, I don't understand the patois of the people hereabouts, on the borders of Holstein.'

Chute merely made an inclination of his head, and was about to throw his cigar out of the window, when she begged he would not do so; smoking never incommoded her--indeed, she rather liked it.

He thanked her, and they slid into the usual little commonplaces about the weather, the scenery, and so forth.

Though handsome, she was _passée_, and Trevor Chute could detect that she had in her manner much of the polished _insouciance_, the cultivated, yet apparently careless fascination of a woman of the world; and it soon became evident that she knew it, and the world of London too, in many phases.

Apart from the rank that was indicated by a coronet and monogram that were among the silver ornaments on her blue velvet Marguerite pouch, he felt certain that she was an Englishwoman of undoubted position, and was quite _aplomb_--even a little 'fast'--in her manner; but that amused Chute.

He could perceive that she was married, as a wedding hoop was among the gemmed rings that sparkled on her left hand--a very lovely one in shape and whiteness; moreover, she spoke of her husband, and said they were to take the branch line at Buchen for the Elbe, adding:

'Do you go so far?'

'Farther; to Lubeck--a place few people go to, and few come from.'

'Ah! And you travel----'

'To kill time.'

'Most people do so. _We_ came here to be out of the way of people one knows and is sure to meet everywhere in more beaten tracks; also to get rid of the tedium of visiting ambassadors, and undergoing their receptions--one of the greatest bores when abroad.'

She evidently knew London well. In the course of conversation they discovered that several of their acquaintances were mutual, and Chute began to wonder who she was, and became interested in her, in spite of his general indifference.

She seemed to be 'up to' a good deal, too; acknowledged that she made quite a little book on the Derby and Ascot--was above taking a bet on a favourite in kid gloves only; and told in the prettiest way how skilfully, and with a little spice of naughtiness, she had, on more than one occasion, learned the secrets of the stables, and of the trials in the early morning gallops; and actually how she had persuaded people to lay five to one, when the printed lists said 'evens,' to square herself in the end; and then she laughed, and said it was so odd to have her husband travelling in the next carriage, and thus quite separated from her; but at Buchen she would rejoin him.

'Do you travel much?' she asked, after a pause.

'Well; yes.'

'Who does not nowadays!'

'My profession----'

'The army?'

'Yes; I have just returned from India.'

'To one who has seen all the wonders and marvels there--the rock-hewn temples, the marble palaces and mosques, the vast plains and mighty mountains of India--how tame you must think these level landscapes and little German villages!'

'They are peaceful scenes, and most English in aspect.'

'But all this part of Europe is quite like the midland counties. You were, of course, with the Line in India; but--you have been in the Guards?'

'Yes,' replied Chute, becoming thoroughly interested now.

'Ah! I discovered that from a slight remark you made about the Derby.'

'Who the deuce can this woman be, who picks all my past life out of me?' thought Chute, as they mutually recalled the names of many men of 'the Brigade.'

'Do you know Major Desmond?' she asked.

'Slightly,' replied Chute, while a shade crossed his face.

She was quick enough to perceive it, so the subject was not pursued; and now the train glided into the station.

She bowed politely to Chute, who endeavoured to open the door for her; but it was locked fast, and the guard was at the other end of the train.

A sound was heard, like the clanking of a heavy chain, as some carriages were uncoupled; and the train again began to move. Chute called and gesticulated to some men on the platform.

'Sitzen sie ruhig!' was the only response. 'Sit still! the train is in motion!'

And once more they were sweeping with increased speed, through the open country. The carriages for the branch line had been left behind, with the lady's husband, suite and baggage; and she borne helplessly off by the express for Lubeck.

She became very much discomposed on learning this, and that she would be carried on fifty-six English miles in a wrong direction before she could telegraph to or communicate with her friends in any way; but after a time she laughed at it as being quite a little adventure, and to amuse her, Chute, by the aid of his Continental guide, indicated the various places of interest through which they swept with a mighty rush; now it was Ahrensburg or Bargtehude, and after traversing a flat, stupid, and uninteresting district, Oldeslohe with its salt mines and lime pits, and then Reinfeldt.

Anon the scenery became more and more English in aspect, and enclosed with hedges in English fashion, and all so homelike, that one could not but remember that not far off lies the nook which still bears the name of England, which was transferred by the emigrant Saxons to South Britain. The rich meadows, the well-tilled corn-lands, the farmhouses and villages, all looking as clean and as pretty as red brick, white plaster, green paint and flowers could make them, all seem there to remind one of the most beautiful parts in England; while in the distance, more than once could be had glimpses of the Baltic, with its dark blue waters sparkling in the evening sun. Lakes and groves add then to the beauty of the scenery, and wood-covered hills that slope gently upward from the bordering sea, or smooth sheets of inland water.

Chute's companion seemed really to enjoy her journey; and her first annoyance over, she relapsed into her occasional air of nonchalance and languid carelessness, that seemed born of Tyburnia and the West-end of London; and soon the tall red spires of Lubeck, which had been long in sight above the greenness of the level land, were close by, as the train ran into the station, near the magnificent and picturesque double towers and deep dark archways of the Holstein Thor, which stands among the long and shady avenues of the Linden-platz.

Though small, beautiful indeed looked the ancient Hans city rising on its ridge, with its twelve great earthen bastions covered by luxuriant foliage, all steeped in the glorious crimson of the after-glow from the set sun that blended with amber and blue.

Trevor Chute handed out his fair companion. There was no train for Buchen that night, nor would there be one till nearly noon on the morrow. The lady knew that her husband would be taken on to Lauenberg, but as she did not know where to telegraph to him there, she could but do so to the station-master at Buchen, and on this being done, she turned to Chute, for, traveller though she was, she was perplexed to find herself in a strange place, without servants or escort, and surrounded by unceremonious German touts bawling out, 'Stadt Hamburg,' 'Hotel du Nord,' 'Funf Thurme,' and the names of other hotels.

'Permit me to be your guide,' said he, as Travers procured an open droski; 'the Stadt Hamburg is the chief hotel. I shall have the honour to escort you there.'

'Thanks, very much indeed,' said she, bowing, and for the first time colouring slightly; 'when' (he did not catch the name amid the hubbub around them) 'my husband arrives he will be most grateful to you for all this.'

And now, as they drove through the Holstein Thor towards the hotel, Chute was provoked to see in the face of his man, Travers, a comical and perplexed expression. He had never seen his master escorting an apparent stranger thus before, and hence knew not what to make of the situation.