Chapter XXVIII. "Extra! Extra! Extra!"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　It was raining in London--pouring. It had been raining for twoweeks, more or less, generally more. When the train from Doverdrew in at Charing Cross, the weather seemed suddenly to haveconsidered that it had so far been too lenient and must expressitself much more vigorously. So it had gathered together itsresources and poured them forth in a deluge which surprised evenLondoners.The rain so beat against and streamed down the windows of thethird-class carriage in which Marco and The Rat sat that theycould not see through them.They had made their homeward journey much more rapidly than theyhad made the one on which they had been outward bound. It hadof course taken them some time to tramp back to the frontier, butthere had been no reason for stopping anywhere after they hadonce reached the railroads. They had been tired sometimes, butthey had slept heavily on the wooden seats of the railwaycarriages. Their one desire was to get home. No. 7 PhilibertPlace rose before them in its noisy dinginess as the onedesirable spot on earth. To Marco it held his father. And itwas Loristan alone that The Rat saw when he thought of it.Loristan as he would look when he saw him come into the room withMarco, and stand up and salute, and say: "I have brought himback, sir. He has carried out every single order you gavehim--every single one. So have I." So he had. He had beensent as his companion and attendant, and he had been faithful inevery thought. If Marco would have allowed him, he would havewaited upon him like a servant, and have been proud of theservice. But Marco would never let him forget that they wereonly two boys and that one was of no more importance than theother. He had secretly even felt this attitude to be a sort ofgrievance. It would have been more like a game if one of themhad been the mere servitor of the other, and if that other hadblustered a little, and issued commands, and demanded sacrifices.If the faithful vassal could have been wounded or cast into adungeon for his young commander's sake, the adventure would havebeen more complete. But though their journey had been full ofwonders and rich with beauties, though the memory of it hung inThe Rat's mind like a background of tapestry embroidered in allthe hues of the earth with all the splendors of it, there hadbeen no dungeons and no wounds. After the adventure in Munichtheir unimportant boyishness had not even been observed by suchperils as might have threatened them. As The Rat had said, theyhad "blown like grains of dust" through Europe and had been asnothing. And this was what Loristan had planned, this was whathis grave thought had wrought out. If they had been men, theywould not have been so safe.From the time they had left the old priest on the hillside tobegin their journey back to the frontier, they both had beengiven to long silences as they tramped side by side or lay on themoss in the forests. Now that their work was done, a sort ofreaction had set in. There were no more plans to be made and nomore uncertainties to contemplate. They were on their way backto No. 7 Philibert Place--Marco to his father, The Rat to the manhe worshipped. Each of them was thinking of many things. Marcowas full of longing to see his father's face and hear his voiceagain. He wanted to feel the pressure of his hand on hisshoulder--to be sure that he was real and not a dream. This lastwas because during this homeward journey everything that hadhappened often seemed to be a dream. It had all been sowonderful--the climber standing looking down at them the morningthey awakened on the Gaisburg; the mountaineer shoemakermeasuring his foot in the small shop; the old, old woman and hernoble lord; the Prince with his face turned upward as he stood onthe balcony looking at the moon; the old priest kneeling andweeping for joy; the great cavern with the yellow light upon thecrowd of passionate faces; the curtain which fell apart andshowed the still eyes and the black hair with the halo about it!Now that they were left behind, they all seemed like things hehad dreamed. But he had not dreamed them; he was going back totell his father about them. And how good it would be to feel hishand on his shoulder!The Rat gnawed his finger ends a great deal. His thoughts weremore wild and feverish than Marco's. They leaped forward inspite of him. It was no use to pull himself up and tell himselfthat he was a fool. Now that all was over, he had time to be asgreat a fool as he was inclined to be. But how he longed toreach London and stand face to face with Loristan! The sign wasgiven. The Lamp was lighted. What would happen next? Hiscrutches were under his arms before the train drew up."We're there! We're there!" he cried restlessly to Marco.They had no luggage to delay them. They took their bags andfollowed the crowd along the platform. The rain was rattlinglike bullets against the high glassed roof. People turned tolook at Marco, seeing the glow of exultant eagerness in his face.They thought he must be some boy coming home for the holidays andgoing to make a visit at a place he delighted in. The rain wasdancing on the pavements when they reached the entrance."A cab won't cost much," Marco said, "and it will take usquickly."They called one and got into it. Each of them had flushedcheeks, and Marco's eyes looked as if he were gazing at somethinga long way off--gazing at it, and wondering."We've come back!" said The Rat, in an unsteady voice. "We'vebeen--and we've come back!" Then suddenly turning to look atMarco, "Does it ever seem to you as if, perhaps, it--it wasn'ttrue?""Yes," Marco answered, "but it was true. And it's done."Then he added after a second or so of silence, just what The Rathad said to himself, "What next?" He said it very low.The way to Philibert Place was not long. When they turned intothe roaring, untidy road, where the busses and drays and cartsstruggled past each other with their loads, and the tired-facedpeople hurried in crowds along the pavement, they looked at themall feeling that they had left their dream far behind indeed.But they were at home.It was a good thing to see Lazarus open the door and standwaiting before they had time to get out of the cab. Cabs stoppedso seldom before houses in Philibert Place that the inmates werealways prompt to open their doors. When Lazarus had seen thisone stop at the broken iron gate, he had known whom it brought.He had kept an eye on the windows faithfully for many a day--evenwhen he knew that it was too soon, even if all was well, for anytravelers to return.He bore himself with an air more than usually military and hissalute when Marco crossed the threshold was formal statelinessitself. But his greeting burst from his heart."God be thanked!" he said in his deep growl of joy. "God bethanked!"When Marco put forth his hand, he bent his grizzled head andkissed it devoutly."God be thanked!" he said again."My father?" Marco began, "my father is out?" If he had beenin the house, he knew he would not have stayed in the backsitting-room."Sir," said Lazarus, "will you come with me into his room?You, too, sir," to The Rat. He had never said "sir" to himbefore.He opened the door of the familiar room, and the boys entered.The room was empty.Marco did not speak; neither did The Rat. They both stood stillin the middle of the shabby carpet and looked up at the oldsoldier. Both had suddenly the same feeling that the earth haddropped from beneath their feet. Lazarus saw it and spoke fastand with tremor. He was almost as agitated as they were."He left me at your service--at your command"--he began."Left you?" said Marco."He left us, all three, under orders--to wait," said Lazarus."The Master has gone."The Rat felt something hot rush into his eyes. He brushed itaway that he might look at Marco's face. The shock had changedit very much. Its glowing eager joy had died out, it had turnedpaler and his brows were drawn together. For a few seconds hedid not speak at all, and, when he did speak, The Rat knew thathis voice was steady only because he willed that it should be so."If he has gone," he said, "it is because he had a strongreason. It was because he also was under orders.""He said that you would know that," Lazarus answered. "He wascalled in such haste that he had not a moment in which to do morethan write a few words. He left them for you on his deskthere."Marco walked over to the desk and opened the envelope which waslying there. There were only a few lines on the sheet of paperinside and they had evidently been written in the greatest haste.They were these:"The Life of my life--for Samavia.""He was called--to Samavia," Marco said, and the thought senthis blood rushing through his veins. "He has gone to Samavia!"Lazarus drew his hand roughly across his eyes and his voice shookand sounded hoarse."There has been great disaffection in the camps of theMaranovitch," he said. "The remnant of the army has gone mad.Sir, silence is still the order, but who knows--who knows? Godalone."He had not finished speaking before he turned his head as iflistening to sounds in the road. They were the kind of soundswhich had broken up The Squad, and sent it rushing down thepassage into the street to seize on a newspaper. There was to beheard a commotion of newsboys shouting riotously some startlingpiece of news which had called out an "Extra."The Rat heard it first and dashed to the front door. As heopened it a newsboy running by shouted at the topmost power ofhis lungs the news he had to sell: "Assassination of KingMichael Maranovitch by his own soldiers! Assassination of theMaranovitch! Extra! Extra! Extra!"When The Rat returned with a newspaper, Lazarus interposedbetween him and Marco with great and respectful ceremony."Sir," he said to Marco, "I am at your command, but the Masterleft me with an order which I was to repeat to you. He requestedyou not to read the newspapers until he himself could see youagain."Both boys fell back."Not read the papers!" they exclaimed together.Lazarus had never before been quite so reverential andceremonious."Your pardon, sir," he said. "I may read them at your orders,and report such things as it is well that you should know. Therehave been dark tales told and there may be darker ones. He askedthat you would not read for yourself. If you meet again--whenyou meet again"--he corrected himself hastily--"when you meetagain, he says you will understand. I am your servant. I willread and answer all such questions as I can."The Rat handed him the paper and they returned to the back roomtogether."You shall tell us what he would wish us to hear," Marco said.The news was soon told. The story was not a long one as exactdetails had not yet reached London. It was briefly that the headof the Maranovitch party had been put to death by infuriatedsoldiers of his own army. It was an army drawn chiefly from apeasantry which did not love its leaders, or wish to fight, andsuffering and brutal treatment had at last roused it to furiousrevolt."What next?" said Marco."If I were a Samavian--" began The Rat and then he stopped.Lazarus stood biting his lips, but staring stonily at the carpet.Not The Rat alone but Marco also noted a grim change in him. Itwas grim because it suggested that he was holding himself underan iron control. It was as if while tortured by anxiety he hadsworn not to allow himself to look anxious and the resolve sethis jaw hard and carved new lines in his rugged face. Each boythought this in secret, but did not wish to put it into words.If he was anxious, he could only be so for one reason, and eachrealized what the reason must be. Loristan had gone toSamavia--to the torn and bleeding country filled with riot anddanger. If he had gone, it could only have been because itsdanger called him and he went to face it at its worst. Lazarushad been left behind to watch over them. Silence was still theorder, and what he knew he could not tell them, and perhaps heknew little more than that a great life might be lost.Because his master was absent, the old soldier seemed to feelthat he must comfort himself with a greater ceremonial reverancethan he had ever shown before. He held himself within call, andat Marco's orders, as it had been his custom to hold himself withregard to Loristan. The ceremonious service even extended itselfto The Rat, who appeared to have taken a new place in his mind.He also seemed now to be a person to be waited upon and repliedto with dignity and formal respect.When the evening meal was served, Lazarus drew out Loristan'schair at the head of the table and stood behind it with amajestic air."Sir," he said to Marco, "the Master requested that you takehis seat at the table until--while he is not with you."Marco took the seat in silence.At two o'clock in the morning, when the roaring road was still,the light from the street lamp, shining into the small bedroom,fell on two pale boy faces. The Rat sat up on his sofa bed inthe old way with his hands clasped round his knees. Marco layflat on his hard pillow. Neither of them had been to sleep andyet they had not talked a great deal. Each had secretly guesseda good deal of what the other did not say."There is one thing we must remember," Marco had said, early inthe night. "We must not be afraid.""No," answered The Rat, almost fiercely, "we must not beafraid.""We are tired; we came back expecting to be able to tell it allto him. We have always been looking forward to that. We neverthought once that he might be gone. And he was gone. Did youfeel as if--" he turned towards the sofa, "as if something hadstruck you on the chest?""Yes," The Rat answered heavily. "Yes.""We weren't ready," said Marco. "He had never gone before;but we ought to have known he might some day be--called. He wentbecause he was called. He told us to wait. We don't know whatwe are waiting for, but we know that we must not be afraid. Tolet ourselves be afraid would be breaking the Law.""The Law!" groaned The Rat, dropping his head on his hands,"I'd forgotten about it.""Let us remember it," said Marco. "This is the time. `Hatenot. Fear not!' " He repeated the last words again and again."Fear not! Fear not," he said. "Nothing can harm him."The Rat lifted his head, and looked at the bed sideways."Did you think--" he said slowly--"did you ever think thatperhaps he knew where the descendant of the Lost Prince was?"Marco answered even more slowly."If any one knew--surely he might. He has known so much," hesaid."Listen to this!" broke forth The Rat. "I believe he has goneto tell the people. If he does--if he could show them--all thecountry would run mad with joy. It wouldn't be only the SecretParty. All Samavia would rise and follow any flag he chose toraise. They've prayed for the Lost Prince for five hundredyears, and if they believed they'd got him once more, they'dfight like madmen for him. But there would not be any one tofight. They'd all want the same thing! If they could see theman with Ivor's blood in his veins, they'd feel he had come backto them--risen from the dead. They'd believe it!"He beat his fists together in his frenzy of excitement. "It'sthe time! It's the time!" he cried. "No man could let such achance go by! He must tell them--he must. That must be what he'sgone for. He knows --he knows--he's always known!" And hethrew himself back on his sofa and flung his arms over his face,lying there panting."If it is the time," said Marco in a low, strained voice--"ifit is, and he knows--he will tell them." And he threw his armsup over his own face and lay quite still.Neither of them said another word, and the street lamp shone inon them as if it were waiting for something to happen. Butnothing happened. In time they were asleep.