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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e8b3c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55928 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55928) diff --git a/old/55928-0.txt b/old/55928-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 060ed8d..0000000 --- a/old/55928-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12514 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The House Of Dreams-Come-True, by Margaret Pedler - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The House Of Dreams-Come-True - -Author: Margaret Pedler - -Release Date: November 10, 2017 [EBook #55928] -Last Updated: February 24, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE - -By Margaret Pedler - -Grosset & Dunlap Publishers,New York - -1919 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True, - - Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, - - And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, - - The Wayfarers--I and you. - - - But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True. - - We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, - - If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, - - Wayfarers--I and you. - - Margaret Pedler. - - -Note:--Musical setting by Harold Pincott. Published by Edward Schubert & -Co., 11 East Sand Street, New York. - - - - -THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE - - - - -CHAPTER I--THE WANDER-FEVER - -THE great spaces of the hall seemed to slope away into impenetrable -gloom; velvet darkness deepening imperceptibly into sable density of -panelled wall; huge, smoke-blackened beams, stretching wide arms across -the roof, showing only as a dim lattice-work of ebony, fretting the -shadowy twilight overhead. - -At the furthermost end, like a giant golden eye winking sleepily through -the dark, smouldered a fire of logs, and near this, in the luminous -circle of its warmth, a man and woman were seated at a table lit by -tall wax candles in branched candlesticks. With its twinkling points of -light, and the fire’s red glow quivering across its shining surface, the -table gleamed out like a jewel in a sombre setting--a vivid splash of -light in the grey immensity of dusk-enfolded hall. - -Dinner was evidently just over, for the candlelight shone softly on -satin-skinned fruit, while wonderful gold-veined glass flecked the dark -pool of polished mahogany with delicate lines and ripples of opalescent -colour. - -A silence had fallen on the two who had been dining. They had been gay -enough together throughout the course of the meal, but, now that the -servants had brought coffee and withdrawn, it seemed as though the -stillness--that queer, ghostly, memory-haunted stillness which lurks -in the dim, disused recesses of a place--had crept out from the four -corners of the hall and were stealing upon them, little by little, as -the tide encroaches on the shore, till it had lapped them round in a -curious atmosphere of oppression. - -The woman acknowledged it by a restless twist of her slim shoulders. -She was quite young--not more than twenty--and as she glanced -half-enquiringly at the man seated opposite her there was sufficiency of -likeness between the two to warrant the assumption that they were father -and daughter. - -In each there was the same intelligent, wide brow, the same straight -nose with sensitively cut nostrils--though a smaller and daintier affair -in the feminine edition, and barred across the top by a little string of -golden freckles--and, above all, the same determined, pointed chin with -the contradictory cleft in it that charmed away its obstinacy. - -But here the likeness ended. It was from someone other than the -dark-browed man with his dreaming, poet’s eyes--which were neither -purple nor grey, but a mixture of the two--that Jean Peterson had -inherited her beech-leaf brown hair, tinged with warm red where the -light glinted on it, and her vivid hazel eyes--eyes that were sometimes -golden like the heart of a topaz and sometimes clear and still and brown -like the waters of some quiet pool cradled among the rocks of a moorland -stream. - -They were like that now--clear and wide-open, with a certain pensive, -half-humorous questioning in them. - -“Well?” she said, at last breaking the long silence. “What is it?” - -The man looked across at her, smiling a little. - -“Why should it be--anything?” he demanded. - -She laughed amusedly. - -“Oh, Glyn dear”--she never made use of the conventional address -of “father.” Glyn Peterson would have disliked it intensely if she -had--“Oh, Glyn dear, I haven’t been your daughter for the last twenty -years without learning to divine when you are cudgelling your brains as -to the prettiest method of introducing a disagreeable topic.” - -Peterson grinned a little. He tossed the end of his cigarette into the -fire and lit a fresh one before replying. - -“On this occasion,” he observed at last, slowly, “the topic is not -necessarily a disagreeable one. Jean”--his quizzical glance raked her -face suddenly--“how would you like to go to England?” - -“To England?” - -Her tone held the same incredulous excitement that anyone unexpectedly -invited to week-end at El Dorado might be expected to evince. - -“_England!_ Glyn, do you really mean to take me there at last?” - -“You’d like to go then?” A keen observer might have noticed a shade of -relief pass over Peterson’s face. - -“Like it? It’s the one thing above all others that I’ve longed for. It -seems so ridiculous to be an Englishwoman and yet never once to have set -foot in England.” - -The man’s eyes clouded. - -“You’re not--entirely--English,” he said in a low voice. Jean knew from -what memory the quick correction sprang. Her mother, the beautiful opera -singer who had been the one romance of Glyn Peterson’s life, had been of -French extraction. - -“I know,” she returned soberly. “Yet I think I’m mostly conscious -of being English. I believe it’s just the very fact that I know -Paris--Rome--Vienna--so well, and nothing at all about England, that -makes me feel more absolutely English than anything else.” - -A spark of amusement lit itself in Peterson’s eyes. - -“How truly feminine!” he commented drily. - -Jean nodded. - -“I’m afraid it’s rather illogical of me.” - -Her father blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. - -“Thank God for it!” he replied lightly. “It’s the cussed -contradictoriness of your sex that makes it so enchanting. If women were -logical they would be as obvious and boring as the average man.” - -He relapsed into a dreaming silence. Jean broke it rather hesitatingly. - -“You’ve never suggested taking me to England before.” - -His face darkened suddenly. It was an extraordinarily expressive -face--expressive as a child’s, reflecting every shade of his constant -changes of mood. - -“There’s no sense of adventure about England,” he said shortly. “It’s a -dull corner of the world--bristling with the proprieties.” - -Jean realised how very completely, from his own point of view, he had -answered her. Romance, beauty, the sheer delight of utter freedom from -the conventions were as the breath of his nostrils to Glyn Peterson. - -Born to the purple, as it were, of an old English county family, he had -stifled in the conventional atmosphere of his upbringing. There had -been moments of wild rebellion, bitter outbursts against the established -order of things, but these had been sedulously checked and discouraged -by his father, a man of iron will, who took himself and his position -intensely seriously. - -Ultimately, Glyn had come to accept with more or less philosophy the -fact of his heirship to old estates and old traditions, with their -inevitable responsibilities and claims, and he was just preparing to -fulfill his parents’ wishes by marrying, suitably and conventionally, -when Jacqueline Mavory, the beautiful half-French opera singer, had -flashed into his horizon. - -In a moment the world was transformed. Artist soul called to artist -soul; the romantic vein in the man, so long checked and thwarted, -suddenly asserted itself irresistibly, and the very day before that -appointed for his wedding, he and Jacqueline ran away together in search -of happiness. - -And they had found it. The “County” had been shocked; Glyn’s father, -unbending descendant of the old Scottish Covenanters, his whole creed -outraged, had broken under the blow; but the runaway lovers had found -what they sought. - -At Beirnfels, a beautiful old schloss on the eastern border of Austria, -remote from the world and surrounded by forest-clad hills, Glyn Peterson -and Jacqueline had lived a romantically happy existence, roaming the -world whenever the wander-fever seized them, but always returning to -Schloss Beirnfels, where Peterson had contrived a background of almost -exotic richness for the adored woman who had flung her career to the -winds in order to become his wife. - -The birth of Jean, two years after their marriage, had been frankly -regarded by both of them as an inconvenience. It interrupted their -idyll. They were so essentially lovers that no third--not even a third -born of love’s consummation--could be other than superfluous. - -They had proceeded to shift the new responsibility with characteristic -lightheartedness. A small army of nursemaids and governesses was -engaged, and later, when Jean was old enough, she was despatched to -one of the best Continental schools, whilst her parents continued their -customary happy-go-lucky existence uninterruptedly. During the holidays -she shared their wanderings, and Egypt and the southern coast of Europe -became familiar places to her. - -At the age of seventeen, Jean came home to live at Beirnfels, -thenceforward regarding her unpractical parents with a species of kindly -tolerance and amusement. The three of them had lived quite happily -together, though Jean had remained always the odd man out; but she had -accepted the fact with a certain humorous philosophy which robbed it of -half its sting. - -Then, two years later, Jacqueline had developed rapid consumption, and -though Glyn hurried her away to Montavan, in the Swiss Alps, there -had been no combating the disease, and the romance of a great love had -closed down suddenly into the grey shadows of death. - -Peterson had been like a man demented. For a time he had disappeared, -and no one ever knew, either then or later, how he had first faced the -grim tragedy which had overtaken him. - -Jean had patiently awaited his return to Beirnfels. When at last he -came, he told her that it was the most beautiful thing which could have -happened--that Jacqueline should, have died in the zenith of their love. - -“We never knew the downward swing of the pendulum,” he explained. “And -when we meet again it will be as young lovers who have never -grown tired. I shall always remember Jacqueline as still perfectly -beautiful--never insulted by old age. And when she thinks of me--well, -I’m still a ‘personable’ fellow, as they say----” - -“My dear Glyn, you’re still a boy! You’ve never grown up,” Jean made -answer. To her he seemed a sort of Peter Pan among men. - -She had been amazed--although in a sense relieved--to find how swiftly -he had rallied. It seemed almost as though his intense loathing of the -onset of old age and decay, of that slow cooling of passion and -gradual decline of faculties which age inevitably brings, had served -to reconcile him to the loss of the woman he had worshipped whilst yet -there had been no dimming of her physical perfection, no blunting of the -fine edge of their love. - -It was easily comprehensible that to two such temperamental, joy-loving -beings as Glyn and Jacqueline, England, with her neutral-tinted skies -and strictness of convention, had made little appeal, and Jean could -with difficulty harmonise the suddenly projected visit to England with -her knowledge of her father’s idiosyncrasies. - -It was just possible of course, since all which had meant happiness to -him lay buried in a little mountain cemetery in Switzerland, that it no -longer mattered to Peterson where he sojourned. One place might be as -good--or as bad--as another. - -Rather diffidently Jean voiced her doubts, recalling him from the -reverie into which he had fallen. - -“_I_ go to England?” he exclaimed. “God forbid! No, you would go without -me.” - -“Without you?” - -Peterson sprang up and began pacing restlessly to and fro. - -“Yes, without me. I’m going away. I--I can’t stay here any longer. I’ve -tried, Jean, for your sake”--he looked across at her with a kind of -appeal in his eyes--“but I can’t stand it. I must move on--get away -somewhere by myself. Beirnfels--without her----” - -He broke off abruptly and stood still, staring down into the heart of -the fire. Then he added in a wrung voice: - -“It will be a year ago... to-morrow.” - -Jean was silent. Never before had he let her see the raw wound in his -soul. Latterly she had divined a growing restlessness in him, sensed the -return of the wander-fever which sometimes obsessed him, but she had not -realised that it was pain--sheer, intolerable pain--which was this time -driving him forth from the place that had held his happiness. - -He had appeared so little changed after Jacqueline’s death, so much the -wayward, essentially lovable and unpractical creature of former times, -still able to find supreme delight in a sunset, or an exquisite -picture, or a wild ride across the purple hills, that Jean had sometimes -marvelled, how easily he seemed able to forget. - -And, after all, he had not forgotten--had never been able to forget! - -The gay, debonair side which he had shown the world--that same rather -selfish, beauty-loving, charming personality she had always known--had -been only a shell, a husk hiding a hurt that had never healed--that -never would find healing in this world. - -Jean felt herself submerged beneath a wave of self-reproach that she -could have thus crudely accepted Glyn’s attitude at its face value. But -it was useless to give expression to her penitence. She could find no -words which might not wound, and while she was still dully trying to -readjust her mind to this new aspect of things, her father’s voice broke -across her thoughts--smooth, polished, with just its usual inflection of -whimsical amusement, rather as though the world were a good sort of joke -in which he found himself constrained to take part. - -“I’ve made the most paternal arrangements for your welfare in my -absence, Jean. I want to discuss them with you. You see, I couldn’t take -you with me--I don’t know in the least where I’m going or where I shall -fetch up. That’s the charm of it”--his face kindling. “And it wouldn’t -be right or proper for me to drag a young woman of your age--and -attractions--half over the world with me.” - -By which Jean, not in the least deceived by his air of conscious -rectitude, comprehended that he didn’t want to be bothered with her. He -was bidding for freedom, untrammelled by any petticoats. - -“So I’ve written to my old pal, Lady Anne Brennan,” pursued Peterson, -“asking if you may stay with her for a little. You would have a -delightful time. She was quite the most charming woman I knew in -England.” - -“That must be rather more than twenty years ago,” observed Jean drily. -“She may have altered a good deal.” - -Peterson frowned. He hated to have objections raised to any plan that -particularly appealed to him. - -“Rubbish! Why should she change? Anne was not the sort of woman to -change.” - -Jean was perfectly aware that her father hadn’t the least wish to -“discuss” his proposals with her, as he had said. What he really wanted -was to tell her about them and for her to approve and endorse them -with enthusiasm--which is more or less what a man usually wants when he -suggests discussing plans with his womankind. - -So, recognising that he had all his arrangements cut and dried, Jean -philosophically accepted the fact and prepared to fall in with them. - -“And has Lady Anne signified her readiness to take me in for an -indefinite period?” she enquired. - -“I haven’t had her answer yet. But I have no doubt at all what form it -will take. It will be a splendid opportunity for you, altogether. You -know, Jean”--pictorially--“you ought really to see the ‘stately homes of -England.’ Why, they’re--they’re your birthright!” - -Jean reflected humorously that this point of view had only occurred to -him now that it chanced to coincide so admirably with his own wishes. -Hitherto the “stately homes of England” had been relegated to a quite -unimportant position in the background and Jean’s attention focussed -more directly upon the unpleasing vagaries of the British climate. - -“I should like to go to England,” was all she said. Peterson smiled at -her radiantly--the smile of a child who has got its own way with much -less difficulty than it had anticipated. - -“You shall go,” he promised her. “You’ll adore Staple. It’s quite a -typical old English manor--lawns and terraces all complete, even down to -the last detail of a yew hedge.” - -“Staple? Is that the Brennans’ place?” - -“God bless my soul, no! The Tormarins acquired it when they came pushing -over to England with the Conqueror, I imagine. Anne married twice, you -know. Her first husband, Tormarin, led her a dog’s life, and after -his death she married Claude Brennan--son of a junior branch of the -Brennans. Now she is a widow for the second time.” - -“And are there any children?” - -“Two sons. The elder is the son of the first marriage and is the -owner of Staple, of course. The younger one is the child of the second -marriage. I believe that since Brennan’s death they all three live very -comfortably together at Staple--at least, they did ten years ago when I -last heard from Anne. That was not long after Brennan died.” - -Jean wrinkled her brows. - -“Rather a confusing household to be suddenly pitchforked into,” she -commented. - -“But not dull!” submitted Peterson triumphantly. “And dullness is, after -all, the biggest bugbear of existence.” - -As if suddenly stabbed by the palpable pose of his own remark, the -light died out of his face and he looked round the great dim ball with a -restless, eager glance, as though trying to impress the picture of it on -his memory. - -“Beirnfels--my ‘House of Dreams-Come-True,’” he muttered to himself. - -He had named it thus in those first glowing days when love had -transfigured the grim old border castle, turning it into a place of -magic visions and consummated hopes. The whimsical name took its origin -from a little song which Jacqueline had been wont to sing to him, her -glorious voice investing the simple words with a passionate belief and -triumph. - - It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True, - - Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, - - And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, - - The Wayfarers--I and you. - - - But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True. - - We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set. - - If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, - - Wayfarers--I and you. - -Peterson’s eyes rested curiously on his daughter’s face. There was -something mystic, almost visionary, in their quiet, absent gaze. - -“One day, Jean,” he said, “when you meet the only man who matters, -Beirnfels shall be yours--the house where _your_ dreams shall come true. -It’s a house of ghosts now--a dead house. But some day you and the man -you love will make it live again.” - - - - -CHAPTER II--MADAME DE VARIGNY - -JEAN was standing looking out from the window of her room in the hotel -at Montavan. In the distance, the great white peaks of the Alps strained -upwards, piercing the mass of drifting cloud, whilst below lay a world -sheeted in snow, the long reach of dazzling purity broken only where -the pine-woods etched black trunks against the whiteness and the steely -gleam of a frozen lake showed like a broad blade drawn from a white -velvet scabbard. - -It had been part of Peterson’s expressed programme that, before going -their separate ways, he and Jean should make a brief stay at Montavan, -there to await Lady Anne Brennan’s answer to his letter. Jean had -divined in this determination an excuse, covering his need to take -farewell of that grave on the lonely mountain-side before he set out -upon the solitary journey which could not fail to hold poignant memories -of other, former wanderings--wanderings invested with the exquisite joy -of sharing each adventure with a beloved fellow-wayfarer. - -Instinctively though Jean had recognised the desire at the back of -Glyn’s decision to stop at Montavan, she was scrupulously careful not to -let him guess her recognition. She took her cue from his own demeanour, -which was outwardly that of a man merely travelling for pleasure, -and she listened with a grim sense of amusement when poor Monsieur -Vautrinot, the _maître d’hôtel_, recognising Peterson as a former -client, sympathetically recalled the sad circumstances of his previous -visit and was roundly snubbed for his pains. - -To Jean the loss of her mother had meant far less than it would have -done to a girl in more commonplace circumstances. It was true that -Jacqueline had shown herself all that was kindhearted and generous in -her genuine wish to compass the girl’s happiness, and that Jean had been -frankly fond of her and attracted by her, but in no sense of the words -had there been any interpretation of a maternal or filial relationship. -As Jean herself, to the huge entertainment of her parents, had on -one occasion summed up the situation: “Of course I know I’m a quite -superfluous third at Beirnfels, but, all the same, you two really do -make the most perfect host and hostess, and you try awfully hard not to -let me feel _de trop_.” - -But, despite the fact that Jacqueline had represented little more to -her daughter than a brilliant and delightful personality with whom -circumstances happened to have brought her into contact, Jean was -conscious of a sudden thrill of pain as her glance travelled across the -wide stretches of snow and came at last to rest on the little burial -ground which lay half hidden beneath the shoulder of a hill. She was -moved by an immense consciousness of loss--not just the mere sense of -bereavement which the circumstances would naturally have engendered, but -something more absolute--a sense of all the exquisite maternal element -which she had missed in the woman who was dead. - -And then came recognition of the uselessness of such regret. Nothing -could have made Jacqueline other than she was--one of the world’s great -lovers. Mated to the man she loved, she asked nothing more of Nature, -nor had she herself anything more to give. And the same reasoning, -though perhaps in a less degree, could be applied to Peterson’s -own attitude of detachment towards his daughter; although Jean was -intuitively aware that she had come to mean much more to him since -her mother’s death, even though it might be, perhaps, only because she -represented a tangible link with his past happiness. - -Thrusting aside the oppression of thought conjured up by her glimpse of -that quiet God’s Acre, set high up among the hills, she turned abruptly -from the window and made her way downstairs to the hotel vestibule. - -Here she discovered that Peterson had been claimed by some -acquaintances. The encounter was obviously not of his own choosing, for, -to Jean’s experienced eye, his face bore the slightly restive expression -common to it when circumstances had momentarily got the better of him. - -His companions were a somewhat elaborate little Frenchman of fifty -or thereabouts, with an unmistakable air of breeding about him, and a -stately-looking woman some fifteen years younger, whose warm brunette -colouring and swift, mobile gesture proclaimed her of Latin blood. All -three were conversing in French. - -“_Ah! La voici qui vient!_,” Peterson turned as Jean approached, his quick -exclamation tinctured with relief. Still in French, which both he -and Jean spoke as fluently and with as little accent as English, he -continued rapidly: “Jean, let me present you to Madame la Comtesse de -Varigny.” - -The girl found herself looking straight into a pair of eyes of that -peculiarly opaque, dense brown common to Southern races. They were -heavily fringed with long black lashes, giving them a fictitiously soft -and disarming expression, yet Jean was vaguely conscious that their real -expression held something secret and implacable, almost repellant, an -impression strengthened by the virile, strongly-marked black brows that -lay so close above them. - -For the rest, Madame de Varigny was undeniably a beautiful woman, her -blue-black, rather coarse hair framing an oval face, extraordinarily -attractive in contour, with somewhat high cheek bones and a clever, -flexible mouth. - -Jean’s first instinctive feeling was one of distaste. In spite of -her knowledge that Varigny was one of the oldest names in France, the -Countess struck her as partaking a little of the adventuress--of the -type of woman of no particular birth who has climbed by her wits--and -she wondered what position she had occupied prior to her marriage. - -She was sharply recalled from her thoughts to find that Madame de -Varigny was introducing the little middle-aged Frenchman to her as her -husband, and immediately she spoke Jean felt her suspicions melting away -beneath the warm, caressing cadences of an unusually beautiful voice. -Such a voice was a straight passport to the heart. It seemed to clothe -even the prosaic little Count in an almost romantic atmosphere of tender -charm, an effect which he speedily dispelled by giving Jean a full, -true, and particular account of the various pulmonary symptoms which -annually induced him to seek the high, dry air of Montavan. - -“It is as an insurance of good health that I come,” he informed Jean -gravely. - -“Oh, yes, we are not here merely for pleasure--_comme ces -autres_”---Madame de Varigny gestured smilingly towards a merry party -of men and girls who had just come in from luging and were stamping -the snow from off their feet amid gay little outbursts of chaff and -laughter. “We are here just as last year, when we first made the -acquaintance of Monsieur Peterson”--the suddenly muted quality of her -voice implied just the right amount of sympathetic recollection--“so -that _mon pauvre mari_ may assure himself of yet another year of -health.” - -The faintly ironical gleam in her eyes convinced Jean that, as she had -shrewdly begun to suspect, the little Count was a _malade imaginaire_, -and once she found herself wondering what could be the circumstances -responsible for the union of two such dissimilar personalities as the -high-bred, hypochondriacal little Count and the rather splendid-looking -but almost certainly plebeian-born woman who was his wife. - -She intended, later on, to ask her father if he could supply the key to -the riddle, but he had contrived to drift off during the course of her -conversation with the Varignys, and, when at last she found herself free -to join him, he had disappeared altogether. - -She thought it very probable that he had gone out to watch the progress -of a ski-ing match to which he had referred with some enthusiasm earlier -in the day, and she smiled a little at the characteristic way in which -he had extricated himself, at her expense, from the inconvenience of his -unexpected recontre with the Varignys. - -But, two hours later, she realised that once again his superficial air -of animation had deceived her. From her window she saw him coming along -the frozen track that led from the hillside cemetery, and for a moment -she hardly recognised her father in that suddenly shrank, huddled figure -of a man, stumbling down the path, his head thrust forward and sunken on -his breast. - -Her first imperative instinct was to go and meet him. Her whole being -ached with the longing to let him feel the warm rush of her sympathy, to -assure him that he was not utterly alone. But she checked the impulse, -recognising that he had no use for any sympathy or love which she could -give. - -She had never really been anything other than exterior to his life, -outside his happiness, and now she felt intuitively that he would wish -her to remain equally outside the temple of his grief. - -He was the type of man who would bitterly resent the knowledge that any -eyes had seen him at a moment of such utter, pitiable self-revelation, -and it was the measure of her understanding that Jean waited quietly -till he should choose to come to her. - -“When he came, he had more or less regained his customary poise, though -he still looked strained and shaken. He addressed her abruptly. - -“I’ve decided to go straight on to Marseilles and sail by the next boat, -Jean. There’s one I can catch if I start at once.” - -“At once?” she exclaimed, taken aback. “You don’t mean--to-day?” - -He nodded. - -“Yes, this very evening. I find I can get down to Montreux in time for -the night mail.” Then, answering her unspoken thought: “You’ll be quite -all right. You will be certain to hear from Lady Anne in a day or two, -and, meanwhile, I’ll ask Madame de Varigny to play chaperon. She’ll -be delighted”--with a flash of the ironical humour that was never long -absent from him. - -“Who was she before she married the Count?” queried Jean. - -“I can’t tell you. She is very reticent about her antecedents--probably -with good reason”--smiling grimly. “But she is a big and beautiful -person, and our little Count is obviously quite happy in his choice.” - -“She is rather a fascinating woman,” commented Jean. - -“Yes--but preferable as a friend rather than an enemy. I don’t know -anything about her, but I wouldn’t mind wagering that she has a dash of -Corsican blood in her. Anyway, she will look after you all right till -Anne Brennan writes.” - -“And if no letter comes?” suggested Jean. “Or supposing Lady Anne can’t -have me? We’re rather taking things for granted, you know.” - -His face clouded, but cleared again almost instantly. - -“She _will_ have you. Anne would never refuse a request of mine. If not, -you must come on to me, and I’ll make other arrangements,”--vaguely. -“I’ll let the next boat go, and stay in Paris till I hear from you. But -I can’t wait here any longer.” - -He paused, then broke out hurriedly: - -“I ought never to have come to this place. It’s haunted. I know you’ll -understand--you always do understand, I think, you quiet child--why I -must go.” - -And Jean, looking with the clear eyes of unhurt youth into the handsome, -grief-ravaged face, was suddenly conscious of a shrinking fear of that -mysterious force called love, which can make, and so swiftly, terribly -unmake the lives of men and women. - - - - -CHAPTER III--THE STRANGER ON THE ICE - - -“AND this friend of your father’s? You have not heard from her yet?” - -Jean and Madame de Varigny were breakfasting together the morning after -Peterson’s departure. - -“No. I hoped a letter might have come for me by this morning’s post. But -I’m afraid I shall be on your hands a day or two longer”--smiling. - -“But it is a pleasure!” Madame de Varigny reassured her warmly. “My -husband and I are here for another week yet. After that we go on to St. -Moritz. He is suddenly discontented with Montavan. If, by any chance, -you have not then heard from Lady--Lady--I forget the name----” - -“Lady Anne Brennan,” supplied Jean. - -A curiously concentrated expression seemed to flit for an instant across -Madame de Varigny’s face, but she continued smoothly: - -“_Mais, oui_--Lady Brennan. _Eh bien_, if you have not heard from her -by the time we leave for St. Moritz, you must come with us. It would add -greatly to our pleasure.” - -“It’s very good of you,” replied Jean. She felt frankly grateful for the -suggestion, realising that if, by any mischance, the letter should be -delayed till then, Madame de Varigny’s offer would considerably smooth -her path. In spite of Glyn’s decision that she must join him in Paris, -should Lady Anne’s invitation fail to materialise, she was well aware -that he would not greet her appearance on the scene with any enthusiasm. - -“I suppose”--the Countess was speaking again--“I suppose Brennan is a -very frequent--a common name in England?” - -The question was put quite casually, more as though for the sake of -making conversation than anything else, yet Madame de Varigny seemed to -await the answer with a curious anxiety. - -“Oh, no,” Jean replied readily enough, “I don’t think it is a common -name. Lady Anne married into a junior branch of the family, I believe,” - she added. - -“That would not be considered a very good match for a peer’s daughter, -surely?” hazarded the Countess. “A junior branch? I suppose there was a -romantic love-affair of some kind behind it?” - -“It was Lady Anne’s second marriage. Her first husband was a -Tormarin--one of the oldest families in England.” Jean spoke rather -stiffly. There was something jarring about the pertinacious catechism. - -Madame de Varigny’s lips trembled as she put her next question, and -not even the dusky fringe of lashes could quite soften the sudden tense -gleam in her eyes. - -“Tor--ma--rin!” She pronounced the name with a French inflection, -evidently finding the unusual English word a little beyond her powers. -“What a curious name! That, I am sure, must be uncommon. And this Lady -Anne--she has children--sons? No?” - -“Oh, yes. She has two sons.” - -“Indeed?” Madame de Varigny looked interested. “And what are the sons -called?” - -Jean regarded her with mild surprise. Apparently the subject of -nomenclature had a peculiar fascination for her. - -“I really forget. My father did once tell me, but I don’t recollect what -he said.” - -A perceptible shade of disappointment passed over the other’s face, -then, as though realising that she had exhibited a rather uncalled-for -curiosity, she said deprecatingly: - -“I fear I seem intrusive. But I am so interested in your future--I have -taken a great fancy to you, mademoiselle. That must be my excuse.” She -rose from the table, adding smilingly: “At least you will not find it -dull, since Lady Anne has two sons. They will he companions for you.” - -Jean rose, too, and together they passed out of the _salle à manger_. - -“And what do you propose to do with yourself to-day?” asked the -Countess, pausing in the hall. “My husband and I are going for a sleigh -drive. Would you care to come with us? We should he delighted.” - -Jean shook her head. - -“It’s very kind of you. But I should really like to try my luck on the -ice. I haven’t skated for some years, and as I feel a trifle shaky about -beginning again, Monsieur Griolet, who directs the sports, has promised -to coach me up a bit some time this morning.” - -“_Bon!_” Madame de Varigny nodded pleasantly. “You will be well occupied -while we are away. Au revoir, then, till our return. Perhaps we shall -walk down to the rink later to witness your progress under Monsieur -Groilet’s instruction.” - -She smiled mischievously, the smile irradiating her face with a sudden -charm. Jean felt as though, for a moment, she had glimpsed the woman -the Countess might have been but for some happening in her life which -had soured and embittered it, setting that strange implacability within -the liquid depths of her soft, southern eyes. - -She was still speculating on Madame de Varigny’s curious personality as -she made her way along the beaten track that led towards the rink, and -then, as a sudden turn of the way brought the sheet of ice suddenly into -full view, all thoughts concerning the bunch of contradictions that goes -to make up individual character were swept out of her mind. - -In the glory of the morning sunlight the stretch of frozen water gleamed -like a shield of burnished silver, whilst on its further side rose great -pine-woods, mysteriously dark and silent, climbing the steeply rising -ground towards the mountains. - -There were a number of people skating, and Jean discovered Monsieur -Griolet in the distance, supervising the practice of a pretty American -girl who was cutting figures with an ease and exquisite balance of lithe -body that hardly seemed to stand in need of the instructions he poured -forth so volubly. Probably, Jean decided, the American had entered for -some match and was being coached up to concert pitch accordingly. - -She stood for a little time watching with interest the varied -performances of the skaters. Bands of light-hearted young folk, -indulging in the sport just for the sheer enjoyment of it, sped gaily -by, broken snatches of their talk and laughter drifting back to her -as they passed, whilst groups of more accomplished skaters performed -intricate evolutions with an earnestness and intensity of purpose almost -worthy of a better cause. - -Jean felt herself a little stranded and forlorn. She would have -liked someone to share her enthusiasm for the marvels achieved by -the figure-skaters--and to laugh with her a little at their deadly -seriousness and at the scraps of heated argument anent the various -schools of technique which came to her, borne on the still, clear air. - -Presently her attention was attracted by the solitary figure of a man -who swept past her in the course of making a complete circle of the -rink. He skimmed the ice with the free assurance of an expert, and as he -passed, Jean caught a fleeting glimpse of a supple, sinewy figure, -and of a lean, dark face, down-bent, with a cap crammed low on to the -somewhat scowling brows. - -There was something curiously distinctive about the man. Brief as was -her vision of him, it possessed an odd definiteness--a vividness of -impression that was rather startling. - -He flashed by, his arms folded across his chest, moving with long, -rhythmic strokes which soon carried him to the further side of the -rink. Jean’s eyes followed him interestedly. He was unmistakably an -Englishman, and he seemed to be as solitary as herself, but, unlike her, -he appeared indifferent to the fact, absorbed in his own thoughts -which, to judge by the sullen, brooding expression of his face, were not -particularly pleasant ones. - -Soon she lost sight of him amid the scattered groups of smoothly gliding -figures. The scene reminded her of a cinema show. People darted suddenly -into the picture, materialising in full detail in the space of a moment, -then rushed out of it again, dwindling into insignificant black dots -which merged themselves into the continuously shifting throng beyond. - -At last she bent her steps towards the lower end of the rink, by common -consent reserved for beginners in the art of skating. She had not skated -for several years, owing to a severe strain which had left her with a -weak ankle, and she felt somewhat nervous about starting again. - -Rather slowly she fastened on her skates and ventured tentatively on to -the ice. For a few minutes she suffered from a devastating feeling that -her legs didn’t belong to her, and wished heartily that she had never -quitted the safe security of the bank, but before long her confidence -returned, and with it that flexible ease of balance which, once -acquired, is never really lost. - -In a short time she was thoroughly enjoying the rapid, effortless -motion, and felt herself equal to steering a safe course beyond the -narrow limits of the “Mugs’ Corner”--as that portion of the ice allotted -to novices was unkindly dubbed. - -She struck out for the middle of the rink, gradually increasing her -speed and revelling in the sting of the keen, cold air against her -face. Then, all at once, it seemed as though the solid surface gave way -beneath her foot. She lurched forward, flung violently off her balance, -and in the same moment the sharp clink of metal upon ice betrayed the -cause. One of her skates, insecurely fastened, had come off. - -She staggered wildly, and in another instant would have fallen had not -someone, swift as a shadow, glided suddenly abreast of her and, slipping -a supporting arm round her waist, skated smoothly beside her, little by -little slackening their mutual pace until Jean, on one blade all this -time, could stop without danger of falling. - -As they glided to a standstill, she turned to offer her thanks and found -herself looking straight into the lean, dark face of the Englishman who -had passed her when she had been watching the skaters. - -He lifted his cap, and as he stood for a moment bare-headed beside -her, she noticed with a curious little shock--half surprised, half -appreciative--that on the left temple his dark brown hair was streaked -with a single pure white lock, as though a finger had been laid upon -the hair and bleached it where it lay. It conferred a certain air of -distinction--an added value of contrast--just as the sharp black shadow -in a neutral-tinted picture gives sudden significance to the whole -conception. - -The stranger was regarding Jean with a flicker of amusement in his grey -eyes. - -“That was a near thing!” he observed. - -Evidently he judged her to be a Frenchwoman, for he spoke in -French--very fluently, but with an unmistakable English accent. -Instinctively Jean, who all her life had been as frequently called upon -to converse in French as English, responded in the same language. - -She was breathing rather quickly, a little shaken by the suddenness of -the incident, and his face took on a shade of concern. - -“You’re not hurt, I hope? Did you twist your ankle?” - -“No--oh, no,” she smiled up at him. “I can’t have fastened my skate on -properly, and when it shot off like that I’m afraid I rather lost my -head. You see,” she added explanatorily, “I haven’t skated for some -years. And I was never very proficient.” - -“I see,” he said gravely. “It was a little rash of you to start again -quite alone, wasn’t it?” - -“I suppose it was. However, as you luckily happened to be there to save -me from the consequences, no harm is done. Thank you so much.” - -There was a note of dismissal in her voice, but apparently he failed to -notice it, for he held out his hands to her crosswise, saying: - -“Let me help you to the bank, and then I’ll retrieve your errant skate -for you.” - -He so evidently expected her to comply with his suggestion that, almost -without her own volition, she found herself moving with him towards -the edge of the rink, her hands grasped in a close, steady clasp, and a -moment later she was scrambling up the bank. Once more on level ground, -she made a movement to withdraw her hands. - -“I can manage quite well now,” she said rather nervously. There was -something in that strong, firm grip of his which sent a curious tremor -of consciousness through her. - -He made no answer, but released her instantly, and in her anxiety to -show him how well she could manage she hurried on, struck the tip of the -skate she was still wearing against a little hummock of frozen snow, and -all but fell. He caught her as she stumbled. - -“I think.” he remarked drily, “you would do well to sacrifice your -independence till your feet are on more equal terms with one another.” - -Jean laughed ruefully. - -“I think I should,” she agreed meekly. - -He led her to where the prone trunk of a tree offered a seat of sorts, -then went in search of the missing skate. Returning in a few moments, he -knelt beside her and fastened it on--securely this time--to the slender -foot she extended towards him. - -“You’re much too incompetent to be out on the ice alone,” he remarked as -he buckled the last strap. - -A faint flush of annoyance rose in Jean’s cheeks at the uncompromising -frankness of the observation. - -“What are your friends thinking of to let you do such a thing?” he -pursued, blandly ignoring her mute indignation. - -“I have no friends here. I am--my own mistress,” she replied rather -tartly. - -He was still kneeling in the snow in front of her. Now he sat back on -his heels and subjected her face to a sharp, swift scrutiny. Almost, she -thought, she detected a sudden veiled suspicion in the keen glance. - -“You’re not the sort of girl to be knocking about--alone--at a hotel,” - he said at last, as though satisfied. - -“How do you know what I’m like?” she retorted quickly, “You are hardly -qualified to judge.” - -“_Pardon, mademoiselle_, I do not know what you are--but I do know very -certainly what you are not. And”--smiling a little--“I think we have -just had ocular demonstration of the fact that you’re not accustomed to -fending for yourself.” - -There was something singularly attractive about his smile. It lightened -his whole face, contradicting the settled gravity that seemed habitual -to it, and Jean found herself smiling back in response. - -“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m not,” she admitted. “I came here with my -father, and he was--was suddenly called away. I am going on to stay with -friends.” - -“This is my last day here,” he remarked with sudden irrelevance. “I am -off first thing to-morrow morning.” - -“You’re not stopping at the hotel, are you?” - -He shook his head. - -“No. I’m staying at a friend’s chalet a little way beyond it. _Mais, -voyons, mademoiselle_, you will catch cold sitting there. Are you too -frightened to try the ice again?” - -He seemed to assume that her next essay would be made in his company. -Jean spoke a little hurriedly. - -“Oh, no, I was supposed to have a lesson with Monsieur Griolet this -morning. He is an instructor,” she explained. “But he was engaged -coaching someone else when I came out.” - -“And which is this Monsieur Griolet? Can you see him?” - -Jean’s glance ranged over the scattered figures on the rink. - -“Yes. There he is.” - -His eyes followed the direction indicated. - -“He seems to be well occupied at the moment,” he commented. -“Suppose--would you allow me to act as coach instead?” - -She hesitated. This stranger appeared to be uncompromisingly -progressive in his tendencies. - -“I’m perfectly capable,” he added curtly. - -“I’m sure of that. But----” - -His eyes twinkled. “But it would not be quite _comme il faut?_ Is that -it?” - -“Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” she retaliated. - -His face grew suddenly grave, and she noticed that when in repose there -were deep, straight lines on either side of his mouth--lines that are -usually only furrowed by severe suffering, either mental or physical. - -“Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “To-day, it seems, we are two very -lonely people. Couldn’t we forget what is _comme il faut_ for once? We -shall probably never meet again. We know nothing of each other--just -‘ships that pass in the night.’ Let us keep one another company--take -this one day together.” - -He drew a step nearer to her. - -“Will you?” he said. “Will you?” - -He was looking down at her with eyes that were curiously bright and -compelling. There was a tense note in his voice which once again sent -that disconcerting tremor of consciousness tingling through her blood. - -She knew that his proposal was impertinent, unconventional, even -regarded from the standpoint of the modern broad interpretation of the -word convention, and that by every law of Mrs. Grundy she ought to snub -him soundly for his presumption and retrace her steps to the hotel with -all the dignity at her command. - -But she did none of these things. Instead, she stood hesitating, -alternately flushing and paling beneath the oddly concentrated gaze he -bent on her. - -“I swear it shall bind you to nothing,” he pursued urgently. “Not even -to recognising me in the street should our ways ever chance to cross -again. Though that is hardly likely to occur”--with a shrug--“seeing -that mademoiselle is French and that I am rarely out of England. It will -be just one day that we shall have shared together out of the whole -of life, and after that the ‘darkness again and a silence.’.... I can -promise you the ‘silence’!” he added with a sudden harsh inflection. - -It was that bitter note which won the day. In some subtle, subconscious -way Jean sensed the pain which lay at the back of it. She answered -impulsively: - -“Very well. It shall be as you wish.” - -A rarely sweet smile curved the man’s grave lips. - -“Thank you,” he said simply. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE STOLEN DAY - - -“ENCORE _une fois!_ Bravo! That went better!” Monsieur Griolet’s -understudy had amply justified his claim to capability. After a -morning’s tuition at his hands, Jean found her prowess in the art of -skating considerably enhanced. She was even beginning to master the -mysteries of “cross-cuts” and “rocking turns,” and a somewhat attenuated -figure eight lay freshly scored on the ice to her credit. - -“You are really a wonderful instructor,” she acknowledged, surveying the -graven witness to her progress with considerable satisfaction. - -Her self-appointed teacher smiled. - -“There is something to be said for the pupil, also,” he replied. “But -now”--glancing at his watch--“I vote we call a halt for lunch.” - -“Lunch!” Jean’s glance measured the distance to the hotel with some -dismay. - -“But not lunch at the hotel,” interposed her companion quickly. - -Jean regarded him with curiosity. - -“Where then, monsieur?” - -“Up there!” he pointed towards the pine-woods. “Above the woods there is -a hut of sorts--erected as a shelter in case of sudden storms for people -coming up from the lower valley to Montavan and beyond. It’s a rough -little shanty, but it would serve very well as a temporary salle à -manger. It isn’t a long climb,” he added persuasively. “Are you too -tired to take it on after your recent exertion?” - -“Not in the least. But are you expecting a wayside refuge of that -description to be miraculously endowed with a well-furnished larder?” - -“No. But I think my knapsack can make good the deficiency.” he replied -composedly. - -Jean looked at him with dancing eyes. Having once yielded to the day’s -unconventional adventure, she had surrendered herself whole-heartedly to -the enjoyment of it. - -She made one reservation, however. Some instinct of self-protection -prevented her from enlightening her companion as to her partly English -nationality. There was no real necessity for it, seeing that he spoke -French with the utmost fluency, and his assumption that she was a -Frenchwoman seemed in some way to limit the feeling of intimacy, -conferring on her, as it were, a little of the freedom of an incognito. - -“_A la bonne heure!_” she exclaimed gaily. “So you invite me to share -your lunch, _monsieur le professeur?_” - -“I’ve invited you to share my day, haven’t I?” he replied, smiling. - -They steered for the bank, and when he had helped off her skates and -removed his own, slinging them over his arm, they started off along the -steep white track which wound its way upwards through the pine-woods. - -As they left the bright sunlight that still glittered on the snowy -slopes behind them, it seemed as though they plunged suddenly into -another world--a still, mysterious, twilit place, where the snow -underfoot muffled the sound of their steps and the long shadows of the -pines barred their path with sinister, distorted shapes. - -Jean, always sensitive to her surroundings, shivered a little. - -“It’s rather eerie, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s just as if someone had -suddenly turned the lights out.” - -“Quite a nice bit of symbolism,” he returned enigmatically. - -“How? I don’t think I understand.” - -He laughed a little. - -“How should you? You’re young. Fate doesn’t come along and snuff out the -lights for you when you are--what shall we say? Eighteen?” - -“You’re two years out,” replied Jean composedly. - -“As much? Then let’s hope you’ll have so much the longer to wait before -Madame Destiny comes round with her snuffers.” - -He spoke with a kind of bitter humour, the backwash, surely, of some -storm through which he must have passed. Jean looked across at him with -a vague trouble in her face. - -“Then, do you think”--she spoke uncertainly--“do you believe it is -inevitable that she will come--sooner or later?” - -“I hope not--to you,” he said gently. “But she comes to most of us.” - -She longed to put another question, but there was a note of finality -in his voice--a kind of “thus far shalt thou come and no further”--that -warned her to probe no deeper. Whatever it was of bitterness that lay in -the Englishman’s past, he had no intention of sharing the knowledge with -his chance companion of a day. He seemed to have become absorbed once -more in his own thoughts, and for a time they tramped along together in -silence. - -The ascent steepened perceptibly, and Jean, light and active as she was, -found it hard work to keep pace with the man’s steady, swinging stride. -Apparently his thoughts engrossed him to the exclusion of everything -else, for he appeared to have utterly forgotten her existence. It was -only when a slip of her foot on the beaten surface of the snow wrung -a quick exclamation from her that he paused, wheeling round in -consternation. - -“I beg your pardon! I’m walking you off your legs! Why on earth didn’t -you stop me?” - -There was something irresistibly boyish about the quick apology. Jean -laughed, a little breathless from the swift climb uphill. - -“You seemed so bent on getting to the top in the least possible time,” - she replied demurely, “that I didn’t like to disappoint you.” - -“I’m afraid I make a poor sort of guide,” he admitted. “I was thinking -of something else. You must forgive me.” - -They resumed their climb more leisurely. The trees were thinning a bit -now, and ahead, between the tall, straight trunks winged with drooping, -snow-laden branches, they could catch glimpses of the white world -beyond. - -Presently they came out above the pine-wood on to the edge of a broad -plateau and Jean uttered an exclamation of delight, gazing spell-bound -at the scene thus suddenly unfolded. - -Behind them, in the pine-ringed valley, a frozen reach of water gleamed -like a dull sheet of metal, whilst before them, far above, stretched -the great chain of mountains, pinnacle after pinnacle, capped with -snow, thrusting up into the cloud-swept sky. Through rifts in the -cloud--almost, it seemed, torn in the breast of heaven by those towering -peaks--the sunlight slanted in long shafts, chequering the snows with -shimmering patches of pale gold. - -“It was worth the climb, then?” - -The Englishman, his gaze on Jean’s rapt face, broke the silence -abruptly. She turned to him, radiant-eyed. - -“It’s so beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!” she exclaimed, -laying her hand on her breast with the little foreign turn of gesture -she derived from her French ancestry. - -She said no more, but remained very still, drinking in the sheer -loveliness of the scene. - -The man regarded her quietly as she stood there silhouetted against the -skyline, her slim, brown-clad figure striking a warm note amid the -chill Alpine whites and greys. Her face was slightly tilted, and as the -sunshine glinted on her hair and eyes, waking the russet lights that -slumbered in them, there was something vividly arresting about her--a -splendour of ardent youth which brought a somewhat wistful expression -into the rather weary eyes of the man watching her. - -His thought travelled hack to the brief snatch of conversation evoked -by the sudden gloom of the pine-woods. Surely, for once, Fate would lay -aside her snuffers and let this young, eager life pass by unshadowed! - -Even as the thought took shape in his mind, Jean turned to him again, -her face still radiant, “Thank you for bringing me up here,” she said -simply. “It has been perfect.” - -She stretched out her hand, and he took it and held it in his for a -moment. - -“I’m glad you’ve liked it,” he answered quietly. “It will always be a -part of our day together--the day we stole from _les convenances_”--he -smiled whimsically. “And now, if you can bring yourself back to more -prosaic matters, I suggest we have lunch. Scenery, however fine, isn’t -exactly calculated to sustain life.” - -“Most material person!” She laughed up at him. “I suppose you think a -ham sandwich worth all the scenery in the world?” - -“I’ll admit to a preference for the sandwich at the moment,” he -acknowledged. “Come, now, confess! Aren’t you hungry, too?” - -“Starving! This air makes me feel as if I’d never had anything to eat in -my life before!” - -“Well, then, come and inspect my _salle à manger_.” - -The proposed refuge proved to be a roughly constructed little -hut--hardly more than a shed provided with a door and thick-paned -window, its only furniture a wooden bench and table. But that it had -served its purpose as a kind of “travellers’ rest” was proved by the -fragments of appreciation, both in prose and verse, that were to be -found inscribed in a species of “Visitors’ Book” which lay on the table, -carefully preserved from damp in a strong metal box. Jean amused herself -by perusing the various contributions to its pages while the Englishman -unpacked the contents of his knapsack. - -The lunch that followed was a merry little meal, the two conversing -with a happy intimacy and freedom from reserve based on the reassuring -knowledge that they would, in all probability, never meet again. -Afterwards, they bent their energies to concerting a suitable -inscription for insertion in the “Visitors’ Book,” squabbling like a -couple of children over the particular form it should take. - -So absorbed were they in the discussion that they failed to notice the -perceptible cooling of the temperature. The sun no longer warmed the -roofing of the hut, and there was a desolate note in the sudden gusts -of wind which shook the door at frequent intervals as though trying to -attract the attention of those within. Presently a louder rattle than -usual, coincident with a chance pause in the conversation, roused them -effectually. - -The Englishman’s keen glance flashed to the little window, through which -was visible a dancing, whirling blur of white. - -“Great Scott!” he exclaimed in good round English. “It’s snowing like -the very dickens!” - -In two strides he had reached the door, and, throwing it open, peered -out. A draught of icy air rushed into the hut, accompanied by a flurry -of fine snow driven on the wind. - -When he turned back, his face had assumed a sudden look of gravity. - -“We must go at once,” he said, speaking in French again and apparently -unconscious of his momentary lapse into his native tongue. “If we don’t, -we shan’t be able to get back at all. The snow drifts quickly in the -valley. Half an hour more of this and we shouldn’t be able to get -through.” - -Jean thrust the Visitors’ Book back into its box, and began hastily -repacking her companion’s, knapsack, but he stopped her almost roughly. - -“Never mind that. Fasten that fur thing closer round your throat and -come on. There’s no taking chances in a blizzard like this. Don’t you -understand?”--almost roughly. “If we waste time we may have to spend the -night here.” - -Impelled by the sudden urgency of his tones, Jean followed him swiftly -out of the hut, and the wind, as though baulked by her haste, snatched -the door from her grasp and drove it to with a menacing thud behind -them. - - - - -CHAPTER V--AMONG THE SNOWS - -AS Jean stepped outside the hut it seemed as though she had walked -straight into the heart of the storm. The bitter, ice-laden blast that -bore down from the mountains caught away her breath, the fine driving -flakes, crystal-hard, whipped her face, almost blinding her with the -fury of their onslaught, whilst her feet slipped and slid on the newly -fallen snow as she trudged along beside the Englishman. - -“This is a good preparation for a dance!” she gasped breathlessly, -forcing her chilled lips to a smile. - -“For a dance? What dance?” - -“There’s a fancy dress ball at the hotel to-night. There won’t be--much -of me--left to dance, will there?” - -The Englishman laughed suddenly. - -“My chief concern is to get you back to the hotel--alive,” he observed -grimly. - -Jean looked at him quickly. - -“Is it as bad as that?” she asked more soberly. - -“No. At least I hope not. I didn’t mean to frighten you”--hastily. “Only -it seemed a trifle incongruous to be contemplating a dance when we may -be struggling through several feet of snow in half an hour.” - -The fierce gusts of wind, lashing the snow about them in bewildering -eddies, made conversation difficult, and they pushed on in a silence -broken only by an occasional word of encouragement from the Englishman. - -“All right?” he queried once, as Jean paused, battered and spent with -the fury of the storm. - -She nodded speechlessly. She had no breath left to answer, but once -again her lips curved in a plucky little smile. A fresh onslaught of the -wind forced them onwards, and she staggered a little as it blustered by. - -“Here,” he said quickly. “Take my arm. It will be better when we get -into the pine-wood. The trees there will give us some protection.” - -They struggled forward again, arm in arm. The swirling snow had blotted -out the distant mountains; lowering storm-filled clouds made a grey -twilight of the day, through which they could just discern ahead the -vague, formless darkness of the pine-wood. - -Another ten minutes walking brought them to it, only to find that -the blunted edge of the storm was almost counterbalanced by the added -difficulties of the surrounding gloom. High up overhead they could hear -the ominous creak and swing of great branches shaken like toys in -the wind, and now and again the sharper crack of some limb wrenched -violently from its parent trunk. Once there came the echoing crash of a -tree torn up bodily and flung to earth. - -“It’s worse here,” declared Jean, “I think”--with a nervous laugh--“I -think I’d rather die in the open!” - -“It might be preferable. Only you’re not going to die at all, if I can -help it,” the Englishman returned composedly. - -But, cool though he appeared, he experienced a thrill of keen anxiety -as they emerged from the pine-wood and his quick eyes scanned the -dangerously rapid drifting of the snow. - -The wind was racing down the valley now, driving the snow before it and -piling it up, inch by inch, foot by foot, against the steep ground which -skirted the sheet of ice where they had been skating but a few hours -before. - -Through the pitiless beating of the snow Jean strove to read her -companion’s face. It was grim and set, the lean jaw thrust out a little -and the grey eyes tense and concentrated. - -“Can we get through?” she asked, raising her voice so that it might -carry against the wind. - -“If we can get through the drifted snow between here and the track on -the left, we’re all right,” answered the man. - -“The wind’s slanting across the valley and there’ll be no drifts on the -further side. I wish I’d got a bit of rope with me.” - -He felt in his pockets, finally producing the rolled-up strap of a -suit-case. - -“That’s all I have,” he said discontentedly. - -“What’s it for?” - -“It’s to go round your waist. I don’t want to lose you”--smiling -briefly--“if you should stumble into deep snow.” - -“Deep snow? But it’s only been snowing an hour or so!” she objected. - -“Evidently you don’t know what a blizzard can accomplish in the way of -drifting during the course of an ‘hour or so.’ I do.” - -Deftly he fastened the strap round her waist, and, taking the loose end, -gave it a double turn about his wrist before gripping it firmly in his -hand. - -“Now, keep close behind me. Regard me”--laughing shortly--“as a -snow-plough. And if I go down deep rather suddenly, throw your weight -backward as much as you can.” - -He moved forward, advancing cautiously. He was badly handicapped by the -lack of even a stick with which to gauge the depth of drifting snow in -front of him, and he tested each step before trusting his full weight to -the delusive, innocent-looking surface. - -Jean went forward steadily beside him, a little to the rear. The snow -was everywhere considerably more than ankle-deep, and at each step she -could feel that the slope of the ground increased and with it the depth -of the drift through which they toiled. - -The cold was intense. The icy fingers of the snow about her feet seemed -to creep upward and upward till her whole body felt numbed and dead, and -as she stumbled along in the Englishman’s wake, buffeted and beaten by -the storm, her feet ached as if leaden weights were attached to them. - -But she struggled on pluckily. The man in front of her was taking the -brunt of the hardship, cutting a path for her, as it were, with his own -body as he forged ahead, and she was determined not to add to his work -by putting any weight on the strap which bound them together. - -All at once he gave a sharp exclamation and pulled up abruptly. - -“It’s getting much deeper,” he called out, turning back to her. “You’ll -never get through, hampered with your skirts. I’m going to carry you.” - -Jean shook her head, and shouted back: - -“_You_ wouldn’t get through, handicapped like that. No, let’s push on as -we are. I’ll manage somehow.” - -A glint of something like admiration flickered in his eyes. - -“Game little devil!” he muttered. But the wind caught up the words, and -Jean did not hear them. He raised his voice again, releasing the strap -from his wrist as he spoke. - -“You’ll do what I tell you. It’s only a matter of getting through this -bit of drift, and we’ll be out of the worst of it. Put your arms round -my neck.” Then, as she hesitated: “Do you hear? Put your arms round my -neck--_quick!_” - -The dominant ring in his voice impelled her. Obediently she clasped her -arms about his neck as he stooped, and the next moment she felt herself -swung upward, almost as easily as a child, and firmly held in the -embrace of arms like steel. - -For a few yards he made good progress, thrusting his way through the -yielding snow. But the task of carrying a young woman of average height -and weight is no light one, even to a strong man and without the added -difficulty of plunging through snow that yields treacherously at every -step, and Jean could guess the strain entailed upon him by the double -burden. - -“Oh, do put me down!” she urged him. “I’m sure I can walk it--really I -am.” - -He halted for a moment. - -“Look down!” he said. “Think you could travel in that?” - -The snow was up to his knees, above them whenever the ground hollowed -suddenly. - -“But you?” she protested unhappily. “You’ll--you’ll simply kill -yourself!” - -“Small loss if I do! But as that would hardly help you out of your -difficulties, I’ve no intention of giving up the ghost just at present.” - -He started on again, pressing forward slowly and determinedly, but it -was only with great difficulty and exertion that he was able to make -headway. Jean, her cheek against the rough tweed of his coat, could hear -the labouring beats of his heart as the depth of the snow increased. - -“How much further?” she whispered. - -“Not far,” he answered briefly, husbanding his breath. - -A few more steps. They were both silent now. Jean’s eyes sought his -face. It was ashen, and even in that bitter cold beads of sweat were -running down it; he was nearing the end of his tether. She could bear it -no longer. She stirred restlessly in his arms. - -“Put me down,” she cried imploringly. “_Please_ put me down.” - -But he shook his head. - -“Keep still, can’t you?” he muttered between his teeth. She felt his -arms tighten round her. - -The next moment he stumbled heavily against some surface root or -boulder, concealed beneath the snow, and pitched forward, and in the -same instant Jean felt herself sinking down, down into a soft bed of -something that yielded resistlessly to her weight. Then came a violent -jerk and jar, as though she had been seized suddenly round the waist, -and the sensation of sinking ceased abruptly. - -She lay quite still where she had fallen and, looking upwards, found -herself staring straight into the eyes of the Englishman. He was lying -flat on his face, on ground a little above the snow-filled hollow into -which his fall had flung her, his hand grasping the strap which was -fastened round her body. He had caught the flying end of it as they -fell, and thus saved her from sinking into seven or eight feet of snow. - -“Are you hurt?” - -His voice came to her roughened with fierce anxiety. - -“No. I’m not hurt. Only don’t leave go of your end of the strap!” - -“Thank God!” she heard him mutter. Then, aloud, reassuringly: “I’ve got -my end of it all right. How, can you catch hold of the strap and raise -yourself a little so that I can reach you?” - -Jean obeyed. A minute later she felt his arms about her shoulders, -underneath her armpits, and then very slowly, but with a sure strength -that took from her all sense of fear, he drew her safely up beside him -on to the high ground. - -Eor a moment they both rested quietly, recovering their breath. The -Englishman seemed glad of the respite, and Jean noticed with concern the -rather drawn look of his face. She thought he must be more played out -than he cared to acknowledge. - -Across the silence of sheer fatigue their eyes met--Jean’s filled with -a wistful solicitude as unconscious and candid as a child’s, the man’s -curiously brilliant and inscrutable--and in a moment the silence had -become something other, different, charged with emotional significance, -the revealing silence which falls suddenly between a man and woman. - -At last: - -“This is what comes of stealing a day from Mrs. Grundy,” commented the -man drily. - -And the tension was broken. - -He sprang up, as though, anxious to maintain the recovered atmosphere of -the commonplace. - -“Come! Having shot her bolt and tried ineffectually to down you in a -ditch, I expect the old lady will let us get home safely now. We’re -through the worst. There are no more drifts between here and the hotel.” - -It was true. Anything that might have spelt danger was past, and it only -remained to follow the beaten track up to the hotel, though even so, -with the wind and snow driving in their faces, it took them a good -half-hour to accomplish the task. - -Monsieur and Madame de Varigny, a distracted _maître d’hôtel_, and -a little crowd of interested and sympathetic visitors welcomed their -arrival. - -“_Mon dieu, mademoiselle!_ But we rejoice to see you back!” exclaimed -Madame de Varigny. “We ourselves are only newly returned--and that, with -difficulty, through this terrible storm--and we arrive to find that none -knows where you are!” - -“Me, I made sure that mademoiselle had accompanied _Madame la -Comtesse._” asseverated Monsieur Vautrinot, nervously anxious to -exculpate himself from any charge of carelessness. - -“We were just going to organise a search-party,” added the little Count. -“I, myself”--stoutly--“should have joined in the search.” - -Weary as she was, Jean could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea -of the diminutive Count in the rôle of gallant preserver. He would have -been considerably less well-qualified even than herself to cope with the -drifting snow through which the sheer, dogged strength of the Englishman -had brought her safely. - -Instinctively she turned with the intention of effecting an introduction -between the latter and the Varignys, only to find that he had -disappeared. He had taken the opportunity presented by the little -ferment of excitement which had greeted her safe return to slip away. - -She felt oddly disconcerted. And yet, she reflected, it was so like -him--so like the conception of him which she had formed, at least--to -evade both her thanks and the enthusiasm with which a recital of the -afternoon’s adventure Would have been received. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--THE MAGIC MOMENT - -JEAN, surprisingly revived by a hot bath and a hot drink, and -comfortably tucked up beside the fire in her room, was recounting the -day’s adventure to Madame de Varigny. - -It was a somewhat expurgated version of the affair that she -outlined--thoughtfully calculated to allay the natural apprehensions -of a temporary chaperon--in which the unknown Englishman figured -innocuously as merely having come to her assistance when, in the course -of her afternoon’s tramp, she had been overtaken by the blizzard. Of -the stolen day, snatched from under Mrs. Grundy’s enquiring nose, Jean -preserved a discreet silence. - -“I don’t know who he could be,” she pursued. “I’ve never seen him on the -ice before; I should certainly have recognised him if I had. He was a -lean, brown man, very English-looking--that sort of cold-tub-every-morning -effect, you know. Oh! And he had one perfectly white lock of -hair that was distinctly attractive. It looked”--descriptively--“as -though someone had dabbed a powdered finger on his hair--just in the -right place.” - -Madame de Varigny’s eyes narrowed, and a quick ejaculation escaped her. -It was something more than a mere exclamation connoting interest; it -held a definitely individual note, as though it sprang from some sudden -access of personal feeling. - -Jean, hearing it, looked up in some surprise, and the other, meeting her -questioning glance, rushed hastily into speech. - -“A lock of white hair? But how _chic!_ - -“It should not”--thoughtfully--“be difficult to discover the identity of -anyone with so distinctive a characteristic.” - -“He is not staying in the hotel, at all events,” said Jean. “He told me -he was at a friend’s chalet.” - -“And he did not enlighten you as to his name? Gave you no hint?” - -Madame de Varigny spoke with an assumption of indifference, but there -was an undertone of suppressed eagerness in her liquid voice. - -Jean shook her head, smiling a little to herself. It had been part of -the charm of that brief companionship that neither of the two comrades -knew any of the everyday, commonplace details concerning the other. - -“Perhaps you will see him again at the rink to-morrow,” suggested Madame -de Varigny, still with that note of restrained eagerness in her tones. -“The snow is not deep except where it has drifted; they will clear the -ice in the morning.” - -Jean was silent. She was not altogether sure that she wanted to see -him again. As it stood, robbed of all the commonplace circumstances of -convention, the incident held a certain glamour of whimsical romance -which could not but appeal to the daughter of Glyn Peterson. Nicely -rounded off, as, for instance, by the unknown Englishman’s prosaically -calling at the hotel the next day to enquire whether she had suffered -any ill effects, it would lose all the thrill of adventure. It was -the suggestion of incompleteness which flavoured the entire episode so -piquantly. - -No, on the whole, Jean rather hoped that she would not meet the -Englishman again--at least, not yet. Some day, perhaps, it might be -rather nice if chance brought them together once more. There would be a -certain element of romantic fitness about it, should that happen. - -“I don’t think I am likely to see him again,” she said quietly, replying -to Madame de Varigny’s suggestion. “He told me he was going away -to-morrow.” - -Had it been conceivable, Jean would have said that a flash of -disappointment crossed the Countess’s face. But there seemed no possible -reason why the movements of an unknown Englishman should cause her any -excitation of feeling whatever, pleasant or otherwise. The only feasible -explanation was that odd little streak of inquisitiveness concerning -other people’s affairs which appeared to be characteristic of her and -which she had before evinced concerning the circumstances of Lady Anne -Brennan. - -Whatever curiosity she may have felt, however, on this occasion Madame -de Varigny refrained from giving expression to it. Apparently dismissing -the subject of the Englishman’s identity from her mind, she switched the -conversation into a fresh channel. - -“It is unfortunate that you should have met with such a contretemps -to-day. You will not feel disposed to dance this evening, after so much -fatigue,” she observed commiseratingly. - -But Jean scouted the notion. With the incomparable resiliency of youth, -she felt quite equal to dancing all night if needs be. - -“_Mais tout au contraire!_” she exclaimed. “I’m practically -recovered--at least, I shall be after another half-hour’s lazing by this -glorious fire. I wonder what heaven-sent inspiration induced Monsieur -Vautrinot to install a real English fire-place in this room? It’s -delicious.” - -The Countess rose, shrugging her expressive shoulders. - -“You are wonderful--you English! If it had been I who had experienced -your adventure to-day, I should be fit for nothing. As to dancing -the same evening--_ma foi, non! Voyons_, I shall leave you to rest a -little.” - -She nodded smilingly and left the room. Once in the corridor outside, -however, the smile vanished as though it had been wiped off her face by -an unseen hand. Her curving lips settled into a hard, inflexible line, -and the soft, disarming dark eyes grew suddenly sombre and brooding. - -She passed swiftly along to her own suite. It was empty. The little -Count was downstairs, agreeably occupied in comparing symptoms with a -fellow health crank he had discovered. - -With a quick sigh of relief at his absence she flung herself into a -chair and lit a cigarette, smoking rapidly and exhaling the smoke in -quick, nervous jerks. The long, pliant fingers which held the cigarette -were not quite steady. - -“_Tout va bien!_” she muttered restlessly. “All goes well! _Assurément_, -his punishment will come.” She bent her head. “_Que Dieu le veuille!_” - she whispered passionately. - -***** - -Jean took a final and not altogether displeased survey of herself in the -mirror before descending to the big _salle_ where the fancy-dress ball -was to be held. She had had her dinner served to her in her room so that -she might rest the longer, and now, as there came wafted to her ears -the preliminary grunts and squeals and snatches of melody of the hotel -orchestra in process of tuning up, she was conscious of a pleasant glow -of anticipation. - -There was nothing strikingly original about the conception of -her costume. It represented “Autumn,” and had been designed for a -fancy-dress ball of more than a year ago--before the death of Jacqueline -had suddenly shuttered down all gaiety and mirth at Beirnfels. But, -simple as it was, it had been carried out by an artist in colour, and -the filmy diaphanous layers of brown and orange and scarlet, one over -the other, zoned with a girdle of autumn-tinted leaves, served to -emphasise the russet of beech-leaf hair and the topaz-gold of hazel -eyes. - -Madame de Varigny’s glance swept the girl with approval as they entered -the great _salle_ together. - -“But it is charming, your costume! _Regarde_, Henri”--turning to the -Count, who, as a swashbuckling d’Artagnan, was getting into difficulties -with his sword. “Has it not distinction--this costume_ d’automne?_” - -The Count retrieved himself and, hitching his sword once more into -position, poured forth an unembarrassed stream of Gallic compliment. - -Madame de Varigny herself was looking supremely handsome as Cleopatra. -Jean reflected that her eyes,--slumberous and profound, with their dusky -frame of lashes and that strange implacability she always sensed in -them--might very well have been the eyes of the Egyptian queen herself. - -The _salle_ was filling up rapidly. Jean, who did not anticipate dancing -overmuch, as she had made but few acquaintances in the hotel, watched -the colourful, shifting scene with interest. There was the usual -miscellany of a masquerade--Pierrots jostling against Kings and -Cossacks, Marie Antoinettes flaunting their jewels before the eyes -of demure-faced nuns, with here and there an occasional costume of -outstanding originality or merit of design. - -Contrary to her expectations, however, Jean soon found herself with more -partners than she had dances to bestow, and, newly emancipated from the -rigour of her year’s mourning, she threw herself into the enjoyment of -the moment with all the long repressed enthusiasm of her youth. - -***** - -It was nearing the small hours when at last she found herself alone for -a few minutes. In the exhilaration of rapid movement she had completely -forgotten the earlier fatigues of the day, but now she was beginning to -feel conscious of the strain which the morning’s skating, followed by -that long, exhausting struggle through the blizzard, had imposed upon -even young bones and muscles. Close at hand was a deserted alcove, -curtained off from the remainder of the _salle_, and here Jean found -temporary sanctuary, subsiding thankfully on to a big cushioned divan. - -The sound of the orchestra came to her ears pleasantly dulled by -the heavy folds of the screening curtain. Vaguely she could feel the -rhythmic pulsing, the sense of movement, in the _salle_ beyond. It was -all very soothing and reposeful, and she leaned her head against a -fat, pink satin cushion and dosed, at the back of her mind the faintly -disturbing thought that she was cutting a Roman senator’s dance. - -Presently she stirred a little, hazily aware of some disquiet that -was pushing itself into her consciousness. The discomfort grew, -crystallising at last into the feeling that she was no longer alone. Eor -a moment, physically unwilling to be disturbed, she tried to disregard -it, but it persisted, and, as though to strengthen it, the recollection -of the defrauded senator came back to her with increased insistence. - -Broad awake at last, she opened her eyes. Someone--the senator -presumably--was standing at the entrance to the little alcove, and she -rushed into conscience-stricken speech. - -“Oh, have I cut your dance? I’m so sorry----” - -She broke off abruptly, realising as she spoke that the intruder was -not, after all, the senator come to claim his dance, but a stranger -wearing a black mask and domino. She was sure she had not seen him -before amongst the dancers in the _salle_, and for a moment she stared -at him bewildered and even a little frightened. Vague stories she had -heard of a “hold-up” by masked men at some fancy-dress ball recalled -themselves disagreeably to her memory, and her pulse quickened its beat -perceptibly. - -Then, quite suddenly, she knew who it was. It did not need even the -evidence of that lock of _poudré_ hair above the mask he wore, just -visible in the dim light of the recess, to tell her. She knew. And with -the knowledge came a sudden, disturbing sense of shy tumult. - -She half-rose from the divan. - -“You?” she stammered nervously. “Is it you?” - -He whipped off his mask. - -“Who else? Did this deceive you?”--dangling the strip of velvet from his -finger, and regarding her with quizzical grey eyes. “I’ve been hunting -for you everywhere. I’d almost made up my mind that you had gone to bed -like a good little girl. And then my patron saint--or was it the special -devil told off to look after me, I wonder?--prompted me to look in here. -_Et vous voilà, mademoiselle!_ How are you feeling after your exploits -in the snow?” - -He spoke very rapidly, in a light half-mocking tone that seemed to Joan -to make the happenings of the afternoon unreal and remote. His eyes were -very bright, almost defiant in their expression--holding a suggestion -of recklessness, as though he were embarked upon something of which his -inmost self refused to approve but which he was nevertheless determined -to carry through. - -“So you _did_ ‘call to enquire,’ after all!” - -As she spoke, Jean’s mouth curled up at the corners in an involuntary -little smile of amused recollection. - -“So I did call after all?” He looked puzzled--not unnaturally, since -he had no clue to her thoughts. “What do you mean? I came”--he went on -lightly--“because I wanted the rest of the day which you promised to -share with me. The proceedings were cut short rather abruptly this -afternoon.” - -“But how did you get here?” she asked. “And--and why did you disappear -so suddenly after we got back to the hotel this afternoon?” - -“I got here by the aid of a pair of excellent skis and the light of -the moon; the snow ceased some hours ago and the surface is hardening -nicely. I disappeared because, as I told you, if you gave me this one -day, it should bind you to nothing--not even to introducing me to your -friends.” - -“I should have had to present you as _Monsieur l’Inconnu,_” remarked -Jean without thinking. - -“Yes.” He met her glance with smiling eyes, but he did not volunteer his -name. - -He had made no comment, uttered no word beyond the bald affirmative, yet -somehow Jean felt as though she had committed an indiscretion and he -had snubbed her for it. The blood rushed into her cheeks, staining them -scarlet. - -“I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. - -Again that glint of ironical amusement in his eyes. - -“For what, mademoiselle?” - -She was conscious of a rising indignation at his attitude. She could not -understand it; he seemed to have completely changed from the man of a -few hours ago. Then he had proved himself so good a comrade, been so -entirely delightful in his thought and care of her, whereas now he -appeared bent on wilfully misunderstanding her, putting her in a false -position just for his own amusement. - -“You know perfectly well what I meant,” she answered, a tremor born -of anger and wounded feeling in her voice. “You thought I was -inquisitive--trying to find out your name----” - -“Well”--humorously--“you were, weren’t you?” Then, as her lip -quivered sensitively, “Ah! Forgive me for teasing you! And”--more -earnestly--“forgive me for not telling you my name. It is better--much -better--that you should not know. Remember, we can only have this one -day together; we’re just ‘ships that pass.’” He paused, then added: -“Mine’s only a battered old hulk--a derelict vessel--and derelicts are -best forgotten.” - -There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his voice, the steadfast, -submissive sadness of a man who has long ago substituted endurance for -revolt. - -“Remember, we can only have this one day together.” The quiet utterance -of the words stung Jean into a realisation of their significance, -and suddenly she was conscious that the knowledge that this unknown -Englishman was going away--going out of her life as abruptly as he had -come into it--filled her with a quite disproportionate sense of regret. -She found herself unexpectedly up against the recognition of the fact -that she would miss him--that she would like to see him again. - -“Then--you want me to forget?” she asked rather wistfully. - -Her eyes fell away from him as she spoke. - -“Yes,” he returned gravely. “Just that. I want you to forget.” - -“And--and you?” The words seemed dragged from her without her own -volition. - -“I? Oh”--he laughed a little--“I’m afraid I’m inconsistent. I’m going to -ask you to give me something I can remember. That’ll even matters up, if -you forget and I--remember.” - -“What do you want me to give you?” - -He made a sudden step towards her. - -“I want you to dance with me--just once. Will you?”--intently. - -He waited for her reply, his keen, compelling glance fixed on her face. -Then, as though he read his answer there, he stepped to her side and -held out his arm. - -“Come,” he said. - -Almost as if she were in a dream, Jean laid her hand lightly on his -sleeve and he pulled aside the portière for her to pass through. Then, -putting his arm about her, he swung her out on to the smooth floor of -the _salle_. - -They danced almost in silence. Somehow the customary small-change of -ballroom conversation would have seemed irrelevant and apart. This -dance--the Englishman had implied as much--was in the nature of a -farewell. It was the end of their stolen day. - -The band was playing _Valse Triste_, that unearthly, infinitely sad -vision of Sibelius’, and the music seemed to hold all the strange, -breathless ecstacy, the regret and foreboding of approaching end of -which this first, and last, dance was compact. - -It was over at last. The three final chords of the _Valse_--inexorable -Death knocking at the door--dropped into silence, and with the end -of the dance uprose the eager hum of gay young voices, as the couples -drifted out from the _salle_ in search of the buffet or of secluded -corners in which to “sit out” the interval, according as the spirit -moved them. - -Jean and her partner, making their way through the throng, encountered -Madame de Varigny on the arm of a handsome Bedouin Arab. For the -fraction of a second her eyes rested curiously on Jean’s partner, and a -gleam of something that seemed like triumph flickered across her face. -But it was gone in an instant, and, murmuring some commonplace to Jean, -she passed on. - -“Who was that?” - -The Englishman rapped out the question harshly, and Jean was struck by -an unaccustomed note in his voice. It held apprehension, distaste; she -could not quite analyse the quality. - -“The Cleopatra, do you mean?” she said. “That was my chaperon, the -Comtesse de Varigny. Why do you ask?” He gave a short, relieved laugh. - -“No particular reason,” he returned with some constraint “She reminded -me--extraordinarily--of someone I used to know, that’s all. Even the -timbre of her voice was similar. It startled me for a moment.” - -He dismissed the matter with apparent indifference, and led Jean again -into the same little alcove in which he had found her. They stood -together silently in the dim, rose-hued twilight diffused by the shaded -lamp above. - -“Well,” he said at last, slowly, reluctantly. “So this is really the end -of our stolen day.” - -Jean’s hands, hanging loosely clasped in front of her, suddenly -tightened their grip of each other. She felt herself struggling in -the press of new and incomprehensible emotions. A voice within her was -crying out rebelliously: “Why? Why must it be the end? Why not--other -days?” Pride alone kept her silent. It was his choice, his decision, -that they were not to meet again, and if he could so composedly define -the limits of their acquaintance, she was far too sensitively proud to -utter a word of protest. After all, he was only the comrade of a day. -How--why should it matter to her whether he stayed or went? - -“I always believe”--the Englishman was speaking again, his eyes bent on -hers--“I always believe that, no matter how sad or tragic people’s lives -may be, God invariably gives them one magic moment--so that they may -believe in heaven.... I have had mine to-day.” - -“Don’t you--believe in heaven?” - -He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. - -“I do now. I believe... in a heaven that is out of my reach.” - -His hands slipped upward from her shoulders, cupping her face, and for a -moment he held her so, staring down at her with grave, inscrutable eyes. -Then, stooping his head, he kissed her lips. - -“Good-bye, little comrade,” he said unevenly. “Thank you for my magic -moment.” - -He turned away sharply. She heard his step, followed by the quick, -jarring rattle of brass rings jerked violently along the curtain-pole, -and a moment later he was gone. With a dull sense of finality she -watched the heavy folds of the portière swing sullenly back into their -place. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--WHICH DEALS WITH REFLECTIONS - -THE dawn of a new day possesses a curious potency of readjustment. It -is as though Dame Nature, like some autocratic old nurse, wakes us up -and washes and dresses our minds afresh for us each morning, so that -they come to the renewed consideration of the affairs of life freed from -the influences and emotions which were clogging their pores when we -went asleep. Not infrequently, in the course of this species of mental -ablution, a good deal of the glamour which invested the doings of the -previous day gets scrubbed off, and a new and not altogether pleasing -aspect of affairs presents itself. - -This was somewhat Jean’s experience when she woke on the morning -following that of the fancy-dress ball. Looking back upon the events of -the previous day, it seemed to her newly-tubbed, matutinal mind almost -incredible that they should have occurred. It was like a dream--life -itself tricked out in fancy dress. - -Stripped of the glamour of romance and adventure with which the unknown -Englishman had contrived to clothe it, the whole episode of their day -together presented itself as disagreeably open to criticism, and the -memory of that final scene in the alcove sent the blood flying into her -cheeks. She asked herself in mute amazement how it was possible that -such a thing should have happened to her,--to “our chaste Diana,” as -her father used laughingly to call her in recognition of the instinctive -little air of aloofness with which she had been wont to keep men at a -distance. - -Of course, the Englishman had taken her by surprise, but Jean was -too honest, even in her dealings with herself, to shelter behind this -excuse. - -She knew that she had yielded to his kiss--and knew, too, that the -bare memory of it sent her heart throbbing in an inexplicable tumult of -emotion. - -The stolen day, that day embarked upon so unconcernedly, in a gay spirit -of adventure, had flamed up at its ending into something altogether -different from the light-hearted companionship with which it had begun. - -Then her conscience, recreated and vigorous from its morning toilet, -presented another facet of the affair for her inspection. With officious -detail it marshalled the whole series of events before her, dwelling -particularly on the fact that, with hut very slight demur, she had -consented to abrogate the accepted conventions of her class--conventions -designed to safeguard people from just such consequences as had -ensued--and winding up triumphantly with the corollary that although, -like most men in similar circumstances, the Englishman had not scrupled -to avail himself of the advantages the occasion offered, he had -probably, none the less, thought rather cheaply of her for permitting -him to do so. - -This reflection stung her pride--exactly as Conscience had intended it -should, without doubt. Last night there had seemed to her no question -about the quality of that farewell in the little screened-off alcove. -There had been nothing common or “cheap” about it. The gathering -incidents of the whole day, the fight through the storm, the prelude of -_Valse Triste_, all seemed to have led her by imperceptible degrees to a -point where she and the Englishman could kiss at parting without shame. -And now, with the morning, the delicate rainbow veiling woven by romance -was rudely torn asunder, and the word “cheap” dinned in her ears like -the clapper of a bell. - -The appearance of her _premier dejeuner_ came as a web come distraction -from her thoughts, and with the consumption of _café au lait_ and the -crisp little rolls, hot from the oven, accompanying it, the whole matter -began to assume a less heinous aspect. After all, argued Jean’s weak -human nature, the unconventionality of the affair had been considerably -tempered by the fact that the Englishman had practically saved her -life during the course of the day. Alone, she would undoubtedly have -foundered in the drifting snow; and when a man has rescued you from an -early and unpleasantly chilly grave, it certainly sets the acquaintance -between you, however short its duration, on a new and more intimate -plane. - -“Good-bye, little comrade; thank you for my magic moment.” - -The words, and the manner of their utterance, came back to Jean, -bringing with them a warm and comforting reassurance. The man who -had thus spoken had not thought her cheap; he was too fine in his -perceptions to have misunderstood like that. She felt suddenly certain -of it. And the pendulum of self-respect swung back into its place once -more. - -***** - -Presently she caught herself wondering whether she would see him again -before she left Montavan. True, he had told her he was going away -the next day. But had he actually gone? Somewhere within her lurked a -fugitive, half-formed hope that he might have altered his intention. - -She tried to brush the thought aside, refusing to recognise it and -determinedly maintaining that it mattered nothing to her whether he -stayed or went. Nevertheless, throughout the whole day--in the morning -when she made a pretence of enjoying the skating on the rink, and -again in the afternoon when she walked through the pine-woods with the -Varignys--she was subconsciously alert for any glimpse of the lean, -supple figure which a single day had sufficed to mate so acutely -familiar. - -But by evening she was driven into accepting the fact that he had -quitted the mountains, and of a sudden Montavan ceased to interest her; -the magic that had disguised it yesterday was gone. It had become merely -a dull little village where she was awaiting Lady Anne Brennan’s answer -to her father’s letter, and she grew restlessly impatient for that -answer to arrive. - -It came at last, during the afternoon of the following day, in the form -of a telegram: “_Delighted to welcome you. Letter follows._” - -The letter followed in due course, two days later, the tardiness of its -arrival accounted for by the fact that the writer had been moving about -from place to place, and that Peterson’s own letter, after pursuing her -for days, had only just caught up with her. - -“I cannot tell you,” wrote Lady Anne in her squarish, characteristic -hand, “how delighted I shall be to have the daughter of Glyn and -Jacqueline with me for a time. Although Glyn with a grown-up daughter -sounds quite improbable; he never really grew up himself. So you must -come and convince me that the unexpected has happened.” - -***** - -Jean liked the warm-hearted, unconventional tone of the letter, and the -knowledge that she would so soon be leaving Montavan filled her with a -sense of relief. - -During the four days which had elapsed since the Englishman’s departure -her restlessness had grown on her. Montavan had become too vividly -reminiscent of the hours which they had shared together for her peace -of mind. She wanted to forget that stolen day--thrust it away into the -background of her thoughts. - -Unfortunately for the success of her efforts in this direction, the -element of the unknown which surrounded the Englishman, quite apart from -anything else, would have tended to keep him in the forefront of her -mind. It was only now, surveying their acquaintance in retrospect, that -she fully realised how complete had been his reticence. True his figure -dominated her thoughts, but it was a figure devoid of any background -of home, or friends, or profession. He might be a king or a -crossing-sweeper, for all she knew to the contrary--only that neither -the members of the one nor the other profession are usually addicted to -sojourning at Swiss chalets and forming promiscuous friendships on the -ice. - -There were moments when she felt that she detested this man from nowhere -who had contrived to break through her feminine guard of aloofness -merely to gratify his whim to spend a day in her company. - -But there were other moments when the memory of that stolen day glowed -and pulsed like some rare gem against the even, grey monotony of all the -days that had preceded it--and of those which must come after. She could -not have analysed, even to herself, the emotions it had wakened in her. -They were too complex, too fluctuating. - -***** - -As she packed her trunks in preparation for an early start the following -day, Jean recalled with satisfaction the genuine ring of welcome which -had sounded through the letter that had come from England. Until she -had received it, she had been the prey of an increasing diffidence with -regard to suddenly billeting herself for an indefinite period upon even -such an old friend of her father’s as Lady Anne--a timidity Peterson -himself had certainly not shared when he penned his request. - -“Give my little girl house-room, will you, Anne?” he had written with -that candid and charming simplicity which had made and kept for him -a host of friends through all the vicissitudes of his varied and -irresponsible career. “I am off once more on a wander-year, and I can’t -be tripped up by a petticoat--certainly not my own daughter’s--at every -yard. This isn’t quite as cynical as it sounds. You’ll understand, I -know. Frankly, a man whose life, to all intents and purposes, is ended, -is not fit company for youth and beauty standing palpitating on the edge -of the world. By the way, did I tell you that Jean is rather beautiful? -I forget. Let her see England--that little corner where you live, down -Devonshire way, always means England to my mind. And let her learn to -love Englishwomen--if there are any more there like you.” - -And, having accomplished this characteristic, if somewhat; sketchy -provision for his daughter’s welfare, Peterson had gone cheerfully on -his way, convinced that he had done all that was paternally encumbent on -him. - -Madame de Varigny was voluble in her regrets at the prospect of losing -her “_chère Mademoiselle Peterson_,” yet in spite of her protestations -of dismay Jean was conscious of an impression that the Countess derived -some kind of satisfaction from the imminence of her departure. - -She could not reconcile the contradiction, and it worried her a little. -She believed--quite justly--that Madame de Varigny had conceived a real -affection for her, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she had -considerably revised her first impressions of the other, finding more -to like in her than she had anticipated, noticeably a genuine warmth and -fervour of nature, and a certain kind-hearted capacity for interesting -herself in other people. - -And, liking her so much better than she had at first conceived possible, -Jean resented the sudden recurrence of her original distrust produced -by the suggestion of insincerity which she thought she detected in the -Countess’s expressions of regret. - -On the face of it the thing seemed absurd. She could imagine no -conceivable reason why her departure should give Madame de Varigny any -particular cause for complacency, which only made the more perplexing -her impression that this was the actual feeling underlying the latter’s -cordial interest in her projected visit to England. - -On the morning of her departure, Jean’s mind was too preoccupied with -the small details attendant upon starting off on a journey dwell upon -the matter. But, as she shook bands with Madame de Varigny for the last -time, the recollection surged over her afresh, and she was strongly -conscious that beneath the other woman’s pleasant, “_Adieu, -mademoiselle! Bon voyage!_” something stirred that was less -pleasant--even inimical--just as some slimy and repulsive form of life -may stir amid the ooze at the bottom of a sunlit stream. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--THE MAN FROM MONTAVAN - -JEAN arrived in London with a good three hours to spare before the -South-Western express, by which she proposed to travel to Devonshire, -was due to leave Waterloo Station. She elected, therefore, to occupy -the time by touring round the great, unknown city of her dreams in a -taxicab, and spent a beatific hour glimpsing the Abbey and the Houses -of Parliament, and the old, grey, misty river that Londoners love, and -skirmishing in and out of the shops in Regent Street and Bond Street -with her hands full of absurd, expensive, unnecessary purchases only -bought because this was London and she felt she just simply _must_ -have something English at once, and winding up with a spin through Hyde -Park--which didn’t impress her very favourably in its winter aspect of -leafless trees and barren stretches of sodden grass. - -Then she drove to a hotel, and, her luggage deposited there to await her -departure, her thoughts turned very naturally towards lunch. Her -scamper round London in the crisp, clear, frosty air had converted -the recollection of her early morning coffee and roll into something -extremely nebulous and unsupporting, and it was with the healthy -appetite of an eager young mind in an eager young body that she faced -the several courses of the table d’hote. - -She glanced about her with interest, the little snatches of English -conversation which drifted to her from other near-by tables giving her a -patriotic thrill of pure delight. These were typically English people -lunching in a typically English hotel, and she, hitherto a stranger to -her own mother-country, was doing likewise. The knowledge filled her -with ridiculous satisfaction. - -Nor were English people--at home in their own country--anything like -as dull and dowdy as Glyn Peterson’s sweeping criticisms had led her to -expect. The men were immensely well-groomed and clean-looking. She -liked the “morning-tub” appearance they all had; it reminded her of the -Englishman at Montavan. Apparently it was a British characteristic. - -The women, too, filled her with a species of vicarious pride. They were -so well turned-out, with a slim, long limbed grace of figure she found -admirable, and with splendid natural complexions--skins like rose and -ivory. - -Two of them were drifting into the room together now, with a superbly -cool assurance of manner--rather as though they had bought the -hotel--which brought the sleek head-waiter automatically to their side, -bowing and obsequious. - -Somewhat to Jean’s satisfaction he convoyed them to the table next -her own, and she was pleasantly conscious, as they passed her, of a -provocative whisper of silk and of the faint fragrance of violets subtly -permeating the atmosphere. - -Conscious that perhaps she had been manifesting her interest a little -too openly, she turned her attention to a magazine she had bought -en route from Dover and was soon absorbed in the inevitable -happy-ever-after conclusion of the story she had been reading. - -“Lady Anne? Oh, she lives at Staple now. Didn’t you know?” - -The speaker’s voice was clear and resonant, with the peculiar carrying -quality which has replaced in the modern Englishwoman of the upper -classes that excellent thing in woman which was the proud boast of an -earlier generation. - -The conjunction of the familiar words “Lady Anne” and “Staple” struck -sharply on Jean’s ears, and almost instinctively she looked up. - -As she stirred, one of the women glanced indifferently in her direction, -then placidly resumed her conversation with her companion. - -“It was just after the smash-up,” she pursued glibly. “Blaise Tormarin -rushed off abroad for a time, and the news of Nesta’s death came while -he was away. Poor Lady Anne had to write and tell him of it.” - -“Rather ghastly!” commented the other woman. “I never heard the whole -story of the affair. I was in Paris, then, and it was all over--barring -the general gossip, of course!--by the time I returned. I tried to pump -it out of Lady Anne once, but she was as close as an oyster.” - -Both women talked without lowering their voices in the slightest degree, -and with that complete indifference to the proximity of a stranger -sometimes exhibited by a certain arrogant type. - -Jean, realising that it was her father’s friends who were under -discussion, and finding herself forced into the position of an unwilling -auditor, felt wretchedly uncomfortable. She wished fervently that -she could in some way arrest the conversation. Yet it was clearly as -impossible for her to lean forward and say: “You are talking about the -people I am on my way to visit,” as it would have been for her to put -her fingers in her ears. So far nothing had been said to which she -could actually object. Her feeling was chiefly the offspring of a -supersensitive fear that she might learn from the lips of these two -gossiping women, one of whom was apparently intimately acquainted with -the private history of the Tormarin family, some little fact or detail -which Lady Anne might not care for her future guest to know. Apart -from this fear, it would hardly have been compatible with human -nature--certainly not feminine human nature--if she had not felt pricked -to considerable personal interest in the topic under discussion. - -“Oh, it was a fool business,” the first woman rejoined, settling down -to supply the details of the story with an air of rapacious satisfaction -which reminded Jean of nothing so much as of a dog with a bone. -“Nesta Freyne was a typical Italian--though her father was English, I -believe--all blazing, passionate eyes and blazing, passionate emotion, -you know; then there was another man--and there was Blaise Tormarin! You -can imagine the consequences for yourself. Blaise has his full share of -the Tormarin temper--and a Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the -bit between his teeth. There were violent quarrels and finally the girl -bolted, presumably with the other man. Then, later, Lady Anne heard that -she had died abroad somewhere. The funny thing is that it seemed to cut -Tormarin up rather badly. He’s gloomed about the world ever since, so -I suppose he must have been pretty deeply in love with her before the -crash came. I never saw her, but I’ve been told she was diabolically -pretty.” - -The other woman laughed, dismissing the tragedy of the little tale with -a shallow tinkle of mirth. - -“Oh, well, I’ve only met Blaise Tormarin once, but I should say he was -not the type to relish being thrown over for another man!” She -peered short-sightedly at the grilled fish on her plate, poking at -it discontentedly with her fork. “I never think they cook their fish -decently here, do you?” she complained. - -And, with that, both women shelved the affairs of Blaise Tormarin and -concentrated upon the variety of culinary sins from which even expensive -hotel chefs are not necessarily exempt. - -Jean had no time to bestow upon the information which had been thus -thrust upon her until she had effected the transport of herself and her -belongings from the hotel to Waterloo Station, but when this had been -satisfactorily accomplished and she found herself comfortably settled -in a corner seat of the Plymouth express, her thoughts reverted to her -newly acquired knowledge. - -It added a bit of definite outline to the very slight and shadowy -picture she had been able to form of her future environment--a picture -roughly sketched in her mind from the few hints dropped by her father. - -She wondered a little why Glyn should have omitted all mention of Blaise -Tormarin’s love affair and its unhappy sequel, but a moment’s reflection -supplied the explanation. Peterson had admitted that it was ten years -since he had heard from Lady Anne; presumably, then, the circumstances -just recounted in Jean’s hearing had occurred during those years. - -Jean felt that the additional knowledge she had gained rather detracted -from the prospective pleasure of her visit to Staple. Judging from -the comments which she had overheard, her host was likely to prove -a somewhat morose and gloomy individual, soured by his unfortunate -experience of feminine fidelity. - -Thence her thoughts vaulted wildly ahead. Most probably, as a direct -consequence, he was a woman-hater and, if so, it was more than possible -that he would regard her presence at Staple as an unwarrantable -intrusion. - -A decided qualm assailed her, deepening quickly into a settled -conviction--Jean was nothing if not thorough!--that the real explanation -of the delay in Lady Anne’s response to Glyn’s letter had lain in Blaise -Tormarin’s objection to the invasion of his home by a strange young -woman--an objection Lady Anne had had to overcome, or decide to ignore, -before she could answer Glyn’s request in the affirmative. - -The idea that she might be an unwelcome guest at Staple filled Jean with -lively consternation, and by the time she had accomplished the necessary -change of train at Exeter, and found herself being trundled along on the -leisurely branch line which conducted her to her ultimate destination, -she had succeeded in working herself up into a condition that almost -verged upon panic. - -“Coombe _Ea_-vie! _Coombe_ Eavie!” - -The sing-song intonation of a depressed-looking porter, first rising -from a low note to a higher, then descending in contrary motion abruptly -from high to low, was punctuated by the sharper, clipped pronouncement -of the stationmaster as he bustled up the length of the platform -declaiming: “’Meavie! ’Meavie! ’Meavie!” with a maddeningly -insistent repetition that reminded one of a cuckoo in June. - -Apparently both stationmaster and porter were too much absorbed in the -frenzied strophe and antistrophe effect they were producing to observe -that any passenger, handicapped by luggage, contemplated descending -from the train--unexpected arrivals were of rare occurrence at -Coombe Eavie--and Jean therefore hastened to transfer herself and her -hand-baggage to the platform unassisted. A minute later the train ambled -on its way again, leaving the stationmaster and the depressed porter -grouped in astonished admiration before the numerous trunks and -suit-cases, labelled “Peterson,” which the luggage van of the departing -train had vomited forth. - -To the bucolic mind, such an unwonted accumulation argued a passenger of -quite superlative importance, and with one accord the combined glances -of the station staff raked the diminutive platform, to discover Jean -standing somewhat forlornly in the middle, of it, surrounded by -the smaller fry of her luggage. The stationmaster hurried forward -immediately to do the honours, and Jean addressed him eagerly. - -“I want a _fiacre_--cab”--correcting herself hastily--“to take me to -Staple Manor.” - -The man shook his head. - -“There are no cabs here, miss,” he informed her regretfully. “Anyone -that wants to be met orders Wonnacott’s wagonette in advance.” Then, -seeing Jean’s face lengthen, he continued hastily: “But if they’re -expecting you up at Staple, miss, they’ll be sure to send one of -the cars to meet you. There!”--triumphantly, as the chug-chug of an -approaching motor came to them clearly on the crisp, cold air--“that’ll -be it, for certain.” - -Followed the sound of a car braking to a standstill in the road -outside the station, and almost immediately a masculine figure appeared -advancing rapidly from the lower end of the platform. - -Even through the dusk of the winter’s afternoon Jean was struck by -something curiously familiar in the man’s easy, swinging stride. A surge -of memories came flooding over her, and she felt her breath catch in -her throat at the sudden possibility which flashed into her mind. For -an instant she was in doubt--the thing seemed so amazingly improbable. -Then, touching his hat, the stationmaster moved respectfully aside, -and she found herself face to face with the unknown Englishman from -Montavan. - -She gazed at him speechlessly, and for a moment he, too, seemed taken -aback. His eyes met hers in a startled, leaping glance of recognition -and something more, something that set her pulses racing unsteadily. - -“_Little comrade!_” She could have sworn the words escaped him. Then, -almost in the same instant, she saw the old, rather weary gravity -replace the sudden fire that had blazed up in the man’s eyes, quenching -its light. - -“So--_you_ are Miss Peterson!” - -There was no pleasure, no welcome in his tones; rather, an undercurrent -of ironical vexation as though Fate had played some scurvy trick upon -him. - -“Yes.” The brief monosyllable came baldly in reply; she hardly knew -how to answer him, how to meet his mood. Then, hastily calling up her -reserves, she went on lightly: “You don’t seem very pleased to see me. -Shall I go away again?” - -His mouth relaxed into a grim smile. - -“This isn’t Clapham Junction,” he answered tersely. “There won’t be a -train till ten o’clock to-night.” - -A glint of humour danced in Jean’s eyes. - -“In that case,” she returned gravely, “what do you advise?” - -“I don’t advise,” he replied promptly. “I apologise. Please forgive such -an ungracious reception, Miss Peterson--but you must acknowledge it was -something in the nature of a surprise to find that you were--you!” - -Jean laughed. - -“It’s given you an unfair advantage, too,” she replied. “I still haven’t -penetrated your incognito--but I suppose you are Mr. Brennan?” - -“No. Nick Brennan’s my half-brother. I’m Blaise Tormarin, and, as my -mother was unable to meet you herself, I came instead. Shall we go? I’ll -give the station-master instructions about your baggage.” - -So the unknown Englishman of Montavan was the man of whom the two women -at the neighbouring lunch table in the hotel had been gossiping--the -central figure of that most tragic love-affair! Jean thought she could -discern, now, the origin of some of those embittered comments he had let -fall when they were together in the mountains. - -In silence she followed him out of the little wayside station to where -the big head-lamps of a stationary car shed a blaze of light on the -roadway, and presently they were slipping smoothly along between the -high hedges which flanked the road on either hand. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--THE MASTER OF STAPLE - -IT was too dark to distinguish details as the big car flew-along, but -Jean found herself yielding instinctively to the still, mysterious charm -of the country-side at even. - -A slender young moon drifted like a curled petal in the dusky blue of -the calm sky, its pale light faintly outlining the tops of the trees and -the dim, gracious curves of distant hills, and touching the mist that -filled the valleys to a nebulous, pearly glimmer, so that to Jean’s -eager eyes the foot of the hills seemed laved by some phantom sea of -faery. - -She felt no inclination to talk. The smooth rhythm of the pulsing car, -the chill sweetness of the evening air against her face, the shadowy, -half-revealed landscape all combined to lull her into a mood of tranquil -appreciation, aloof and restful after the fatigue of her journey and the -shock of her unexpected meeting with the Englishman from Montavan. She -knew that later she would have to take up the thread of things again, -adjust her mind to the day’s surprising developments, but just for the -moment she was content to let everything else slide and simply enjoy -this first exquisite revelation of twilit Devon. - -For a long time they drove in silence, Tormarin seeming no more disposed -to talk than she herself. - -Presently, however, he slowed the car down and, half-turning in his -seat, addressed her abruptly. - -“This is somewhat in the nature of an anti-climax,” he remarked, the -comment quite evidently springing from the thoughts which had been -absorbing him. - -He spoke curtly, as though he resented the march of events. - -Jean felt herself jolted suddenly out of the placid reverie into which -she had fallen. - -“Yes. It is odd we should meet again so soon,” she assented hurriedly. - -“The silence has been broken--after all! You may be sure, Miss Peterson, -it was by no will of mine.” - -Jean smiled under cover of the darkness. - -“You’re not very complimentary,” she returned. “I’m sorry our meeting -seems to afford you so little satisfaction.” There was a ripple of -laughter in her tones. - -“It’s not that.” As he spoke, he slackened speed until the car was -barely moving. “You know it’s not that,” he continued, his voice tense. -“But, all the same, I’m going to ask you to--forget Montavan.” - -Jean’s heart gave a violent throb, and the laughter went suddenly out of -her voice as she repeated blankly: - -“To forget Montavan?” - -“Please. I said--and did--a few mad things that day we spent together. -It was to be an uncounted day, you know, and--oh, well, the air of the -Alps is heady! I want you to forgive me--and to blot out all remembrance -of it.” - -He seemed to speak with some effort, yet each word was uttered -deliberately, searing its way into her consciousness like red-hot iron. - -The curt, difficultly spoken sentences could only signify one -thing--that he had meant nothing, not even good, honest comradeship, -that day at Montavan. He had merely been amusing himself with a girl -whom he never expected to meet again, and now that circumstances had -so unexpectedly brought them together he was clearly anxious that she -should be under no misapprehension in the matter. - -Jean’s pride writhed beneath the insult of it. It was as though he -feared she might make some claim upon his regard and had hastened to -warn her, almost in so many words, not to set a fictitious value upon -anything that had occurred between them. The glamour was indeed torn -from her stolen day on the mountains! The whole memory of it, above -all the memory of that pulsing moment of farewell, would henceforth he -soiled and vulgarised--converted into a rather sordid little episode -which she would gladly have blotted out from amongst the concrete -happenings of life. - -The feminine instinct against self-betrayal whipped her into quick -speech. - -“I’ve no wish to forget that you practically saved my life,” she said. -“I shall always”--lightly--“feel very much obliged for that.” - -“You exaggerate my share in the matter,” he replied carelessly. “You -would have extricated yourself from your difficulties without my -assistance, I have no doubt. Or, more truly”--with a short laugh--“you -would never have got into them.” - -He said no more, but let out the car and they shot forward into the -gathering dusk. Presently they approached a pair of massive iron gates -admitting to the manor drive, and as these were opened in response to a -shrill hoot from Tormarin’s horn the car swung round into an avenue -of elms, the bare boughs, interlacing overhead, making a black network -against the moonlit sky. - -Still in silence they approached the house, its dim grey bulk, looming -indeterminately through the evening mist, studded here and there with -a glowing shield of orange from come unshaded window, and almost before -Tormarin had pulled up the car, the front door flew open and a wide -riband of light streamed out from the hall behind. - -Jean was conscious of two or three figures grouped in the open doorway, -dark against the welcoming blaze of light, then one of them detached -itself from the group and hastened forward with outstretched hands. - -“Here you are at last!” - -For an instant Jean hesitated, doubtful as to whether the speaker -could be Lady Anne. The voice which addressed her was so amazingly -young--clear and full of vitality like the voice of a girl. Then the -light flickered on to hair as white as if it had been powdered, and she -realized that this surprisingly young voice must belong to her hostess. - -“I was so sorry I could not meet you at the station myself,” continued -Lady Anne, leading the way into the house. “But a tiresome visitor -turned up--one of those people who never know when it’s time to go--and -I simply couldn’t get away without forcibly ejecting her.” - -In the fuller light of the hall, Jean discerned in Lady Anne’s -appearance something of that same quality of inherent youth apparent -in her voice. The keen, humorous grey eyes beneath their black, arched -brows were alertly vivacious, and the quite white hair served to -enhance, rather than otherwise, the rose-leaf texture of her skin. Many -a much younger woman had envied Lady Anne her complexion; it was so -obviously genuine, owing nothing at all to art. - -“And now”--Jean felt herself pulled gently into the light--“let me have -a good look at you. Oh, yes!”--Lady Anne laughed amusedly--“You’re -Glyn Peterson’s daughter right enough--you have just his chin with that -delicious little cleft in it. But your eyes and hair are Jacqueline’s.” - She leaned forward a little and kissed Jean warmly. “My dear, you’re -very welcome at Staple. There is nothing I could have wished more than -to have you here--except that you could have prevailed upon Glyn to -bring you himself.” - -“When you have quite finished going into the ancestral details of Miss -Peterson’s features, madonna, perhaps you will present me.” - -Lady Anne laughed good-humouredly. - -“Oh, this is my pushful younger son, Jean. (I’m certainly going to call -you Jean without asking whether I may!) You’ve already made acquaintance -with Blaise. This is Nick.” - -Nick Brennan was as unlike his half-brother as he could possibly -be--tall, and fair, and blue-eyed, with a perfectly charming smile -and an air of not having a care in the world. Jean concluded he must -resemble closely the dead Claude Brennan, since, except for a certain -family similarity in cut of feature, he bore little resemblance to his -mother. - -“Blaise has had an hour’s start of me in getting into your good graces, -Miss Peterson,” he said, shaking hands. “I consider it very unfair, -but of course I had to be content--as usual--with the younger son’s -portion.” - -Jean liked him at once. His merry, lazy blue eyes smiled friendship -at her, and she felt sure they should get on together. She could not -imagine Nick “glooming” about the world, as one of the women at the -hotel had declared his half-brother did. - -It occurred to her that it would simplify matters if both he and Lady -Anne were made aware at once of her former meeting with Blaise, so she -took the opportunity offered by Nick’s speech. - -“He’s had more than that,” she said gaily. “Mr. Tor-marin and I had -already met before--at Montavan.” - -“At Montavan?” Lady Anne gave vent to an ejaculation of amused -impatience. “If we had only known! Blaise could have accompanied you -back and saved you all the bothersome details of the journey. But we -had no idea where he was. He went off in his usual way”--smiling a shade -ruefully--“merely condescending to inform his yearning family that he -was going abroad for a few weeks.” Then, as Tormarin, having surrendered -the car to a chauffeur, joined the group in the hall, she turned to -him and continued with a faint note of expostulation in her voice: “You -never told us you had already met Miss Peterson, Blaise.” - -“I didn’t know it myself till I found her marooned on the platform at -Coombe Eavie,” he returned. His eyes, meeting Jean’s, flickered -with brief amusement as he added nonchalantly: “I did not catch Miss -Peterson’s name when we met at Montavan.” - -“No, we were not formally introduced,” supplemented Jean. “But Mr. -Tormarin was obliging enough to pull me out of an eight-foot deep -snowdrift up in the mountains, so we allowed that to count instead.” - -“What luck!” exclaimed Nick with fervour. - -“Yes, it was rather,” agreed Jean. “To be smothered in a snowdrift isn’t -exactly the form of extinction I should choose.” - -“Oh, I meant luck for Blaise,” explained Nick. “Opportunities of playing -knight-errant are few and far between nowadays”--regretfully. - -They all laughed, and then Lady Anne carried Jean off upstairs. - -Here she found that a charming bedroom, with a sitting-room connecting, -had been allotted her--“so that you’ll have a den of your own to take -refuge in when you’re tired of us,” as Lady Anne explained. - -Jean felt touched by the kindly thought. It takes the understanding -hostess to admit frankly that a guest may sometimes crave for the -solitude of her own company--and to see that she can get it. - -The rooms which were to constitute Jean’s personal domain were -delightfully decorated, old-world tapestries and some beautiful old -prints striking just the right note in conjunction with the waxen-smooth -mahogany of Chippendale. From the bedroom, where a maid was already -busying herself unstrapping the traveller’s manifold boxes, there opened -off a white-tiled bathroom frankly and hygienically modern, and here -Jean was soon splashing joyfully. By the time she had finished her bath -and dressed for dinner she felt as though the fatigue of the journey had -slipped from her like an outworn garment. - -The atmosphere at dinner was charmingly informal, and presently, when -the meal was at an end, the party of four adjourned into the hall for -coffee. As Jean’s eyes roved round the old-fashioned, raftered place, -she was conscious of a little intimate thrill of pleasure. With its -walls panelled in Jacobean oak, and its open hearth where a roaring -fire of logs sent blue and green flames leaping up into the chimney’s -cavernous mouth, it reminded her of the great dining-hall at Beirnfels. -But here there was a pleasant air of English cosiness, and it was -obvious that at Staple the hall had been adopted as a living-room -and furnished with an eye to comfort. There were wide, cushioned -window-seats, and round the hearth clustered deep, inviting chairs, -while everywhere were the little, pleasant, home-like evidences--an open -book flung down here, a piece of unfinished needlework there--of daily -use and occupation. - -Nick at once established himself at Jean’s side, kindly informing -her that now that his inner man was satisfied he was prepared to make -himself agreeable. Upon which Lady Anne apologised for his manners and -Nick interrupted her, volubly pointing out that the fault, if any (which -he denied), was entirely hers, since she had been responsible both -for his upbringing and inherited tendencies. They both talked at once, -wrangling together with huge zest and enjoyment, and it was easily -apparent that the two were very close friends indeed. - -Blaise took no part in the stream of chatter and nonsense which -ensued, but stood a little apart, his shoulder propped against the -chimney-piece, drinking his coffee in silence. - -Jean’s glance wandered reflectively from one brother to the other. They -presented a striking contrast--the stern, dark-browed face of the elder -man, with its bitter-looking mouth and that strange white streak lying -like some, ghostly finger-mark across his dark hair, and the bubbling, -blue-eyed charm of the younger. The difference between them was as -definite as the difference between sunlight and shadow. - -Nick was full of plans for Jean’s entertainment, suggestions for boating -and tennis occupying a prominent position in the programme he sketched -out. - -“It’s really quite jolly paddling about on our lake,” he rattled on. -“The stream that feeds it hails from Dartmoor, of course. All Devonshire -streams do, I believe--at least, you’ll never hear of one that doesn’t, -the Moor being our proudest possession. Besides, people always believe -that your water supply must be of crystalline purity if you just -casually mention that its source is a Dartmoor spring. So of course, we -all swear to the Dartmoor origin of our domestic waterworks. It sounds -well--even if not always strictly true.” - -“Miss Peterson must find it a trifle difficult to follow your train -of thought,” commented Blaise a little sharply. “A moment ago you were -discussing boating, and now it sounds as though you’ll shortly involve -yourself--and us--in a disquisition upon hygiene.” - -Nick smiled placidly. - -“My enthusiasm got away with me a bit,” he admitted with unruffled calm. -“But I haven’t the least doubt that Miss Peterson will like to know -these few reassuring particulars. However----” And he forthwith returned -enthusiastically to the prospects of tennis and kindred pastimes. - -Once again Blaise broke in ungraciously. It seemed as though, for some -reason, Nick’s flow of light-hearted nonsense and the dozen different -plans he was proposing for Jean’s future divertisement, irritated him. - -“Your suggestions seem to me remarkably inept, Nick,” he observed -scathingly, “seeing that at present it is midwinter and the lake frozen -over about a foot deep. Quite conceivably, by the time that tennis and -boating become practicable, Miss Peterson may not be here. She may get -tired of us long before the summer comes,” he added quickly, as though -in a belated endeavour to explain away the suggestion of inhospitality -which might easily be inferred from his previous sentence. - -But if the hasty addition were intended to reassure Jean, it failed of -its purpose. The idea that her coming to Staple was not particularly -acceptable to its master had already taken possession, of her. -Originally the consequence of the conversation she had overheard at the -hotel, Tormarin’s reluctantly given welcome when he met her at Coombe -Eavie Station had served to increase her feeling of embarrassment And -now, this last speech, though so hastily qualified, convinced her that -her advent was regarded by her host in anything but a pleasurable light. - -“Yes, I don’t think you must count on me for the tennis season, Mr. -Brennan,” she said quickly, “I don’t propose to billet myself on you -indefinitely, you know.” - -“Oh, but I hope you do, my dear,” Lady Anne interposed with a simple -sincerity there was no doubting. “You must certainly stay with us till -your father comes home, and”--with a smile--“unless Glyn has altered -considerably, I imagine Beirnfels will not see him again under a year.” - -“But I couldn’t possibly foist myself on to you for a year!” exclaimed -Jean. “That would be a sheer imposition.” - -Lady Anne smiled across at her. - -“My dear,” she said, “I’ve never had a daughter--only these two great, -unmanageable sons--and I’m just longing to play at having one. You’re -not going to disappoint me, I hope?” - -There was something irresistibly winning in Lady Anne’s way of putting -the matter, and Jean jumped up and kissed her impulsively. - -“I should hate to!” she answered warmly. - -But she evaded giving a direct promise; there must be a clearer -understanding between herself and Tormarin before she could accept Lady -Anne’s hospitality as frankly and fully as it was offered. - -The opportunity for this clearer understanding came with the entry of -Baines, the butler, who brought the information that a favourite young -setter of Nick’s had been taken ill and that the stableman feared the -dog had distemper. - -Nick sprang up, his concern showing in his face. - -“I’ll come out and have a look at him,” he said quickly. - -“I’ll come with you,” added Lady Anne. - -She slipped her hand through his arm, and they hurried off to the -stables, leaving Blaise and Jean alone together. - -For a moment neither spoke. Blaise, smoking a cigarette, remained -staring sombrely into the fire. Apparently he did not regard it as -incumbent on him to make conversation, and Jean felt miserably nervous -about broaching the subject of her visit. At last, however, fear lest -Lady Anne and Nick should return before she could do so drove her into -speech. - -“Mr. Tormarin,” she said quietly--so quietly that none would have -guessed the flurry of shyness which underlay her cool little voice--“I -am very sorry my presence here is so unwelcome to you. I’m afraid you -will have to put up with me for a week or two, but I promise you I will -try to make other arrangements as soon as I can.” - -He turned towards her abruptly. - -“May I ask what you mean?” he demanded. It was evident from the haughty, -almost arrogant tone of his voice that something had aroused his anger, -though whether it was the irritation consequent upon her presence there, -or because he chose to take her speech as censuring his attitude, Jean -was unable to determine. His eyes were stormy and inwardly she quailed -a little beneath their glance; outwardly, however, she retained her -composure. - -“I think my meaning is perfectly clear,” she returned with spirit. “Even -at the station you made it quite evident that my appearance came upon -you in the light of an unpleasant surprise. And--from what you said -just now to Mr. Brennan--it is obvious you hope my visit will not be a -long one.” - -If she had anticipated spurring him into an impulsive disclaimer, she -was disappointed. - -“I am sorry I have failed so lamentably in my duties as host,” he said -coldly. - -The apology, uttered with such an entire lack of ardour, served to -emphasise the offence for which it professed to ask pardon. Jean’s face -whitened. She would hardly have felt more hurt and astonished if he had -struck her. - -“I--I----” she began. Then stopped, finding her voice unsteady. - -But he had heard the break in the low, shaken tones, and in a moment his -mood of intolerant anger vanished. - -“Forgive me,” he said remorsefully--and there was genuine contrition in -his voice now. “I’m a cross-grained fellow, Miss Peterson; you’ll find -that out before you’ve been here many days. But never think that you are -unwelcome at Staple.” - -“Then why--I don’t understand you,” she stammered. She found his sudden -changes of humour bewildering. - -He smiled down at her, that rare, strangely sweet smile of his which -when it came always seemed to transform his face, obliterating the harsh -sternness of its lines. - -“Perhaps I don’t quite understand, either,” he said gently. “Only I know -it would have been better if you had never come to Staple.” - -“Then--you wish I hadn’t come?” - -“Yes,”--slowly. “I think I do wish that.” - -She looked at him a little wistfully. - -“Is that why you were angry--because I’ve come here? Lady Anne and--and -Mr. Brennan seemed quite pleased,” she added as though in protest. - -“No doubt. Nick, lucky devil, has no need to economise in magic -moments.” - -She felt her cheeks flush under the look he bent upon her, but she -forced herself to meet it. - -“And--and you?” she questioned very low. - -“I have”--briefly. - -It was long before sleep visited Jean that night The events of the day -marched processionally through her mind, and her thoughts persisted in -clustering round the baffling, incomprehensible personality of Blaise -Tormarin. - -His extreme bitterness of speech she ascribed to the unfortunate episode -that lay in his past. But she could find no reason for his strange, -expressed wish to disregard their former meeting at Montavan--to wipe -out, as it were, all recollection of it. - -That he did not dislike her she felt sure; and a woman rarely makes a -mistake over a man’s personal attitude towards her. But for some reason, -it seemed to her, he was _afraid_ to let himself like her! It was as -though he were anxious to bolt and bar the door against any possibility -of friendship between them. From whichever way she looked at it, she -could find no key to the mystery of his behaviour. It was inexplicable. - -Only one thing emerged from the confusion of thought; the lost glamour -of that night at Montavan had returned--returned with fresh impulse -and persuasiveness. And when at last she fell asleep, it was with the -beseeching, soul-haunting melody of _Valse Triste_ crying in her ears. - - - - -CHAPTER X--OTHER PEOPLE’S TROUBLES - -JEAN woke to find the chill, wintry sunlight thrusting in long -fingers through the space between the casements and the edges of the -window-blinds. At first the unfamiliar look of a strange bedroom puzzled -her, and she lay blinking drowsily at the wavering slits of light, -wondering in vague, half-awake fashion where she was. Gradually, -however, recollection returned to her, and with it a lively curiosity -to view Staple by daylight. She jumped out of bed and, rattling up the -blinds on their rollers, peered out of the window. - -There was a hard frost abroad, and the stillness which reigned over the -ice-bound country-side reminded her of the big Alpine silences. But here -there was no snow--no dazzling sheet of whiteness spread, with cold, -grey-blue shadows flung across it Green and shaven the lawns sloped -gently down from a flagged terrace, running immediately beneath her -window, to the very rim of the frozen lake that gleamed in the valley -below. Beyond the valley, scattered woods and copses climbed the -hillside opposite, leafless and bare save where a cluster of tall pines -towered in evergreen defiance against the slate of the sky. - -In the farther distance, beyond the confines of the manor park itself, -Jean could catch glimpses of cultivated fields--the red Devon soil -glowing jewel-like through filmy wisps of morning mist that still hung -in the atmosphere, dispersing slowly as though loth to go. Here and -there a little spiral of denser, blue-grey smoke wreathed its way -upwards from the chimney of some thatched cottage or farmhouse. And back -of it all, adumbrated in a dim, mysterious purple, the great tors of -Dartmoor rose sentinel upon the horizon. - -Jean’s glance narrowed down to the sloping sward in front of the house. -It was all just as her father had pictured it to her. On the left, a -giant cedar broke the velvet smoothness of mown grass, its gnarled arms -rimmed with hoar-frost, whilst to the right a tall yew hedge, clipped -into huge, grotesque resemblances of birds and beasts, divided the lawns -from a path which skirted a walled rose garden. By craning her neck and -almost flattening her nose against the window-pane, she could just make -out a sunk lawn in the rose garden, and in its centre the slender pillar -of an ancient sundial. - -It was all very English and old-fashioned, breathing the inalienable -charm of places that have been well loved and tended by successive -generations. And over all, hills and valleys, park and woodland, -lay that faint, almost imperceptible humid veil wherewith, be it in -scorching summer sunshine or iron frost, the West Country tenderly -contrives to soften every harsh outline into something gracious, and -melting, and alluring. - -To Jean, familiarised from childhood with the piercing clarity of -atmosphere, the brilliant colouring and the definiteness of silhouette -of southern Europe and of Egypt, there was something inexpressibly -restful and appealing in those blurred hues of grey and violet, in the -warm red of the Devon earth, with its tender overtone of purple like the -bloom on a grape, and the rounded breasts of green-clad hills curving -suavely one into the other till they merged into the ultimate, -rock-crowned slopes of the brooding moor. - -“I’m going to love your England,” she told Nick. - -They were making their way down to the lake--alone together, since -Blaise had curtly refused to join them--and as she spoke, Nick stopped -and regarded her consideringly. - -“I rather imagine England will love you,” he replied, adding, with the -whimsical impudence which was somehow always permitted Nick Brennan: “If -it were not for a prior claim, I’m certain I should have loved you in -about five minutes.” - -“I’m sorry I happened too late,” retorted Jean. - -“But I can still be a brother to you,” he pursued, ignoring her -interpolation. “I think,”--reflectively--“I shall like being a brother -to you.” - -“I should expect a brother to fetch and carry,” cautioned Jean. “And to -make himself generally useful.” - -“I haven’t got the character from my last place about me at the moment, -but I’ll write it out for you when we get back. Meanwhile, I will -perform the menial task of fastening on your skates.” - -They had reached the lake by now. It was a wide stretch of water several -acres in extent, and rimmed about its banks with rush and alder. At the -far end Jean could discern a boat-house. - -“It must be an ideal place for boating in the summer,” she said, taking -in the size of the lake appreciatively as together they circled it with -long, sweeping strokes, hands interlocked. It was much larger than -it had appeared from her bedroom window, when it had been partially -screened from her view by rising ground. - -“It’s all right just for paddling about,” answered Nick. “But there’s -really jolly boating on our river. That’s over on the west side of the -park”--he pointed in the direction indicated. “It divides Staple from -Willow Ferry--the property of our next-door neighbour, so to speak. -You’d like the boating here,” he added, “though I’m afraid our skating -possibilities aren’t likely to impress anyone coming straight from -Switzerland.” - -“I’m sure I shall like skating--or anything else--here,” said Jean -Warmly. “It is all so beautiful. I suppose Devonshire is really quite -the loveliest county in England? My father always declared it was.” - -“_We_ think so,” replied Nick modestly. “Though a Cornishman would -probably want to knock me down for saying so! But I love it.” he went -on. “There’s nowhere else I would care to live.” His eyes softened, -seeming almost to caress the surrounding fields and woods. - -Jean nodded. “I can understand that,” she said. “Although I’ve only been -here a few hours, I’m beginning to love it, too. I don’t know why it -is--I can’t explain it--but I feel as if I’d _come home_.” - -“So you have. The Petersons lived here for generations.” - -“Do you mean”--Jean stared at him in astonishment--“do you mean that -they lived at Coombe Eavie?” - -“Yes. Didn’t you know? They used to own Charnwood--a place about a mile -from here. It was sold after your grandfather’s death. Did your father -never tell you?” - -She shook her head. - -“He always avoided speaking of anything in connection with his life -over here. I think he hated England. Is there anyone living at Charnwood -now?” she asked, after a pause. - -“Yes. It has changed hands several times, and now a friend of ours lives -there--Lady Latimer.” - -“Then perhaps I shall be able to go there some day. I should like to see -the place where my father’s people lived”--eagerly. - -Nick laughed. - -“You’ve got the true Devonshire homing instinct,” he declared. “Devon -folk who’ve left the country always want to see the ‘place where their -people lived.’ I remember, about a year ago, a Canadian girl and her -brother turned up at Staple. They were descendants of a Tormarin who had -emigrated two or three generations before, and they had come across to -England for a visit. Their first trip was to Devonshire; they wanted to -see ‘the place where Dad’s people had lived.’ And, by Jove, they knew a -lot more about it than we did! They were posted up in every detail, and -insisted on a personally conducted tour over the whole place. They went -back to Canada rejoicing, loaded with photographs of Staple.” - -Jean smiled. - -“I think it was rather dear of them to come back like that,” she said -simply. - -They swung round the head of the lake and, as they turned, Jean caught -sight of a woman’s figure emerging from the path which ran through the -woods. Apparently the newcomer descried the skaters at the same moment, -for she stopped and waved her hand in a friendly little gesture of -greeting. Nick lifted his cap. - -“That is Lady Latimer,” he said. - -Something in his voice, some indescribable deepening of quality, -made Jean look at him quickly. She remembered on one occasion, in a -jeweller’s shop, noticing a very beautiful opal lying in its case; she -had commented on it casually, and the man behind the counter had lifted -it from its satiny bed and turned it so that the light should fall full -upon it. In an instant the red fire slumbering in its heart had waked -into glowing life, irradiating the whole stone with pulsing colour. It -was some such vitalising change as this that she sensed in the suddenly -eager face beside her. - -Hastening their pace, she and Nick skated up to the edge of the lake -where Lady Latimer awaited them, and as he introduced the two women to -each other it seemed as though the eyes of the woman on the bank asked -hastily, almost frightenedly: “Will you prove friend or foe?” And Jean’s -eyes, all soft and luminous like every real woman’s in the presence of -love, signalled back steadily: “Friend!” - -“Claire!” said Nick. And Jean thought that no name could have suited her -better. - -She was the slenderest thing, with about her the pliant, delicate grace -of a harebell. Ash-blonde hair, so fair that in some lights it looked -silver rather than gold, framed the charming Greuze face. Only it was -not quite a Greuze, Jean reflected. There was too much character in -it--a certain gentle firmness, something curiously still and patient in -the closing of the curved lips, and a deeper appeal than that of mere -wondering youth in the gentian-blue eyes. They were woman’s eyes, eyes -out of which no weeping could quite wash the wistfulness of some past or -present sorrow. - -“So you are one of the Charnwood Petersons?” said Lady Latimer in her -soft, pretty voice. “You won’t like me, I’m afraid”--smiling--“I’m -living in your old home.” - -“Oh, Jean won’t quarrel with you over that,” put in Nick. “She’s got a -splendacious castle all her own somewhere in the wilds of Europe.” - -“Yes. Beirnfels is really my home. I’ve never even seen Charnwood,” - smiled Jean. “But I should like to--some day, if you will ask me over.” - -“Oh, yes, certainly you must come,” replied Lady Latimer a little -breathlessly. But she seemed unaccountably flurried, as though -Jean’s suggestion in some way disquieted her. “But of course, -Charnwood--now--isn’t a bit like what it must have been when the -Petersons had it. I think a place changes with the people who inhabit -it, don’t you? I mean, their influence impresses itself on it. If they -are good and happy people, you can feel it in the atmosphere of the -place, and if they are people with bad and wicked thoughts, you feel -that, too. I know I do.” And there was no doubt in the mind of either of -her hearers that she was referring to the last-named set of influences. - -“But I think Charnwood must be lovely, since it’s your home now,” said -Jean sincerely. - -“Oh, yes--of course--it is my home now.” Lady Latimer looked troubled. -“But other people live--have lived there. It’s changed hands several -times, hasn’t it, Nick?”--turning to him for confirmation. - -Nick was frowning. He, too, appeared troubled. - -“Of course it’s changed hands--heaps of times,” he replied gruffly. “But -I should think your influence would be enough to counteract that of--of -everybody else. Look here, chuck discussing rotten, psychic influences, -Claire, and come on the ice.” - -“No, I can’t,” she replied hastily. “I haven’t my skates here.” - -“That doesn’t matter. We’ve a dozen pairs up at the house. One of them -is sure to fit you. I’ll go and collect a few.” - -He wheeled as though to cross the lake on his proposed errand, but -Claire Latimer laid her hand quickly on his arm. - -“No, no,” she said. “I can’t skate this morning. I’m on my way home.” - -“Oh, change your mind!” begged Jean, noticing with friendly amusement -Nick’s expression of discontent. - -“No, really I can’t” Claire’s face had whitened and her big eyes sought -Nick’s in a kind of pathetic appeal. “Adrian is not--very well to-day. -My husband,” she added explanatorily to Jean. - -The latter was conscious of a sense of shock. She had quite imagined -Lady Latimer to be a widow, and had been mentally engaged in weaving the -most charming and happy-ever-after of romances since the moment she -had seen that wonderful change come over Nick’s face. Probably her -impression was due to the manner of his first introduction of Claire’s -name, “A friend of ours lives there--Lady Latimer,” without reference to -any husband lurking in the background. - -She observed that Nick made no further effort to persuade Claire to -remain, and after exchanging a few commonplace remarks the latter -continued her way back to Charnwood. - -It was so nearly lunch time that it did not seem worth while resuming -their skating. Besides, with Claire Latimer’s refusal to join them, -the occupation seemed to have lost some of its charm, and when Jean -suggested a return to the house Nick assented readily. - -“She is very sweet--young Lady Latimer,” remarked - -Jean, as they walked back over the frostily crisp turf. “But she -looks rather sad. And she isn’t the kind of person one associates with -sadness. There’s something so young and fresh about her; she makes one -think of spring flowers.” - -Nick’s face kindled. - -“Yes, she’s like that, isn’t she?” he answered eagerly. “Like a pale -golden narcissus.” - -They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the thoughts of each -of them dwelling on the woman who had just left them. Then Jean said -softly: - -“So that’s the ‘prior claim?’” - -“Yes,” he acknowledged simply. - -“You never mentioned that she had a husband concealed somewhere. I quite -thought she was a widow till she suddenly mentioned him.” - -“I never think of him as her husband”--shortly. “You can’t mate light -and darkness.” - -“I suppose he’s an invalid?” ventured Jean. - -Rick’s face darkened. - -“He’s a drug fiend,” he said in a low, hard voice. - -“Oh!” - -After that one breathless exclamation of horror Jean remained silent. -The swift picture conjured up before her eyes by Rick’s terse speech was -unspeakably revolting. - -Years ago she had heard her father describing the effect of the drug -habit upon a friend of his own who had yielded to it. He had been -telling her mother about it, characteristically oblivious of the -presence of a child of eleven in the room at the time, and some of -Glyn Peterson’s poignant, illuminating phrases, punctuated by little, -stricken murmurs of pity from Jacqueline, had impressed a painfully -accurate picture on the plastic mind of childhood. Ever since then, -drug-mania had represented to Jean the uttermost abyss. - -And now, the vision of that slender, gracious woman, Rick’s “pale golden -narcissus,” tied for life to a man who must ultimately become that which -Glyn Peterson’s friend had become, filled her with compassionate dismay. - -It was easy enough, now, to comprehend Claire Latimer’s curious lack of -warmth when Jean expressed the hope that she might go over to Charnwood -some day. It sprang from the nervous shrinking of a woman at the -prospect of being driven to unveil before fresh eyes the secret misery -and degradation of her life. - -Jean was still silent as she and Nick re-entered the hall at Staple. It -was empty, and as, by common consent, they instinctively drew towards -the fire Nick pulled forward one of the big easy-chairs for her. Then -he stood gloomily staring down into the leaping flames, much as Tormarin -had stood the previous evening. - -Intuitively she knew that he wanted to give her his confidence. - -“Tell me about it, Nick,” she said quietly. - -“May I?” The words jerked out like a sigh of relief. He dropped into a -chair beside her. - -“There isn’t very much to tell you. Only, I’d like you to know--to be -a pal to her, if you can, Jean.” He paused, then went on quickly: -“They married her to him when she was hardly more than a child--barely -seventeen. She’s only nineteen now. Sir Adrian is practically a -millionaire, and Claire’s father and mother were in low water--trying -to cut a dash in society on nothing a year. So--they sold Claire. Sir -Adrian paid their debts and agreed to make them a handsome allowance. -And they let her go to him, knowing, then, that he had already begun to -take drugs.” - -“_How could they?_” burst from Jean in a strangled whisper. - -Nick nodded. His eyes, meeting hers, had lost their gay good humour and -were dull and lack-lustre. - -“Yes, you’d wonder how, wouldn’t you?” he said. His voice rasped a -little. “Still--they did it. Then, later on, the Latimers came to -Charnwood, and Claire and I met. It didn’t take long to love her--you -can understand that, can’t you?” - -“Oh, Nick--yes! She is so altogether lovable.” - -“But understand this, too,”--and the sudden sternness that gripped his -speech reminded her sharply of his brother--“we recognise that that is -all there can ever be between us. Just the knowledge that we love each -other. I think even that helps to make her life--more bearable.” - -He fell silent, and presently Jean stretched out a small, friendly hand. - -“Thank you for telling me, Nick,” she said. “Perhaps some day you’ll be -happy--together. You and Claire. It sounds a horrible thing to say--to -count on--I know, but a man who takes drugs----” - -Nick interrupted her with a short laugh. - -“You needn’t count on Latimer’s snuffing out, if that’s what you mean. -He is an immensely strong man--like a piece of steel wire. It will take -years for any drug to kill him. I sometimes think”--bitterly--“that it -will kill Claire first.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI--“THE SINS OF THE FATHERS” - -A FEW days later, Jean, coming in from a long tramp across country in -company with Nick and half a dozen dogs of various breeds, discovered -Tormarin lounging in a chair by the fire. He was in riding kit, having -just returned from visiting an outlying corner of the estates where his -bailiff had suggested that a new plantation might be made, and Jean -eyed his long supple figure with secret approval. Like most well-built -Englishmen, he looked his best in kit that demanded the donning of -breeches and leggings. - -A fine rain was falling out of doors, and beads of moisture clung to -Jean’s clothes and sparkled in the blown tendrils of russet hair -which had escaped from beneath the little turban hat she was wearing. -Apparently, however, her appearance did not rouse Tormarin to any -reciprocal appreciation, for, after bestowing the briefest of glances -upon her as she entered, he averted his eyes, concentrating his -attention upon the misty ribands of smoke that drifted upwards from his -cigarette. - -Jean knelt down on the hearth, and, pulling off her rain-soaked gloves, -held out her hands to the fire’s cheerful blaze. - -“It’s good-bye to all the skating, I’m afraid,” she said regretfully. -“Nick says we’re not likely to have another hard frost like the last, -now that the weather has broken so completely.” - -“No. It’s April next month--supposedly springtime, you know,” returned -Blaise indifferently. - -He seemed disinclined to talk, and Jean eyed him contemplatively. His -attitude towards her baffled her as much as ever. He was unfailingly -courteous and considerate, but he remained, nevertheless, unmistakably -aloof, avoiding her whenever it was politely possible, and when it was -not, treating her with a cool neutrality of manner that was as complete -a contrast to his demeanour when they were together at Montavan as could -well be imagined. Indeed, sometimes Jean almost wondered if the events -of that day they spent amid the snows had really taken place--they -seemed so far away, so entirely unrelated to her present life, -notwithstanding the fact that she was in daily contact with the man who -had shared them with her. - -“It was rather uncomplimentary of you not to come skating with us a -solitary _once_,” she remarked at last, an accent of reproach in her -voice. “Was my performance on the rink at Montavan so execrable that you -felt you couldn’t risk it again?” - -He looked up, his glance meeting hers levelly. - -“You’ve phrased it excellently,” he replied briefly. “I felt I couldn’t -risk it.” - -A sudden flush mounted to Jean’s face. There was no misunderstanding the -significance that underlay the curt words, which, as she was vibrantly -aware, bore no relation whatever to her skill, or absence of it, on the -ice. - -Blaise made no endeavour to relieve the awkward silence that ensued. -Instead, his eyes rested upon her with a somewhat quizzical expression, -as though he were rather entertained than otherwise by her evident -confusion. Jean felt her indignation rising. - -“It is fortunate that other people are not so--nervous,” she said -disdainfully. “Otherwise I should find myself as isolated as a fever -hospital.” - -“It is fortunate indeed,” he agreed politely. - -In the course of the three weeks which had elapsed since her arrival at -Staple, Jean had dared several similar passages-at-arms with her host. -Woman-like, she was bent on getting behind his guard of reticence, -on forcing him into an explanation of his altered attitude towards -her--since no woman can be expected to endure that a man should -completely change from ill-suppressed ardour to a cool, impersonal -detachment of manner, without aching to know the reason why! But in -every instance Tormarin had carried off the honours of war, parrying -her small thrusts with a lazy insouciance which she found galling in the -extreme. - -Hitherto she had encountered little difficulty in getting pretty much -her own way with the men of her acquaintance; she had sufficient of the -temperament and charm of the red-haired type to compass that. But her -efforts to elucidate the cause of the change in Blaise Tormarin -were about as prolific of result as the efforts of a butterfly at -stone-breaking. - -Fortunately for the preservation of peace, at this juncture there came -the sound of voices, and Lady Anne entered the room, accompanied by a -visitor. Her clever, grey eyes flashed quickly from Jean’s flushed -face to that of her son, but, if she sensed the electricity in the -atmosphere, she made no comment. - -“Blaise, my dear, here is Judith,” she said pleasantly. “I found her -wandering forlornly in the lanes, so I drove her back here. She has just -returned from town, and for some reason her car wasn’t at the station to -meet her.” - -“I wired home saying what time I should reach Coombe Eavie,” explained -the new-comer. “But as I was rather late reaching Waterloo, I rashly -entrusted the wire to a small boy to send off for me, and I’m afraid -he’s played me false. I should have had to trudge the whole way back to -Willow Ferry if Lady Anne hadn’t happened along.” - -Lady Anne turned to Jean, and, laying an affectionate hand on her arm, -drew her forward. - -“Jean, let me introduce you to Mrs. Craig. My new acquisition, Judith, -she went on contentedly. A daughter. I always told you I wanted one. -Now I’ve borrowed someone else’s.” - -Jean found herself shaking hands with a slender, distinctive-looking -woman who moved with a slow, languorous grace that was almost snake-like -in its peculiar suppleness. - -She gave one the impression that she had no bones in her body, or that -if she had, they had never hardened properly but still retained the -pliability of cartilage. - -She was somewhat sallow--the consequence, it transpired later, of long -residence in India--with sullen, slate-coloured eyes, appearing almost -purple in shadow, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth. Jean decided that -she was not in the least pretty, though attractive in an odd, feline -way, and that she must be about thirty-two. As a matter of fact, -Judith Craig was forty, but no one would have guessed it--and she would -certainly not have confided it. - -Presently Nick, who had been personally supervising the feeding of -his beloved dogs, joined the party, greeting Mrs. Craig with the easy -informality of an old friend, and shortly afterwards Baines brought in -the tea-things. - -“And where is Burke?” enquired Blaise, of Mrs. Craig, as he handed her -tea. “Didn’t he come back with you?” - -“Geoffrey? Oh, no. He’s not coming down till the end of April. You know -he detests Willow Ferry in the winter--‘beastly wet swamp,’ he calls it! -He’s dividing his time between London and Leicestershire--London, while -that long frost stopped all hunting.” - -Mrs. Craig was evidently on a footing of long-established intimacy with -the Staple household, and Jean, listening quietly to the interchange -of news and of little personal happenings, regarded her with rather -critical interest. She was not altogether sure that she liked her, but -she was quite sure that, wherever her lot might be cast, Judith Craig -would never occupy the position of a nonentity. She had considerable -charm of manner, and there was a quite unexpected fascination about her -smile--unexpected, because, when in repose, her thin lips lay folded -together in a straight and somewhat forbidding line, whereas the moment -they relaxed into a smile they assumed the most delightful curves, and -two little lines, which should have been dimples but were not, cleft -each cheek on either side of the mouth. - -All at once Mrs. Craig turned to Jean as though she had made up her mind -about something over which she had been hesitating. - -“Have I seen you anywhere before?” she asked, her charming -smile softening the abruptness of the question. “Your face is so -extraordinarily familiar.” - -Jean shook her head. - -“I don’t think so,” she answered. “I’m sure I should remember you if we -had met anywhere. Besides, I’ve lived abroad all my life; this is only -my first visit to England.” - -“I think I can explain,” said Lady Anne. There was a deliberateness -about her manner that suggested she was about to make a statement which -she was aware would be of some special interest to at least one of -the party. “Jean is Glyn Peterson’s daughter; so of course you see a -likeness, Judith.” - -Jean, glancing enquiringly across at Mrs. Craig, was startled at the -sudden change in her face produced by Lady Anne’s simple announcement. -The sallow skin seemed to pale--almost wither, like a cut flower that -needs water--and the lips that had been parted in a smile stiffened -slowly into their accustomed straight line. - -“Of course”--Mrs. Craig’s voice sounded flat and she swallowed once -or twice before she spoke--“that must be it. I--knew your father, Miss -Peterson.” - -To Jean, always sensitive to the emotional quality of the atmosphere, it -seemed as though some current of hostility, of malevolence, leapt at -her through the innocent-sounding speech. “_I knew your father_.” It -was quite ridiculous, of course, but the words sounded almost like a -threat. - -She had no answer ready, and a brief silence followed. Then Lady Anne -bridged the awkward moment with some commonplace, adroitly steering the -conversation into smoother waters, and a few minutes later Mrs. Craig -rose to go. - -“I’ll see you across the park, Judith,” volunteered Nick, and he and his -mother accompanied her out of the room. - -In the hall, Lady Anne detained her visitor an instant with a light hand -on her arm, while Nick foraged for his own particular headgear, amongst -the family assortment of hats and caps. - -“Jean is a dear girl, Judith,” she said earnestly. “I want you to be -friends with her. Don’t”--pleadingly--“visit the sins of the fathers on -the children.” - -“Why, no, I shouldn’t,” replied Mrs. Craig, with apparent frankness. “It -was only that, for the moment, it was rather a shock to learn that she -was--that woman’s--child.” - -“Of course it was,” acquiesced Lady Anne. “Good-bye, dear Judith.” - -But notwithstanding Mrs. Craig’s assurances, a troubled look lingered in -Lady Anne’s grey eyes long after her guest’s departure. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--A SENSE OF DUTY - -JEAN was immensely puzzled at the abrupt change which had occurred in -Mrs. Craig’s manner immediately upon hearing that she was the daughter -of Glyn Peterson, and, as soon as the visitor had taken her departure, -she sought an explanation. - -“What on earth made Mrs. Craig freeze up the instant my father’s name -was mentioned? Did she hate him for any reason?” - -Tormarin looked across at her. - -“No,” he answered quietly. “She didn’t hate him. She loved him.” - -Jean stared at him in frank astonishment. She had never dreamed that -there had been any other woman than Jacqueline in Glyn’s life. - -“Mrs. Craig--and my father?” she exclaimed incredulously. - -“She wasn’t Mrs. Craig in those days. She was Judith Burke.” - -“Well, but----” persisted Jean, determined to get to the bottom of the -mystery. “I still don’t see why.” - -“Why what?”--unwillingly. - -“Why she looked as if she loathed the very sight of me. That’s -not”--drily--“quite the effect you would expect love to produce!” - -There was a curiously abstracted look in Tormarin’s eyes as he made -answer. - -“Love is productive of very curious effects on occasion. More -particularly when it is without hope of fulfilment,” he added in a lower -tone. - -“Well, I suppose my father couldn’t help not falling in love with Mrs. -Craig,” protested Jean with some warmth. “Nor could he have prevented -her caring for him. And it’s certainly illogical of her to feel any -resentment towards me on that score. _I_ had nothing to do with it.” - -“Love and logic have precious little to say to each other, as a rule,” - replied Tormarin grimly. “To Judith, you’re the child of the woman who -stole her lover away from her, so you can hardly expect her to feel an -overwhelming affection for you.” - -“The woman who stole her lover away from her?” repeated Jean slowly. “I -don’t understand. What do you mean, Blaise?” - -He glanced at her in some surprise. - -“Surely---- Don’t you know the circumstances?” - -She shook her head. - -“No. I simply don’t know in the least what you are talking about. Please -tell me.” - -Tormarin made no response for a moment. He was standing with his back to -the light, but as he lit a cigarette the flare of the match revealed -a worried expression on his face, as though he deprecated the turn the -conversation was taking. - -“Oh, well,” he said at last, evading the point at issue, “it’s all -ancient history now. Let it go. There’s never anything gained by digging -up the dry bones of the past.” Jean’s mouth set itself in a mutinous -line of determination. “Please tell me, Blaise,” she reiterated. “As it -is something which concerns my father and a woman I shall probably be -meeting fairly often in the future, I think I have a right to know about -it.” - -He shrugged his shoulders resignedly. - -“Very well--if you insist. But I don’t think you’ll be any happier for -knowing.” He paused. “Still inflexible?” She bent her head. - -“Quite”--firmly--“whatever it is, I’d rather know it.” - -“On your own head be it, then.” He seemed trying to infuse a lighter -element into the conversation, as though hoping to minimise the effect -of what he had to tell her. “It was just this--that your father and -Judith Burke were engaged to be married at the time he met your mother, -and that--well, to make a long story short, he ran away with Miss Mavory -on the day fixed for his wedding with Judith.” - -A dead silence followed the disclosure. Then Jean uttered a low cry of -dismay. - -“My father did that? Are you sure?” - -“Quite sure.” - -Tormarin could see that the story had distressed her. Her eyes showed -hurt and bewildered like those of a child who has met with a totally -unexpected rebuff. - -“Don’t take it like that!” he urged hastily. “After all, It was nothing -so terrible. You look as though he had broken every one of the ten -commandments”--smiling. - -Jean smiled back rather wanly. - -“I don’t know that I should worry very much if he had--in some -circumstances. But--don’t you see?--it was so cruel, so horribly -selfish!” - -“You’ve got to remember two things in justification----” - -“_Justification?_”--expressively. “There wasn’t any. There couldn’t be.” - -“Well, excuse, then, if you like. One thing is that Jacqueline Mavory -was one of the most beautiful of women, and the other, that your -father’s engagement to Judith had really been more or less engineered -by their respective parents--adjoining properties, friends of long -standing, and so on. It was no love-match--on his side.” - -“But on her wedding-day!”--pitifully. “Oh! Poor Judith!” - -Tormarin smiled a trifle cynically. - -“That was the root of the trouble. It was Judith’s pride that was -hurt--as well as her heart. She married Major Craig not long after, and -I believe they were really fond of one another and comparatively happy. -But she has never forgiven Peterson from that day to this. And you, -being Jacqueline Mavory’s daughter, will come in for the residue of her -bitterness. Unless”--ironically--“you can make friends with her.” - -“I shall try to,” said Jean simply. “Is Major Craig living now?” - -“No. He died out in India, and after his death Judith came back to -England. She has lived at Willow Ferry with her brother, Geoffrey Burke, -ever since.” - -There was a long silence, while Jean tried to fit in the new facts she -had learned with her knowledge of her father’s character. She was a -little afraid that Tormarin might misunderstand her impulsive outburst -of indignation. - -“Don’t think that I am sitting in judgment on my father,” she said at -last. “In a way, I can--even understand his doing such a thing. You -know, for the last two years of my mother’s life I was with them both -constantly, and anyone living with them could understand their doing all -kinds of things that ordinary people wouldn’t do.” She paused, as though -seeking words that might make her meaning clearer. “They would never -really mean to hurt anyone, but they were just like a couple of children -together--gloriously irresponsible and happy. I always felt years older -than either of them. Glyn used to say I was ‘cursed with a damnable -sense of duty’”--laughing rather ruefully. “I suppose I am. Probably I -inherit it from our old Puritan ancestors on the Peterson side. I know -I couldn’t have cheerfully run off and taken my happiness at the cost of -someone else’s prior right.” - -A look of extreme bitterness crossed Tormarin’s face. - -“Wait till you’re tempted,” he said shortly. “Wait till _what you want_ -wars against what you ought to have--what you’ve the right to take.” - -For a moment she made no answer. Put bluntly like that, the matter -suddenly presented itself to her as one of the poignant possibilities of -life. Supposing--supposing such a choice should ever be demanded of her? -She felt a vague fear catch at her heart, an indefinable dread. - -When at last she spoke, the eyes she lifted to meet Tor-marin’s were -troubled. In them he could read the innate honesty which was prepared -to face the question he had raised, and behind that--courage. A young, -untried courage, not sure of itself, it is true, but still courage that -only waited till some call should wake it into fighting actuality. - -“I hope,” she said with a wistful humility that was rather touching, “I -hope I should stick it out One’s ideals, and duty, and other people’s -rights--it would be horrible to scrap the lot--just for love.” - -“Worth it, perhaps. You”--his voice was the least bit uneven--“you -haven’t been up against love--yet.” - -Again she was conscious of that little catch at her heart--the same -convulsive tightening of the muscles as one experiences when a telegram -is put into one’s hand which may, or may not, contain bad news. - -“You haven’t been up against love yet.” - -The words recalled her knowledge of the tragic episode that lay in -Tormarin’s own past. The whole history she did not know--only the odds -and ends of gossip which one woman had confided to another. But here, in -the man’s curt brevity of speech, surely lay proof that he had suffered. -And if he had suffered, it followed that he must have cared deeply for -the woman who had thrown him aside for the sake of another man. - -Jean’s first generous impulse of pity as she realised this was strangely -intermingled with a fleeting disquiet, a subconscious sense of loss. It -was only momentary, and not definite enough for her to express in words, -even to herself--hardly more than the slightly blank sensation produced -upon anyone sitting in the sunshine when a cloud suddenly intervenes and -drops a shadow where a moment before there has been warmth and light. - -An instant later it was overborne by her spontaneous sympathy for the -man beside her, and, recognising the rather painful similarity between -her father’s treatment of Judith Craig and the story she had heard -of the unknown woman’s treatment of Tormarin himself, she tactfully -deflected the conversation to something that would touch him less -closely, launching into a description of the life her parents had led at -Beirnfels. - -“They were wonderfully happy together there. Not in the least--as I -suppose they ought to have been--an awful example of poetic -justice!” she declared. “Glyn used to call Beirnfels his ‘House of -Dreams-Come-True’.” - -“Glyn?”--suddenly remarking her use of Peterson’s Christian name. - -She smiled. - -“I never called them father and mother. They would have loathed it. Glyn -used to say that anything which savoured so much of domesticity would -kill romance!” - -“That sounds like all that I have ever heard about him,” said Tormarin, -smiling too. “So does the ‘House of Dreams-Come-True.’ It’s a charming -idea.” - -“He took it from one of Jacqueline’s songs. She had a glorious voice, -you know.” - -“Yes, so I’ve heard. I suppose you have inherited it?” - -She shook her head. - -“No, I wish I had. But Jacqueline insisted on trying to teach me -singing, all the same. Poor dear! I was a dreadful disappointment to -her, I’m afraid.” - -“Couldn’t you sing the ‘House of Dreams’ song? I’m rather curious to -hear the remainder of it.” - -Jean rose and crossed to the piano. - -“Oh, yes, I can sing you that. Jacqueline always used to say it was -the only thing I sang as if I understood it, and Glyn declared it was -because it agreed with my ‘confounded principles’!” - -She smiled up at him as her fingers slid into the prelude of the song, -but her little joke against herself brought no answering smile to his -lips. Instead, he stood waiting for the song to begin with an odd kind -of expectancy on his face. - -Jean had most certainly not inherited her mother’s exquisite voice, but -she had a quaint little pipe of her own, with a clouded, husky quality -in it that was not without its appeal. It lent a wistful charm to the -simple words of the song. - - “It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True, - - Its Hills are steep and its valleys deep, - - And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, - - The Wayfarers--I and you. - - - “But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True. - - We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, - - If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, - - Wayfarers--I and you.” - -The soft, husky voice ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then -Tormarin said quietly: - -“Thank you. I don’t think your mother need have felt any great -disappointment concerning your voice. It has its own qualities, even if -it is not suited to the concert hall.” - -“But the words of the song?” questioned Jean eagerly. “Don’t you like -them?” - -“It’s a pretty enough idea.” He laid a faint, significant stress on the -last word. “But for some of us the ‘House of Dreams-Come-True’ has never -been built. Or, if it has, we’ve lost the way there.” - -There was a note of rigid acceptance in his voice, as though he no -longer strove against the decisions of destiny, and Jean’s eager -sympathy leaped impulsively to her lips. - -“Don’t say that!” she began. Then checked herself, flushing a little. -“I hate to hear you speak in that way,” she went on more quietly. “It -sounds as though there were nothing worth trying for--worth waiting for. -I like to believe that everyone has a house of dreams which may ‘come -true’ some day.” She paused. “‘If we fare straight on, come fine, come -wet,’” she repeated softly. - -Her eyes had a far-away look in them, as though they were envisioning -that narrow, winding track which leads, somewhen, to the place where -dreams even the most wonderful of them--shall become realities. - -Glorious faith and optimism of youth! If we could only recapture it in -those after years, when time has added tolerance and a little wisdom -to our harvest’s store, the houses where dreams come true might add -themselves together until there were whole streets of them--glowing -townships--instead of merely an isolated dwelling here or there. - -As Tormarin listened to Jean’s young, eager voice, his face softened and -some of the tired lines in it seemed to smooth themselves out “Little -Comrade,” he said gently, and she felt her breath quicken as he called -her again by the name which he had used at Montavan--and once since, -when they had come suddenly face to face at Coombe Eavie Station. But -that second time the words had escaped him unawares. Now he was using -them deliberately, withholding no part of their significance. -“Little comrade, I think the man who ‘fares straight on’ with you for -fellow-traveller _will_ find the House of Dreams-Come-True. But it -isn’t--just any man who may start that journey with you. It mustn’t -be”--his grave eyes held hers intently--“a man who has tried to find the -road once before--and failed.” - -It seemed to Jean that, as he spoke, the wall which he had built up -between them since she came to Staple crumbled away. This was the same -man she had known at Montavan, whose hands reached out to hers across -some fixed dividing line which neither he nor she might pass. She knew -now what that dividing line must be--the shadow flung by a past love, -his love for Nesta Freyne which had ended in hopeless tragedy. - -There must always be a limit set to any friendship of theirs. So much he -had implied at their first meeting. But, since then, he had taken even -that friendship from her, substituting a deliberate indifference against -which she had struggled in vain. - -And now, without knowing quite how it had come about, the barrier -was down. They were comrades once more--she and the Englishman from -Montavan--and she was conscious of a great content that it should be so. - -For the moment she asked nothing more, was unconscious of any further -wish. The woman in her still slumbered, and, to the girl, this -friendship seemed enough. She did not realise that something deeper, -more imperative in its ultimate demands, was mingled with it--was, -indeed, unrecognised by her, the very essence of it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--“WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?” - -JEAN, sculling leisurely down the river which ran between Staple and -Willow Eerry, looked around her with a little thrill of enjoyment--the -sheer, physical thrill of youth unconsciously in harmony with the -climbing sap in the trees, with the upward thrust of young green, with -all the exquisite recreation of Nature in the spring of the year. - -April had been, as it too commonly is in this northern clime of ours, -the merest travesty of spring, a bleak, cold month of penetrating -wind and sleet, but now May had stolen upon the world almost unawares, -opening with tender, insistent fingers the sticky brown buds fast curled -against the nipping winds, and misting all the woods with a shimmer of -translucent green. - -Overhead arched a sky of veiled, opalescent blue, and Jean, staring up -at it with dreamy eyes, was reminded of the “great city” of the Book of -Revelation whose “third foundation” was of chalcedony. This soft English -sky must be the third foundation, she decided whimsically. - -But the occupation of sky-gazing did not combine well with that of -steering a straight course down a stream whose width hardly entitled -it to its local designation of “the river,” and a few minutes later the -boat’s nose cannoned abruptly against the bank. - -As, however, to tie up somewhere under the trees which edged the water -had been Jean’s original intention, this did not trouble her overmuch, -and discovering a gnarled stump convenient to her purpose, she looped -the painter round it, collected the rug and a couple of cushions which -she had brought with her, and established herself comfortably in the -stern of the boat. - -Everyone else at Staple having engagements of one sort or another, she -had promised herself a lazy afternoon in company with the latest novel -sent down from Mudie’s. But she was in no immediate hurry to begin -its pages. The mellow warmth of the afternoon tempted her to the more -restful occupation of mere day-dreaming, and as she lay tucked up snugly -amongst her cushions, enjoying the sweet-scented airs that played among -the trees and over the surface of the water, she allowed her thoughts to -drift idly back across the two months she had spent at Staple. - -The time had slipped by so quickly that it was hard to believe that -rather more than eight weeks had elapsed since that grey February -evening when she had alighted on the little, deserted platform at -Coombe Eavie Station. They had been quiet, happy weeks, filled with the -pleasant building up of new friendships, and Jean reflected that she -had already grown to look upon Staple almost as “home.” She possessed in -a large measure the capacity to adapt herself to her surroundings, and -realising that Lady Anne had been perfectly sincere in her expressed -desire to play at having a daughter, Jean had, at first a little -tentatively, but afterwards, encouraged by Lady Anne’s obvious delight, -with more assurance, gradually assumed the duties that would naturally -fall to the daughter of the house. - -Day by day she had discovered an increasing pleasure and significance in -their performance. They were like so many tiny links knitting her life -into the lives of those around her, and already Lady Anne had begun -to turn to her instinctively in the small difficulties and necessities -which, one way or another, most days bring in their train. Jean -appreciated this as only a girl who had counted for very little in the -lives of those nearest her could do. It seemed to make her “belong” in -a way in which she had never “belonged” at Beirnfels. There, Glyn and -Jacqueline had turned to each other for counsel in the little daily -vicissitudes of life equally as in its larger concerns, and Jean had -learned to regard herself as more or less outside their lives. - -She had had one letter from Peterson since her arrival at Staple, a -brief, characteristic note in which he expressed the hope that she liked -England “better than her father ever could” but suggested that if she -were bored she should return to Beirnfels, and ask some woman friend to -stay with her; he warned her not to expect further letters from him -for some time to come as, according to his present plans--of which he -volunteered no particulars--he expected to spend the next few months “as -far from civilisation as the restricted size of this world permits.” - -With this letter it seemed to Jean as though the last link with -her former life had snapped. She felt no regret. Beirnfels, and the -unconventional, rather exotic life she had led there--dictated by her -parents’ whims and the practically unlimited wealth to gratify them -which Peterson’s flair for successful speculation had achieved--seemed -very far away, and Staple, with its peaceful, even-flowing English life, -very near and enfolding. - -Her first visit to Charnwood had been a disappointment. Under changing -ownerships, little now remained to remind her of the generations of -Petersons who had lived there long ago. Such of the old pieces of -furniture and china as Peterson had not considered worth transferring -to Beirnfels at his father’s death had been bought by the next owners -of the place, and had been taken away by them when they, in their turn, -disposed of the property. Only a great square stone remained, sunk into -one of the walls and bearing the Peterson coat of arms and the family -motto: _Omnia debeo Deo_. - -Sir Adrian Latimer had translated the words to Jean, with a cynical -gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes and accompanying the translation by a -caustic reference to her father. The drug had not so far dulled his -intellect. On the contrary, it seemed to have had the opposite effect of -endowing him with an almost uncanny insight into people’s minds, so that -he could prick them on a sensitive spot with unerring accuracy and a -diabolical enjoyment of the process. - -Jean’s sympathy for his wife was boundless. A great affection had sprung -up between the two girls, and bit by bit Claire had drawn aside the veil -of reticence, letting the other see into the arid, bitter places of her -life. - -Jean could understand, now, of what Claire had been thinking on the -occasion of their first meeting, when she had spoken of the influences -of the people who inhabit a house. The whole atmosphere of Charnwood -seemed permeated with the influence of Adrian Latimer--a grey, sinister, -unwholesome influence, like the miasma which rises from some poisonous -swamp. - -The hell upon earth which he contrived to make of life for his young -wife had been a revelation to Jean, accustomed as she had been to the -exquisite love and tenderness with which her father had surrounded -Jacqueline. - -Sir Adrian’s chief pleasure in life seemed to be to thwart and humiliate -his wife in every possible way, and once, in an access of indignation -over some small refinement of cruelty of which he had been guilty, -Jean had declared her intention of giving him her frank opinion of his -behaviour. She had never forgotten the look of bitter amusement with -which Claire had greeted the suggestion. - -“Do you know what would happen? He would listen to you with the utmost -politeness, and very likely let you think you had impressed him. But -afterwards he would _make me pay_--for a day, or a week, or a month. -Till his revenge was satisfied. And he would put an end to our -friendship----” - -“He couldn’t!” Jean had interrupted impulsively. - -“Couldn’t he? You don’t know Adrian.... And I can’t afford to lose you, -Jean. You’re one of my few comforts in life. Promise me”--she caught -Jean’s hands in hers and held them tightly--“_promise me_ that you will -do nothing--that you won’t try to interfere? I can generally manage; -him--more or less. And when I can’t, why, I have to put up with the -consequences of my own bad management”--with a smile that was more sad -than tears. - -With an effort of will Jean tried to banish the recollection of Sir -Adrian from her thoughts. The picture of his thin, leaden-hued face, -with its cruel mouth and furtive, suspicious eyes, was out of harmony -with this soft day of spring. She wished she had not let the thought of -him intrude upon her pleasant reverie at all. His sinister figure seemed -to cast a shadow over the sunlit river, a shadow which grew bigger and -bigger, blurring the green of the trees and the sky’s faint blue, and -even silencing the comfortable little chirrups of the birds, busy with -their spring housekeeping. At least, Jean couldn’t hear them any longer, -and she took no notice even when one enterprising young cock-bird hopped -near enough to filch a feather that was sticking out invitingly from the -corner of the cushion behind her head. - -The next thing she was conscious of was of sitting up with great -suddenness, under the impression that she had overslept and that the -housemaid was calling to her very loudly to waken her. - -Someone _was_ calling--shouting lustily, in fact, and collecting her -sleep-bemused faculties, she realised that instead of being securely -moored against the bank her boat was rocking gently in mid-stream, and -that the occupant of another boat, coming from the opposite direction, -was doing his indignant best to attract her attention, since just at -that point the river was too narrow for them to pass one another unless -each pulled well in towards the bank. - -Jean reached hastily for her sculls, only to find, to her intense -astonishment, that they had vanished as completely as though they had -never existed. She cast a rapid glance of dismay around her, scanning -the surface of the water in her vicinity for any trace of them. But -there was none. She was floating serenely down the middle of the stream, -perfectly helpless to pull out of the way of the oncoming boat. - -Meanwhile its occupant was calling out instructions--tempering his wrath -with an irritable kind of politeness as he perceived that the fool whose -craft blocked the way was of the feminine persuasion. - -“Pull in a bit, please. We can’t pass here if you don’t.... Pull in!” he -yelled rather more irately as Jean’s boat still remained in the middle -of the river, drifting placidly towards him. - -She flung up her hand. - -“_ I cant!_” she shouted back. “I’ve lost my sculls!” - -“Lost your sculls?” The man’s tones sufficiently implied what he thought -of the proceeding. - -A couple of strokes, and, gripping the gunwale of her boat as he drew -level, he steadied it to a standstill alongside his own. - -Jean’s eyes travelled swiftly from the squarish, muscular-looking hand -that gripped the boat’s side to the face of its owner. He was decidedly -an ugly man as far as features were concerned, with a dogged-looking -chin and a conquering beak of a nose that jutted out arrogantly from -his hatchet face. The sunlight glinted on a crop of reddish-brown -hair, springing crisply from the scalp in a way that suggested immense -vitality; Jean had an idea that it would give out tiny crackling sounds -if it were brushed hard. His eyebrows, frowning in defence against the -sun, were of the same warm hue as his hair and very thick; in later life -they would probably develop into the bristling, pent-house variety. The -eyes themselves, as Jean described them on a later occasion, were “too -red to be brown”; an artist would have had to make extensive use of -burnt sienna pigment in portraying them. Altogether, he was not a -particularly attractive-looking individual--and just now the red-brown -eyes were fixed on Jean in a rather uncompromising glare. - -“How on earth did you lose your oars?” he demanded--as indignantly as -though she had done it on purpose, she commented inwardly. - -Her lips twitched in the endeavour to suppress a smile. - -“I haven’t the least idea,” she confessed. “I tied up under some trees -further up and--and I suppose I must have fallen asleep. But still that -doesn’t explain how I came to be adrift like this.” - -“A woman’s knot, I expect,” he vouchsafed rather scornfully. “A woman -never ties up properly. Probably you just looped the painter round any -old thing and trusted to Providence that it would stay looped.” - -She gave vent to a low laugh. - -“I believe you’ve described the process quite accurately,” she admitted. -“But I’ve done the same thing before without any evil consequences. -There’s hardly any current here, you know. I don’t believe”--with -conviction--“that my loop could have unlooped itself. And -anyway”--triumphantly--“the sculls couldn’t have jumped out of the boat -without assistance.” - -The man smiled, revealing strong white teeth. - -“No, I suppose not. I fancy”--the smile broadening--“some small boy must -have spotted you asleep in the boat and, finding the opportunity too -good to be resisted, removed your tackle and set you adrift.” - -There was a sympathetic twinkle in his eyes, and Jean, suddenly sensing -the “little boy” in him which lurks in every grown-up man, flashed back: - -“I believe that’s exactly what you would have done yourself in your -urchin days!” - -“I believe it is,” he acknowledged, laughing outright. “Well, the only -thing to do now is for me to tow you back. Where do you want to go--up -or down the river?” - -“Up, please. I want to get back to Staple.” - -He threw a quick glance at her. - -“Surely you must be Miss Peterson?” - -She nodded. - -“Yes. How did you guess?” - -“My sister, Mrs. Craig, told me a Miss Peterson was staying at Staple. -It wasn’t very difficult, after that, to put two and two together.” - -“Then you must be Geoffrey Burke?” returned Jean. - -He nodded. - -“That’s right. So now that we know each other, will you come into my -parlour?”--smiling. “If I’m going to take you back, there seems no -reason why we shouldn’t accomplish the journey together and tow your -boat behind.” - -He held out his hand to steady her as she stepped lightly from one boat -to the other, and soon they were gliding smoothly upstream, the empty -craft tailing along in their wake. - -For a while Burke sculled in silence, and Jean leant back, idly watching -the effortless, rhythmic swing of his body as he bent to his oars. His -shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, broad-based neck, -and she noticed in a detached fashion that small, fine hairs covered his -bared arms with a golden down, even encroaching on to the backs of the -brown, muscular hands. - -She found herself femininely conscious that the most dominant quality -about the man was his sheer virility. Nor was it just a matter of -appearances. It lay in something more fundamental than merely externals. -She had known men of great physical strength to be not infrequently -gifted with an almost feminine gentleness of nature, yet she was sure -this latter element played but a small part in the make-up of Geoffrey -Burke. - -The absolute ease with which he sent the boat shearing through the water -seemed to her in some way typical. It conveyed a sense of mastery that -was unquestionable, even a little overpowering. - -She felt certain that he was, above and before all other things, -primeval male, forceful and conquering, of the type who in a different -age would have cheerfully bludgeoned his way through any and every -obstacle that stood between him and the woman he had chosen as his -mate--and, afterwards, if necessary, bludgeoned the lady herself into -submission. - -“Here’s where you tied up, then?” - -Burke’s voice broke suddenly across her thoughts, and she looked round, -recognising the place where she had moored her boat earlier in the -afternoon. - -“How did you divine that?” she asked. - -“It didn’t require much divination! There are your -sculls”--pointing--“stuck up against the trunk of a tree--and looking -as though they might topple over at any moment. I fancy”--with a -smile--“that my ‘small boy’ theory was correct. I believe I could even -put a name to the particular limb of Satan responsible,” he went on. -“You moored your boat on the Willow Perry side of the stream, and our -lodge-keeper’s kids are a troop of young demons. They want a thorough -good thrashing, and I’ll see that they get it before they are much -older.” - -He pulled in to the shore and rescuing the sculls from their precarious -position, restored them to the empty boat. - -“All the same,” he added, as, a few minutes later, he helped Jean out -on to the little wooden landing-place at Staple, “I think I’m rather -grateful to the small boy--whoever he may be!” - -She laughed and retorted impertinently: - -“I’m sure I’m very grateful to the bigger boy who came to the rescue.” - -There was something quite unconsciously provocative about her as she -stood there with one foot poised on the planking, her head thrown back -a trifle to meet his glance, and a hint of gentle raillery tilting the -corners of her mouth. - -The cave-man woke suddenly in him. He was conscious of an almost -irresistible impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her. But the -conventions of the centuries held, and all Jean knew of that swift -flare-up of desire in the man beside her was that the grip of his hand -on hers suddenly tightened so that the pain of it almost made her cry -out. - -And because she was not given to regarding every unmarried man she met -in the light of a potential lover--as some women are prone to do--and -because, perhaps, her thoughts were subconsciously preoccupied by a -lean, dark face, rather stern and weary-looking as though from some past -discipline of pain, Jean never ascribed that fierce pressure of the -hand to its rightful origin, but merely rubbed her bruised fingers -surreptitously and wished ruefully that men were not quite so muscular. - -“I’ll go with you up to the house,” remarked Burke, without any -elaboration of “by your leave.” - -She was privately of the opinion that her leave would have little -or nothing to do with the matter. If this exceedingly autocratic and -masculine individual had decided to accompany her through the park, -accompany her he would, and she might as well make the best of it. - -He was extraordinarily unlike his sister, she thought. Where Judith -Craig would probably seek to attain her ends in a somewhat stealthy, -cat-like fashion, Burke would employ the methods of the club and -battering-ram. Of the two, perhaps these last were preferable, since -they at least left you knowing what you were up against. - -“Will you come in?” asked Jean, pausing as they reached the house. -“Though I’m afraid everyone is out.” - -“So much the better,” he replied promptly. “I’d much rather have tea -alone with you.” - -“That’s not very polite to the others”--smiling a little. “I thought the -Staple people were old friends of yours?” - -“So they are. That’s exactly it. I feel the mood of the explorer on me -this afternoon.” - -“You’re one of the people with a penchant for new acquaintances, then?” - she said indifferently, leading the way into the hall, where, in place -of the great log fire of chillier days, a hank of growing tulips made a -glory of gold and orange and red in the wide hearth. - -“No, I’m not,” he returned bluntly. “But I’ve every intention of making -your acquaintance right now.” - -Jean rang the bell and ordered tea. - -“I think perhaps I might be consulted in the matter,” she returned -lightly when Baines had left the room. “The settling of questions -of that kind is usually considered a woman’s prerogative. -Supposing”--smiling--“I don’t ask you to tea, after all?” - -There was a smouldering fire in the glance he bestowed upon her vivid -face. - -“It wouldn’t make a bit of difference--in the long run,” he replied -deliberately. “If a man makes up his mind he can usually get his own -way--over most things.” - -“You can’t force friendship,” she said quickly. It was as though she -were defying something that threatened. - -Again that queer gleam showed for a moment in his eyes. - -“Friendship? No, perhaps not,” he conceded. - -He said no more and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Jean was -suddenly conscious that it might be possible to be a little afraid of -this man. She did not like that side of him--the self-willed, masterful -side--of which, almost deliberately, he had just given her a glimpse. - -With the appearance of tea the slight sense of tension vanished, and the -conversation dropped into more ordinary channels. She discovered that he -had travelled considerably and was familiar with many of the places to -which, at different times, she had accompanied her father and mother, -and over the interchange of recollections the little hint of discord--of -challenge, almost--was forgotten. - -They were still chatting amicably together half an hour later when -Blaise returned. The latter’s face darkened as he entered the hall -and found them together, nor did it lighten when Jean recounted the -afternoon’s adventure. - -“I suppose Miss Peterson has your lodge-keeper’s boys to thank for -this?” he demanded stormily of Burke. - -“I’m afraid that’s so,” admitted the other. - -“If you had any consideration for your neighbours, you’d sack the lot -of them,” returned Blaise sharply. “Or else see that they’re kept under -proper control. They’ve given trouble before, but it is a little too -much of a good thing when they dare to play practical jokes of that -description on a guest of ours.” - -Jean stared at him in astonishment. She had told the story as rather -a good joke and in explanation of Burke’s presence, and, instead of -laughing at her dilemma, Tormarin appeared to be thoroughly angry over -the matter. - -Burke remained coolly unprovoked. - -“I can’t say I’ve any quarrel with the young ruffians,” he said. “They -afforded me a charming afternoon.” - -“Doubtless,” retorted Blaise. “But that’s hardly the point. -Anyway”--heatedly--“I’ll thank you to see that those lads are kept in -hand for the future.” - -Jean glanced across at Burke with some apprehension, half fearing a -responsive explosion of wrath on his part, but to her relief he was -smiling--a twinkling, mirthful smile that redeemed the ugliness of his -features. - -“’Fraid I can’t truthfully declare I’m sorry, Tormarin,” he said -good-humouredly. “You wouldn’t, in my place.” - -The man was keeping his temper in the face of considerable provocation, -and Jean liked him better at that moment than she had done throughout -the entire afternoon. Tormarin’s own attitude she quite failed to -understand, and after Burke’s departure she took him to task for his -churlishness. - -“It was really absurd of you, Blaise,” she scolded, half-smiling, half -in genuine vexation. “As if Mr. Burke could possibly be held responsible -for the actions of a mischievous schoolboy! At least he did all he could -to repair the damage; he brought me back, and recovered the missing pair -of oars for me. You hadn’t the least reason to flare up like that.” - -Blaise listened to her quietly. The anger had died out of his face and -his eyes were somewhat sad. - -“You’re right,” he said at last, “absolutely right. But there rarely is -any reason for a Tormarin’s temper. Do you know--it sounds ridiculous, -but it’s perfectly true--it was all I could do not to knock Burke down.” - -“My dear Blaise, you fill me with alarm! I’d no idea you were such a -bloodthirsty individual! But seriously, what had the poor man done to -incur your wrath? He’s been most helpful.” - -There was an element of self-mockery in the brief smile which crossed -his face. - -“Perhaps that was just it. I’ve rather grown to look upon it as my own -particular prerogative to help you out of difficulties.” - -“Well, naturally I’d rather it had been you,” she allowed, twinkling. - -“Do you mean that?”--swiftly. - -“Of course I do”--lightly. She had failed to notice the eagerness of -demand in his quick question. “I’m more used to it! Besides, I -believe Mr. Burke rather frightens me. He’s a trifle--overwhelming. -Still”--shaking her head reprovingly--“I don’t think that excuses you. -You must have a shocking temper.” - -He laughed shortly. - -“Most of the Tormarins have ruined their lives by their temper. I’m no -exception to the rule.” - -Jean’s thought flew back to the description she had overheard when in -London: “_A Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the bit between -his teeth_.” - -“Then it’s true, escaped her lips. - -“What’s true?”--with some surprise. “That the Tormarins are a -vile-tempered lot? Quite. If you want to know more about it, ask my -mother. She’ll tell you how I came by this white lock of hair--the mark -of the beast.” - -Jean was trying to make the comments of the woman at the hotel and -Blaise’s own confession tally with her recollection of the latter’s -complete self-control on several occasions when he, or any other man, -might have been pardoned for yielding to momentary anger. - -“I believe you’re exaggerating absurdly,” she said at last. “As a matter -of fact, I’ve often been surprised at your self-control, seeing that I -know you have a temper concealed about you somewhere. I think that is -why your anger this afternoon took me so aback. It seemed unlike you -to be so fearfully annoyed over practically nothing at all. I don’t -believe”--half smiling--“that really you’re anything like bad-tempered -as a Tormarin ought to be--to support the family tradition!” - -He was looking, not at her but beyond her, as she spoke, as though his -thoughts dwelt with some past memory. His expression was inscrutable; -she could not interpret it. Presently he turned back to her, and though -he smiled there was a deep, unfathomable sadness in his eyes. - -“I’ve had one unforgettable lesson,” he said quietly. “The Tormarin -temper--the cursed inheritance of every one of us--has ruined my life -just as it has ruined others before me.” - -The words seemed to fall on Jean’s ears with a numbing sense of -calamity, not alone in that past to which they primarily had reference, -but as though thrusting forward in some mysterious way into the -future--_her_ future. - -She was conscious of a vague foreboding that that “cursed inheritance” - of the Tormarins was destined, sooner or later, to impinge upon her own -life. - -At night, when she went to bed, her mind was still groping blindly -in the dark places of dim premonition. Single sentences from the -afternoon’s conversation kept flitting through her brain, and when -at last she slept it was to dream that she had lost her way and was -wandering alone in a wild and desolate region. Presently she came to a -solitary dwelling, set lonely in the midst of the interminable plain. -Three wretched-looking scrubby little fir trees grew to one side of the -house, all three of them bent in the same direction as though beaten and -bowed forward by ceaseless winds. While she stood wondering whether she -should venture to knock at the door of the house and ask her way, it -opened and Geoffrey Burke came out. - -“Ah! There you are!” he exclaimed, as though he had been expecting her. -“I’ve been waiting for you. Will you come into my parlour?” - -He smiled at her as he spoke--she could see the even flash of his -white teeth--but there was something in the quality of the smile which -terrified her, and without answering a word she turned to escape. - -But he overtook her in a couple of strides, catching her by the hand in -a grip so fierce that it seemed as though the bones of her fingers must -crack under it. - -“Come into my parlour,” he repeated. “If you don’t, you’ll be stamped -forever with the mark of the beast. It’s too late to try and run away.” - -Jean woke in a cold perspiration of terror. The dream had been of such -vividness that it was a full minute before she could realise that, -actually, she was safely tucked up in her own bed at Staple. When she -did, the relief was so immeasurable that she almost cried. - -The next morning, with the May sunshine streaming in through the open -window, it was easier to laugh at her nocturnal fears, and to trace the -odd phrases which, snatched from the previous day’s conversation with -Burke and Tormarin and jumbled up together, had supplied the nightmare -horror of her dream. - -But, even so, it was many days before she could altogether shake off the -disagreeable impression it had made on her. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV.--A COMPACT - - -“YOU don’t like Jean Peterson.” - -Burke made the announcement without preface. He and Judith were sitting -together on the verandah at Willow Perry, where their coffee had been -brought them after lunch. Judith inhaled a whiff of cigarette smoke -before she answered. Then, without any change of expression, her eyes -fixed on the glowing tip of her cigarette, she answered composedly: - -“No. Did you expect I should?” - -“Well, hang it all, you don’t hold her accountable for her father’s -defection, do you?” - -A dull red crept up under Mrs. Craig’s sallow skin, but she did not lift -her eyes. They were still intent on the little red star of light dulling -slowly into grey ash. - -“Not accountable,” she replied coolly. “I look upon her as an unpleasant -consequence.” She bent forward suddenly. “Do you realise that she might -have been--my child?” There was a sudden vibrating quality in her voice, -and for an instant a rapt look came into her face, transforming its -hard lines. “But she isn’t. She happens to be the child of the man I -loved--and another woman.” - -“You surely can’t hate her for that?” - -“Can’t I? You don’t know much about women, Geoff. Glyn Peterson stamped -on my pride, and a woman never forgives that.” - -She leaned back in her chair again, her face once more an indifferent -mask. Burke sat silent, staring broodingly in front of him. Presently -her glance flickered curiously over his face. - -“Why does it matter to you whether I like her or not?” she asked, -breaking the silence which had fallen. - -Burke shifted in his chair so that he faced her. His eyes looked far -more red than brown at the moment, as though they glowed with some hot -inner light. - -“Because,” he said deliberately, “I’m going to marry her.” - -Judith sat suddenly upright. - -“So that’s the meaning of your constant pilgrimages to Staple, is it?” - -“Just that.” - -She laughed--a disagreeable little laugh like a douche of cold water. - -“You’re rather late in the field, aren’t you?” - -“You mean that Blaise Tormarin wants her?” - -“Of course I do. It’s evident enough, isn’t it?” - -Burke pulled at his pipe reflectively. - -“I should have thought he’d had a sickener with Nesta Freyne.” - -“So he had. But not in the way you mean. He never--loved--Nesta.” - -“Then why on earth did he ask her to marry him?” - -“Good heavens, Geoffrey! You’re a man--and you ask me that! There are -heaps of men who ask women to marry them on the strength of a temporary -infatuation, and then regret it ever after. Luckily for Blaise, -Nesta saved him the ‘ever after’ part. But”--eyeing him -significantly--“Blaise’s feeling for Jean isn’t of the ‘temporary’ type. -Of that I’m sure.” - -“All the same, I don’t believe he means to ask her to marry him.” - -“No. I don’t think he does--_mean_ to. He’s probably got some -high-minded scruples about not asking a second woman to make a mess -of her life as a result of the Tormarin temper. It would be just like -Blaise to adopt that attitude. But he _will_ ask her, all the same. The -thing’ll get too strong for him. And when he asks her, Jean will say -yes.” - -“You may be right. I’ve always said you were no fool, Judy. But if -it’s as you think, then I must get in first, that’s all. First or last, -though”--with a grim laugh--“I’ll back myself to beat Blaise Tormarin. -_And you’ve got to help me._” - -Followed a silence while Judith threw away the stump of her cigarette -and lit another. She did not hurry over the process, but went about it -slowly and deliberately, holding the flame of the match to the tip of -her cigarette for quite an unnecessarily long time. - -At last: - -“I don’t mind if I do,” she said slowly. “I don’t think I--envy--your -wife much, Geoffrey. She won’t be a very happy woman, so I don’t mind -assisting Glyn Peterson’s daughter to the position. It would make things -so charming all round if he and I ever met again”--smiling ironically. - -Burke looked at her with a mixture of admiration and disgust. - -“What a thorough-going little beast you are, Judith,” he observed -tranquilly. - -She shrugged her thin, supple shoulders with indifference. - -“I didn’t make myself. Glyn Peterson had a good share in kneading -the dough; why shouldn’t his daughter eat the bread? And anyhow, old -thing”--her whole face suddenly softening--“I should like you to have -what you want--even if you wanted the moon! So you can count on me. But -I don’t think you’ll find it all plain sailing.” - -“No”--sardonically. “She’ll likely be a little devil to break.... Well, -start being a bit more friendly, will you? Ask her to lunch.” - -Accordingly, a day or two later, a charming little note found its way to -Staple, inviting Jean to lunch with Mrs. Craig. - -“I shall be quite alone,” it ran, “as Geoffrey is going off for a day’s -fishing, so I hope Lady Anne will spare you to come over and keep me -company for an hour or two.” - -Jean was delighted at this evidence that Judith was thawing towards her. -She was genuinely anxious that they should become friends, feeling -that it was up to her, as Glyn’s daughter, to atone--in so far as -friendliness and sympathy could be said to atone--for his treatment of -her. Beyond this, she had a vague hope that later, if she and Judith -ever became intimate enough to touch on the happenings of the past, she -might be able to make the latter see her father in the same light in -which she herself saw him--as a charming, lovable, irresponsible child, -innocent of any intention to wound, but with all a child’s unregarding -pursuit of a desired object, irrespective of the consequences to others. - -She felt that if only Judith could better comprehend Glyn’s nature, she -would not only be disposed to judge him less hardly, but, to a certain -extent, would find healing for her own bitterness of resentment and hurt -pride. - -Judith was an unhappy woman, embittered by one of those blows in -life which a woman finds hardest to hear. And Jean hated people to be -unhappy. - -So that it was with considerable satisfaction that she set out across -the park towards Willow Perry, crossing the river by the footbridge -which spanned it at a point about a quarter of a mile below the scene of -her boating mishap. - -Judith welcomed her with unaccustomed warmth, and after lunch completely -won her heart by a candour seemingly akin to Jean’s own. - -“I’ve been quite hateful to you since you came to Staple,” she said -frankly. “Just because you were--who you were. I suppose”--turning her -head a little aside--“you’ve heard--you know that old story?” - -Then, as Jean murmured an affirmative, she went on quickly: - -“Well, it was idiotic of me to feel unfriendly to you because you -happened to be Glyn’s daughter, and I’m honestly ashamed of myself. I -should have loved you at once--you’re rather a dear, you know!--if you -had been anyone else. So will you let me love you now, please--if it -isn’t too late?” - -It was charmingly done, and Jean received the friendly overture with all -the enthusiasm dictated by a generous and spontaneous nature. - -“Why, of course,” she agreed gladly. “Let’s begin over again”--smiling. - -Judith smiled back. - -“Yes, we’ll make a fresh start.” - -After that, things progressed swimmingly. The slight gene which had -attended the earlier stages of the visit vanished, and very soon, -prompted by Judith’s eager, interested questions, Jean found herself -chatting away quite naturally and happily about her life before she came -to Staple and confessing how much she was enjoying her first experience -of England. - -“It’s all so soft, and pretty, and old,” she said. “I feel as if Staple -must always have been here--just where it is, looking across to the -Moor, and nodding sometimes, as much as to say, ‘I’ve been here so long -that I know some of your secrets.’ The Moor always seems to me to have -secrets,” she added dreamily. “Those great tors watch us all the time, -just as they’ve watched for centuries. They remind me of the Egyptian -Sphinx, they are so still, and silent, and--and eternal-looking.” - -“You’ve not been on to Dartmoor yet, have you?” asked Judith. “We have -a bungalow up there--Three Fir Bungalow, it’s called. You must come and -spend a few days there with us when the weather gets warmer.” - -“I should love it,” cried Jean, her eyes sparkling. “I’m aching to go to -the Moor. I want to see it in all sorts of moods--when it’s raining, -and when the sun’s shining, and when the wind blows. I’m sure it will be -different each time--rather like a woman.” - -“I think it’s loveliest of all by moonlight,” said Judith, her eyes soft -and shining with recollection. She loved all the beauty of the world -as much as Jean herself did. “I remember being on the top of one of the -tors at night. All the surrounding valleys were hidden in a mist like -a silver sea, and I felt as if I had got right away from the everyday -world, into a sort of holy of holies that God must have made for His -spirits. One almost forgot that one was just an ordinary, plain-boiled -human being tied up in a parcel of flesh and bone.” - -“Only people aren’t really in the least plain-boiled or ordinary,” - observed Jean quaintly. - -“You aren’t, I verily believe.” Judith regarded her curiously for a -moment. “I think I wish you were,” she said abruptly. - -She was not finding the part assigned to her by her brother any too -easy. It complicates matters, when you are deliberately planning a -semblance of friendship towards someone, if that someone persists in -inspiring you with little genuine impulses of liking and friendliness. - -Jean herself was delighted with the result of her visit to Willow -Perry. She was convinced that Judith was a much nicer woman than she had -imagined, or than anyone else imagined her to be, and when she took -her departure she carried these warmer sentiments with her, -characteristically reproaching herself not a little for her first hasty -judgment. People improved upon acquaintance enormously, she reflected. - -She did not go straight back to Staple, but took her way towards -Charnwood on the chance of finding Claire at home, and, Fate being in a -benevolent mood, she discovered her in her garden, precariously mounted -upon a ladder and occupied in nailing back a creeper. - -Claire greeted her joyfully and proceeded to descend. - -“I’ve been lunching at Willow Perry,” explained Jean, “so I thought I -might as well come on here and cadge my tea as well!” - -“Of course you might Adrian has gone into Exeter to-day, so we shall be -alone.” - -Jean was conscious of an immense relief. The knowledge that Sir Adrian -was not anywhere on the premises seemed like the lifting of a blight. - -Claire’s blue eyes smiled at her understandingly. - -“Yes, I know,” she nodded, as though Jean had given voice to her -thought. “It’s just as if someone had opened a window and let the fresh -air in, isn’t it?” - -She collected her tools, and slipping her arm within Jean’s led her in -the direction of the house. - -“We’ll have tea at once,” she said, “and then I’ll walk back with you -part way.” - -“You’re bent on getting rid of me quickly, then?” - -“Yes”--seriously. “He”--there was little need to specify to whom the -pronoun referred--“will be back by the afternoon train, and for some -reason or other he is very unfriendly towards you just now.” - -“What have I done to offend?” queried Jean lightly. Somehow, with Sir -Adrian actually away, it didn’t seem a matter of much importance whether -he was offended or not. Even the house had a different “feel” about it -as they entered it. - -“It’s not anything you’ve done; it’s what you are, I think, sometimes, -that when a man is full of evil and cruel thoughts and knows he has -given himself up to wickedness, he simply hates to see anyone young -and--and _good_, like you are, Jean, with all your life before you to -make a splendid thing of.” - -“And what about you?” asked Jean, her eyes resting affectionately on the -other’s delicate flower face with its pathetically curved lips and the -look of trouble in the young blue eyes. “He sees you constantly.” - -“Oh, he’s used to me. I’m only his wife, you see. Besides”--wearily--“he -knows that he can effectually prevent me from making a splendid thing of -my life.” - -The note of bitterness in her voice wrung Jean’s heart. - -“I don’t know how you bear it!” she exclaimed. - -“One can bear anything--a day at a time,” answered Claire with an -attempt at brightness. “But I never look forward,” she added in a lower -tone. - -The words seemed to Jean to contain an epitome of tragedy. Not yet -twenty, and Claire’s whole philosophy of life was embodied in those four -desolate words: “I never look forward!” - -The world seemed built up of sadness and cross-purposes. Claire and -Nick, Judith, and Blaise Tormarin--all had their own particular burdens -to carry, burdens which had in a measure spoiled the lives of each -one of them. It seemed as though no one was allowed to escape those -“snuffers of Destiny” of which Blaise had spoken as he and Jean had -climbed the mountain-side together. She felt a depressing conviction -that her own turn would come and wondered whether it would be sooner or -later. - -“Don’t look so blue!” Claire’s voice broke in upon her gloomy trend of -thought. She was laughing, and Jean was conscious of a sudden uprush -of admiration for the young gay courage which could laugh even while -it could not look forward. “After all, there are compensations in life. -You’re one of them, my Jean, as I’ve told you before! Now let’s talk -about something else.” - -Jean responded gladly enough, and presently Sir Adrian was temporarily -forgotten in the little intimate half-hour of woman-talk which followed. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--LADY ANNE’S DISCLOSURE - -“WELL, have you enjoyed yourself?” enquired Lady Anne when Jean -returned. “I suppose so, as you stayed to tea”--smiling. - -“Oh, I had tea with Claire. Sir Adrian was away”--with a small -grimace--“so we had quite a nice little time together. But, yes, -madonna”--Jean had fallen into the use of the gracious little name which -Blaise and Nick kept for their mother--“I really enjoyed myself very -much. Judith was ever so much nicer than I expected.” - -“So now, I suppose, we shall all be side-tracked in favour of Burke and -his sister?” put in Blaise, who had been listening quietly. There was a -sharpness in his tones, as though the prospect did not please. - -Jean smiled at him engagingly. - -“Of course you will,” she replied. “I invariably sidetrack old friends -when I get the chance.” - -“Oh, you’ll get the chance right enough!”--rather sulkily. “Yes, I -think I shall”--demurely. “Geoffrey has always been nice to me; and now -Judith, too, has succumbed to my charms, and says she hopes we shall be -good pals.” - -Tormarin rose, pushing back his chair with unnecessary violence. - -“I don’t think I see Judith Craig extending her friendship to Glyn -Peterson’s daughter,” he commented cynically. - -An instant later the door banged behind, and Lady Anne and Jean looked -across at each other smiling, as women will when one of their menkind -proceeds to behave exactly like a cross little boy. - -But a quick sigh chased the smile from Lady Anne’s lips. - -“Poor old Blaise!” she murmured, as though to herself. Then, her grey -eyes meeting Jean’s squarely, she said quietly: - -“Jean, you’re so much one of us, now, that I should like you to know -what lies at the hack of things. You’d understand--some of us--better.” - -Jean turned impulsively. - -“I don’t need to understand you,” she said quickly. “I love you.” - -“Thank you, my dear.” Lady Anne’s voice trembled slightly. “If I were -not sure of that, I shouldn’t tell you what I am going to. But I want -you to understand Blaise--and to make allowances for him, if you can.” - -Jean pulled forward a stool and settled herself at Lady Anno’s feet. - -“Do you mean about the ‘mark of the beast’?” she asked, smiling a -little. “Blaise told me to ask you about it one day.” - -“Did he? He thinks far too much about it and what it stands for”--sadly. -“It has come to be almost a symbol in his eyes. You see, he too has -suffered from the family failing--the very failing that was responsible -for that white lock of hair.” - -“Tell me about it.” - -Lady Anne looked down at her thoughtfully. - -“Well, there’s no need for me to tell you that the Tor-marins have hot -tempers! You’ve seen evidences of it in Blaise--that sudden flaming up -of anger. Though he has learnt through one most bitter experience to -hold himself more or less in check.” She paused a moment, as if her -thoughts had reverted painfully to the past. Presently she resumed: -“All the Tormarin men have had it--that blazing, uncontrollable kind of -temper which simply cannot brook opposition. Blaise’s father had it, and -it was that which made our life together so unhappy.” - -So Destiny had been busy with her snuffers here, also! - -“You--you, too!” whispered Jean. - -“I. too?” Lady Anne questioned. “What does that mean?” - -“Why, it seems to me as if _no one_ is ever allowed to be really happy -and to live their life in peace! There is Judith, whose life my father -spoilt, and Claire, whose life Sir Adrian spoils--and that means Nick’s -life as well. And now--you!” - -Some unconscious instinct of reticence deep within her forbade the -mention of Blaise Tormarin’s name. - -“I expect we are not meant to be too joyful,” said Lady Anne. “Though, -after all, it’s largely our own fault if we are not. We make or mar -each other’s happiness; it isn’t all Fate.... But I’ve had my share of -happiness, Jean--never think that I haven’t. Afterwards, with Claude, I -was utterly happy.” - -She fell silent for a space, ceasing on that quiet note of happiness. -Presently, almost loth to disturb the reverie into which she had fallen, -Jean questioned hesitantly: - -“And the ‘mark of the beast,’ madonna? You were going to tell me about -it.” - -“It came as a consequence of the Tormarin temper. That’s why Blaise -calls it the ‘mark of the beast.’ It was just before he was born--when -I was waiting for the supreme joy of holding my first-born in my arms. -Derrick--Blaise’s father--was an extremely jealous-natured man. He hated -to think that there had ever been anyone besides himself who cared for -me. And there was one man, in particular, of whom he had always been -foolishly jealous and suspicious. I can’t imagine why, though”--with -a little puzzled laugh. “You would think that the mere fact that I had -married _him_, and not the other man, would have been sufficient proof -that he had no cause for jealousy. But no! Men are queer creatures, and -he always resented my friendship with John Lovett--which continued after -my marriage. I had known John from childhood, and he was the truest -friend a woman ever had!” She sighed: “And I needed friends in those -days! For somehow, brooding over things to himself, my husband conceived -the idea that the little son who was coming was not his own child--but -the child of John Lovett. I think someone must have poisoned his mind. -There was a certain woman of our acquaintance whom I always suspected; -she hated me and was very much attached to Derrick--she had wanted to -marry him, I believe. In any case, he came home one evening, from her -house, like a madman; and there was a scene... a terrible scene... -he hurling accusations at me.... I won’t talk of it, because he was -bitterly repentant afterwards. As soon as the fit of rage was past, he -realised how utterly groundless his suspicions had been, and I don’t -think he ever ceased to reproach himself. But that has always been the -way! The Tormarins have invariably brought the bitterest self-reproach -upon themselves. One way or another, the same story of blind, reckless -anger, and its consequences, has repeated itself generation after -generation.” - -“And then? What happened then?” asked Jean in low, shocked tones. - -“I was very ill--so ill that they thought I should not live. But I did -live, and I brought my baby into the world. Only, he was born with that -white lock of hair. And my own hair had turned perfectly white.” - -Jean was silent for a little. At last she said softly: - -“I’m so glad, madonna, that you were happy afterwards. _Your_ ‘house of -dreams’ came true in the end!” - -“Yes”--Lady Anne’s grey eyes were very bright and luminous. “My house of -dreams came true.” - -After a while, she went on quietly: - -“But my poor Blaise’s house of dreams fell in ruins. The foundation was -rotten. You knew, didn’t you, that there was a woman he once cared for?” - -Jean nodded. Speech was difficult to her just at that moment. - -“It was a miserable business altogether. The girl, Nesta Freyne was an -Italian. Blaise met her when he was travelling in Italy, and--oh, well, -it wasn’t love! Not love as I know it, and as I think, one day, you too -will know it. It blazed up, just one of those wild infatuations that -sometimes spring into being between a man and a woman, and almost before -he had time to think, Blaise had married her----” - -“_Married her!_” - -The words leapt from Jean’s lips before she could check them. In the -account of Tormarin’s disastrous love affair which had been forced upon -her hearing in London, there had been no mention of the word marriage, -and she had always imagined that the woman, this Nesta Freyne, had -simply jilted him in favour of another man. Moreover, since she had been -at Staple, nothing had been said to correct this impression, as, very -naturally, the subject was one avoided by general consent. - -And now, without warning or preparation, she found herself face to face -with the fact that Blaise had been married--that he had belonged to -another woman! It seemed to set her suddenly very far apart from him, -and a fierce, intolerable jealousy of that other woman leaped to life in -her heart, racking her with an anguish that was almost physical. She was -confused, bewildered, by the storm of emotion which suddenly swept her -whole being. - -“Married her?” she repeated with dry lips. - -“Yes. Didn’t you know that Blaise was a widower?” - -Had Lady Anne divined the stress under which the girl was labouring that -she so quickly interposed the knowledge that his wife was dead? - -“No,” answered Jean unsteadily. “I didn’t even know that he had been -married.” - -The fact of that other woman’s being dead did not serve to allay the -tumult within her. She had lived, and while she lived she had been _his -wife!_ - -“Yes, he married her.” Lady Anne went on speaking in level tones. -“I think matters were hurried to a climax by the fact that Nesta’s -step-sister, Margherita Valdi, detested English people. She was much the -elder of the two, and as their mother had died when Nesta was born, she -had practically brought the girl up. She would never have countenanced -the idea of her marrying an Englishman, but Nesta so contrived her -meetings with Blaise that Margherita was unaware of his very existence, -and eventually they married without her knowledge. From that day onward, -Margherita declined to hold any communication with her sister.” - -“Why had she such a rooted antipathy to the English?” Jean had recovered -her composure during the course of Lady Anne’s narrative, and now put -her question with a very good semblance of detachment. But, inside, her -brain was dully hammering out the words “Married--married!” - -“It seems that Margherita’s step-father--Nesta’s father, of course,--who -was an Englishman, treated his wife extremely badly, and Margherita, -who had adored her mother, never forgave him and hated all Englishmen -in consequence. At least, that was what Nesta told Blaise, and it seems -quite probable. Italians are a hot-blooded race, you know, and very -vindictive and revengeful. Of course, these Valdis were of no particular -family--that was where the trouble began. Nesta was just a rather -second-rate, though extraordinarily beautiful girl, suddenly elevated to -a position which she was not in the least fitted to fill. It didn’t take -a month for the glamour to wear off--and for Blaise to see her as I saw -her. He came to his senses to find himself married to a bit of soulless, -passionate flesh and blood. Oh, Jean! If I could only have been -there--in Italy, to have saved him from it all!” - -Jean hardly heeded that instinctive mother-cry. She was keyed up to know -the end of the story. She felt as though she must scream if Lady Anne -were long about the telling. - -“Go on,” she said, forcing herself to speak quietly. “Tell me the rest.” - -“The rest had the Tormarin temper for its corner-stone. Nesta was an -utterly spoilt child, and a coquette to her very finger-tips. She tossed -dignity to the winds, and there were everlasting scenes and quarrels. -Then, one day, Blaise came in and found her entertaining a man whom he -had forbidden the house. I don’t know what he said to her--but I can -guess, poor child! He horsewhipped the man, and he must have frightened -Nesta half out of her mind. That evening she ran away from Staple--Nick -and I, of course, were living at the Dower House then--and after months -of fruitless enquiry I had a letter from Margherita Valdi telling me -that she had been found drowned. She had evidently made her way back -to Italy, hoping to reach her sister, and then, in a fit of despair, -committed suicide.” - -“Oh, poor Blaise! How awful for him!” exclaimed Jean, horror-stricken. -For the moment her own individual point of view was swept away in a -flood of sympathy for Tormarin. - -“Yes. It broke him up badly. Always, I think, he is brooding over -the past. It colours his entire outlook on things. You see, he blamed -himself--his ungovernable temper--for the whole tragedy.... If only he -had been gentler with her, not terrified her into running away!... After -all, she was a mere child--barely seventeen. But she was a heartless, -conscienceless minx, nevertheless.... And Margherita Valdi did not let -him down lightly. She wrote him a terrible letter, accusing him of her -sister’s death. I opened it--he was abroad at the time--but, of course, -he had to see it ultimately. Tied up in a little separate packet was -Nesta’s wedding-ring, together with a newspaper report of the affair, -and, to add a last stab of horror, she had folded the newspaper clipping -and thrust it through the wedding-ring, labelling the packet ‘Cause and -effect.’ It was a brutal thing to do.” - -They were both silent for a space, Jean painfully envisaging the tragedy -that lay behind that stern, habitual gravity of Tormarin’s, Lady Anne -asking herself tremulously if she had been wise--if she had been wise -in her disclosure? She wanted her son’s happiness so immeasurably! -She believed she knew wherein it might lie, and she had raked over the -burning embers of the past that she might help to give it him. - -She knew that he himself was very unlikely to confide in Jean the story -of his unhappy marriage, or that if he ever did so, it would be but to -shoulder all the blame himself, exonerating Nesta entirely. Nor, unless -Jean understood the fiery furnace through which he had passed--that -ordeal of impetuous, mistaken love, of disillusion, and, finally, of the -most bitter self-reproach--could she possibly interpret aright Blaise’s -strange, churlish moods, his insistent efforts to stand always on one -side, as though he were entitled to make no further claim on life, and, -above all, the bitter quality which permeated his whole outlook. - -All these things had been in Lady Anne’s mind when she had decided to -enlighten Jean. She had seen, just as Judith had seen, whither Blaise -was tending, fight against it as he might, and she was determined to -remove from his path whatever of stumbling-block and hindrance she -could. And, in this instance, she felt instinctively that Jean’s own -attitude might constitute the greatest danger. Any woman, as sincere -and positive as she, might easily be driven in upon herself, shrinkingly -misunderstanding Blaise’s deliberate aloofness, and thus unconsciously -assist in strengthening that barrier against love which he was striving -to hold in place between them--and which Lady Anne so yearned to see -thrown down. - -It was to this end that she had reopened the shadowed pages of the -past--so that no foolish obstacle, born of sheer misunderstanding, might -imperil her son’s hope of happiness if the time should ever come--as she -prayed it would come--when he would free himself from the shackles of a -tragic memory and turn his face towards the light of a new dawn. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--THE GIFT OF LOVE - -THERE are some people to whom love comes in a single blinding flash; it -is as though the heavens were opened and the vision and the glory theirs -in a sudden, transcendant revelation. To others it comes gradually, -their hearts opening diffidently to its warmth and light as a closed -bud unfolds its petals, almost imperceptibly, to the sun. - -With Jean, its coming partook in a measure of both of these. Love itself -did not come to her suddenly. It had been secretly growing and deepening -within her for months. But the recognition of it came upon her with an -overwhelming suddenness. - -Lady Anne, in recalling that bleak tragedy of the past, had accomplished -more than she knew. She had shown Jean her own heart. - -From those fierce, unexpected pangs of jealousy which had stabbed her -as she realised the part played by another woman in Blaise’s life--the -woman who had been his wife--had sprung the knowledge that she loved -him. Only love could explain the instant, clamorous rebellion of her -whole being against that other woman’s claim. And now, looking back -upon the months which she had spent at Staple, she comprehended that the -veiled figure of Love, face shrouded, had walked beside her all the -way. That was why these even, uneventful weeks at Staple had seemed so -wonderful! - -The recognition of the great thing that had come into her life left her -a little breathless and shaken. But she did not seek to evade or deny -it. The absolute candour of her mind--candid even to itself--accepted -the truth quite simply and frankly. No false shame that she had, as far -as actual fact went, given her love unasked, tempted her to disguise -from herself the reality of what had happened. For good or ill, whether -Blaise returned her love or no, it was his. - -But in her inmost heart she believed that he, too, -cared--half-fearfully, half-joyfully recognising the pent-up force which -surged behind the bars of his deliberate aloofness. - -True, he had never definitely spoken of his love in so many words, hut -Lady Anne had supplied the key to his silence. The past still bound him! -Alive, Nesta had held him by her beauty; and dead, she still held him -with the cords of remorse and unavailing self-reproach--cords which can -bind almost as closely as the strands of love. - -But for that---- - -The hot colour surged into Jean’s cheeks at the sweet, secret thought -which lay behind that “but”. Blaise cared! Cared for her, needed -her, just as she cared for and needed him. To her woman’s eyes, newly -anointed with love’s sacramental oil and given sight, it had become -suddenly evident in a hundred ways, most of all evident in his sullen -effort to conceal it from her. - -So much that he had said, or had not said--those clipped sentences, -bitten off short with a savage intensity that had often enough troubled -and bewildered her, now found their right interpretation. He cared... -but the bondage of the past still held. - -And with that thought came reaction. The brief, quivering ecstacy, which -had sent little fugitive thrills and currents racing through every nerve -of her, died suddenly like a damped-out fire, as she realised all which -that bondage implied. - -It was possible he might never break the silence which he himself -had decreed. From the very beginning he had recognised and insisted -upon--the fact that they two were only “ships that pass,” and though -now, for a little space, Fate had directed the course of each into the -same channel, a year, at most, would float them out again on to the big -ocean of life where vessels signalled--and passed--each other. She must, -in the ordinary course of events, return eventually to Beirnfels, while -Blaise remained in England. And that would be the end of it. - -She knew the man’s dogged pertinacity; he would hold to an idea or -belief immovably if he conceived it right, no matter what the temptation -to break away. And in the flood of light vouchsafed by Lady Anne’s -disclosure, she felt convinced that he had somehow come to regard the -tragic happenings of the past as standing betwixt him and any future -happiness. Why, Jean could not altogether fathom, but she guessed -that the dominant factor in the matter was probably an exaggerated -consciousness of responsibility for his wife’s death, and perhaps, too, -a certain lingering tenderness, a subconscious feeling of loyalty to -the dead woman, which urged him on to the sacrifice of his own personal -happiness as some kind of atonement. - -Unless--and a swift spasm of pain shot through her, searing its way like -a tongue of flame--unless Lady Anne had been altogether mistaken in her -fixed belief that Blaise had not really cared for his wife but had only -been carried away on the swift tide of passion--that tide which runs so -fiercely and untrammelled in hot youth. - -Jean had her black hour then, when she faced the fact that although her -love was given, and although she tremulously believed it was returned, -she would probably never know the supreme joy of utter certainty, never -hear the beloved’s voice utter those words which hold all heaven for the -woman who hears them. - -But, through the darkness that closed about her, there gleamed a single -thread of light--the light of her own bestowal of love. Even if she -never knew, of a surety, that Blaise cared, even if--and here she -shrank, but forced herself to face the possibility sincerely--even if -she were utterly mistaken and he did not care for her in any other way -save as a friend--his “little comrade”--still there would remain always -the golden gleam of love that has been given. For no one who loves can -be quite unhappy. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--IN THE ROSE GARDEN - -THE chalcedony of the spring skies had deepened into the glowing -sapphire of early June--a deep, pulsating blue, tremulous with heat. -On the sundial, the shadow’s finger pointed to twelve o’clock, and -the sleepy hush of noontide hung over the rose garden where Jean was -gathering roses for the house. - -“Can’t I help?” - -Burke’s voice broke across the drowsy quiet so unexpectedly that -she jumped, almost letting fall the scissors with which she was -scientifically snipping the stems of the roses. She bestowed a small -frown upon the head and shoulders appearing above the wooden gate on -which he leant. - -“It’s not very helpful to begin by giving one an electric shock,” she -complained. “How long have you been there?” His attitude had a repose -about it which suggested that he might have been standing there some -time watching her. - -“I don’t know. But as I _am_ here, may I come in?” Without waiting for -her answer, he unlatched the gate and came striding across the velvet -greenness of the lawn. - -His visits to Staple had grown of late so much a matter of daily -occurrence that they were no longer hedged about by any ceremony, -and Jean had come to accept his appearance at any odd moment without -surprise. - -Since the day when she had lunched at Willow Eerry, and learned, as she -believed, to understand and make allowances for the bitterness which had -so warped Judith’s nature, her acquaintance with both brother and sister -had ripened rapidly into a friendly intimacy. But the fact that Burke’s -feeling towards her was something other, and much warmer than mere -friendship, had failed to penetrate her consciousness. - -It was patent enough to the lookers on, and probably Jean was the only -one amongst the little coterie of intimate friends who had not realised -what was impending. - -It is not very often that a woman remains entirely oblivious of the -small, unmistakable signs which go to indicate a man’s attitude towards -her. In Jean’s case, however, her thoughts were so engrossed with the -one man that, at the moment, all other men occupied but a very shadowy -relationship towards the realities of life as far as she was concerned. - -So that she scarcely troubled to look up as Burke halted beside her, but -went on cutting her roses unconcernedly, merely observing: - -“Idlers not allowed. You can make yourself useful by paring the thorns -off the stems.” She gestured towards a basket which stood on the ground -at her side, already overflowing with its scented burden of pink and -white and crimson roses. - -He glanced at the russet head bent studiously above a bush rose and -there was a gleam, half angry, half amused, in his eyes. His fingers -went uncertainly to his pocket, where reposed a serviceable knife, then -suddenly he drew his hand sharply away, empty. - -“No,” he said. “I didn’t come over to be useful this morning. I -came over”--he spoke slowly, as though endeavouring to gain her -attention--“on a quite different errand.” There was a vibration in his -voice that might have warned her had she been less intent upon her task -of wrestling with a refractory branch. As it was, she merely questioned -absently: - -“And what was the ‘quite different’ errand?” - -The next moment she felt his hand close over both hers, gardening -scissors and wash-leather gloves notwithstanding. - -“Stop cutting those confounded flowers, and I’ll tell you,” he said -roughly. - -She looked up in astonishment, and, at last, a glimmering of what -was coming dawned upon her. Even the blindest of women, the most -preoccupied, must have read the expression of his eyes at that moment. - -“Oh, no--no,” she began hastily. “I must finish cutting the -roses--really, Geoffrey.” - -She tried to release her hands, but he held them firmly. - -“No,” he said coolly. “You won’t finish cutting your flowers--at least, -not now. You’re going to listen to me.” He drew the scissors from her -grasp, and they flashed like a fish in the sunshine as he tossed them -down on to the rose-basket. Then, quite deliberately, he pulled off -the loose gloves she was wearing and his big hands gripped themselves -suddenly, closely, about her slight, bared ones. - -“Geoffrey----” - -Her voice wavered uncertainly. The realisation of his intent had come -upon her so unexpectedly, rousing her from her placid unconsciousness, -that she felt stunned--nervously unready to deal with the situation. She -struggled a little, instinctively, but he only laughed down at her, a -ring of masterful triumph in his voice, holding her effortlessly, with -all the ease of his immense strength. - -“It’s no good, Jean. You’ve got to hear me out. I’ve waited long -enough.” He paused, then drew a deep breath. “I love you!” he said -slowly. “My God, how I love you!” There was an element of wonder in his -tones, and she felt the strong hands gripping hers tremble a little. -Then their clasp tightened and he drew her towards him. - -“Say you love me,” he demanded. “Say it!” - -It was then Jean found her voice. The imperious demand, infringing on -that secret, inner claim of which she alone knew, stung her into quick -denial. - -“But I don’t! I don’t love you!” Then, as she saw the blank look in -his eyes, she went on hastily: “Oh, Geoffrey, I am so sorry. I never -guessed--I never thought of your caring.” - -“You never guessed! Good God!”--with a harsh laugh--“I should have -thought I’d made it plain enough. Why, even that first day, on the -river--I wanted you then. What do you suppose has brought me to Staple -every day? Affection for Blaise Tormarin?”--cynically. - -“I thought--I thought----” She cast about in her mind for an answer, -then presented him with the simple truth. “I’m afraid I never thought -about it at all. I just took your coming over for granted. I knew you -and Judith were old friends and neighbours, so it seemed quite natural -for you to be here often--just as Claire Latimer is.” - -Burke searched her face for a moment. He was thinking of the other women -he had known--women who would never have remained blind to his meaning, -who had, indeed, shown their willingness to come half-way--more than -half-way--to meet him. - -“I really believe that’s true,” he said at last, grudgingly. “But if it -is, you’re the most unselfconscious woman I’ve ever come across.” - -“Of course it’s true,” she replied simply. “I’m--I’m so sorry, Geoffrey. -I like you far too much to have wished to hurt you.” - -“I don’t want liking. I want your love. And I mean to have it. You may -not have understood before, Jean, but you do now.” - -She drew herself away from him a little. - -“That doesn’t make any difference, Geoffrey. I have no love to give -you,” she said quietly. - -He shook his head. - -“I won’t take no,” he said doggedly. “You’re the woman I want. And I -mean to have you.... Don’t you understand? It’s no use fighting against -me. You may say no, now; you may say no fifty times. But one day you’ll -say--yes.” - -Jean’s slight frame tautened. - -“You are mistaken,” she said, in a chill, clear voice calculated to set -immeasurable spaces between them. “I’m not a cave woman to be forced -into marriage. Oh!”--the ludicrous side of this imperious kind of wooing -striking her suddenly--“don’t be so absurd, Geoffrey! You can’t seize me -by the hair and carry me off to your own particular hole in the rocks, -you know.” She began to laugh a little. “Let’s just go on being good -friends--and forget that this has ever happened.” - -She held out her hand, but he took no notice of the little friendly -gesture. There was a red gleam in his eyes, a smouldering glow that -needed but a breath to fan it into flame. - -“You speak as if it were something that was over and done with,” he said -in a low, tense voice. “But it isn’t; it never will be. I love you and -want you, and I shall go on loving you and wanting you as long as I -live. Jean--sweetest”--his voice suddenly softened incredibly--“I’ll -try to be more gentle. But when a man loves as I do, he doesn’t stop -to choose his words.” He stepped closer to her. “Oh! You little, little -thing! Why, I could pick you up and carry you off to my cave with two -fingers. Jean, when will you marry me?” - -His big frame towered beside her. He paid no more attention to her -dismissal of him than if she had not spoken, and she was conscious of an -odd feeling of impotence. - -“You don’t seem to have understood me,” she said forcing herself to -speak composedly. “If I loved you, you’d have no need to ‘carry me off’ -to your cave. I’d come--gladly. But I don’t love you, Geoffrey. And I -shall never marry a man I don’t love.” - -“You’ll marry me,” he returned stubbornly. “Do you think I’m going to -give you up so easily? If you do, you mistaken. I love you, and I’ll -teach you to love me--when you’re my wife.” - -The two pairs of eyes met, a challenging defiance flashing between them. -Jean shrugged her shoulders. - -“I think you must be mad,” she said contemptuously, and turned to leave -him. - -In the same instant his hands gripped her shoulders and he swung her -round facing him again. - -“Mad!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Yes, I am mad--mad for you. You little -cold thing! Do you know what love is--man’s love?” - -She felt his arms close round her like a vice of steel, lifting her off -her feet, so that she hung helpless in his embrace. For a moment his -eyes burned down into hers--the hot flame of desire that blazed in them -seeming almost to scorch her--the next, he had hidden his face against -the warm white curve of her throat, where a little affrighted pulse -throbbed tempestuously. Then, as though the touch of her snapped the -last link of his self-control, his mouth sought hers, and he was kissing -her savagely, crushing her soft, wincing lips beneath his own. Her -slender body swayed helpless as a reed in his strong grip, while the -tide of his passion, like some fierce, untamable flood, swept over her -resistlessly. - -When at last he released her, she stood back from him, staggering a -little. Instinctively he stretched out his hand to steady her. - -“Don’t... touch me!” she panted. - -The words came driven between clenched teeth, chokingly. Her face was -milk-white and her eyes blazed at him out of its pallor. She felt as -if her heart were beating in her throat, stifling her, and for a little -space sheer physical stress held her silent But she fought it back, -asserting her will against her weakness. - -“How dare you?” There was bitter anger in her still tones. “How dare you -touch me--like that?” - -With a swift movement she passed her handkerchief across her lips and -then let it fall on the ground as though it were something unclean. He -winced at the gesture; for a moment the passion died out of his face and -a rueful look, almost of schoolboy shame, took its place. - -“Do you--feel like that about it?” he said, nodding towards the -handkerchief. - -“Just like that,” she returned. “Do you think--if I had known--I would -ever have risked being alone with you? But I thought we were friends--I -never dreamed I couldn’t trust you.” - -“Well, you can’t,” he said unsteadily. The sight of her slender, defiant -figure and lovely, tilted face, with the scornful lips he had just -kissed showing like a scarlet stain against its whiteness, sent the -blood rioting through his veins once more. “You’ll... you’ll never be -able to trust any man who loves you, Jean.” - -Her thoughts flew to Blaise. She would trust herself with him--now, -at any time, always. But then, perhaps--the after thought came like a -knife-thrust--perhaps he did not care! - -“A man who--loved me,” she said dully, “would not do what you’ve just -done.” - -“He would--sooner or later. Unless his veins ran milk and water!” He -drew a step nearer and stood staring down at her sombrely. “Do you -know what you’re like, I wonder? With your great golden eyes and your -maddening mouth and that little cleft in your white chin.... You’re -angry because I kissed you. I wonder I didn’t do it before! I’ve wanted -to, dozens of times. But I wanted your love more than a passing kiss. -I’ve waited for that--waited all these weeks. And now you refuse -it--you’ve not even _understood_ that you’re all earth and heaven to me. -God! How blind you must have been!” - -She was silent. Her anger was waning, giving place to a certain -distressful comprehension of the mighty force which had suddenly broken -bondage in the man beside her. Dimly, from her own knowledge of the -yearning bred of the loved one’s nearness, she envisaged what these -last weeks must have meant to a man of Burke’s temperament. Was it any -wonder, when suddenly made to realise that the woman he loved not only -did not love him in return, but had failed even to sense his love for -her, that his stormy spirit had rebelled--flung off its shackles? An -element of self-reproach tinctured her thoughts. In a measure the fault -had been hers; her self-absorption was to blame. - -“Yes,” she acknowledged. “I’m afraid I have been blind, Geoffrey. -Indeed--indeed I would have prevented all this if I had known, if I -had guessed. But, honestly, I just thought of you--you and Judith--as -friends.” - -“I believe you really did,” he said slowly, almost incredulously. Then, -as though in swift corollary: “Jean, is there anyone else?” - -The question drove at her with its sudden grasp of the truth. Her face -grew slowly drawn and pinched-looking beneath his merciless gaze and her -lips moved speechlessly. - -“So it _is_ that, is it? And does he--has he----” - -“Geoffrey, you are insufferable!” The words came wrung from her in -quick, low protest. “You have no right--no right----” - -“No, I suppose I haven’t,” he admitted, touched by the stricken look in -her eyes. “I’d no business to ask that. For the moment, it’s enough -that you don’t love me.... But I shall never give you up, Jean. You’re -mine--my woman!” The light of possession flared up once more in his -eyes. “Do you remember I told you once that, if a man makes up his mind, -he can get his own way over most things? Well, it’s true.” - -He paused a moment, then abruptly swung round on his heel and without a -word of farwell, strode away across the garden towards the gate by which -he had entered. - -As the latch clicked into its place behind him, Jean was conscious of -a sudden tremor, of a curious, uncontrollable fear, as though his words -held something of prophecy. The man’s dominating personality seemed to -swamp her, overwhelming her by its sheer physical force. - -The remembrance of her sinister dream, and of the dream Burke’s threat: -“_It’s too late to try and run away. If you don’t come into my parlour, -you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast forever_,” returned to -her with a disagreeable sense of menace. She shivered a little and, -picking up her basket, almost ran back to the house, as though seeking -safety. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--CROSS-PURPOSES - -IN the task of arranging her roses in the various bowls and vases -Baines had set in readiness for her, Jean found a certain relief from -the feeling of terror which had invaded her. Something in the homely -everydayness of the occupation served to relax the tension of her mind, -keyed up and overwrought by the stress of her interview with Burke, and -it was with almost her usual composure of manner that she greeted Blaise -when presently he joined her. - -“I’ve raided the rose garden to-day,” she said, smilingly indicating the -mass of scented blossom that lay heaped up on the table. “I expect -when Johns finds out he will proceed to meditate upon something for my -benefit with boiling oil in it.” - -Johns was one of the gardeners to whom Jean’s joyous and wholesale -robbery of his first-fruits was a daily cross and affliction. Only -chloroform would ever have reconciled him to the cutting off of a -solitary bloom while still in its prime. - -Blaise regarded the tangle of roses consideringly. - -“I wonder you found time to gather so many. When I passed by the rose -garden, you were--otherwise occupied.” The quietly uttered comment sent -the blood rushing up into Jean’s face. When had he passed? What had he -seen? - -She kept her eyes lowered, seemingly intent upon the disposition of some -exquisite La France roses in a black Wedge-wood bowl. - -“What do you mean?” she asked negligently. - -Tormarin was silent a moment. - -Had she looked at him she would have surprised a restless pain in the -keen eyes he bent upon her. - -“Jean”--he spoke very gently--“have I--to congratulate you?” - -It was difficult to preserve her poise of indifference when the man -she loved put this question to her, but she contrived it somehow. Women -become adepts in the art of hiding their feelings. The conventions -demand it of them. - -Jean’s answer fluttered out with the airy lightness of a butterfly in -the sunshine. - -“I am sure I can’t say, unless you tell me upon what grounds?” - -“You know of none, then”--swiftly. - -“None.” - -She nibbled the end of a stalk and surveyed the Wedge-wood bowl -critically. Tormarin felt like shaking her. - -“Then,” he said gruffly, “let me suggest you revise your methods. -The woman who plays with Geoffrey Burke might as safely play with an -unexploded bomb.” - -His voice betrayed him, revealing the personal element behind the -proffered counsel. - -Jean glanced at him between her lashes. So that was it! He was -jealous--jealous of Burke! At last something had happened to pierce the -joints of his armour of assumed indifference! Her heart sang a little -pæan of thanksgiving, and all that was woman in her rose bubbling to -meet the situation. In an instant she had recaptured her aplomb. - -“I think I rather enjoy playing with unexploded bombs,” she returned -meditatively. “There are always--possibilities--about them.” - -“There are”--grimly. “And it is precisely against those possibilities -that I am warning you.” - -“Don’t you think it’s rather bad taste on your part to warn me against a -man who is admittedly on terms of friendship with you all?” - -“No, I don’t”--steadily. “Nor should I care if it were. When it’s a -matter of you and your safety, the question of taste doesn’t enter into -the thing at all.” - -“My safety?” jeered Jean softly. (It was barely half an hour since Burke -had inspired her with that sudden fear of him and of his compelling -personality!) - -“Well, if not your safety, at least your happiness,” amended Blaise. - -“It’s very kind of you to interest yourself, but really my happiness has -nothing whatever to do with Geoffrey Burke.” - -“Is that true?” - -He flashed the question at her, and there was that in his tone which set -her pulses athrill, quenching the light-hearted spirit of banter that -had led her to torment him. It was the note of restrained passion which -she had heard before in his voice, and which had always power to move -her to the depths of her being. - -“Perfectly true.” She faltered a little. “But”--forcing herself to a -defiance that was in reality a species of self-defence--“I fail to see -that it concerns you, Blaise.” - -“It concerns me in so far as Burke is not the sort of man that a woman -can make a friend of. It’s all or nothing with him. And if you don’t -intend to give him all, you’d better give him--nothing.” - -His glance, grave and steady, met hers, and she knew then, of a -certainty, that he had witnessed the scene which had taken place in the -rose garden, when Burke had held her in his arms and the flood of his -passion had risen and overwhelmed her. He had witnessed that--and had -misunderstood it. - -She was conscious of a fierce resentment against him. It mattered -nothing to her that, in the light of her nonchalant answers to his -questions, he was fully justified in the obvious conclusion he had -drawn. She did not stop to think whether her anger was reasonable or -unreasonable. She was simply furious with him for suspecting her of -flirting--odious word!--with Geoffrey Burke. Well, if he chose to -think thus of her, let him do so! She would not trouble to explain--to -exculpate herself. - -She regarded him with stormy eyes. - -“Please understand, Blaise, that I want neither your advice nor your -criticism. If I choose to make a friend of Geoffrey Burke--or of any -other man--I shall do so without asking your permission or approval. -What I do, or don’t do, is no business of yours.” - -For a moment they faced each other, his eyes, stormy as her own, dark -with anger. His hands clenched themselves. - -“If I could,” he said hoarsely, “I would _make_ it my business.” - -He wheeled round and left the room without another word. Jean stood -staring dazedly at the blank panels of the door which had closed behind -him. She wanted to laugh... or to cry. To laugh, because with every -sullen word he revealed the thing he was so sedulously intent on keeping -from her. To cry, because he had taken her pretended indifference at its -face value, and so another film of misunderstanding had risen to thicken -the veil between them--the veil which he would not, and she, being a -woman, could not, draw aside. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--THE SPIDER - -PROBABLY masculine obtuseness and the feminine faculty for -dissimulation are together responsible for more than half the broken -hearts with which the highways of life are littered. - -The Recalcitrant Parent, the Other Woman--be she never so guileful--or -the Other Man, as the case may be, are none of them as potent a -menace to the ultimate happy issue of events as the mountain of small -misunderstandings which a man and a maid in love are capable of piling -up for themselves. - -The man is prone to see only that which the woman intends he shall--and -no self-respecting feminine thing is going to unveil the mysteries of -her heart until she is very definitely assured that that is precisely -what the man in the case is aching for her to do. - -So she dissimulates with all the skill which Nature and a few odd -thousand years or so of tradition have taught her and pretends that the -Only Man in the World means rather less to her than her second-best shoe -buckles. With the result that he probably goes silently and sadly away, -convinced that he hasn’t an outside chance, while all the time she is -simply quivering to pour out at his feet the whole treasure of her love. - -In this respect Blaise and Jean blundered as egregiously as any other -love-befogged pair. - -Following upon their quarrel over the matter of Jean’s attitude towards -Geoffrey Burke, Tormarin retreated once again into those fastnesses -of aloof reserve which seemed to deny the whole memory of that “magic -moment” at Montavan. And Jean, just because she was unhappy, flirted -outrageously with the origin of the quarrel, finding a certain reckless -enjoyment in the flavour of excitement lent to the proceedings by the -fact that Burke was in deadly earnest. - -Playing with an “unexploded bomb” at least sufficed to take her thoughts -off other matters, and enabled her momentarily to forget everything for -which forgetting seemed the only possible and sensible prescription. - -But you can’t forget things by yourself. Solitude is memory’s closest -friend. So Jean, heedless of consequences, encouraged Burke to help her. - -Lady Anne sometimes sighed a little, as she watched the two go off -together for a long morning on the river, or down to the tennis-court, -accompanied, on occasion, by Claire Latimer and Nick to make up the -set. But she held her peace. She was no believer in direct outside -interference as a means towards the unravelment of a love tangle, and -all that it was possible to do, indirectly, she had attempted when she -revealed to Jean the history of Blaise’s marriage. - -She did, however, make a proposal which would have the effect of -breaking through the present trend of affairs and of throwing Blaise -and Jean more or less continuously into each other’s company. She was -worldly wise enough to give its due value to the power of propinquity, -and her innocently proffered suggestion that she and her two sons and -Jean should all run up to London for a week, before the season closed, -was based on the knowledge of how much can be accomplished by the -skilful handling of a _partie carrée_. - -The suggestion was variously received. By Blaise, indifferently; by -Jean, with her natural desire to know more of the great city she had -glimpsed en route augmented by the knowledge that a constant round -of sight-seeing and entertainment would be a further aid towards the -process of forgetting; by Nick, the sun of whose existence rose and set -at Charnwood, with open rebellion. - -“Why go to be baked in London, madonna, when we might remain here in -the comparative coolth of the country?” he murmured plaintively to his -mother. - -They were alone at the moment, and Lady Anne regarded him with twinkling -eyes. - -“Frankly, Nick, because I want Jean for my daughter-inlaw. No other -reason in the world. Personally, as you know, I simply detest town -during the season.” - -He laughed and kissed her. - -“What a Machiavelli in petticoats! I’d never have believed it of you, -madonna. S’elp me, I wouldn’t!” - -“Well, you may. And you’ve got to back me up, Nick. No philandering with -Jean, mind! You’ll leave her severely alone and content yourself with -the company of your aged parent.” - -“Aged fiddlestick!” he jeered. “If it weren’t for that white hair -of yours, I’d tote you round as my youngest sister. ‘And I don’t -believe”--severely--“that it _is_ white, really. I believe your maid -powders it for you every morning, just because you were born in sin and -know that it’s becoming.” - -So it was settled that the first week of July should witness a general -exodus from Staple, and meanwhile the June days slipped away, and -Tormarin sedulously occupied himself in adding fresh stones to the -wall which he thought fit to interpose between himself and the woman he -loved. While Jean grew restless and afraid, and flung herself into every -kind of amusement that offered, wearing a little fine under the combined -mental and physical strain. - -Claire, perceiving the nervous tension at which the girl was living, -was wistfully troubled on her friend’s behalf, and confided her anxious -bewilderment to Nick. - -“I think Blaise must be crazy,” she declared one day. “I’m perfectly -convinced that he’s in love with Jean, and yet he appears prepared to -stand by while Geoffrey Burke completely monopolises her.” - -Nick nodded. - -“Yes. I own I can’t understand the fellow. He’ll wake up one day to find -that she’s Burke’s wife.” - -“Oh, I hope not!” cried Claire hastily. - -They were pacing up and down one of the gravelled alleys that -intersected the famous rhododendron shrubbery at Charnwood, and, as -she spoke, Claire cast a half-frightened glance in the direction of the -house. She knew that Sir Adrian was closeted with his lawyer, and that -he was, therefore, not in the least likely to emerge from the obscurity -of his study for some time to come. But as long as he was anywhere -on the place, she was totally unable to rid herself of the hateful -consciousness of his presence. - -He reminded her of some horrible and loathsome species of spider, at -times remote and motionless in the centre of his web--that web in which, -body and soul, she had been inextricably caught--but always liable to -wake into sudden activity, and then pounce mercilessly. - -“Oh, I hope not!” she repeated, shivering a little. “If she only knew -what marriage to the wrong man means!... And I’m certain Geoffrey is -the wrong man. Why on earth does Blaise behave like this?”--impatiently. -“Anyone might think--Jean herself might think--he didn’t care! And I’m -positive he does.” - -“If he does, he’s a fool. Good Lord!”--moodily kicking a pebble out -of his path--“imagine any sane man, with a clear road before him, _not -taking it!!_” He swung round towards her suddenly. “Claire, if there were -only a clear road--for us! If only I could take you away from all this!” - his glance embracing the grey old house, so beautiful and yet so much -a prison, which just showed above the tops of the tall-growing -rhododendrons. - -“Oh, hush! Hush!” - -Claire glanced round her affrightedly, as though the very leaves and -blossoms had ears to hear and tongues to repeat. - -“One never knows”--she whispered the words barely above her -breath--“where he is. He might easily be hidden in one of the alleys -that run parallel with this.” - -“The skunk!” muttered Nick wrathfully. - -“_What’s that?_” - -Claire drew suddenly closer to him, her face blanching. A sound--the -light crunching of gravel beneath a footstep--had come to her strained -ears. - -“Nick! Did you hear?” she breathed. - -A look of keen anxiety overspread his face. For himself, he did not -care; Adrian Latimer could not hurt him. But Claire--his “golden -narcissus”--what might he not inflict on her as punishment if he -discovered them together? - -The next moment it was all he could do to repress a shout of relief. -The steps had quickened, rounded the corner of the alley, and -revealed--Jean. - -“We’re mighty glad to see you,” remarked Nick, as she joined them. “We -thought you were--the devil himself”--with a grin. - -“Oh, he’s safe for half an hour yet,” Jean reassured them, “I asked -Tucker”--the Latimer’s butler, who worshipped the ground Claire walked -on--“and his solicitor is still with him. Otherwise I wouldn’t have -risked looking for you”--smiling. “I knew Nick was over here, and Sir -Adrian might have followed me.” - -“You’re sure he hasn’t?” asked Claire nervously. “He is so cunning--so -stealthy.” - -“Even if he had, you’re doing nothing wrong,” maintained Jean stoutly. - -“_Everything_ I do is wrong--in his eyes,” returned Claire bitterly. -“That’s what makes the misery of it. If I were really wicked, really -unfaithful, I should feel I deserved anything I got. But it’s enough if -I’m just happy for a few minutes with a friend for him to want to punish -me, to--to suspect me of any evil. Sometimes I feel as if I couldn’t -bear it any longer!” - -She flung out her arms in a piteous gesture of abandonment. There was -something infinitely touching and forlorn about her as she stood there, -as though appealing against the hideous injustice of it all, and, with -a little cry Jean caught her outstretched hands and drew her into her -embrace, folding her closely in her warm young arms. - -Nick had turned aside abruptly, his face rather white, his mouth -working. His powerlessness to help the woman he loved half maddened him. - -Meanwhile Jean was crooning little, inarticulate, caressing sounds above -Claire’s bowed head, until at last the latter raised a rather white -face from her shoulder and smiled the small, plucky smile with which she -usually managed to confront outrageous fortune. - -“Thank you so much,” she said with a glint of humour in her tones. -“You’ve been dears, both of you. It’s awfully nice to--to let go, -sometimes. But I’m quite all right again, now.” - -“Then, if you are,” replied Jean cheerfully, “perhaps you can bear up -against the shock of too much joy. We want you to have ‘a day out.’” - -“‘A day out’?” repeated Claire. “What do you mean?” - -“I mean we’re organising a picnic to Dartmoor, and we want to fix it so -that you can come too. Didn’t you tell me that Sir Adrian was going to -be away one day this week? Going away, and not returning till the next -day?” - -Claire nodded, her eyes dancing with excitement. - -“Yes--oh, yes! He has to go up to London on business.” - -“Then that’s the day we’ll choose. Heaven send it be fine!”--piously. - -“Oh, how I’d love it!” exclaimed Claire. “I haven’t been on the Moor for -such a long time.” - -“And I’ve never been there at all,” supplemented Jean. - -“Nick! Nick!” Claire turned to him excitedly. “Did you know of this -plan? And why didn’t you tell me about it before?” - -He looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips. - -“Why, I never thought of it,” he admitted. “You -see”--explanatorily--“when I’m with you, I can’t think of anything -else.” - -“Nick, I won’t have you making barefaced love to a married woman under -my very nose,” protested Jean equably. And the shadow of tragedy that -had lowered above them a few minutes earlier broke into a spray of -cheery fun and banter. - -“You seem very gay to-day.” - -The cold, sneering tones fell suddenly across the gay exchange of jokes -and laughter that ensued, and the trio looked up to see the tall, -lean, black-clad figure of Sir Adrian standing at the end of the path, -awaiting their approach. - -To Jean, as to Claire, occurred the analogy of a malevolent spider on -the watch. Even the man’s physical appearance seemed in some way -to convey an unpleasant suggestion of resemblance--his long, thin, -sharply-jointed arms and legs, his putty-coloured face, a livid mask -lit only by a pair of snapping, venomous black eyes, half hidden between -pouched lids that were hardly more than hanging folds of wrinkled skin, -his long-lipped, predatory mouth with its slow, malicious smile. Jean -repressed a little shudder of disgust as she responded to his sneering -comment: - -“We are--quite gay, Sir Adrian. It’s a fine day, for one thing, and the -sun’s shining, and we’re young. What more do we want?” - -“What more, indeed? Except”--bowing mockingly--“the beauty with which -a good Providence has already endowed you. You are a lucky woman, Miss -Peterson; your cup is full. My wife is not, perhaps”--regarding her -appraisingly--“quite so beneficently dowered by Providence, so it -remains for me to fill her cup up to the brim.” - -He paused, and as the black, pin-point eyes beneath the flabby lids -detected the slight stiffening of Claire’s slender figure, his long, -thin lips widened into a sardonic smile. - -“Yes, to the brim,” he repeated with satisfaction. “That’s a husband’s -duty, isn’t it, Mr. Brennan?”--addressing Nick with startling -suddenness. - -“You should know better than I, Sir Adrian,” retorted Nick, “seeing that -you have experience of matrimony, while I have none.” - -“But you have hopes--aspirations, isn’t it so?” pursued Latimer suavely. -There was an undercurrent of disagreeable suggestion in his tones. - -Nick was acutely conscious that his keenest aspiration at the moment was -to knock the creature down and jump on him. - -“We must find you a wife, eh, Claire? Eh, Miss Peterson?” continued Sir -Adrian, rubbing the palm of one bony hand slowly up and down over -the back of the other. “I’m sure, Claire, you would like to see -so--intimate--a friend as Mr. Brennan happily married, wouldn’t you?” - -“I should like to see him happy,” answered Claire with tight lips. - -“Just so--just so,” agreed her husband in a queer cackling tone as -though inwardly amused. “Well, get him a wife, my dear. You are such -friends that you should know precisely the type of woman which appeals -to him.” - -He nodded and turned to go, gliding away with an odd shuffling gait, and -muttering to himself as he went: “Precisely the type--precisely.” - -As he disappeared from view down one of the branching paths of the -shrubbery, an odious little laugh, half chuckle, half snigger, came to -the ears of the three listeners. - -Claire’s face set itself in lines that made her look years older than -her age. - -“You’d better go,” she whispered unevenly. “We shan’t be able to -talk any more now that he knows you are here. He’ll be hovering -round--_somewhere_.” - -Jean nodded. - -“Yes, we’d better be going. Come along, Nick. And let us know, -Claire”--dropping her voice--“as soon as you have found out for certain -what day he goes away. You can telephone down to us, can’t you?” - -“Yes. I’ll ring up when he’s out of the house some time,” she answered -“Or send a message. Anyway, I’ll manage to let you know somehow. -Oh!”--stretching out her arms ecstatically--“imagine a day, of utter -freedom! A whole day!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX--THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE - -GOLD of gorse and purple of heather, a shimmering haze of heat -quivering above the undulating green of the moor, and somewhere, high up -in the cloud-flecked blue above, the exultant, piercingly sweet carol of -a lark. - -“Oh! How utterly perfect this is!” sighed Jean. - -She was lying at full length on the springy turf, her chin cupped in her -hands, her elbows denting little cosy hollows of darkness in the close -mesh of green moss. - -Tormarin, equally prone, was beside her, his eyes absorbing, not the -open vista of rolling moor, hummocked with jagged tors of brown-grey -stone, but the sun as it rioted through a glory of red-brown hair and -touched changeful gleams of gold into topaz eyes. - -There was a queer little throb in Jean’s voice, the low note of almost -passionate delight which sheer beauty never failed to draw from her. -It plucked at the chords of memory, and Tormarin’s thoughts leaped back -suddenly to that day they had spent together in the mountains, when, as -they emerged from the pinewood’s gloom to the revelation of the great -white-pinacled Alps, she had turned to him with the rapt cry: “It’s so -beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!” - -“Do you remember----” he began involuntarily, then checked himself. - -“’M--m?” she queried. The little interrogative murmur was tantalising -in its soft note of intimacy. - -The Jean of the last few days--the days immediately following their -quarrel--had temporarily vanished. The beauty of the Moor had taken hold -of her, and all the mockery and bitter-sweetness which she had latterly -reserved for Tomarin’s benefit was absent from her manner. She was -just her natural sweet and wholesome self. - -“’M--m? Do I remember--what?” - -“I was thinking what a pagan little beauty-lover you are! You worshipped -the Alps. Now you are worshipping Dartmoor.” - -She nodded. - -“I don’t see why you should call it ‘pagan,’ though. I should say it -was equally Christian. I think we were _meant_ to love beauty. Otherwise -there wouldn’t have been such a lot of it about. God didn’t put it -around just by accident.” - -“Quite probably you’re right,” agreed Blaise. “In which case you must -be”--he smiled--“an excellent Christian.” - -“Positively I believe they’re talking theology!” - -Claire’s voice, girlishly gay and free from the nervous restraint which -normally dulled its cadence of youth, broke suddenly on their ears, as -she and Nick, rounding the corner of a big granite boulder, discovered -the two recumbent forms. - -“You disgustingly lazy people!” she pursued indignantly. “Everybody’s -dashing wildly to and fro unpacking the lunch baskets, while you two are -just lounging here in blissful idleness!” - -“It’s chronic with me,” murmured Tormarin lazily. “And anyway, Claire, -neither you nor Nick appear to be precisely overtaxing yourselves -bearing nectar and ambrosia.” - -“I carried some of the drinks up this confounded hill,” submitted Nick. -“And damned heavy they were, too! I can’t _think_”--plaintively--“why -people should be so thirsty at a picnic. I’m sure Baines has shoved in -enough liquid refreshment to float a ship.” - -“Praise be!” interpolated Blaise piously. - -“Oh, we’ve done our share,” supplemented Claire. “And now we’re going to -the gipsy who lives here to have our fortunes told.” - -“Before lunch,” subjoined Nick, “so that in case they’re depressingly -bad you can stay us with flagons afterwards.” - -Jean sat up suddenly, her face alight with interest “Do you mean that -there is a real gipsy who tells real fortunes?” she demanded. - -“Yes--quite real. She’s supposed to be extraordinarily good,” replied -Nick. “She is a lady of property, too, since she has acquired a few -square yards of the Moor from the Duchy and built herself a little -shanty there. She rejoices in the name of Keturah Stanley.” - -“I should like to have my fortune told,” murmured Jean meditatively. - -“I’ll take you,” volunteered Blaise. - -There was a suddenly alert look in his face, as though he, too, would -like to hear Jean’s fortune told. - -“We’ll all go, then,” said Claire. “You must let Keturah tell yours as -well, Blaise.” - -He shook his head. - -“Thanks, no,” he answered briefly. “I know my fortune quite as well as I -have any wish to.” - -Tormarin’s curt refusal somewhat quenched the gaiety of the moment, and -rather soberly they all four made their way down the slope to where, in -a little sheltered hollow at the foot of the tor, the sunlight glinted -on the corrugated iron roofing of a tiny two-roomed hut, built of wood. - -Outside, sitting on an inverted pail and composedly puffing away at -a clay pipe, they discovered a small, shrivelled old woman, sunning -herself, like a cat, in the midday warmth. - -She lifted her head as they approached, revealing an immensely old, -delicately-featured face, which might have been carved out of yellow -ivory. It was a network of wrinkles, colourless save for the piercing -black eyes that sparkled beneath arched black brows, while the fine-cut -nostrils and beautifully moulded mouth spoke unmistakably of race--of -the old untainted blood which in some gipsy families has run clear, -unmixed and undiluted, through countless generations. - -There was an odd dignity about the shrunken, still upright figure as she -rose from her seat--the freedom of one whose neck has never bowed to the -yoke of established custom, whose kingdom is the sun and sea and earth -and air as God gave them to Adam--and when the visitors had explained -their errand, and she proceeded to answer them in the soft, slurred -accents of the Devon dialect, the illiterate speech seemed to convey a -strange sense of unfitness. - -Claire and Nick were the first to dare the oracle. The old woman -beckoned to them to follow her into the cottage, while Tormarin and Jean -waited outside, and when they emerged once more, both were laughing, -their faces eager and half excited like the faces of children promised -some indefinite treat. - -“She’s given you luck, then?” asked Jean, smiling in sympathy. - -The gipsy interposed quickly. - -“Tezn’t for me to give nor take away the luck. But I knaw that, back o’ -they gert black clouds the young lady’s so mortal feared of, the zun’s -shinin’ butivul. I tell ’ee, me dear”--nodding encouragingly -to Claire, while her keen old eyes narrowed to mere pin-points of -light--“you’ll zee it, yourself--and afore another year’s crep’ by. -’Ess, fay! You’ll knaw then as I tolled ’ee trew.” - -Then, with a gesture that summoned Jean to follow her, she disappeared -once more into the interior of the hut. - -Jean hesitated nervously in the doorway. For a moment she was conscious -of an acute feeling of distaste for the impending interview--a dread of -what this woman, whose eyes seemed the only live thing in her old, old -face, might have to tell her. - -“Come with me,” she appealed to Blaise. And he nodded and followed her -across the threshold. - -The scent of a peat fire came warm and fragrant to her nostrils as she -stepped out of the sunlight into the comparative dusk of the little -shanty, mingling curiously with an aroma of savoury stew which issued -from a black pot hung above the fire, bubbling and chuckling as it -simmered. - -The gipsy, as though by force of habit, gave a stir to its contents and -then, settling herself on a three-legged stool, she took Jean’s hand in -her wrinkled, claw-like fingers and peered at its palm in silence. - -“Your way baint so plain tu zee as t’other young lady’s,” she muttered -at last, in an odd, sing-song tone. “There’s life an’ death an’ fire an’ -flame afore yu zee the sun shinin’ clear.... And if so be yu take the -wrong turnin’, you’ll niver zee it. And there’ll be no postes to -guide ’ee. Tez your awn sawl must tell ’ee how to walk through the -darkness. For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” - -She paused, and the liquid in the black pot over the fire seethed up -suddenly and filled the silence with its chuckling and gurgling, so that -to Jean it seemed like the sound of some hidden malevolence chortling -defiance at her. - -The old woman clutched her hand a little tighter, turning the palm so -that the light from the tiny window fell more directly upon it. - -“There’s a castle waitin’ for ’ee, me dear,” she resumed in the same -sing-song voice as before. “I can zee it so plain as plain. But yu won’t -never live there wi’ the one yu luve, though you’m hopin’ tu. I see ruin -and devastation all around it, and the sky so red as blid above it.” - -She released Jean’s hand slowly, and her curiously bright eyes fastened -upon Tormarin. - -“Shall I tell the gentleman’s hand?” she asked, stretching out her -withered claw to take it. - -But he drew it away hurriedly. - -“No, no,” he said, attempting to speak lightly. “This lady’s fortune -isn’t sufficiently encouraging for me to venture.” - -The gipsy’s eyes never left his face. She nodded slowly. - -“That’s as may be. For tez the zaim luck and zaim ill-lack will come to -yu as comes to thikke maid. There’s no ring given or taken, but you’m -bound together so fast and firm as weddin’-ring could bind ’ee.” - -Jean felt her face flame scarlet in the dusk of the tiny room, and -she turned and made her way hastily out into the sunshine once more, -thankful for the eager queries of Nick and Claire, which served to bring -back to normal the rather strained atmosphere induced by the gipsy’s -final comment. - -As they climbed the side of the tor once more, Jean relapsed into -silence. More than once, more than twice, since she had come to England, -she had been vaguely conscious of some hidden menace to her happiness, -and now the gipsy had suddenly given words to’ her own indefinite -premonition of evil. - -“For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” - -***** - -It was a relief to join the rest of the picnic party, who were -clamouring loudly for their lunch, good-humouredly indignant with the -wanderers for keeping them waiting. - -“Another five minutes,” announced Burke, “and we should have begun -without you. Not even Lady Anne could have kept us under restraint a -moment longer.” - -The party was quite a large one, augmented by a good many friends from -round about the neighbourhood, and amid the riotous fun and ridiculous -mishaps which almost invariably accompany an alfresco meal, Jean -contrived to throw off the feeling of oppression generated by Keturah’s -prophecy. - -Burke, having heaped her plate with lobster mayonnaise, established -himself beside her, and proceeded to catechise her about her recent -experience. - -“Did the lady--what’s her name, Keturah?--tell you when you were going -to marry me?” he demanded in an undertone, his dare-devil eyes laughing -down at her impudently. - -“No, she did not. She only foresees things that are really going to -happen,” retorted Jean. - -“Well, that is”--composedly. “She can’t be much good at her job if she -missed seeing it.” - -“Well,” Jean affected to consider--“the nearest she got to it was that she -saw ‘darkness coming... black darkness.’” - -Under cover of the general preoccupation in lunch and conversation, -Burke’s hand closed suddenly over hers. - -“You little devil!” he said, half amused, half sulky. “I’ll make you pay -for that.” - -But out here, in the wind-swept, open spaces of the Moor, Jean felt no -fear of him. - -“First catch your hare----” she retaliated defiantly. - -He regarded her tensely for a moment. - -“I’ll take your advice,” he said briefly. Then he added: “Did you know -that I’m driving you back in my cart this afternoon?” - -Various cars and traps and saddle horses had brought the party together -at the appointed rendezvous--a little village on the outskirts of the -Moor, and Jean had driven up with Blaise in one of the Staple cars. She -looked at Burke now, in astonishment. - -“You certainly are not,” she replied quickly. “I shall go back as I -came--in the car.” - -“Quite impossible. It’s broken down. They rashly brought on the -lunch hampers in it, across that God-forsaken bit of moor road--with -disastrous consequences to the car’s internals. So that you and Tormarin -have got to be sorted into other conveyances. And I’ve undertaken to get -you home.” - -Jean’s face fell a little. Throughout the drive up to the Moor Blaise -had seemed less remote and more like his old self than at any time since -their quarrel, and she could guess that this arrangement of Burke’s was -hardly likely to conduce towards the continuance of the new peace. - -“How will Blaise get home?” she asked. - -“They can squeeze him into her car, Judy says. It’ll be a tight fit, but -he can cling on by his eyelashes somehow.” - -“I think it would be a better arrangement if you drove Blaise and I went -back in the car with your sister,” suggested Jean. - -“There’s certainly not room for two extra in the car. There isn’t really -room for one.” - -“There wouldn’t be two. You would drive Blaise.” - -“Pardon me. I should do nothing of the sort.” - -“Do you mean”--incredulously--“that you would refuse?” - -“Oh, I should invent an armour-plated reason. A broken spring in the -dog-cart or something. But I do mean that if I don’t drive you, I drive -no one.” - -Jean looked at him vexedly. - -“Well,” she said uncertainly, “we can’t have a fuss at a picnic.” - -“No,” agreed Burke. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to give in.” - -Jean rather thought so, too. There didn’t seem any way out of it. She -knew that Burke was perfectly capable, under cover of some supposed -mishap to his trap, of throwing the whole party into confusion and -difficulty, rather than relinquish his intention. - -“Oh, very well,” she yielded at last, resignedly. “Have your own way, -you obstinate man.” - -“I intend to,” he replied coolly. “Now---and always.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI--DIVERS HAPPENINGS - -“I DON’T think I want any champagne,” said Claire smilingly, as Nick -filled a glass and handed it to her. “Being utterly free like this -produces much the same effect. I feel drunk, Nick--drunk with happiness. -Oh, why can’t I be always free----” - -She broke off abruptly in her speech, her face whitening, and stared -past Nick with dilated eyes. Her lips remained parted, just as when she -had ceased speaking, and the breath came between them unevenly. - -Nick followed the direction of her glance. But he could see nothing -to account for her suddenly stricken expression of dismay. A man in -chauffeur’s livery, vaguely familiar to him, was approaching, and it was -upon him that Claire’s eyes were fixed in a sick gaze of apprehension. -It reminded Nick of the look of a wounded bird, incapable of flight, as -it watches the approach of a hungry cat. - -“What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s the matter? For God’s sake -don’t look like that, Claire!” - -Slowly, with difficulty, she wrenched her eyes away from that sleek, -conventional figure in the dark green livery. - -“Don’t you see who it is?” she asked in a harsh, dry whisper. - -Before Nick could answer, the man had made his way to Claire’s side and -paused respectfully. - -“Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, touching his hat, “Sir Adrian sent me to -say that he’s waiting for you in the car just along the road there.” He -pointed to where, on the white ribbon of road which crossed the Moor not -far from the base of the tor, a stationary car was visible. - -Claire, her face ashen, turned to Nick in mute appeal. - -“Sir Adrian? I thought he left for London this morning?” - -Nick shot the question fiercely at the chauffeur, but the man’s face -remained respectfully blank. - -“No, sir. Sir Adrian drove as far as Exeter and then returned. -Afterwards we drove on here, sir, and they told us in the village we -should find you at Shelston Tors.” - -Meanwhile the other members of the party were becoming aware that some -contretemps had occurred. Claire’s white, stricken face was evidence -enough that something was amiss, and simultaneously Lady Anne and Jean -hurried forward, filled with apprehension. - -“What is it, Claire?” asked Lady Anne, suspecting bad news of some kind. -“What has happened?” Recognising the Charnwood livery, she turned to the -chauffeur and continued quickly: “Has Sir Adrian met with an accident?” - She could conceive of no other cause for the man’s unexpected -appearance. - -“No, my lady. Sir Adrian is waiting in the car for her ladyship.” - -“Waiting in the car?” repeated Jean and Lady Anne in chorus. - -The little group of friends drew closer together. - -“Don’t you see what it means?” broke out Claire in a low voice of -intense anger. “It’s been all a trick--a trick! He never meant to go to -London at all. He only _pretended_ to me that he was going, so that I -should think that I was free and he could trap me.” She looked at Nick -and Jean significantly. “He must have overheard us--that day in the -shrubbery at Charnwood--you remember?” They both nodded. “And then -planned to humiliate me in front of half the county.” - -“But you won’t go back with him?” exclaimed Nick hotly. He swung round -and addressed the chauffeur stormily. “You can damn well tell your -master that her ladyship will return this evening with the rest of -the party.” The man’s face twitched. As far as it is possible for a -well-drilled servant’s face to express the human emotion of compassion, -his did so. - -“It would be no good, sir,” he said in a low voice. “He means her -ladyship to come. ‘Go and fetch her away, Langton,’ was his actual words -to me. I didn’t want the job, sir, as you may guess.” - -“Well, she’s not coming, that’s all,” declared Nick determinedly. - -“Oh, I must, Nick--I must go,” cried Claire in distress. “I--I _daren’t_ -stay.” - -Lady Anne nodded. - -“Yes, I think she must go, Nick dear,” she said persuasively. “It would -he---wiser.” - -“But it’s damnable!” ejaculated Nick furiously. “It’s only done to -insult her--to humiliate her!” - -Claire smiled a little wistfully. - -* “I ought to be used to that by now,” she said a trifle shakily. “ut -Lady Anne is right--I must go.” She turned to the chauffeur, dismissing -him with a little air of dignity that, in the circumstances, was not -without its flavour of heroism. “You can go on ahead, Langton, and tell -Sir Adrian that I am coming.” - -The man touched his hat and moved off obediently. - -“Nick and I will walk down to the car with you,” said Lady Anne. She -was fully alive to the fact that her escort might contribute towards -ameliorating the kind of reception Claire would obtain from her husband. -“Jean dear, look after everybody for me for a few minutes, will you? -And,” raising her voice a little, “explain that Claire has been called -home suddenly, as Sir Adrian was not well enough to make the journey to -town, after all.” - -But Lady Anne’s well-meant endeavour to throw dust in the eyes of the -rest of the party was of comparatively little use. Although to many -of them Claire was personally an entire stranger--since Sir Adrian -intervened whenever possible to prevent her from forming new -friendships--the story of her unhappy married life was practically -public property in the neighbourhood, and it was quite evident that to -all intents and purposes the detestable husband had actually insisted -on her returning with him, exactly as a naughty child might be swept off -home by an irate parent in the middle of a jolly party. - -It was impossible to stem the flood of gossip, and though most of it was -kindly enough, and wholeheartedly sympathetic to Lady Latimer, Jean’s -cheeks burned with indignation that Claire’s dignity should be thus -outraged. - -The remainder of the afternoon was spoilt for her, and Nick’s stormy -face when he, together with Lady Anne, rejoined the rest of the party -did not help to lighten her heart. - -“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whispered compassionately, when presently the -opportunity of a few words alone with him occurred. - -He glared at her. - -“Are you?” he said shortly. “I’m not. I think I’m glad. This ends it. No -woman can be expected to put up with public humiliation of that sort.” - -“Nick!” There was a sharp note of fear in Jean’s voice. “Nick, what do -you mean? What are you going to do?” - -There was an ugly expression on the handsome boyish-looking face. - -“You’ll know soon enough,” was all he vouchsafed. And swung away from -her. - -Jean felt troubled. She had never seen Nick before with that set, still -look on his face--a kind of bitter concentration which reminded her -forcibly of his brother--and she rather dreaded what it might portend. - -Her thoughts were still preoccupied with the afternoon’s unpleasant -episode, and with the possible consequences which might accrue, as she -climbed into Burke’s high dog-cart. - -She had had a fleeting notion of claiming Claire’s vacant seat for -the homeward run, but had dismissed it since actually Claire’s absence -merely served to provide comfortable room for Blaise in the Willow Ferry -car, which had held its full complement of passengers on the outward -journey. Moreover, she reflected that any change of plan, now that she -had agreed to drive back with Burke, might only lead to trouble. He was -not in a mood to brook being thwarted. - -A big, raking chestnut, on wires to be off, danced between the shafts -of the dog-cart, irritably pawing the ground and jerking her handsome, -satin-skinned head up and down with a restless jingle of bit -and curb-chain. She showed considerable more of the white of a -wicked-looking eye than was altogether reassuring as she fought -impatiently against the compulsion of the steady hand which gripped the -reins and kept her, against her will, at a standstill. - -The instant she felt Jean’s light foot on the step her excitement rose -to fever heat. Surely this _must_ mean that at last a start was imminent -and that that firm, masterful pressure on the bit would be released! - -But Burke had leaned forward to tuck the light dust-rug round Jean’s -knees, and regarding this further delay as beyond bearing the chestnut -created a diversion by going straight up in the air and pirouetting -gaily on her hind legs. - -“Steady now!” - -Burke’s calm tones fell rebukingly on the quivering, sensitive ears, -and down came two shining hoofs in response, as the mare condescended -to resume a more normal pose. The next moment she was off at a swinging -trot, breaking every now and again, out of pure exuberance of spirits, -into a canter, sternly repressed by those dominating hands whose quiet -mastery seemed conveyed along the reins as an electric current is -carried by a wire. - -“You needn’t be afraid,” remarked Burke. “She’ll settle down in a -few minutes. It’s only a ‘stable ahead’ feeling she’s suffering from. -There’s not an ounce of vice in her composition.” - -“I’m not afraid,” replied Jean composedly. - -She did not tell him why. But within herself she knew that no woman -would ever be afraid with Geoffrey Burke. Afraid of him, possibly, but -never afraid that he would not be entire master of any situation wherein -physical strength and courage were the paramount necessities. - -She reflected a little grimly to herself that it was this very -forcefulness which gave the man his unquestionable power of attraction. -There is always a certain fascination in sheer, ruthless strength--a -savour of magnificence about it, something tentatively heroic, which -appeals irresistibly to that primitive instinct somewhere hidden in the -temperamental make-up of even the most ultra-twentieth-century feminine -product. - -And Jean was quite aware that she herself was not altogether proof -against the attraction of Burke’s dynamic virility. - -There was another kind of strength which appealed to her far more. She -knew this, too. The still, quiet force that was Tormarin’s--deep, -and unfathomable, and silent, of the spirit as well as of the body. -Contrasted with the savage power she recognised in Burke, it was like -the fine, tempered steel of a rapier compared with a heavy bludgeon. - -“A penny for your thoughts!” - -Jean came out of her reverie with a start. She smiled. - -“Don’t get conceited. I was thinking about you.” - -“Nice thoughts, I hope, then?” suggested Burke. “It’s -better”--audaciously--“to think well of your future husband.” - -The old gipsy’s words flashed into Jean’s mind: “_You’m bound together -so fast and firm as weddin-ring could bind ’ee,_” and her face flamed -scarlet. - -It was true--at least as far as she was concerned--that no wedding-ring -could bind her more firmly to Blaise than her own heart had already -bound her. - -The instinct to flirt with Burke was in abeyance. It was an instinct -only born of heartache and unhappiness, and now that Blaise’s mood was -so much less cool and distant than, it had been, the temptation to play -with unexploded bombs had correspondingly lost much of its charm. - -“Don’t be tiresome, Geoffrey,” she said vexedly. “If only you would make -up your mind to be--just pals, I should think much better of you.” - -“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to think worse,” he retorted. - -Just at that moment they encountered a flock of sheep, ambling leisurely -along towards them and blocking up the narrow roadway, and Jean was -spared the necessity of replying by the fact that Burke immediately -found his hands full, manoeuvring a path for the mare between the broad, -curly backs of the bleating multitude. - -The drover of the flock was, of course, a hundred yards or more behind -his charges, negligently occupied in relighting his pipe, so that no -assistance was to be looked for in that direction, and as the sheep -bumped against the mare’s legs and crowded up against the wheels of -the trap in their characteristically maddening fashion, it required all -Burke’s skill and dexterity to make a way through the four-footed crowd. - -The chestnut’s own idea of dealing with the difficulty was to charge -full speed ahead, an idea which by no means facilitated matters, and -she fought her bit and fairly danced with fury as Burke checked her at -almost every yard. - -They had nearly reached the open road again, and Jean, looking down on -the sea of woolly backs, with the hovering cloud of hoof-driven dust -above them, thought she could fully appreciate the probable feelings of -the Israelites as they approached the further shore of the Red Sea. And -it was just at this inauspicious moment that the drover, having lit his -pipe to his satisfaction, looked up and grasped the situation. - -Guilty conscience not only makes cowards, but is also prolific in the -creation of fools, and the drover, stung into belated action by the -consciousness of previous remissness, promptly did the most foolish -thing he could. - -He let off a yell that tore its way through every quivering nerve in the -mare’s body, and with a shout of, “Round ’em, lad!” sent his dog--a -half-trained youngster--barking like a creature possessed, full tilt in -pursuit of the sheep. - -That settled it as far as the chestnut was concerned. With a bound she -leapt forward, scattering the two or three remaining sheep that still -blocked her path, and the next moment the light, high cart was rocking -like a cockle-shell in a choppy sea, as she tore along, utterly out of -hand. - -Luckily, for a couple of miles the road ran straight as a dart, and -after the first gasp of alarm Jean found herself curiously collected and -able to calculate chances. At the end of the two miles, she know, there -came a steep declivity--a typical Devonshire hill, like the side of a -house, which the British workman had repaired in his usual crude and -inefficient manner, so that loose stones and inequalities of surface -added to the dangers of negotiation. At the foot of this descent was a -sharp double turn--a veritable death-trap. Could Burke possibly got the -mare in hand before they reached the brow of the hill? Jean doubted it. - -There was no sound now in all the world except the battering of the -mare’s hoofs upon the road and the screaming rush of the wind in their -ears. The hedges flew past, a green, distorted blur. The strip of road -fled away beneath them as though coiled up by some swift revolving -cylinder; ahead, it ended sheer against a sky blue as a periwinkle, -and into that blue they were rushing at thirty miles an hour. When they -reached it, it would be the end. Jean could almost hear the crash that -must follow, sense the sickening feeling of being flung headlong, hurled -into space.... hurtling down into black nothingness.,.. - -Her glance sought Burke’s face. His jaw was out-thrust, and she could -guess at the clenched teeth behind the lips that shut like a rat-trap. -His eyes gleamed beneath the penthouse brows, drawn together so that -they almost met above his fighting beak of a nose. - -In an oddly detached manner she found herself reflecting on the dogged -brute strength of his set face. If anyone could check that flying, -foam-flecked form, rocketing along between the shafts like a red-brown -streak, he could. - -She wondered how long he would be able to hold the beast--to hang on? -She remembered having heard that, after a time, the strain of pulling -against a runaway becomes too much for human nerves and muscles, and -that a man’s hands grow numb--and helpless! While the dead pull on the -bit equally numbs the mouth of the horse, so that he, too, has no more -any feeling to be played upon by the pressure of the hit. - -Her eyes dropped to Burke’s hands. With a little inward start of -astonishment she realised that he was not attempting to pull against -the chestnut. He was just holding... holding... steadying her, ever so -little, in her mad gallop. Jean felt the mare swerve, then swing level -again, still answering faintly to the reins. - -Burke’s hands were very still. She wondered vaguely why--now--he didn’t -pit his strength against that of the runaway. They must have covered a -mile or more. A bare half-mile was all that still lay between them and -disaster. - -And then, as she watched Burke’s hands, she saw them move, first one and -then the other, sawing the bit against the tender corners of the mare’s -mouth. Jean was conscious of a faint difference in the mad pace of -her. Not enough to be accounted a check--but still _something_, some -appreciable slackening of the whirlwind rush towards that blue blur of -sky ahead. - -It seemed as though Burke, too, sensed that infinitesimal yielding to -the saw of the bit. For the first time, he gave a definite pull at the -reins. Then he relaxed the pressure, and again there followed the same -sawing motion and the fret of the steel bar against sensitive, velvet -lips. Then another pull--the man’s sheer strength against the mare’s.... -Jean watched, fascinated. - -And gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the frenzied beat of -the iron-shod hoofs became more measured as the chestnut shortened her -stride. It was no longer merely the thrashing, thunderous devil’s tattoo -of sheer, panic-driven speed. - -Now and again Jean could hear Burke’s voice, speaking to the frightened -beast, chiding and reassuring in even, unhurried tones. - -She was conscious of no fear, only of an absorbing interest and -excitement as to whether Burke would be able to impose his will upon the -animal before they reached that precipitous hill the descent of which -must infallibly spell ‘destruction’. - -She sat very still, her hands locked together, watching... watching.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXII--“WILLING OR UNWILLING!” - -IT was over. A bare twenty yards from the brow of the bill the man had -won, and now the mare was standing swaying between the shafts, shaking -in every limb, her flanks heaving and the sweat streaming off her sodden -coat in little rivulets. - -Burke was beside her, patting her down and talking to her in a little -intimate fashion much as though he were soothing a frightened child. - -“You’re all in, aren’t you, old thing?” he murmured sympathetically. -Then he glanced up at Jean, who was still sitting in the cart, feeling -rather as though the end of the world had occurred and, in some -surprising fashion, left her still cumbering the earth. - -“She’s pretty well run herself out,” he remarked. “We shan’t have any -more trouble going home”--smiling briefly. “I hope not,” answered Jean a -trifle flatly. - -“You all right?” - -She nodded. - -“Yes, thank you. You must be an excellent whip,” she added. “I thought -the mare would never stop.” - -Probably even Jean hardly realised the fineness of the horsemanship of -which she had just been a witness--the judgment and coolness Burke had -evinced in letting the mare spend the first freshness of her strength -before he essayed to check her mad pace; the dexterity with which he -had somehow contrived to keep her straight; and finally, the consummate -skill with which, that last half-mile, he had played her mouth, -rejecting the dead pull on the reins--the instinctive error of the -mediocre driver--which so quickly numbs sensation and neutralises every -effort to bring a runaway to a standstill. - -“Yes. I rather thought our number was up,” agreed Burke absently. He was -passing his hands feelingly over the mare to see if she were all right, -and suddenly, with a sharp exclamation, he lifted one of her feet from -the ground and examined it. - -“Cast a shoe and torn her foot rather badly,” he announced. “I’m afraid -we shall have to stop at the next village and get her shod. It’s not a -mile further on. You and I can have tea at the inn while she’s at the -blacksmith’s.” - -With a final caress of the steaming chestnut neck, he came back to the -side of the cart, reins in hand. - -“Can you drive her with a torn foot?” queried Jean. - -“Oh, yes. We’ll have to go carefully down this hill, though. There are -such a confounded lot of loose stones about.” - -He climbed into the dog-cart and very soon they had reached the -village, where the chestnut, tired and subdued, was turned over to the -blacksmith’s ministrations while Burke and Jean made their way to the -inn. - -Tea was brought to them upstairs in a quaint, old-fashioned parlour -fragrant of bygone times. Oaken beams, black with age, supported the -ceiling, and on the high chimneypiece pewter dishes gleamed like silver, -while at either end an amazingly hideous spotted dog, in genuine old -Staffordshire, surveyed the scene with a satisfied smirk. Through the -leaded diamond panes of the window was visible a glimpse of the Moor. - -“What an enchanting place!” commented Jean, as, tea over, she made a -tour of inspection, pausing at last in front of the window. - -Burke had been watching her as she wandered about the room, his -expression moody and dissatisfied. - -“It’s a famous resort for honeymooners,” he answered. “Do you -think”--enquiringly--“it would be a good place in which to spend a -honeymoon?” - -“That depends,” replied Jean cautiously. “If the people were fond of the -country, and the Moor, and so on--yes. But they might prefer something -less remote from the world.” - -“Would you?” - -“I?”--with detachment. “I’m not contemplating a honeymoon.” - -Suddenly Burke crossed the room to her side. - -“We might as well settle that point now,” he said quietly. “Jean, when -will you marry me?” - -She looked at him indignantly. - -“I’ve answered that question before. It isn’t fair of you to reopen the -matter here--and now.” - -“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t fair. In fact, I’m not sure that it isn’t -rather a caddish thing for me to do, seeing that you can’t get away from -me just now. But all’s fair in love and war. And it’s both love and war -between us two”--grimly. - -“The two things don’t sound very compatible,” fenced Jean. - -“It’s only war till you give in--till you promise to marry me. Then”--a -smouldering light glowed in his eyes--“then I’ll show you what loves -means.” - -She shook her head. - -“I’m afraid,” she said, attempting to speak coolly, “that it means war -indefinitely then, Geoffrey. I can give you no different answer.” - -“You shall!” he exclaimed violently. “I tell you, Jean, it’s useless -your refusing me. I won’t _take_ no. I want you for my wife--and, by -God, I’m going to have you!” - -She drew away from him a little, backing into the embrasure of the -window. The look in his eyes frightened her. - -“Whether I will or no?” she asked, still endeavouring to speak lightly. -“_My_ feelings in the matter don’t appear to concern you at all.” - -“I’d rather you came willingly--but, if you won’t, I swear I’ll marry -you, willing or unwilling!” - -He was standing close to her now, staring down at her with sombre, -passion-lit eyes, and instinctively she made a movement as though to -elude him and slip back again into the room. In the same instant his -arms went round her and she was prisoned in a grip from which she was -powerless to escape. - -“Don’t struggle,” he said, as she strove impotently to release herself. -“I could hold you from now till doomsday without an effort.” - -There was a curious thrill in his voice, the triumphant, arrogant leap -of possession. He held her pressed against him, and she could feel his -chest heave with his labouring breath. - -“You’re mine--mine! My woman--meant for me from the beginning of the -world--and do you think I’ll give you up?... Give you up? I tell you, -if you were another man’s wife I’d take you away from him! You’re -mine--every inch of you, body and soul. And I want you. Oh, my God, how -I want you!” - -“Let me go... Geoffrey...” - -The words struggled from her lips. For answer his arms tightened round -her, crushing her savagely, and she felt his kisses burning, scorching -her face, his mouth on hers till it seemed as though he were draining -her very soul. - -When at last he released her, she leant helplessly against the woodwork -of the window, panting and shaken. Her face was white as a magnolia -petal and her eyes dark-rimmed with purple shadow. - -A faint expression of compunction crossed Burke’s face. - -“I suppose--I shall never be forgiven now,” he muttered roughly. - -With an effort Jean forced her tongue to answer him. - -“No,” she said in a voice out of which every particle of feeling seemed -to have departed. “You will never be forgiven.” - -A look of deviltry came into his eyes. He crossed the room and, locking -the door, dropped the key into his pocket. - -“I think,” he remarked coolly, “in that case, I’d better keep you a -prisoner here till you have promised to marry me. It’s you I want. Your -forgiveness can come after. I’ll see to that.” - -The result of his action was unexpected. Jean turned to the window, -unlatched it, and flung open the casement. - -“If you don’t unlock that door at once, Geoffrey,” she said quietly, -“I shall leave the room--this way”--with a gesture that sufficiently -explained her meaning. - -Her voice was very steady. Burke looked at her curiously. - -“Do you mean--you’d jump out?” he asked, openly incredulous. - -Her eyes answered him. They were feverishly bright, with an almost -fanatical light in them, and suddenly Burke realised that she was at the -end of her tether, that the emotional stress of the last quarter of -an hour had taken its toll of her high-strung temperament and that -she might even do what she had threatened. He had no conception of the -motive behind the threat--of the imperative determination which had -leaped to life within her to endure or suffer anything rather than stay -locked in this room with Burke, rather than give Blaise, the man who -held her heart between his two hands, ground for misunderstanding or -mistrusting her anew. - -Burke fitted the key into the lock of the door and turned it sulkily. - -“You prim little thing! I was only teasing you,” he said. “Do you mean -you’re really as frightened as all that of--_what people may say?_ -I thought you were above minding the gossip of ill-natured -scandal-mongers.” - -Jean grasped eagerly at the excuse. It would serve to hide the real -motive of her impulsive action. - -“No woman can afford to ignore scandal,” she answered quickly. “After -all, a woman’s happiness depends mostly on her reputation.” - -Burke’s eyes narrowed suddenly. He looked at her speculatively, as -though her words had suggested a new train of thought, but he made no -comment. Somewhat abstractedly he opened the door and allowed her to -pass out and down the stairs. Outside the door of the inn they found the -mare and dog-cart in charge of an ostler. - -“The mare’s foot’s rather badly torn, sir,” volunteered the man, “but -the blacksmith thinks she’ll travel all right. Far to go, sir?” - -“Nine or ten miles,” responded Burke laconically. - -He was curiously silent on the way home. It was as though the chain of -reasoning started by Jean’s comment on the relation scandal bears to -a woman’s happiness still absorbed him. His brows were knit together -morosely. - -Jean supposed he was probably reproaching himself for his conduct that -afternoon. After all, she reflected, he was normally a man of decent -instincts, and though the flood-tide of his passion had swept him into -taking advantage of the circumstances which had flung them together in -the solitude of the little inn, he would be the first to agree, when in -a less lawless frame of mind, that his conduct had been unpardonable. -Although, even from that, one could not promise that he would not be -equally culpable another time! - -Blaise had proved painfully correct in his estimate of the dangers -attaching to unexploded bombs. Jean admitted it to herself ruefully. And -she was honest enough also to admit that, with his warning ringing in -her ears and with the memory of what had happened in the rose garden -to illumine it, she herself was not altogether clear of blame for the -incidents of the afternoon. - -She _had_ played with Burke, even encouraged him to a certain extent, -allowing him to be in her company far more frequently than was -altogether wise, considering the circumstance of his hot-headed love for -her. - -It was with somewhat of a mental start of surprise that she found -herself seeking for excuses for his behaviour--actually trying to supply -adequate reasons why she should overlook it! - -His brooding, sulky silence as he drove along, mile after mile, was not -without its appeal to the inherent femininity of her. He did not try to -excuse or palliate his conduct, made no attempt to sue for forgiveness. -He loved her and he had let her see it; manlike, he had taken what the -opportunity offered. And she didn’t suppose he regretted it. - -The faintest smile twitched the comers of her lips. Burke was not the -type of man to regret an unlawful kiss or two! - -She was conscious that--as usual, where he was concerned--her virtuous -indignation was oozing away in the most discreditable and hopeless -fashion. There was an audacious charm about the man, an attractiveness -that would not be denied in the hot-headed way he went, all out, for -what he wanted. - -Other women, besides Jean had found it equally difficult to resist. His -sheer virility, with its splendid disregard for other people’s claims -and its conscienceless belief that the battle should assuredly be to the -strong, earned him forgiveness where, for misdeeds not half so flagrant, -a less imperious sinner would have been promptly shown the door. - -But no woman--not even the women to whom he had made love without the -excuse of loving--had ever shown Burke the door or given him the kind -of treatment which he had thoroughly well merited twenty times over. And -Jean was no exception to the rule. - -At least he had some genuine claim on her forgiveness--the claim of -a love which had swept through his very bung like a flame, the fierce -passion of a man to whom love means adoration, worship--above all, -possession. - -And what woman can ever long remain righteously angry with a man who -loves her--and whose very offence is the outcome of the overmastering -quality of that love? Very few, and certainly none who was so very much -a woman, so essentially feminine as Jean. - -It was in a very small voice, which she endeavoured to make airily -detached, that she at last broke the silence which had reigned for the -last six miles or so. - -“I suppose I shall have to forgive you--more or less. One can’t exactly -quarrel with one’s next door neighbour.” Burke smiled grimly. - -“Can’t one?” - -“Well, there’s Judith to be considered.” - -“A rather curious expression came into her eyes. - -“Yes,” he agreed. “There’s Judith to be considered.” There was a hint of -irony in the dry tones. - -“It would complicate matters if I were not on speaking terms with her -brother,” pursued Jean. - -She waited for his answer, but none came. The threatened possibility -contained in her speech appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, and the -silence seemed likely to continue indefinitely. - -Jean prompted him gently. - -“You might, at least, say you are sorry for--for----” - -“For kissing you?”--swiftly. - -“Yes”--flushing a little. - -“But I’m not. Kissing you”--with deliberation--“is One of the things I -shall never regret. When I come to make my peace with Heaven and repent -in sackcloth and ashes for my sins of omission and commission, I shan’t -include this afternoon in the list, I assure you. It was worth it--if I -pay for it afterwards in hell.” - -He was silent for a moment. Then: - -“But I’ll promise you one thing. I’ll never kiss you again till you give -me your lips yourself.” - -Jean smiled at the characteristic speech. She supposed this was as near -an apology as Burke would ever get. - -“That’s all right, then,” she replied composedly. “Because I shall never -do that.” - -He flicked the chestnut lightly with the whip. - -“I think you will,” he said. “I think”--he looked at her somewhat -enigmatically--“that you will give me everything I want--some day.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII--ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS - -THROUGHOUT the day following that of the expedition to Dartmoor, Nick -seemed determined to keep out of Jean’s way. It was as though he feared -she might force some confidence from him that he was loth to give, and, -in consequence, deliberately avoided being alone with her. - -On the second day, however, as luck would have it, she encountered -him in the corridor just outside her own sitting-room. He was striding -blindly along, obviously not heeding where he was going, and had almost -collided with her before he realised that she was there. - -He jerked himself backwards. - -“I beg your pardon,” he muttered, still without looking at her, and made -as though to pass on. - -Jean checked him with a hand on his sleeve. She had not watched the -dogged sullenness of his face throughout yesterday to no purpose, -and now, as her swift gaze searched it anew, she felt convinced that -something fresh had occurred to stir him. It was impossible for Jean to -see a friend in trouble without wanting to “stand by.” - -“Nick, old thing, what’s wrong?” she asked. - -He stared at her unseeingly. “Wrong?” he muttered. “Wrong?” - -“Yes. Come in here and let’s talk it out--whatever it is.” With gentle -insistence she drew him into her sitting-room. “How,” she said, when she -had established him in an easy-chair by the open window and herself in -another, “what’s gone wrong? Are you still boiling over about that trick -Sir Adrian played on Claire the day of the picnic?” - -She spoke lightly--more lightly than the occasion warranted--of set -purpose, hoping to reduce the tension under which Nick was obviously -labouring. His face hurt her. The familiar lazy insouciance which was -half its charm was blotted out of it by some heavy cloud of tragic -significance. He looked as though he had not slept for days, and his -eyes, the gaiety burnt out of them by pain, seemed sunken in his head. - -He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he seemed to awaken to the -meaning of her question. - -“No,” he said slowly. “No. The boiling over part is done -with--finished.... I’m going to take her away from him.” - -He spoke with a curious precision. It frightened Jean far more than any -impetuous outburst of anger could have done. She made no answer for -a moment, but her mind worked rapidly. She did not doubt the absolute -sincerity of his intention. This was no mere reckless boast of an angry -lover, but the sane, considered aim and object of a man who has come, by -way of some long agony of thwarting, to a set determination. - -“Do you mean that, Nick?” she asked at last, to gain time. - -“Do I mean it?” he laughed. Then his hands gripped the arms of the chair -and he leaned forward. “I saw her--last evening after dinner.... Her -shoulder was black.” - -A sharp cry broke from Jean’s lips. - -“Not--not--he hadn’t----” - -Nick nodded. - -“He had struck her. There was one of the usual scenes when they got back -from the Moor--and he struck her.... It’s the first time he has ever -actually laid hands on her. It’s going to be the last”--grimly. - -Jean was silent. Her whole soul was in revolt against the half-mad, -drug-ridden creature who was making of Claire’s life a devil martyrdom; -the instinct to protect her, to succour her in some way, asserting -itself with almost passionate force. And yet---- She knew that Nick’s -way was not the right way. - -“Yes, it must be the last time,” she agreed. “But--but, Nick, your plan -won’t do, you know.” - -Nick stiffened. - -“Think not?” he said curtly. “Can you suggest a better?” Then, as Jean -remained miserably silent: “Nor can I. And one thing I swear--I won’t -leave the woman I love in the hands of a man who is practically a -maniac, to be tortured day after day, mentally and physically, just -whenever he feels like it.” - -It struck Jean as curious that Nick had been able, more or less, to -keep himself in hand whilst Sir Adrian inflicted upon Claire whatever of -mental and spiritual torture seemed good in his distorted vision. It -was the fact that he had hurt her physically, laid his hand upon her -in actual violence, which had scattered Nick’s self-control to the four -winds of heaven. To Jean herself, it seemed conceivable that the mental -anguish of Claire’s married life had probably far outstripped any mere -bodily pain. Half tentatively she gave expression to her thoughts. - -Nick sprang to his feet. - -“Good God!” he exclaimed. “If you were a man, you’d understand! I see -red when I think of that damned brute striking the woman I love. It--it -was sacrilege!” - -“And won’t it be--another kind of sacrilege--if you take her away with -you, Nick?” asked Jean very quietly. - -He flushed dully. - -“He’ll divorce her, and then we shall marry,” he answered. - -“Even so”--steadily--“it would be doing evil that good may come.” - -“Then we’ll do it”--savagely. “It’s easy enough for you to sit there -moralising, perfectly placid and comfortable. Claire and I have borne -all we can. It has been bad enough to care as we care for each other, -and to live apart But when it means that Claire is to suffer unspeakable -misery and humiliation while I stand by and look on--why, it’s beyond -human endurance. You’re not tempted. You’ve no conception what you’re -talking about.” - -Jean sat very still and silent while Nick stormed out the bitterness of -soul, recognising the truth of every word he littered--even of the gibes -which, in the heedlessness of his own pain, he flung at herself. - -Presently she got up and moved rather slowly across to his side. - -“Nick,” she said, and her eyes, looking into his, were very bright -and clear and steady. Somehow for Nick they held the semblance of two -flames, torches of pure light, burning unflickeringly in the darkness. -“Nick, every word you say is true. I’m not tempted as you and Claire -have been, and so it seems sheer cheek my interfering. But I’m only -asking you to do what I pray I’d be strong enough to do myself in like -circumstances. I don’t believe any true happiness can ever come of -running away from duty. And if ever I’m up against such a thing--a -choice like this--I hope to God I’d be able to hang on... to run -straight, even if it half killed me to do it.” - -The quick, impassioned utterance ceased, and half shrinkingly Jean -realised that she had spoken out of the very depths of her soul, -crystallising in so many words the uttermost ideal and _credo_ of her -being. In some strange, indefinable fashion it was borne in on her that -she had reached an epoch of her life. It was as when a musician, arrived -at the end of a musical period, strikes a chord which holds the keynote -of the ensuing passage. - -She faltered and looked at Nick beseechingly, suddenly self-conscious, -as we most of us are when we find we have laid bare a bit of our inmost -soul to the possibly mocking eyes of a fellow human being. - -But Nick’s eyes were not in the least mocking. - -Instead of that, some of the hardness seemed to have gone out of them, -and his voice was very gentle, as, taking Jean’s two hands in his, he -answered: - -“I believe _you_ would run straight, little Jean--even if it meant -tearing your heart out of your body to do it. But, you know, you’re -always on the side of the angels--instinctively. I’m only a man--just -an average earthy man”--smiling ruefully--“and my ideals all tumble down -and sit on the ground in a heap when I think of what my girl’s enduring -as Latimer’s wife. I believe I might stick my part of the business--but -I can’t stick it for her.” - -“And yet,” urged Jean, “if you go away together, Nick, it’s she who’ll -pay, you know. The woman always does. Supposing--supposing Sir Adrian -_doesn’t_ divorce her--refuses to? It would be just like him to punish -her that way. What about Claire--then?” - -“He _would_ divorce her,” protested Nick harshly. - -Jean shook her head. - -“I don’t think so. Honestly, I believe he would get undiluted -satisfaction out of the fact that, as long as he lived, he could stand -between Claire and everything that a normal woman wants--home, and a -sheltered life, and the knowledge that no one can ‘say things’ about -her. Oh, Nick, Nick! Between you--you and Sir Adrian--you’d make an -outcast of Claire, make her life a worse hell with you than it is -without you.” She paused, then went on more quietly: “Have you said -anything to her about this--told her what you want her to do?” - -“No, not yet--not definitely.” - -Jean breathed a quick sigh of relief. - -“Then don’t! Promise me you won’t, Nick?” - -“She might refuse, after all,” he suggested, evading a direct answer. - -“Refuse! You know her better than that. If you wanted Claire to make a -burnt-offering of herself for your benefit to-morrow, you know she’d do -it! And--and”--laughing a little hysterically--“pretend, too, that she -enjoyed the process of being grilled! No, Nick, it’s up to you to--to -just go on helping to make her life bearable, as you have done for the -last two years.” - -“It’s asking too much of me, Jean.” - -Nick spoke a little thickly. He was up against one of man’s most -primitive instincts--the instinct to protect and comfort and cherish the -woman he loved. - -“I know. It’s asking everything of you.” - -Jean waited. She felt that she had gained a certain amount of -ground--that Nick’s resolution had weakened a little in response to her -pleading, but she feared to drive him too far. She fancied she could -hear steps crossing the hall below. If someone should come upstairs and -disturb them now, while things were still trembling in the balance---- - -“See, Nick,” she began to speak again hurriedly. “You believe I’m your -pal--yours and Claire’s?” - -“I know it,” he replied quietly. - -“And--and you do care a bit about me?”--smiling a little. - -“You’re the third woman in my world, Jean. After Claire and my mother.” - -“Then, to please me--for nothing else in the world, if you like, but -because I ask it--will you let things stay as they are for a few weeks -longer? Just that little while, Nick? We’re going to London next week. -That’ll make a break--bring us all back to a calmer, more everyday -outlook on things. Will you wait? Sir Adrian may never strike Claire -again. And it wouldn’t be fair--just now, at a time when she is feeling -horribly bitter and humiliated from that--that insult--to ask her to go -away with you. Give her a fair chance to decide a big question like -that when things are at their normal level--not when they are worse than -usual. To ask her now would be to take advantage of the feeling she must -have, just at this moment, that her life is unbearable. It wouldn’t be -playing the game.” - -He made no answer, and Jean waited with increasing trepidation. She was -sure now that she could hear footsteps. Someone had mounted the stairs -and was coming along the corridor towards her room. - -“Nick!” The low, agitated whisper burst from her as the steps halted -outside the door. “Promise me!” - -It seemed an eternity before he answered. - -“Very well. I promise. You’ve won for the moment--‘Saint Jean’!” - -He smiled at her, rather sadly. Before she could reply, Blaise’s voice -sounded outside the door, asking if he might come in, and with a feeling -of intense relief that the battle was won for the moment, Jean gave the -required permission. As his brother entered the room, Nick quitted it, -brushing past him abruptly. - -Tormarin’s eyes questioned Jean’s; - -“We have been discussing Sir Adrian,” she explained, as the door closed -behind Nick. “And--and Claire.” - -He nodded comprehendingly. - -“Poor old Nick!” he said. “It’s damned rough on him. Latimer ought to be -carefully and quickly chloroformed out of the way. He’s as much a menace -to society as a mad dog.” - -Jean sighed. - -“I’m afraid they’re very unhappy--Nick and Claire.” - -“I wonder Claire doesn’t chuck her husband,” said Blaise. “And take -whatever of happiness she can get out of the world.” - -Jean shook her head. - -“You know you don’t mean that. You don’t really believe in snatching -happiness--at all costs.” - -“I’d let precious little stand in the way. If I were Nick I think I -should do it.” - -“But being you?” - -Jean did not know what unaccountable impulse induced her to give a -personal and individual twist to what had been developing almost into an -academic discussion. Perhaps it was the familiar, unsatisfied longing to -hear Blaise himself define the thing which kept them apart--even though, -since Lady Anne’s disclosure, she could guess only too well what it -was. Or perhaps it was the faint, tormenting hope that one day his -determination would weaken and his love sweep away all barriers. - -He looked at her contemplatively. - -“Sometimes the past makes claims upon a man which forbid him to snatch -at happiness. I don’t believe in any man’s shirking his just punishment -for the evil he has done. What he has brought on himself, that he must -bear. But Nick and Claire have had no part in bringing about their own -tragedy. They are just the sport of chance--of an ill fate. They are -morally free to take their happiness in a way in which I shall never be -free to take mine, as long as I live.” He regarded her steadily. “There -are certain things for which I have proved myself unfitted--with -which it is evident I am not to be trusted. And one of those is the -safeguarding of any woman’s happiness.” - -Jean felt her throat contract. It would always be the same, then! The -long tentacles of the past would reach out eternally into the future. -The woman who had been his wife--the woman who had destroyed herself, -and, in so doing, hanged a millstone of remorse about his neck--would -stand forever at the gateway of the garden of happiness, her dead lips -silently denying him--and, with him, the woman who loved him--the right -to enter. - -With an effort Jean answered that part of his speech which had reference -only to Claire and Nick. - -“There are other ways, though, in which they have no moral right. I -grant that Claire was persuaded, almost driven into marrying Sir Adrian -by her parents, but, after all, we each have our individual free will. -She _could_ have refused to obey them. Or, if she felt there were -reasons why she must marry him--the material advantage to her parents, -and so on, why, she ought to have reckoned the cost I don’t mean to be -hard, Blaise---------” She broke off wistfully. - -“You--hard!” He laughed a little, as though amused. - -“Only--only one must try to be fair all round--to look at things -_straight_.” - -She leaned her chin on her palm and her eyes grew thoughtful. - -“I don’t know, but it seems to me that we weren’t meant to run away from -things--hard things. If a man and a woman marry, they must accept their -responsibilities--not evade them.” - -So absorbed was she in her trend of thought that she never realised how -directly this speech must strike at Blaise himself. His face changed -slightly. - -“You’re right, of course,” he said abruptly. “You--generally are. And if -all women were like you, it would be easy enough.” - -His eyes dwelt with a curious intentness on the pure outline of her -face; on the parted, tenderly curved lips, and the golden eyes with -their momentary touch of the idealist and the dreamer. - -It seemed as if the quiet intensity of his regard drew her, for slowly -she turned her head and met his gaze, flushing suddenly and faltering -under it. The consciousness of him, of his nearness, swept her from head -to foot, and it seemed to her as though now, in this moment, they were -in closer touch, nearer understanding, than they had ever been. - -The dreamer and idealist vanished and it was all at once just sheer -woman, passionate and wistful and tremulous, and infinitely alluring, -that looked at him out of the golden eyes. - -With a stifled exclamation he caught her hands in his. - -“Beloved----” - -And the whole of a man’s forbidden, thwarted love vibrated in the word -as he spoke it. - -Then he bent his head, and for a moment his lips were against her soft -palms.... - -She stood very still and quiet when he had gone, realising in every -quivering nerve of her that whatsoever the future might bring--even -though Blaise might choose to shut himself away from her again as in the -past and the dividing wall between them rise as high as heaven--she knew -now, without any shadow of doubt or questioning, that he loved her. - -In the burning utterance of a single word, in the pressure of -passionate, renouncing lips, the assurance had been given, and nothing -could ever take it away again. - -She spread out her hands, palms upward, and looked at them curiously. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING - - -“HAVE you been _very_ bored, Nick?” - -The week in London had nearly run its course, and Lady Anne’s eyes -begged charmingly for a negative. Nick accorded it with a smile. - -“I’m never bored with you, madonna; you know that,” he said. “And hotel -life is always more or less amusing. One comes across such queer types. -There’s one here this evening has been intriguing me enormously. At a -little table by herself--do you see her? A tall, rather gorgeous-looking -being--kind of cross between the Queen of Sheba and Lucretia Borgia.” - -Lady Anne threw a veiled glance in the direction indicated. - -“Yes, she’s a very handsome woman, obviously not English.” Her eyes -travelled onwards towards the door. “I wish Blaise and Jean would hurry -up,” she added impatiently. “They’re taking an unconscionable time to -dress.” - -The two latter had come in late from a sight-seeing expedition -undertaken on Jean’s behalf, and had only returned to the hotel just as -Lady Anne and Nick were preparing to make their way in to dinner. - -“For such a deliberate matchmaker, you’re a lot too impatient, madonna,” - commented Nick teasingly. “That they should have stayed out together -until the very last moment ought to have pleased you immensely.” - -Lady Anne made a small grimace. - -“So it does--theoretically. Only from a practical and purely material -point of view, everything else sinks into insignificance beside the fact -that I am literally starving. Oh!”--joyfully catching sight of Jean and -Tormarin making their way up the room--“Here they are at last! Collect -our waiter, Nick, and let’s begin.” - -Neither of the late-comers appeared in the least embarrassed by the -tardiness of their arrival, said they responded to tentative enquiries -concerning their afternoon’s amusement with a disappointing lack of -self-consciousness. - -Lady Anne experienced an inward qualm of misgiving. There seemed -too calm and tranquil a camaraderie between the two to please her -altogether. It was as though the last few days had brought about a -silent understanding between them--a wordless compact. - -She picked up the menu and assumed an absorption in its contents which -she was far from feeling. - -“What are we all going to eat?” she asked. “I think we must hurry -a little, or we shall be late for the play. Then I shall lose the -exquisite thrill of seeing the curtain go up.” Tormarin looked -entertained. - -“Does it still thrill you, you absurdly youthful person?” - -“Of course it does. I always consider that the quality of the thrill -produced by the rise of the curtain is the measure of one’s capacity for -enjoyment. When it no longer thrills me, I shall know that I am getting -old and bored, and that I only go to the theatre to kill time and -because everyone else goes.” - -Dinner proceeded leisurely in spite of Lady Anne’s admonition that they -should hurry, and presently Nick, who had glanced across the room once -or twice as though secretly amused, remarked confidentially: - -“My Lucretia Borgia lady is taking a quite uncommon interest in someone -of our party. I’m afraid I can’t flatter myself that she’s lost her -heart to me, as I’ve only observed this development since Jean -and Blaise joined us. Blaise, I believe it’s you who have won her -devoted--if, probably, somewhat violent--affections.” - -“Your Lucretia Borgia lady? Which is she?” enquired Jean. - -“You can’t see her, because you are sitting with your back to her,” - replied Nick importantly. “And it isn’t manners to screw your head round -in a public restaurant--even although the modern reincarnation of an -unpleasantly vengeful lady may be sitting just behind you. But if -you’ll look into that glass opposite you--a little to the right side of -it--you’ll see who I mean. She’s quite unmistakable.” - -Jean tilted her head a little and peered slantwise into the mirror which -faced her. It was precisely at the same moment that Nick’s “Lucretia -Borgia lady” looked up for the second time from her _pêche_ Melba, and -Jean found herself gazing straight into the dense darkness of the eyes -of Madame de Varigny. - -“Why--why--------” she stammered in astonishment. “It is the Comtesse de -Varigny!” She turned to Lady Anne, adding explanatorily: “You remember, -madonna, I told you about her? She chaperoned me at Montavan, after Glyn -had departed.” - -The recognition had been mutual. Madame de Varigny had half-risen -from her seat and was poised in an attitude of expectancy, smiling and -gesturing with expressive hands an invitation to Jean to join her. - -“I’ll go across and speak to her,” said Jean. “I can’t imagine what she -is doing in London.” - -“I suppose you, too, met this rather splendid-looking personage at -Montavan?” enquired Nick of his brother, as Jean quitted the table. - -Tormarin shook his head. - -“I never spoke to her. I saw her once, on the night of a fancy-dress -ball at the hotel, arrayed as Cleopatra.” - -“She’d look the part all right,” commented Nick. “She gives me -the impression of being one of those angel-and-devil-mixed kind of -women--the latter flavour preponderating. I should rather feel the -desirability of emulating Agag in any dealings I had with her. Good -Lord!”--with a lively accession of interest--“Jean’s bringing her over -here. By Jove! She really is a beautiful person, isn’t she. Like a sort -of Eastern empress.” - -“Madame de Varigny wishes to be presented to you, Lady Anne,” said Jean, -and proceeded to effect introductions all round. - -“I remember seeing you with Mees Peterson at Montavan,” remarked the -Countess, as she shook hands with Blaise, her dark eyes resting on him -curiously. - -“Join us and finish your dinner at our table,” suggested Lady Anne -hospitably. - -But Madame de Varigny protested volubly that she had already finished -her meal, though she would sit and talk with them a little if it was -agreeable? It was--quite agreeable. She herself saw to that. No one -could be more charming than she when she chose, and on this occasion she -elected to make herself about as altogether charming as it is possible -for a woman to be, entirely conquering the hearts of Lady Anne and Nick. -Her simple, childlike warm-heartedness of manner was in such almost -ludicrous contrast to her majestic, dark-browed type of beauty that it -took them completely by storm. - -“This is only just a flying visit that I pay to England,” she explained -artlessly. “It is a great good fortune that I should have chanced to -encounter _ma chère Mees Peterson_.” - -“It’s certainly an odd chance brought you to the same hotel,” agreed -Nick. - -“Is it not?”--delightedly. - -And, from the frank wonder and satisfaction she evinced at the -coincidence, no one could possibly have surmised that the sole cause -and origin of her “flying visit” was a short paragraph contained in -the _Morning Post_, a copy of which, by her express order, had been -delivered daily at Chateau Varigny ever since her return thither -from the Swiss Alps. The paragraph referred simply to the arrival at -Claridge’s of Lady Anne Brennan, accompanied by her two sons and Miss -Jean Peterson. - -“And are you making a long stay in London?” enquired Madame de Varigny. - -Lady Anne shook her head. - -“No. We go back to Staple to-morrow.” - -The other’s face fell. - -“But how unfortunate! I shall then see nothing of my dear Mees -Peterson.” - -She seemed so distressed that Lady Anne’s kind heart melted within her, -albeit it accorded ill with her plans to increase the number of her -party. - -“We are going on to the theatre,” she said impulsively. “If you have no -other engagement, why not come with us? There will be plenty of room in -our box.” - -Madame de Varigny professed herself enchanted. Curiously enough, she -seemed to have no particular wish to draw Jean into anything in the -nature of a private talk, but appeared quite content just to take part -in the general conversation, while her eyes rested speculatively now -upon Jean, now upon Tormarin, as though they afforded her an abstract -interest of some kind. - -Even at the theatre, where from her corner seat she was able to envisage -the other occupants of the box, she seemed almost as much interested -in them as in the play that was being performed on the stage. Once, as -Tormarin leaned forward and made some comment to Jean, their two pairs -of eyes meeting in a look of mutual understanding of some small joke or -other, the quiet watcher smiled contentedly, as though the little byplay -satisfied some inner questioning. - -With the fall of the curtain at the end of the first act, she turned to -Lady Anne, politely enthusiastic. - -“But it is a charming play,” she said. “It is no wonder the house is so -full.” - -Her glance strayed carelessly over the body of the auditorium, then was -suddenly caught and held. A minute later she touched Jean’s arm. - -“I think there is someone in the stalls trying to attract your -attention,” she observed quietly. - -Even as she spoke, Nick, too, became aware of the same fact. - -“Hullo!” he exclaimed. “There’s Geoffrey Burke down below. I didn’t know -he was in town.” - -Madame de Varigny found the effect upon her companions of this -apparently innocent announcement distinctly interesting. It was as -though a thrill of disconcerting consciousness ran through the other -occupants of the box. Jean flushed suddenly and uncomfortably, and -the dark, keen eyes that were watching from behind the fringe of dusky -lashes noted an almost imperceptible change of expression flit across -the faces of both Lady Anne and Tormarin. In neither case was the change -altogether indicative of pleasure. Then, following quickly upon a bow of -mutual recognition, the music of the orchestra suddenly ceased and the -curtain went up for the second act. - -***** - -Once more the curtain had fallen, and, to the hum of conversation -suddenly released, the lights flashed up into being again over the -auditorium. Simultaneously the door of Lady Anne’s box was opened from -the corridor outside. - -“May I come in?” said a voice--a pleasant voice with a gay inflection of -laughter running through it as though its owner were quite sure of his -welcome--and Burke, big and striking-looking in his immaculate evening -kit, his ruddy hair flaming wickedly under the electric lights, strolled -into the box. - -He shook hands all round, his glance slightly quizzical as it met -Jean’s, and then Lady Anne presented him to the Comtesse de Varigny. - -It almost seemed as though something, some mutual recognition of a -kindred spirit, flashed from the warm southern-dark eyes to the fiery -red-brown ones, and when, a minute or two later, Burke established -himself in the seat next Jean, vacated by Nick, he murmured in a low -tone: - -“Where did you find that Eastern-looking charmer? I feel convinced I -could lose my heart to her without any effort.” - -Jean could hardly refrain from smiling. This was her first meeting with -Burke since the occasion of the scene which had occurred between them in -the little parlour at the “honeymooners’ inn,” and now he met her with -as much composure and arrogant assurance as though nothing in the world, -other than of a mutually pleasing and amicable nature, had taken place. -It was so exactly like Burke, she reflected helplessly. - -“Then you had better go and make love to her,” she suggested. “There -happens to be a husband in the background--a little hypochondriac with -quite charming manners--but I don’t suppose you would consider that any -obstacle.” - -“None,” retorted Burke placidly. “I’m quite certain she can’t be in love -with him. Her taste would be more--robust, I should say. Where is she -stopping?” - -“At Claridge’s. We met her there this evening. I knew her in -Switzerland.” - -“Well, you shall all come out to supper with me to-morrow:---the -Countess included.” - -Jean shook her head demurely. - -“We shall all be back at Staple to-morrow--the Countess excepted. You -can take her.” - -“Then the supper must be to-night,” replied Burke serenely. - -“What are you doing in town, anyway?” asked Jean. “Is Judith with you?” - -“No. Came up to see my tailor”--laconically. - -He crossed the box to arrange matters with Lady Anne, and before the -curtain rose on the last act it was settled that they should all have -supper together after the play. - -Later, when Burke had once more resumed his seat next to Jean, Madame de -Varigny, whose hearing, like her other senses, was preternaturally -acute, caught a whispered plaint breathed into Nick’s ear by Lady Anne. - -“Now _isn’t_ that provoking, Nick, darling? Why on earth need Geoffrey -Burke have turned up in town on our last evening? I was hoping, later -on--if you and I were very discreet and effaced ourselves--that Blaise -and Jean might settle things.” - -Madame de Varigny’s eyes remained fixed upon the stage. There was no -change in their expression to indicate that Lady Anne’s plaintive murmur -had at that moment supplied her with the key of the whole situation as -it lay between Jean and the two men who were sitting one each side of -her. - -But the following evening, when, the Staple party having left town, she -and Burke were dining alone together at a little restaurant in Soho, the -knowledge she had gleaned bore fruit. - -Burke never quite knew what impulse it was that had prompted him, as -he made his farewells after the supper-party, to murmur in Madame de -Varigny’s ear, “Dine with me to-morrow night.” It was as though the -dark, mysterious eyes had spoken to him, compelling him to some sort -of friendly overture which the shortness of his acquaintance with their -owner would not normally have inspired. - -It was not until the coffee and cigarette stage of the little dinner had -been reached that Madame de Varigny suddenly shot her dart. - -“So you come all the way up from this place, Coombe--Coombe Eavie?--to -see Mees Peterson, and hey, presto! She vanish the next morning!” - -Burke stared at her almost rudely. The woman’s perspicacity annoyed him. - -“I came up to see my tailor,” he replied curtly. - -“_Mais parfaitement!_” she laughed--low, melodious laughter, tinged with -a frank friendliness of amusement which somehow smoothed away Burke’s -annoyance at her shrewd summing up of the situation. “To see your -tailor. _Naturellement!_ But you were not sorry to encounter Mees -Peterson also, _hein?_ You enjoyed that?” - -Burke’s eyes gleamed at her. - -“Do you think a dog enjoys looking at the bone that’s out of reach?” he -said bluntly. - -“And is Mees Peterson, then, out of your reach? Me, I do not think so.” - -Burke was moved to sudden candour. - -“She might not be, if it were not that there is another man----” - -“_Ce Monsieur Tor-ma-rin?_” - -“Yes, confound him!” - -“We-ell”--with a long-drawn inflection compact of gentle irony. -“You should be able to win against this Monsieur Tor-ma-rin. I -think”--regarding him intently--“I think you _will_ win.” - -Burke shook his head gloomily. - -“He had first innings. He met her abroad somewhere--rescued her in the -snow or something. That rescuing stunt always pays with a woman. All _I_ -did”--with a short, harsh laugh--“was nearly to break her neck for her -out driving one day recently!” - -“Is she engaged to Monsieur Tormarin?” asked Madame do Varigny quickly. - -“No. Luckily, there’s some old affair in the past holds him back.” - -She nodded. - -“You shall marry her,” she declared with conviction. “See, Monsieur -Bewrke--_aïe, aïe, quel nom!_ I am _clairvoyante, prophétesse_, and I -tell you that you weel marry zis leetle brown Jean.” - -Her foreign accent strengthened with her increasing emphasis. - -Burke looked dubious. - -“I’m afraid your clairvoyance will fail this journey madame. She’ll -probably marry Tormarin--unless”--his eyes glinting--“I carry her off by -force.” - -Madame de Varigny shook her head emphatically. - -“But _no!_ I do not see it like that. _Eh bien!_ If she become -_fiancée_--engaged to him--you shall come to me, and I will tell you how -to make sure that she shall not marry him.” - -“Tell me now!” - -“_Non, non!_ Win her your own way. Only, if you do not succeed, if -Monsieur Tormarin wins her--why, then, come to visit me at Château -Varigny.” - -That night a letter written in the Comtesse de Varigny’s flowing foreign -handwriting sped on its way to France. - -“Matters work towards completion,” it ran. “My visit here has chanced -_bien à propos_. There is another would-be-lover besides Blaise -Tormarin. I have urged him on to win her if he can, for if I have not -wrongly estimated Monsieur Tormarin--and I do not think I have--he is -of the type to become more deeply in love and less able to master his -feelings if he realises that he has a rival. At present he refrains from -declaring himself. The opposition of a rival will probably drive him -into a declaration very speedily. When the dog sees the bone about to be -taken from him--he snaps! So I encourage this red-headed lion of a man, -Monsieur Burke, to pursue his _affaire du cour_ with vigour. For if -Blaise Tormarin becomes actually betrothed to Mademoiselle Peterson, it -will make his punishment the more complete. I pray the God of Justice -that it may not now be long delayed!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV--ARRANGED BY TELEPHONE - - -THE visit to London, if it had not been prolific in the results which -Lady Anne had hoped for, had at least accomplished certain things. - -It had acted as a brake upon the swiftly turning wheels of two lives -precariously poised at the top of that steep hill of which no traveller -can see the end, but which very surely leads to heartbreak and disaster, -and had sufficed, as Jean had suggested that it might, to restore Nick -to a more normal and temperate state of mind. - -He and Claire had passed a long hour alone together the day after his -return to Staple, and now that the first violent reaction, the first -instinctive impulse of unbearable revolt from Sir Adrian’s spying and -brutality had spent itself they had agreed to shoulder once more the -burden fate had laid upon them, to fight on again, just holding fast -to the simple knowledge of their love for one another and leaving -the ultimate issue to that great, unfathomable Player who “hither and -thither moves, and mates, and slays,” not with the shadowed vision of -our finite eyes but with the insight of eternity. - -Jean had seen them coming hand in hand through the cool green glades of -the wood where the great decision had been taken, and something in the -two young, stern-set faces brought a sudden lump into her throat. She -turned swiftly aside, avoiding a meeting, feeling as though here was -holy ground upon which not even so close a friend as she could tread -without violation. - -To Jean herself the week in London had brought a certain, new -tranquillity of spirit. Quite ordinarily and without effort--thanks to -Lady Anne’s skilful stage-management--she and Blaise had been constantly -in each other’s company, and, with the word “Beloved” murmuring in her -heart like some tender undertone of melody, the hours they had shared -together were no longer a mingled ecstacy and pain, marred by torturing -doubts and fears, but held once more the old magic of that wonder-day at -Montavan. - -Somehow, the dividing line did not seem to matter very much, now that -she was sure that Blaise, on his side of it, was loving her just as -she, on hers, loved him. Indeed, at this stage Jean made no very great -demands on life. After the agony of uncertainty of the last few months, -the calm surety that Blaise loved her seemed happiness enough. - -Other sharp edges of existence, too, had smoothed themselves down--as -sharp edges have a knack of doing if you wait long enough. Burke seemed -to have accepted her last answer as final, and now spared her the effort -of contending further with his tempestuous love-making, so that she felt -able to continue her friendship with Judith, and her consequent visits -to Willow Ferry, with as little _gêne_ as though the episode at the -“honeymooners’ inn” had never taken place. She even began to believe -that Burke was genuinely slightly remorseful for his behaviour on that -particular occasion. - -Apparently he had not made a confidant of his sister over the matter, -for it was without the least indication of a back thought of any kind -that she approached Jean on the subject of spending a few days with -herself and Geoffrey at their bungalow on the Moor. - -“Geoff and I are going for a week’s blow on Dartmoor, just by way of a -‘pick-me-up.’ Come with us, Jean; it will do you good after stuffy old -London--blow the cobwebs away!” - -But here, at least, Jean felt that discretion was the better part of -valour. It was true that Burke appeared fairly amenable to reason -just at present, but in the informal companionship of daily life in a -moorland bungalow it was more than probable that he would become less -manageable. And she had no desire for a repetition of that scene in the -inn parlour. - -Therefore, although the Moor, with its great stretches of gold and -purple, its fragrant, heatherly breath and its enfolding silences, -appealed to her in a way in which nothing else on earth seemed quite to -appeal, pulling at her heartstrings almost as the nostalgia for home -and country pulls at the heartstrings of a wanderer, she returned a -regretful negative to Judith’s invitation. So Burke and Mrs. Craig -packed up and departed to Three Fir Bungalow without her, and life at -Staple resumed the even tenor of its way. - -The weather was glorious, the long, hot summer days melting into balmy -nights when the hills and dales amid which the old house was set were -bathed in moonlight mystery--transmuted into a wonderland of phantasy, -cavernous with shadow where undreamed-of dragons lurked, lambent -with opalescent fields of splendour whence uprose the glimmer of -half-visioned palaces or the battlemented walls of some ethereal fairy -castle. - -More than once Jean’s thoughts turned wistfully towards the Moor which -she had so longed to see by moonlight--Judith’s “holy of holies that God -must have made for His spirits”--and she felt disposed to blame herself -for the robust attack of caution which had impelled her to refuse the -invitation to the bungalow. - -“One loses half the best things in life by being afraid,” she told -herself petulantly. “And a second chance to take them doesn’t come!” - -She felt almost tempted to write to Judith and propose that she should -join her at the bungalow for a few days after all if she still had -room for her. And then, as is often the way of things just when we are -contemplating taking the management of affairs into our own hands, the -second chance offered itself without any directing impulse on Jean’s -part. - -The telephone bell rang, and Jean, who was expecting an answer to an -important message she had ’phoned through on Lady Anne’s behalf, -hastened to answer it. Very much to her surprise she found that it was -Burke who was speaking at the other end of the wire. - -“Is that you, Geoffrey?” she exclaimed in astonishment. “I didn’t -know your bungalow was on the telephone. I thought you were miles from -anywhere!” - -“It isn’t. And we are,” came back Burke’s voice. From a certain quality -in it she knew that he was smiling. “I’m in Okehampton, ’phoning from -a pal’s house. I’ve a message for you from Judy.” - -“Ye-es?” intoned Jean enquiringly. - -“She wants you to come up to-morrow, just for one night. It’ll be a full -moon and she says you have a hankering to see the Moor by moonlight. -Have you?” - -“Yes, oh yes!”--with enthusiasm. - -“Thought so. It certainly does look topping. Quite worth seeing. Well, -look here, Judy’s got a party of friends, down from town, who are coming -over to us from the South Devon side--going to drive up and stay the -night, and the idea is to do a moonlight scramble up on to the top of -one of the tors after supper. Are you game?” - -“Oh! How heavenly!” This, ecstatically, from Jean. - -“How what?” - -“Heavenly! _Heavenly!_”--with increasing emphasis. - -“Can’t you hear?” - -“Oh, ‘heavenly’--yes, I hear. Yes, it would be rather--if you came.” - -Even through the’phone Burke’s voice conveyed something of that -upsettingly fiery ardour of his. - -“I won’t come--unless you promise to behave,” said Jean warningly. - -Bubbling over with pleasure at the prospect unfolded by the invitation, -she found it a little difficult to infuse a befitting sternness into her -tones. - -“Do I need to take fresh vows?” came back Burke’s answer, spoken -rather gravely. “I made you a promise that day--when we drove back from -Dartmoor. I’ll keep that.” - -“_I’ll never hiss you again till you give me your lips yourself._” - -The words of the promise rushed vividly into Jean’s mind, and now that -steady voice through the ’phone, uttering its quiet endorsement of the -assurance given, made her feel suddenly ashamed of her suspicions. - -“Very well, I’ll come then,” she said hastily. “How shall I get to you?” - -“It’s all planned, because we thought--at least we hoped--you’d come. -If you’ll come down to Okehampton by the three o’clock train from -Coombe Eavie, I’ll meet you there with the car and drive you up to the -bungalow. Judy is going to drive into Newton Abbot early, to do some -marketing, and afterwards she’ll lunch with her London people--the -Holfords. Then they’ll all come up together in the afternoon.” - -“I see. Very well. I’ll come to Okehampton by the three train to-morrow -afternoon”--repeating his instructions carefully. - -“Right. That’s all fixed, then.” - -“Quite. _Mind_ you also fix a fine day--or night, rather! Good-bye.” - -A murmured farewell came back along the wire, and then Jean, replacing -the receiver in its clip, ran off to apprise Lady Anne of the -arrangements made. - -Lady Anne looked up from some village charity accounts which were -puckering her smooth brow to smile approval. - -“How nice, dear! Quite a charming plan--you’ll enjoy it. Especially as -there will be nothing to amuse you here to-morrow. I have two village -committees to attend--I’m in the chair, so I must go. And Blaise, I -know, is booked for a busy day with the estate agent, while Nick is -going down to South Devon somewhere for a day’s fishing. I think he goes -down to-night. Really, it’s quite unusually lucky that Judith should -have fixed on to-morrow for her moonlight party.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI--MOONLIGHT ON THE MOOR - -THE moorland air, warm with its subtle fragrance of gorse--like the -scent of peaches when the sun is shining on them--tonic with the faint -tang of salt borne by clean winds that had swept across the Atlantic, -came to Jean’s nostrils crisp and sparkling as a draught of golden wine. - -Before her, mile after mile, lay the white road--a sword of civilisation -cleaving its way remorselessly across the green wilderness of mossy -turf, and on either side rose the swelling hills and jagged peaks of the -great tors, melting in the far distance into a vague, formless blur of -purple that might be either cloud or tor as it merged at last into the -dim haze of the horizon. - -“Oh, blessed, blessed Moor!” exclaimed Jean. “How I love it! You know, -half the people in the world haven’t the least idea what Dartmoor is -like. I was enthusing to a woman about it only the other day and she -actually said, ‘Oh, yes--Dartmoor. It’s quite flat, I suppose, isn’t -it?’ _Flat!_” with sweeping disgust. - -Burke, his hand on the wheel of the big car which was eating up the -miles with the facility of a boa-constrictor swallowing rabbits, smiled -at the indignant little sniff with which the speech concluded. - -“You don’t like dead levels, then?” he suggested. - -She shook her head. - -“No, I like hills--something to look up to--to climb.” - -“Spiritual as well as temporal?” - -She was silent a moment. - -“Why, yes, I think I do.” - -He smiled sardonically. - -“It’s just that terrible angelic tendency of yours I complain of. It’s -too much for any mere material man to live up to. I wish you’d step down -to my low level occasionally. You don’t seem to be afflicted with human -passions like the rest of us”--he added, a note of irritation in his -voice. - -“Indeed I am!” - -Jean spoke impulsively, out of the depths of that inner, almost -unconscious self-knowledge which lies within each one of us, dormant -until some lance-like question pricks it into spontaneous affirmation. -She had hardly heeded whither the conversation was tending, and she -regretted her frank confession the instant it had left her lips. - -Burke turned and looked at her with a curious speculation in his glance. - -“I wonder if that’s true?” he said consideringly. “If so, they’re still -asleep. I’d give something to be the one to rouse them.” - -There was the familiar, half-turbulent quality in his voice--the sound -as of something held in leash. Jean sensed the danger in the atmosphere. - -“You’ll house one of them--the quite ordinary, commonplace one of bad -temper, if you talk like that,” she replied prosaically. “You’ve got to -play fair, Geoffrey--keep the spirit of the law as well as the letter.” - -“All’s fair in love and war--as I told you before,” he retorted. - -“Geoffrey”--indignantly. - -“Jean!”--mimicking her. “Well, we won’t quarrel about it now. Here we -are at our journey’s end. Behold the carriage drive!” - -The car swung round a sharp bend and then bumped its way up a -roughly-made track which served to link a species of cobbled yard, -constructed at one side of the bungalow, to the road along which they -had come. - -The track cleaved its way, rather on the principle of a railway cutting, -clean through the abrupt acclivity which flanked the road that side, and -rising steeply between crumbling, overhanging banks, fringed with coarse -grass and tufted with straggling patches of gorse and heather, debouched -on to a broad plateau. Here the road below was completely hidden from -view; on all sides there stretched only a limitless vista of wild -moorland, devoid of any sign of habitation save for the bare, -creeperless walls of the bungalow itself. - -As the scene unfolded, Jean became suddenly conscious of a strange sense -of familiarity. An inexplicable impress sion of having seen the place on -some previous occasion, of familiarity with every detail of it--even to -a recognition of its peculiar atmosphere of loneliness--took possession -of her. For a moment she could not place the memory. Only she knew that -it was associated in her mind with something disagreeable. Even now, -as, at Burke’s dictation, she waited in the car while he entered the -bungalow from the back, passing through in order to admit his guest by -way of the front door, which had been secured upon the inside, she was -aware of a feeling of intense repugnance. - -And then, in a flash, recollection returned to her. This was the house -of her dream--of the nightmare vision which had obsessed her during the -hours of darkness following her first meeting with Geoffrey Burke. - -There stood the solitary dwelling, set amid a wild and desolate country, -and to one side of it grew three wretched-looking, scrubby little fir -trees, all of them bent in the same direction by the keen winds as -they came sweeping across the Moor from the wide Atlantic. Three Fir -Bungalow! Why, the very name itself might have prewarned her! - -Her eyes fixed themselves on the green-painted door. She knew quite well -what must happen next. The door would open and reveal Burke standing on -the threshold. She watched it with fascinated eyes. - -Presently came the sound of steps, then the grating noise of a key -turning stiffly in the lock. The door was flung open and Burke strode -across the threshold and came to the side of the car to help her out. -Jean waited, half terrified, for his first words. Would they be the -words of her dream? She felt that if he chanced to say jokingly, “Will -you come into my parlour?” she should scream. - -“Go straight in, will you?” said Burke. “I’ll just run the car round -to the garage and then we might as well get tea ready before the others -come. I’m starving, aren’t you?” - -The spell was broken. The everyday, commonplace words brought with them -a rush of overpowering relief, sweeping away the dreamlike sense -of unreality and terror, and as Jean nodded and responded gaily, -“Absolutely famished!” she could have laughed aloud at the ridiculous -fears which had assailed her. - -The inside of the bungalow was in charming contrast to its somewhat -forbidding exterior. Its living-rooms, furnished very simply but with -a shrewd eye to comfort, communicated one with the other by means of -double doors which, usually left open, obviated the cramped feeling that -the comparatively small size of the rooms might otherwise have produced, -while the two lattice windows which each boasted were augmented by -French windows opening out on to a verandah which ran the whole length -of the building. - -Jean, having delightedly explored the front portion of the bungalow, -joined Burke in the kitchen, guided thither by the clinking of crockery -and the cheerful crackle of a hearth fire wakened into fresh life by the -scientific application of a pair of bellows. - -“I had no idea you were such a domesticated individual,” she remarked, -as she watched him carefully warming the brown earthenware teapot as -a preliminary to brewing the tea while she busied herself making hot -buttered toast. - -“Oh, Judy and I are quite independent up here, I assure you,” he -answered with pardonable pride. “We never bring any of the servants from -Willow Ferry, but cook for ourselves. A woman comes over every morning -to do the ‘chores’--clean the place, and wash up the dishes from the day -before, and so on. But beyond that we are self-sufficing.” - -“Where does your woman come from? I didn’t see a house for miles round.” - -“No, you can’t see the place, but there’s a little farmstead, tucked -away in a hollow about three miles from here, which provides us with -cream and butter and eggs---and with our char-lady.” - -Jean surveyed with satisfaction a rapidly mounting pile of delicately -browned toast, creaming with golden butter. - -“There, that’s ready,” she announced at last. “I do hope Judy and Co. -will arrive soon. Hot buttered toast spoils with keeping; it gets all -sodden and tastes like underdone shoe leather. Do you think they’ll be -long?” - -Burke threw a glance at the grandfather’s clock ticking solemnly away in -a corner of the kitchen. - -“It’s half-past four,” he said dubiously. “I don’t think we’ll risk that -luscious-looking toast of yours by waiting for them. I’m going to brew -the tea; the kettle’s boiling.” - -“Won’t Judith think it rather horrid of us not to wait?” - -“Oh, Lord, no! Judy and I never stand on any ceremony with each other. -Any old thing might happen to delay them a bit.” - -Jean, frankly hungry after her spin in the car through the invigorating -moorland air, yielded without further protest, and tea resolved itself -into a jolly little _tête-à-tète_ affair, partaken of in the shelter of -the verandah, with the glorious vista of the Moor spread out before her -delighted eyes. - -Burke was in one of those rare moods of his which never failed to -inspire her with a genuine liking for him--when the unruly, turbulent -devil within him, so hardly held in check, was temporarily replaced by -a certain spontaneous boyishness of a distinctly endearing quality--that -“little boy” quality which, in a grown man, always appeals so -irresistibly to any woman. - -The time slipped away quickly, and it was with a shock of astonishment -that Jean realised, on glancing down at the watch on her wrist, that -over an hour and a half had gone by while they had been sitting chatting -on the verandah. - -“Geoffrey! Do you know it’s nearly six o’clock! I’m certain something -must have happened. Judy and the Holfords would surely be here by now if -they hadn’t had an accident of some sort.” - -Burke looked at his own watch. - -“Yes,” he acquiesced slowly. “It is--getting late.” A look of concern -spread itself over Jean’s face. - -“I think we ought to get the car out again and go and see if anything -has happened,” she said decisively. “They may have had a spill. Were -they coming by motor?” - -“No. Judy drove down to Newton Abbot in the dog-cart, and the Holfords -proposed hiring some sort of conveyance from a livery stable.” - -“Well, I expect they’ve had a smash of some kind. I’m sure we ought to -go and find out! Was Judy driving that excitable chestnut of yours?” - -He shook his head. - -“No--a perfectly well-conducted pony, as meek as Moses. We’ll give them -a quarter of an hour more. If they don’t turn up by then, I’ll run the -car out and we’ll investigate.” - -The minutes crawled by on leaden feet. Jean felt restless and uneasy -and more than a trifle astonished that Burke should manifest so little -anxiety concerning his sister’s whereabouts. Then, just before the -quarter of an hour was up, there came the shrill tinkle of a bicycle -bell, and a boy cycled up to the gate and, springing off his machine, -advanced up the cobbled path with a telegram in his hand. - -Jean’s face blanched, and she waited in taut suspense while Burke ripped -open the ominous orange-coloured envelope. - -“What is it?” she asked nervously. “Have they--is it bad news?” - -There was a pause before Burke answered. Then, he handed the flimsy -sheet to her, remarking shortly: - -“They’re not coming.” - -Jean’s eyes flew along the brief message. - - “_Returning to-morrow. Am staying the night with Holfords. - Judy_.” - -Her face fell. - -“How horribly disappointing!” Her glance fluttered, regretfully to the -faint disc of the moon showing like a pallid ghost of itself in a sky -still luminous with the afternoon sunlight. - -“I shan’t see my moonlit Moor to-night after all!” she continued. “I -wonder what has happened to make them change their plans?” - -Burke volunteered no suggestion but stood staring moodily at the swiftly -receding figure of the telegraph boy. - -“Well,” Jean braced herself to meet the disappointment, “there’s nothing -for it but for you to run me back home, Geoffrey. We ought to start at -once.” - -“Very well. I’ll go and get the car out,” he answered. “I suppose it’s -the only thing to be done.” - -He moved off in the direction of the garage, Jean walking rather -disconsolately beside him. - -“I _am_ disappointed!” she declared. “I just hate the sight of a -telegraph boy! They always spoil things. I rather wonder you get your -telegrams delivered at this outlandish spot,” she added musingly. - -“Oh, of course we have to pay mileage. There’s no free delivery to the -‘back o’ beyond’!” - -As he spoke, Burke vanished into the semi-dusk of the garage, and -presently Jean heard sounds suggestive of ineffectual attempts to start -the engine, accompanied by a muttered curse or two. A few minutes later -Burke reappeared, looking Rather hot and dusty and with a black smear of -oil across his cheek. - -“You’d better go back to the bungalow,” he said gruffly. - -“There’s something gone wrong with the works, and it will take me a few -minutes to put matters right.” - -Jean nodded sympathetically and retreated towards the house, leaving him -to tinker with the car’s internals. It was growing chilly--the “cool of -the evening” manifests itself early up on Dartmoor--and she was not at -all sorry to find herself indoors. The wind had dropped, but a curious, -still sort of coldness seemed to be permeating the atmosphere, faintly -moist, and, as Jean stood at the window, gazing out half absently, she -suddenly noticed a delicate blur of mist veiling the low-lying ground -towards the right of the bungalow. Her eyes hurriedly swept the wide -expanse in front of her. The valleys between the distant tors were -hardly visible. They had become mere basins cupping wan lakes of -wraithlike vapour which, even as she watched them, crept higher, inch by -inch, as though responding to some impulse of a rising tide. - -Jean had lived long enough in Devonshire by this time to know the risks -of being caught in a mist on Dartmoor, and she sped out of the room, -intending to go to the garage and warn Burke that he must hurry. He met -her on the threshold of the bungalow, and she turned back with him into -the room she had just quitted. - -“Are you ready?” she asked eagerly. “There’s a regular moor mist coming -on. The sooner we start the better.” - -He looked at her oddly. He was rather pale and his eyes were curiously -bright. - -“The car won’t budge,” he said. “I’ve been tinkering at her all this -time to no purpose.” - -Jean stared at him, a vague apprehension of disagreeable possibilities -presenting itself to her mind. Their predicament would be an extremely -awkward one if the car remained recalcitrant! - -“Won’t budge?” she repeated. “But you must make it budge, Geoffrey. We -can’t--we can’t _stay_ here! What’s gone wrong with it?” - -Burke launched out into a string of technicalities which left Jean with -a confused feeling that the mechanism of a motor must be an invention -of the devil designed expressly for the chastening of human nature, -but from which she succeeded in gathering the bare skeleton fact that -something had gone radically wrong with the car’s running powers. - -Her apprehensions quickened. - -“What are we to do?” she asked blankly. - -“Make the best of a bad job--and console each other,” he suggested -lightly. - -She frowned a little. It did not seem to her quite the moment for -jesting. - -“Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey,” she said sharply. “We’ve got to get -back _somehow_. What can you do?” - -“I can’t do anything more than I’ve done. Here we are and here we’ve got -to stay.” - -“You know that’s impossible,” she said, in a quick, low voice. - -He looked at her with a sudden devil-may-care glint in his eyes. - -“You never can tell beforehand whether things are impossible or not. -I know I used to think that heaven on earth was--impossible,” he said -slowly. “I’m not so sure now.” He drew a step nearer her. “Would -you mind so dreadfully if we had to stay here, little Miss -Prunes-and-Prisms?” - -Jean stared at him in amazement--in amazement which slowly turned to -incredulous horror as a sudden almost unbelievable idea flashed into -her mind, kindled into being by the leaping, half-exultant note in his -tones. - -“Geoffrey------” Her lips moved stiffly, even to herself, her voice -sounded strange and hoarse. “Geoffrey, I don’t believe there is anything -wrong with the car at all!... Or if there is, you’ve tampered with it on -purpose.... You’re not being straight with me----” - -She broke off, her startled gaze searching his face as though she would -wring the truth from him. Her eyes were very wide and dilated, but back -of the anger that blazed in them lurked fear--stark fear. - -For a moment Burke was silent. Then he spoke, with a quiet -deliberateness that held something ominous, inexorable, in its very -calm. - -“You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’ve not been straight with you. But -I’ll be frank with you now. The whole thing--asking you to come here -to-day, the moonlight expedition for to-night--everything--was all fixed -up, planned solely to get you here. The car won’t run for the simple -reason that I’ve put it out of action. I wasn’t quite sure whether or no -you could drive a car, you see!” - -“I can’t,” said Jean. Her voice was quite expressionless. - -“No? So much the better, then. But I wasn’t going to leave any weak link -in the chain by which I hold you.” - -“By which you hold me?” she repeated dully. She felt stunned, incapable -of protest, only able to repeat, parrotlike, the words he had just used. - -“Yes. Don’t you understand the position? It’s clear enough, I should -think!” He laughed a little recklessly. “Either you promise to marry me, -in which case I’ll take you home at once--the car’s not damaged beyond -repair--or you stay here, here at the bungalow with me, until tomorrow -morning.” - -With a sharp cry she retreated from him, her face ash-white. - -“No--no! Not that!” The poignancy of that caught-back cry wrenched -the words from his lips in hurrying, vehement disclaimer. “You’ll be -perfectly safe--as safe as though you were my sister. Don’t look like -that.... Jean! Jean! Could you imagine that I would hurt you--you when -I worship--my little white love?” The words rushed out in a torrent, -hoarse and shaken and passionately tender. “Before God, no! You’ll be -utterly safe, Jean, sweetest, beloved--I swear it!” His voice steadied -and deepened. “Sacred as the purest love in the whole world could hold -you.” He was silent a moment; then, as the tension in her face gradually -relaxed, he went on: “But the world won’t know that!” The note of -tenderness was gone now, swept away by the resurgence of a fierce -relentlessness--triumphant, implacable--that meant winning at all costs. -“The world won’t know that,” he repeated. “After tonight, for your own -sake--because a woman’s reputation cannot stand the breath of scandal, -you’ll be _compelled_ to marry me. You’ll have no choice.” - -Jean stood quite still, staring in front of her. Once her lips moved, -but no sound came from them. Slowly, laboriously almost, she was -realising exactly what had happened, her mind adjusting itself to the -recognition of the trap in which she had been caught. - -Her dream had come true, after all--horribly, inconceivably true. - -The heavy silence which had fallen seemed suddenly filled with the -dream-Burke’s voice--mocking and exultant: - -“... you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast for ever. It’s too -late to try and run away.... It’s too late.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII--INTO THE MIST - - -“THEN that telegram--that telegram from Judy--I suppose that was all -part of the plan?” - -Jean felt the futility of the question even while she asked it. The -answer was so inevitable. - -“Yes”--briefly. “I knew that Judy meant staying the night with her -friends before she went away. She sent the wire--because I asked her -to.” - -“_Judy did that?_” - -There was such an immeasurable anguish of reproach in the low, -quick-spoken whisper that Burke felt glad Judith was not there to hear -it. Had it been otherwise, she might have regretted the share she had -taken in the proceedings, small as it had been. She was not a man, -half-crazed by love, in whose passion-blurred vision nothing counted -save the winning of the one woman, nor had she known Burke’s plan in its -entirety. - -“Yes, Judy sent the wire,” he said.. “But give her so much credit, she -didn’t know that I intended--this. She only knew that I wanted another -chance of seeing you alone--of asking you to be my wife, and I told her -that you wouldn’t come up to the bungalow unless you believed that she -would be there too. I didn’t think you’d trust yourself alone with me -again--after that afternoon at the inn”--with blunt candour. - -“No. I shouldn’t have done.” - -“So you see I had to think of something--some way. And it was you -yourself who suggested this method.” - -“I?”--incredulously. - -“Yes. Don’t you remember what you told me that day I drove you hack from -Dartmoor ‘_A woman’s happiness depends upon her reputation_.’” - -She looked at him quickly, recalling the scattered details of that -afternoon--Burke’s gibes at what he believed to be her fear of gossiping -tongues and her own answer to his taunts: “No woman can afford to ignore -scandal.” And then, following upon that, his sudden, curious absorption -in his own thoughts. - -The remembrance of it all was like a torchlight flashed into a dark -place, illuminating what had been hidden and inscrutable. She spoke -swiftly. - -“And it was then--that afternoon--you thought of this?” - -He bent his head. - -“Yes,” he acknowledged. - -Jean was silent. It was all clear now--penetratingly so. - -“And the Holfords? Are there any such people?” she asked drearily. - -She scarcely knew what prompted her to put so purposeless and -unimportant a question. Actually, she felt no interest at all in -the answer. It could not make the least difference to her present -circumstances. - -Perhaps it was a little the feeling that this trumpery process of -question and answer served to postpone the inevitable moment when she -must face the situation in which she found herself--face it in its -simple crudeness, denuded of unessential whys and wherefores. - -“Oh, yes, the Holfords are quite real,” answered Burke. “And so is the -plan for an expedition to one of the tors by moonlight. Only it will -be carried out to-morrow night instead of to-night. To-night is for the -settlement between you and me.” - -The strained expression of utter, shocked incredulity was gradually -leaving Jean’s face. The unreal was becoming real, and she knew now what -she was up against; the hard, reckless quality of Burke’s voice left her -no illusions. - -“Geoffrey,” she said quietly, “you won’t really do this thing?” - -If she had hoped to move him by a simple, straightforward appeal to the -best that might be in him, she failed completely. For the moment, all -that was good in him, anything chivalrous which the helplessness of her -womanhood might have invoked, was in abeyance. He was mere primitive -man, who had succeeded in carrying off the woman he meant to mate and -was prepared to hold her at all costs. - -“I told you I would compel you,” he said doggedly. “That I would let -nothing in the world stand between you and me. And I meant every word I -said. You’ve no way out now--except marriage with me.” - -The imperious decision of his tone roused her fighting spirit. - -“Do you imagine,” she broke out scornfully, “that--after this--I would -ever marry you?... I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on -earth! I’d die sooner!” - -“I daresay you would,” he returned composedly. “You’ve too much grit -to be afraid of death. Only, you see, that doesn’t happen to be the -alternative. The alternative is a smirched reputation. Tarnished a -little--after to-night--even if you marry me; dragged utterly in the -mire if you refuse. I’m putting it before you with brutal frankness, I -know. But I want you to realise just what it means and to promise that -you’ll be my wife before it’s too late--while I can still get you back -to Staple during the hours of propriety”--smiling grimly. - -She looked at him with a slow, measured glance of bitter contempt. - -“Even a tarnished reputation might be preferable to marriage with -you--more endurable,” she added, with the sudden tormented impulse of a -trapped thing to hurt back. - -“You don’t really believe that”--impetuously--“I know _I know_ I could -make you happy! You’d be the one woman in the world to me. And I don’t -think”--more quietly--“that you could endure a slurred name, Jean.” - -She made no answer. Every word he spoke only made it more saliently -clear to her that she was caught--bound hand and foot in a web from -which there was no escape. Yet, little as Burke guessed it, the actual -question of “what people might say” did not trouble her to any great -extent. She was too much her father’s own daughter to permit a mere -matter of reputation to force her into a distasteful marriage. - -Not that she minimised the value of good repute. She was perfectly aware -that if she refused to marry Burke, and he carried out his threat of -detaining her at the bungalow until the following morning, she would -have a heavy penalty to pay--the utmost penalty which a suspicious world -exacts from a woman, even though she may be essentially innocent, in -whose past there lurks a questionable episode. - -But she had courage enough to face the consequences of that refusal, to -stand up to the clatter of poisonous tongues that must ensue; and trust -enough to bank on the loyalty of her real friends, knowing it would be -the same splendid loyalty that she herself would have given to any one -of them in like circumstances. For Jean was a woman who won more than -mere lip-service from those who called themselves her friends. - -Burke had never been more mistaken in his calculations than when he -counted upon forcing her hand by the mere fear of scandal. But none the -less he held her--and held her in the meshes of a far stronger and more -binding net, had he but realised it. - -Looking back upon the episode from which her present predicament had -actually sprung, Jean could almost have found it in her heart to smile -at the relative importance which, at the time, that same incident had -assumed in her eyes. - -It had seemed to her, then, that for Blaise ever to hear that she had -been locked in a room with Burke, had spent an uncounted, hour or so -with him at the “honeymooners’ inn” would be the uttermost calamity that -could befall her. - -He would never believe that it had been by no will of hers--so she had -thought at the time--and that fierce lover’s jealousy which had been -the origin of their quarrel, and of all the subsequent mutual -misunderstandings and aloofness, would be roused to fresh life, and his -distrust of her become something infinitely more difficult to combat. - -But compared with the present situation which confronted her, the -happenings of that past day faded into insignificance. She stood, now, -face to face with a choice such as surely few women had been forced to -make. - -Whichever way she decided, whichever of the two alternatives she -accepted, her happiness must pay the price. Nothing she could ever say -or do, afterwards, would set her right in the eyes of the man whose -belief in her meant everything. Whether she agreed to marry Burke, -returning home in the odour of sanctity within the next hour or two, or -whether she refused and returned the next morning--free, but with the -incontrovertible fact of a night spent at Burke’s bungalow, alone with -him, behind her, Blaise would never trust or believe in her love for him -again. - -And if she promised to marry Burke and so save her reputation, it must -automatically mean the end of everything between herself and the man -she loved--the dropping of an iron curtain compared with which the wall -built up out of their frequent misunderstandings in the past seemed -something as trifling and as easily demolished as a card house. - -On the other hand, if she risked her good name and kept her freedom, she -would be equally as cut off from him. Not that she feared Blaise would -take the blackest view of the affair--she was sure that he believed -in her enough not to misjudge her as the world might do--but he would -inevitably think that she had deliberately chosen to spend an afternoon -on the Moor alone with Burke--“playing with fire” exactly as he had -warned her not to, and getting her fingers burnt in consequence--and -he would accept it as a sheer denial of the silent pledge of love -understood which bound them together. - -He would never trust her again--nor forgive her. No man could. Love’s -loyalty, rocked by the swift currents of jealousy and passion, is not -of the same quality as the steady loyalty of friendship--that calm, -unshakable confidence which may exist between man and man or woman and -woman. - -Moreover--and here alone was where the fear of gossip troubled her--even -if the inconceivable happened and Blaise forgave and trusted her again, -she could not go to him with a slurred name, give him herself--when the -gift was outwardly tarnished. The Tormarin pride was unyielding as a -rock--and Tormarin women had always been above suspicion. She could not -break the tradition of an old name--do that disservice to the man she -loved! No, if she could find no way out of the web in which she had been -caught she was set as far apart from Blaise as though they had never -met. Only the agony of meeting and remembrance would be with her for the -rest of life! - -Jean envisaged very clearly the possibilities that lay ahead--envisaged -them with a breathless, torturing perception of their imminence. It was -to be a fight--here and now--for the whole happiness that life might -hold. - -She turned to Burke, breaking at last the long silence which had -descended between them. - -“And what do you suppose I feel towards you, Geoffrey? Will you be -content to have your wife think of you--as I must think?” - -A faint shadow flitted across his face. The quiet scorn of her -words--their underlying significance--flicked him on the raw. - -“I’ll be content to have you as my wife--at any price,” he said -stubbornly. “Jean”--a sudden urgency in his tones--“try to believe I -hate all this as much as you do. When you’re my wife, I’ll spend my life -in teaching you to forget it--in--wiping the very memory of to-day out -of your mind.” - -“I shall never forgot it,” she said slowly. Then, bitterly: “I wonder -why you even offer me a choice--when you know; that it is really no -choice.” - -“Why? Because I swore to you that you should give me what I want--that -I wouldn’t take even a kiss from you again by force. But”--unevenly--“I -didn’t know what it meant--the waiting!” - -Outside, the mist had thickened into fog, curtaining the windows. The -light had dimmed to a queer, glimmering dusk, changing the values of -things, and out of the shifting shadows her white face, with its scarlet -line of scornful mouth, gleamed at him--elusive, tantalising as a flower -that sways out of reach. In the uncertain half-light which struggled -in through the dulled window-panes there was something provocative, -maddening--a kind of etherealised lure of the senses in the wavering, -shadowed loveliness of her. The man’s pulses leaped; something within -him slipped its leash. - -“Kiss me!” he demanded hoarsely. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer. Give -me your lips... now... now...” - -She sprang aside from him, warding him off. Her eyes stormed at him out -of her white face. - -“You promised!” she cried, her voice sharp with fear. “You promised!” - -The tension of the next moment strained her nerves to breaking-point. - -Then he fell back. Slowly his arms dropped to his sides without touching -her, his hands clenching with the effort that it cost him. - -“You’re right,” he said, breathing quickly. “I promised. I’ll keep my -promise.” Then, vehemently: “Jean, why won’t you let me take you home? I -could put the car right in ten minutes. Come home!” - -There was unmistakable appeal in his tones. It was obvious he hated -the task to which he had set himself, although he had no intention of -yielding. - -She stared at him doubtfully. - -“Will you? Will you take me home, Geoffrey?... Or”--bitterly--“is this -only another trap?” - -“I’ll take you home--at once, _now_--if you’ll promise to be my wife. -Jean, it’s better than waiting till to-morrow--till circumstances -_force_ you into it!” he urged. - -She was silent, thinking rapidly. That sudden break in Burke’s control, -when for a moment she had feared his promise would not hold him, had -warned her to put an end to the scene--if only temporarily--as quickly -as possible. - -“You are very trusting,” she said, forcing herself to speak lightly. -“How do you know that I shall not give you the pledge you ask -merely in order to get home--and then decline to keep it? I -think”--reflectively--“I should be quite justified in the -circumstances.” - -He smiled a little and shook his head. - -“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not afraid of that. If you give me your -word, I know you’ll keep it. You wouldn’t be--you--if you could do -otherwise.” - -For a moment, Jean was tempted, fiercely tempted to take his blind -belief in her and use it to extricate herself from the position into -which he had thrust her. As she herself had said, the circumstances were -such as almost to justify her. Yet something within her, something that -was an integral part of her whole nature, rebelled against the idea of -giving a promise which, from the moment that she made it, she would have -no smallest intention of keeping. It would be like the breaking of a -prisoner’s given parole--equally mean and dishonourable. - -With a little mental shrug she dismissed the idea and the brief -temptation. She must find some other way, some other road to safety. -If only he would leave her alone, leave her just long enough for her -to make a rush for it--out of the house into that wide wilderness of -mist-wrapped moor! - -It would be a virtually hopeless task to find her way to any village or -to the farmstead, three miles away, of which Burke had spoken. She knew -that. Even moorwise folk not infrequently entirely lost their bearings -in a Dartmoor mist, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she had -not the remotest idea in which direction the nearest habitation lay. -It would be a hazardous experiment--fraught with danger. But danger was -preferable to the dreadful safety of the bungalow. - -In a brief space, stung to swift decision by that tense moment when -Burke’s self-mastery had given way, she had made up her mind to risk the -open moor. But, for that she must somehow contrive to be left alone. She -must gain time--time to allay Burke’s suspicions by pretending to make -the best of the matter, and then, on some pretext or other, get him out -of the room. It was the sole way of escape she could devise. - -“Well, which is it to be?” Burke’s voice broke in harshly upon the wild -turmoil of her thoughts. “Your promise--and Staple within an hour and a -half? Or--the other alternative?” - -“I don’t think it can be either--yet,” she said quietly. “What you’re -asking--it’s too big a question for a woman to decide all in a minute. -Don’t you see”--with a rather shaky little laugh--“it means my whole -life? I--I must have time, Geoffrey. I can’t decide now. What time is -it?” - -He struck a match, holding the flame close to the dial of his watch. - -“Seven o’clock.” - -“Only that?” The words escaped her involuntarily. It seemed hours, an -eternity, since she had read those few brief words contained in Judith’s -telegram. And it was barely an hour ago! - -“Then--then I can have a little time to think it over,” she said after -a moment. “We could get back to Staple by ten if we left here at -eight-thirty?” - -“There or thereabouts. We should have to go slow through this infernal -mist Jean”--his voice took on a note of passionate entreaty--“sweetest, -won’t you give me your promise and let me take you home? You shall never -regret it. I----” - -“Oh, hush!” she checked him quickly. “I can’t answer you now, Geoffrey. -I must have time--time. Don’t press me now.” - -“Very well.” There was an unaccustomed gentleness in his manner. Perhaps -something in the intense weariness of her tones appealed to him. “Are -you very tired, Jean?” - -“Do you know”--she spoke with some surprise, as though the idea had only -just presented itself to her--“do you know, I believe I’m rather hungry! -It sounds very material of me”--laughing a little. “A woman in my -predicament ought to be quite above--or beyond--mere pangs of hunger.” - -“Hungry! By Jove, and well you might be by this hour of the day!” he -exclaimed remorsefully. “Look here, we’ll have supper. There are some -chops in the larder. We’ll cook them together--and then you’ll see what -a really domesticated husband I shall make.” - -He spoke with a new gaiety, as though he felt very sure of her ultimate -decision and glad that the strain of the struggle of opposing wills was -past. - -“Chops! How heavenly! I’m afraid”--apologetically--“it’s very unromantic -of me, Geoffrey!” - -He laughed and, striking a match, lit the lamp. “Disgustingly so! -But there are moments for romance and moments for chops. And this is -distinctly the moment for chops. Come along and help me cook ’em.” - -He flashed a keen glance at her face as the sudden lamplight dispelled -the shadows of the room. But there was nothing in it to contradict the -insouciance of her speech. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her -eyes very bright, but her smile was quite natural and unforced. Burke -reflected that women were queer, unfathomable creatures. They would -fight you to the last ditch--and then suddenly surrender, probably -liking you in secret all the better for having mastered them. - -He had forgotten that he was dealing with a daughter of Jacqueline -Mavory. All the actress that was Jean’s mother came out in her now, -called up from some hidden fount of inherited knowledge to meet the -imperative need of the moment. - -No one, watching Jean as she accompanied Burke to the kitchen premises -and assisted him in the preparation of their supper, would have imagined -that she was acting her part in any other capacity than that of willing -playmate. She was wise enough not to exhibit any desire to leave him -alone during the process of carrying the requisites for the meal from -the kitchen into the living-room. She had noticed the sudden mistrust -in his watchful eyes and the way in which he had instantly followed -her when, at the commencement of the proceedings, she had unthinkingly -started off down the passage from the kitchen, carrying a small tray of -table silver in her hand, and thereafter she refrained from giving him -the slightest ground for suspicion. Together they cooked the chops, -together laid the table, and finally sat down to share the appetising -results of their united efforts. - -Throughout the little meal Jean preserved an attitude of detached -friendliness, laughing at any small joke that cropped up in the course -of conversation and responding gaily enough to Burke’s efforts to -entertain her. Now and again, as though unconsciously, she would fall -into a brief reverie, apparently preoccupied with the choice that lay -before her, and at these moments Burke would refrain from distracting -her attention, but would watch intently, with those burning eyes of -his, the charming face and sensitive mouth touched to a sudden new -seriousness that appealed. - -By the time the meal had drawn to an end, his earlier suspicions had -been lulled into tranquillity, and over the making of the coffee he -became once more the big, overgrown schoolboy and jolly comrade of his -less tempestuous moments. It almost seemed as though, to please her, to -atone in a measure for the mental suffering he had thrust on her, he was -endeavouring to keep the vehement lover in the background and show her -only that side of himself which would serve to reassure her. - -“I rather fancy myself at coffee-making,” he told her, as he dexterously -manipulated the little coffee machine. “There!”--pouring out two -brimming cups--“taste that, and then tell me if it isn’t the best cup of -coffee you ever met.” - -Jean sipped it obediently, then made a wry face. - -“Ough!” she ejaculated in disgust. “You’ve forgotten the sugar!” - -As she had herself slipped the sugar basin out of sight when he -was collecting the necessary coffee paraphernalia on to a tray, the -oversight was not surprising. - -It was a simple little ruse, its very simplicity it’s passport to -success. The naturalness of it--Jean’s small, screwed-up face of disgust -and the hasty way in which she set her cup down after tasting its -contents--might have thrown the most suspicious of mortals momentarily -off his guard. - -“By Jove, so I have!” Instinctively Burke sprang up to rectify the -omission. “I never take it myself, so I forgot all about it. I’ll get -you some in a second.” - -He was gone, and before he was half-way down the passage leading to the -kitchen, Jean, moving silently and swiftly as a shadow, was at the doors -of the long French window, her fingers fumbling for the catch. - -A draught of cold, mist-laden air rushed into the room, while a slender -form stood poised for a brief instant on the threshold, silhouetted -against the white curtain of the fog. Then followed a hurried rush of -flying footsteps, a flitting shadow cleaving the thick pall of vapour, -and a moment later the wreaths of pearly mist came filtering unhindered, -into an empty room. - -***** - -Blindly Jean plunged through the dense mist that hung outside, her feet -sinking into the sodden earth as she fled across the wet grass. She had -no idea where the gate might be, but sped desperately onwards till -she rushed full tilt into the bank of mud and stones which fenced the -bungalow against the moor. The sudden impact nearly knocked all the -breath out of her body, but she dared not pause. She trusted that his -search for the hidden sugar basin might delay Burke long enough to give -her a few minutes’ start, but she knew very well that he might chance -upon it at any moment, and then, discovering her flight, come in -pursuit. - -Clawing wildly at the bank with hands and feet, slipping, sliding, -bruised by sharp-angled stones and pricked by some unseen bushy growth -of gorse, she scrambled over the bank and came sliding down upon her -hands and knees into the hedge-trough dug upon its further side. And -even as she picked herself up, shaken and gasping for breath, she heard -a cry from the bungalow, and then the sound of running steps and Burke’s -voice calling her by name. - -“Jean! Jean! You little fool!... Come back! Come back!” She heard him -pause to listen for her whereabouts. Then he shouted again. “Come back! -You’ll kill yourself! Jean! Jean!....” - -But she made no answer. Distraught by fear lest he should overtake her, -she raced recklessly ahead into the fog, heedless of the fact that she -could not see a yard in front of her--even glad of it, knowing that the -mist hung like a shielding curtain betwixt her and her pursuer. - -The strange silence of the mist-laden atmosphere hemmed her round like -the silence of a tomb, broken only by the sucking sound of the oozy -turf as it pulled at her feet, clogging her steps. Lance-sharp spikes of -gorse stabbed at her ankles as she trod it underfoot, and the permeating -moisture in the air soaked swiftly through her thin summer frock till it -clung about her like a winding-sheet. - -Her breath was coming in sobbing gasps of stress and terror; her heart -pounded in her breast; her limbs, impeded by her clinging skirts, felt -as though they were weighted down with lead. - -Then, all at once, seeming close at hand in the misleading fog which -plays odd tricks with sound as well as sight, she heard Burke’s voice, -cursing as he ran. - -With the instinct of a hunted thing she swerved sharply, stumbled, and -lurched forward in a vain effort to regain her balance. Then it seemed -as though the ground wore suddenly cut from under her feet, and she -fell... down, down through the mist, with a scattering of crumbling -earth and rubble, and lay, at last, a crumpled, unconscious heap in the -deep-cut track that linked the moor road to the bungalow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII--THEY WHO WAITED - -LADY ANNE sat gazing absently into the heart of the fire, watching the -restless leap of the flames and the little scattered handfuls of sparks, -like golden star dust, tossed upward into the dark hollow of the chimney -by the blazing logs. The “warm and sunny south”--at least, that part -of it within a twelve-mile radius of Dartmoor--is quite capable, on -occasion, of belying its guide-book designation, particularly towards -the latter end of summer, and there was a raw dampness in the atmosphere -this evening which made welcome company of a fire. - -It seemed a little lonely without Jean’s cheery presence, and Lady Anne, -conscious of a craving for human companionship, glanced impatiently at -the clock. Blaise should surely have returned by now from his all-day -conference with the estate agent. - -She had not much longer to wait. The quick hoof-beats of a trotting -horse sounded on the drive outside, and a few minutes later the door of -the room was thrown open and Blaise himself strode in. - -“Well, madonna?” He stooped and kissed her. “Been a lonely lady to-day -without all your children?” - -She smiled up at him. - -“Just a little,” she acknowledged. “When I came back from those stupid -committees, which are merely an occasion for half the old tabbies in the -village to indulge in a squabble with the other half, I couldn’t help -feeling it would have been nice to find Jean here to laugh over them -with me. Jean’s sense of humour is refreshing; it never lets one down. -However, I suppose she’s enjoying her beloved Moor by moonlight, so I -mustn’t grumble.” - -Blaise shook his head. - -“Much moonlight they’ll see!” he observed. “I rode through a thick -mist coming hack from Hedge Barton. It’ll he a blanket fog on Dartmoor -to-night.” - -“Oh, poor Jean! She’ll he so disappointed.” - -Tormarin sat down on the opposite side of the hearth and lit a -cigarette. The dancing firelight flickered across his face. He was -thinner of late, his mother thought with a quick pang. The lines of the -well-beloved face had deepened; it had a worn--almost ascetic--look, -like that of a man who is constantly contending against something. - -Lady Anne looked across at him almost beseechingly. - -“Son,” she said, “have you quite made up your mind to let happiness pass -you by?” - -He started, roused out of the reverie into which he had fallen. - -“I don’t think I’ve got any say in the matter,” he replied quietly. -“I’ve forfeited my rights in that respect. You know that.” - -“And Jean? Are you going to make her forfeit her rights, too?” - -“She’ll find happiness--somehow--elsewhere. It would be a very -short-lived affair with me”--bitterly. “After what has happened, it’s -evident I’m not to be trusted with a woman’s happiness.” - -There were sounds of arrival in the hall. Nick’s voice could be heard -issuing instructions about the bestowal of his fishing tackle. Lady Anne -spoke quickly. - -“I don’t think so, Blaise. Not with the happiness of the woman you -love.” She laid her hand on his shoulder as she passed him on her -way into the hall to welcome the wanderer returned. “Tell Jean,” she -advised, “and see what she says. I think you’ll find she’d be willing to -risk it.” - -When she had left the room Blaise remained staring impassively into the -fire. His expression gave no indication as to whether or not Lady Anne’s -advice had stirred him to any fresh impulse of decision, and when, -presently, his mother and Nick entered the room together, he addressed -the latter as casually as though no emotional depths had been stirred by -the recent conversation. - -“Hullo, Nick! Had good sport?” - -“Only so-so. We had a jolly time, though--out at Het-worthy Bridge. But -I had the deuce of a business getting back from Exeter this evening. It -was so misty in places we could hardly see to drive the car.” - -Blaise nodded. - -“Yes, I know. I found the same. It’s a surprising change in the -weather.” - -“Poor Jean will have had a disappointing trip to Dartmoor,” put in Lady -Anne. “The mist is certain to be bad up there.” - -“Dartmoor? But she didn’t go--surely?” And Nick glanced from one to the -other questioningly. - -“Oh, yes, she did. It was quite clear in the afternoon when she -started--looked like being a lovely night.” - -“But--but----” - -Nick stammered and came to a halt. There was a look of bewilderment in -his eyes. - -“But who’s she gone with?” he demanded at last. “I thought she said she -intended stopping the night with Judith and Burke at their bungalow?” - -“So she did,” replied Blaise. “Why? Have you any objection?”--smiling. - -“No. Only”--Nick frowned--“I don’t quite understand it Judith isn’t _on_ -the Moor.” - -“Not on the Moor?” broke simultaneously from Lady Anne and Blaise. - -“How do you know, Nick?” added the latter gravely. - -“Why, because”--Nick’s face wore an expression of puzzled -concern--“because I saw Judith in Newton Abbot late this evening.” - -Blaise leaned forward, a sudden look of concentration on his face. - -“You saw Judith?” he repeated. “What time?” - -“It must have been nearly eight o’clock. I was buzzing along in Jim -Cresswell’s car to catch the seven forty-five up train, and I saw Judith -with one of the Holfords--you know, those people from London--turning -into the gateway of a house. I expect it was the place the Holfords are -stopping at. They didn’t see me.” - -“You’re quite certain? You’ve made no mistake?” said Blaise sharply. - -“Of course I’ve made no mistake. Think I don’t know Judy when I see her? -But what’s the meaning of it, Blaise?” - -Tormarin rose to his feet, tossing the stump of his cigarette into the -fire. - -“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m going to find out. -Madonna”--turning to his mother--“did Jean tell you just exactly what -Judith said when she rang her up on the’phone about this moonlight -plan?” - -“It wasn’t Judith who rang up,” replied Lady Anne, a faint misgiving -showing itself in her face. “It was Geoffrey who gave the message.” - -Tormarin looked at her with a sudden awakened expression in his eyes. -There was dread in them, too--keen dread. The expression of a man who, -all at once, sees the thing he values more than anything in the whole -world being torn from him--dragged forcibly away from the shelter he -could give into some unspeakable darkness of disaster. - -“That settles it.” He pressed his finger against the bell-push and held -it there, and when Baines came hurrying in response to the imperative -summons, he said curtly: “Order me a fresh horse round at once--_at -once_, mind--tell Harding to saddle Orion, and to look sharp about it.” - -“Blaise”--Lady Anne’s obvious uneasiness had deepened to a sharp -anxiety--“Blaise, what are you going to do? What--what are you afraid -of?” - -He looked her straight in the eyes. - -“I’m afraid of just what you are afraid of, madonna--of the devil let -loose in Geoffrey Burke.” - -“And--and you’re going to look for her--for Jean?” - -“I’m going to find her,” he corrected quietly. - -Gravity had set its seal on all three faces. Each was conscious of the -same fear--the fear they could not put into words. - -“But why do you take Orion?” asked Nick. “The little thoroughbred -mare--Redwing--would do the journey quicker and he lighter of foot over -any marshy ground on the Moor.” - -“Orion can go where he chooses,” returned Tormarin. “And he’ll choose -to-night. Redwing is a little bit of a thing, though she’s game as a -pebble. But she couldn’t carry--two.” - -The significance of Tormarin’s choice of his big roan hunter, -three-parts thoroughbred and standing sixteen hands, came home to Nick. -He nodded without comment. - -Silently he and Lady Anne accompanied Blaise into the hall. From the -gravelled drive outside came the impatient stamping of Orion’s iron-shod -hoofs. Just at the last Lady Anne clung to her son’s arm. - -“You’ll bring her back, Blaise?” she urged, a quiver in her voice. - -“I’ll bring her back, madonna,” he answered quietly. “Don’t worry.” - -A minute later he and the great roan horse were lost to sight in the -mirk of the night. Only the beat of galloping hoofs was flung back to -the two who were left to watch and wait, muffled and vague through the -shrouding mist like the sound of a distant drum. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX--THE GOLDEN HOUR - -ORION had fully justified Blaise’s opinion of his capabilities. As -though the great horse had gathered that there was trouble abroad to -which he must not add, he had needed neither whip nor spur as he carried -his master with long, sweeping strides over the miles that lay betwixt -Staple and the Moor. He was as fresh as paint, and the rush through the -cool night, under a rider with hands as light as a woman’s and who sat -him with a flexible ease, akin to that of a Cossack, had not distressed -him in the very least. - -Now they were climbing the last long slope of the white road that -approached the bungalow, the reins lying loosely on Orion’s neck. - -The mist had lifted a little in places, and a watery-looking moon peered -through the clouds now and again, throwing a vague, uncertain light over -the blurred and sombre moorland. - -Tormarin had no very definite plan of campaign in his mind. He felt -convinced that he should find Jean at the bungalow. If, contrary to his -expectation, she were not there, nor anyone else to whom he could apply -for information as to her whereabouts, he would have to consider what -his next move must be. - -Meanwhile, his thoughts were preoccupied with the main fact that she -had failed to return home. If she had accepted Burke’s invitation to the -bungalow, believing that Judith and the Holfords would be of the party, -how was it that she had not at once returned when she discovered that -for some reason they were not there? - -Some weeks ago--during the period when she was defiantly investigating -the possibilities of an “unexploded bomb”--it was quite possible that -the queer recklessness which sometimes tempts a woman to experiment in -order to see just how far she may go--the mysterious delight that the -feminine temperament appears to derive from dancing on the edge of a -precipice--might have induced her to remain and have tea with Burke, -chaperon or no chaperon. And then it was quite on the cards that Burke’s -lawless disregard of anything in the world except the fulfilment of his -own desires might have engineered the rest, and he might have detained -her at the bungalow against her will. - -But Blaise could not believe that a _tête-à-tête_ tea with Burke would -hold any attraction for Jean now--not since that day, just before the -visit to London, when he and she had been discussing the affairs of Nick -and Claire and had found, quite suddenly, that their own hearts were -open to each other and that with the spoken word, “Beloved,” the -misunderstandings of the past had faded away, to be replaced by a -wordless trust and belief. - -But if it _had_ attracted her, if--knowing precisely how much the man -she loved would condemn--she had still deliberately chosen to spend an -afternoon with Burke, why, then, Blaise realised with a swift pang that -she was no longer his Jean at all but some other, lesser woman. Never -again the “little comrade” whose crystalline honesty of soul and -sensitive response to all that was sweet and wholesome and true had come -into his scarred life to jewel its arid places with a new blossoming of -the rose of love. - -He tried to thrust the thought away from him. It was just the kind of -thing that Nesta would have done, playing off one man against the other -with the innate instinct of the born coquette. But not Jean--not Jean of -the candid eyes. - -Presently, through the thinning mist, Tormarin discerned the sharp turn -of the track which branched off from the road towards the bungalow, and -quickening Orion’s pace, he was soon riding up the steep ascent, the -moonlight throwing strange, confusing lights and shadows on the mist-wet -surface of the ground. - -Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the roan snorted and wheeled -around, shying violently away from the off-side bank. A less good -horseman might have been unseated, but as the big horse swerved -Tormarin’s knees gripped against the saddle like a vice, and with a -steadying word he faced him up the track again, then glanced keenly at -the overhanging side of the roadway to discover what had frightened him. - -A moment later he had jerked Orion to a sudden standstill, leapt to the -ground and, with the reins over his arm, crossed the road swiftly -to where, clad in some light-stuff that glimmered strangely in the -moonlight, lay a slender figure, propped against the bank. - -“Blaise!” Jean’s voice came weakly to his ears, but with a glad note in -it of immense relief that bore witness to some previous strain. - -In an instant Tormarin was kneeling beside her, one arm behind her -shoulders. He helped her to her feet and she leaned against him, -shivering. Feeling in his pockets, he produced a brandy flask and held -it to her lips. - -“Drink some of that!” he said. “Don’t try to tell me anything yet.” - -The raw spirit sent the chilled blood racing through her veins, putting -new life into her. A faint tinge of colour crept into her face. - -“Oh, Blaise! I’m so glad you’ve come--so glad!” she said shakily. - -“So am I,” he returned grimly. “See, drink a little more brandy. Then -you shall tell me all about it.” - -At last, bit by bit, she managed to give him a somewhat disjointed -account of what had occurred. - -“I think I must have been stunned for a little when I fell,” she said. -“I can’t remember anything after stepping right off into space, it -seemed, till--oh, ages afterwards--- I found myself lying here. And when -I tried to stand, I found I’d hurt my ankle and that I couldn’t put my -foot to the ground. So”--with a weak little attempt at laughter--“I--I -just sat down again.” - -Blaise gave vent to a quick exclamation of concern. “Oh, it’s nothing, -really,” she reassured him hastily. “Only a strain. But I can’t walk on -it.” Then, suddenly clinging to him with a nervous dread: “Oh, take me -away, Blaise--take me home!” - -“I will. Don’t be frightened--there’s no need to be frightened any more, -my Jean.” - -“No, I know. I’m not afraid--now.” - -But he could hear the sob of utter nerve stress and exhaustion back of -the brave words. - -“Well, I’ll take you home at once,” he said cheerfully. “But, look here, -you’ve no coat on and you’re wet with mist.” - -“I know. My coat’s at the bungalow. I left in a hurry, you -see”--whimsically. The irrepressible Peterson element, game to the core, -was reasserting itself. - -“Well, we must fetch it------” - -“No! No!” Her voice rose in hasty protest. “I won’t--I can’t go back!” - -“Then I’ll go.” - -“No--don’t! Geoffrey might be there----” - -“So much the better”--grimly. “I’d like five minutes with him.” - Tormarin’s hand tightened fiercely on the hunting-crop he carried. “But -he’s more likely lost his way in the mist and fetched up far enough -away. Probably”--with a short laugh--“he’s still searching Dartmoor for! -you. You’d be on his mind a bit, you know! Wait here a minute while I -ride up to the bungalow----” - -But she clung to his arm. - -“No, no! Don’t go! I--I can’t be left alone--again.” The fear was coming -back to her voice and Blaise, detecting it, abandoned the idea at once. - -“All right, little Jean,” he said reassuringly. “I won’t leave you. Put -my coat round you”--stripping it off. “There--like that.” He helped her -into it and fastened it with deft fingers. “And now I’m going to get you -up on to Orion and we’ll go home.” - -“I shall never get up there,” she observed, with a glance at the roan’s -great shoulders looming through the mist. “I shan’t be able to spring--I -can only stand on one foot, remember.” - -Blaise laughed cheerily. - -“Don’t worry. Just remain quite still--standing on your one foot, you -poor little lame duck!--and I’ll do the rest.” - -She felt his arm release its clasp of her, and a moment later he had -swung his leg across the horse and was back in the saddle again. With a -word to the big beast he dropped the reins on to his neck and, turning -towards Jean, where she stood like a slim, pale ghost in the moonlight, -he leaned down to her from the saddle. - -“Can you manage to come a step nearer?” he asked. - -She hobbled forward painfully. - -“Now!” he said. - -Lower, lower still he stooped, his arms outheld, and at last she felt -them close round her, lifting her with that same strength of steel which -she remembered on the mountain-side at Montavan. Orion stood like a -statue--motionless as if he knew and understood all about it, his head -slewed round a bit as though watching until the little business should -be satisfactorily accomplished, and blowing gently through his velvety -nostrils meanwhile. - -And then Jean found herself resting against the curve of Blaise’s arm, -with the roan’s powerful shoulders, firm and solid as a rock, beneath -her. - -“All right?” queried Blaise, gathering up the reins in his left hand. -“Lean well back against my shoulder. There, how’s that?” - -“It’s like an arm-chair.” - -He laughed. - -“I am afraid you won’t say the same by the end of the journey,” he -commented ruefully. - -But by the end of the journey Jean was fast asleep. She had “leant well -back” as directed, conscious, as she felt the firm clasp of Blaise’s -arm, of a supreme sense of security and well-being. The reaction from -the strain of the afternoon, the exhaustion consequent upon her flight -through the mist and the fall which had so suddenly ended it, and the -rhythmic beat of Orion’s hoofs all combined to lull her into a state -of delicious drowsiness. It was so good to feel that she need fight and -scheme and plan no longer, to feel utterly safe... to know that Blaise -was holding her... - -Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes closed, and the next -thing of which she was conscious was of being lifted down by a pair of -strong arms and of a confused murmur of voices from amongst which she -hazily distinguished Lady Anne’s heartfelt: “Thank God you’ve found -her!” And then, characteristically practical, “I’ll have her in bed in -five minutes. Blankets and hot-water bottles are all in readiness.” - -***** - -It was the evening of the following day. Jean, tucked up on a couch -and with her strained ankle comfortably bandaged, had been reluctantly -furnishing Blaise with the particulars of her experience at the -bungalow. She had been very unwilling to confide the whole story to him, -fearing the consequences of the Tormarin temper as applied to Burke. A -violent quarrel between the two men could do no good, she reflected, -and would only be fraught with unpleasant results to all -concerned--probably, in the end, securing a painful publicity for the -whole affair. - -Fortunately Blaise had been out when Judith had rung up earlier in the -day to inquire if Jean had returned to Staple, or he might have fired -off a few candid expressions of opinion through the telephone. But now -there was no evading his searching questions, and he had quietly but -determinedly insisted upon hearing the entire story. Once or twice an -ejaculation of intense anger broke from him as he listened, but, beyond -that, he made little comment. - -“And--and that was all,” wound up Jean. “And, anyway, Blaise”--a -little anxiously--“it’s over now, and I’m none the worse except for the -acquisition of a little more worldly wisdom and a strained ankle.” - -“Yes, it’s over now,” he said, standing looking down at her with a -curious gleam in his eyes. “But that sort of thing shan’t happen twice. -You’ll have to marry me--do you hear?”--imperiously. “You shall never -run such a risk again. We’ll get married at once!” - -And Jean, with a quiver of amusement at the corners of her mouth, -responded meekly: - -“Yes, Blaise.” - -The next minute his arms were round her and their lips met in the first -supreme kiss of love at last acknowledged--of love given and returned. - -***** - -There is no gauge by which those first moments when two who love confess -that they are lovers may be measured. It is the golden, timeless span -when “unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday” cease to hem us round about -and only love, and love’s ecstasy, remain. - -To Blaise and Jean it might have been an hour--a commonplace period -ticked off by the little silver clock upon the chimneypiece--or half -eternity before they came back to the recollection of things mundane. -When they did, it was across the kindly bridge of humour. - -Blaise laughed out suddenly and boyishly. - -“It’s preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I quite forgot to propose.” - -“So you did! Suppose”--smiling up at him impertinently--“suppose you do -it now?” - -“Not I! I won’t waste my breath when I might put it to so much better -use in calling you belovedest.” - -Jean was silent, but her eyes answered him. She had made room for him -beside her, and now he was seated upon the edge of the Chesterfield, -holding her in his arms. She did not want to talk much. That still, -serene happiness which lies deep within the heart is not provocative of -garrulity. - -At last a question--the question that had tormented her through all the -long months since she had first realised whither love was leading her, -found its way to her lips. - -“Why didn’t you tell me before, Blaise?” - -His face clouded. - -“Because of all that had happened in the past. You know--you have been -told about Nesta----” - -“Ah, yes! Don’t talk about it, Blaise,” she broke in hastily, sensing -his distasteful recoil from the topic. - -“I think we must a little, dear,” he responded gravely. - -“You see, Nesta was not all to blame--nor even very much, as I’m -sure”--with a little half-tender smile--“my mother tried hard to make -you believe.” - -Jean nodded vigorously. - -“She did. And I expect she was perfectly right” - -He shook his head. - -“No,” he answered. “The fault was really mine. My initial mistake was -in confusing the false fire with the true. It--was not love I had for -Nesta. And I found it out when it was too late. We were poles apart in -everything, and instead of trying to make it easier for her, trying to -understand her and to lead her into our ways of looking at things. -I only stormed at her. It roused all that was worst in me to see her -trailing our name in the dust, throwing her dignity to the winds, -craving for nothing other than amusement and excitement. I’m not trying -to excuse myself. There _was_ no excuse for me. In my way, I was as -culpable and foolish as she. And when the crash came--when I found her -deliberately entertaining in my house, against my express orders, a man -who ought to have been kicked out of any decent society, why, I let go. -The Tormarin temper had its way with me. I shall never forgive myself -for that. I frightened her, terrified her. I think I must have been -half mad. And then--well, you know what followed. She rushed away and, -before anyone could find her or help her, she had killed herself--thrown -herself into the Seine. Quite what happened between leaving here and her -death we were never able to find out. Apparently since her marriage -with me, her sister had gone to Paris, unknown to her, and had taken a -situation as _dame de compagnie_ to some Frenchwoman, and Nesta, though -she followed from Italy to Paris, failed to find her there. At least -that is what Margherita Valdi told me in the letter announcing -Nesta’s death. Then she must have lost heart. So you see, morally I am -responsible for that poor, reckless child’s death.” - -“Oh, no, no, Blaise! I don’t see that”--pitifully. - -“Don’t you? I do--very clearly. And that was why, when I found myself -growing to care for you, I tried to keep away.” - -He felt in his pocket and produced a plain gold wedding ring. On the -inside were engraved the initials “B.T. and N.E.,” and a date. - -“That was my talisman. Alargherita sent it back to me when she wrote -telling me of Nesta’s death. Whenever I felt my resolution weakening, I -used to take it out and have a look at it. It was always quite effective -in thrusting me back into my proper place in the scheme of things--that -is, outside any other woman’s life.” There was an inexpressible -bitterness in his tones, and Jean drew a little nearer to him, her heart -overflowing with compassion. He looked down at her, and smiled a thought -ironically. “But now--you’ve beaten me.” His lips brushed her hair. “I’m -glad to be beaten, belovedest... I knew, that day at Montavan, what you -might come to mean to me. And I intended never to see you again, but -just to take that one day for remembrance. I felt that, having made -such an utter hash of things, having spoiled one woman’s life and -been, indirectly, the cause of her death, I was not fit to hold another -woman’s happiness in my hands.” - -Jean rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. - -“I’m glad you thought better of it? she observed. - -“I don’t know, even now, that I’m right in letting you love me----” - -“You can’t stop me,” she objected. - -He smiled. - -“I don’t think I would if I could--now.” - -Jean leaned up and, with a slender, dictatorial finger on the side of -his face, turned his head towards her. - -“_Quite_ sure?” she demanded saucily. Then, without waiting for -his answer: “Blaise, I do love your chin--it’s such a nice, square, -your-money-or-your-life sort of chin.” - -Something light as a butterfly, warm as a woman’s lips, just brushed the -feature in question. - -He drew her into his arms, folding them closely about her. - -“And I--I love every bit of you,” he said hoarsely. “Body and soul, I -love you! Oh! Heart’s beloved! Nothing--no one in the whole world shall -come between us two ever again!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX--THE GATEWAY - -AUGUST seemed determined to justify her claim to be numbered amongst -the summer months before making her exit. Apparently she had repented -her of having recently veiled the country in a mist that might have been -regarded as a very creditable effort even on the part of November, for -to-day the sun was blazing down out of a cloudless sky and scarcely a -breath of wind swayed the nodding cornstalks, heavy with golden grain. - -Jean, her strained ankle now practically recovered, was tramping -along the narrow footpath through the cornfield, following in Blaise’s -footsteps, while Nick brought up the rear of the procession. She had -not seen Claire since her engagement had become an actual fact, though -a characteristically warm-hearted little note from the latter had found -its way to Staple, and this morning Jean had declared her inability to -exist another day “without a ‘heart-to-heart’ talk with Claire.” - -Hence the afternoon’s pilgrimage across the cornfield which formed part -of a short cut between Staple and Charnwood. - -At first Jean had feared lest her new-found happiness might raise a -barrier of sorts betwixt herself and Claire. The contrast between the -respective hands that fate had dealt them was so glaring, and the rose -and gold with which love had suddenly decked Jean’s own life seemed to -make the bleak tragedy which enveloped Claire’s appear ever darker than -before. - -But Claire’s letter, full of a quiet, unselfish rejoicing in the -happiness which had fallen to the lot of her friend, had somehow -smoothed away the little uncomfortable feeling which, to anyone -as sensitive as Jean, had been a very real embarrassment. Nick’s -felicitations, too, had been tendered with frank cordiality and -affection, and with a delicate perception that had successfully -concealed the sting of individual pain which the contrast could hardly -fail to have induced. - -So that it was with a considerably lightened heart that Jean, with her -escort of two, passed between the great gates of Charnwood and, avoiding -the lengthy walk entailed by following the windings of the drive, struck -off across the velvety lawns--smooth stretches of close-cropped sward -which, broken only by branching trees and shrubbery, and undefaced by -the dreadful formality of symmetrical flower-beds, swept right up to the -gravelled terrace fronting the windows of the house itself. - -The two men loitered to discuss the points of a couple of young spaniels -rollicking together on the grass, but Jean, eager to see Claire, -smilingly declined to wait for them, and, speeding on ahead, she mounted -the short flight of steps leading to the terrace from the lower level of -the lawns. - -Facing her, as she reached the topmost step was a glass door, giving -entrance to Claire’s own particular sanctum, which usually, in summer, -stood wide open to admit the soft, warm air and the fragrant scents -breathed out from a border of old-fashioned flowers, sweet and prim and -quaint, which encircled the base of the house. - -But to-day the door was shut and forbidding-looking, and Jean -experienced a sudden sense of misgiving. Supposing Claire chanced to -be out just when she had arrived brimming over with the hundred -little feminine confidences that were to have formed part of the -“heart-to-heart” talk! It would be too aggravating! - -Her eager glance flew ahead, searching the room’s interior, clearly -visible through the wide glass panel of the door. Then, with a startled -cry, she halted, her hand clapped against her lips to stifle the -involuntary exclamation of dismay and terror that had leapt to them. - -The afternoon sunshine slanted in upon a picture of grotesque horror---a -nightmare conception that could only have sprung from the macabre -imagination of a madman. - -In the middle of the room Claire sat bound to a high-backed chair, -secured by cords which cut cruelly across her slender body. Her face had -assumed a curious ashen shade, and her eyes were fixed in a numbed look -of fascinated terror upon the tall, angular figure of her husband, which -pranced in front of her jerkily, like a marionette, while he threatened -her with a revolver, his thin lips, smiling cruelly, drawn back from his -teeth like those of a snarling animal. - -He was addressing her in queer, high-pitched tones that had something -inhuman about them--the echoing, empty sound of a voice no longer -controlled by a reasoning brain. - -“And you needn’t worry that Mr. Brennan will be overwhelmed with grief -at your early demise. He won’t--te-he-he!”--he gave a foolish, cackling -laugh--“he won’t have time to miss you much! I’ll attend to that--I’ll -attend to that! There’ll be a second bullet for your dear friend, Mr. -Brennan.” ... Crack! The sharp report of a revolver shattered the summer -silence as Jean sprang forward and wrenched at the handle of the door. -But it refused to yield. It had been locked upon the inside! - -Then, as the smoke cleared away, she saw that Claire was Unhurt. Sir -Adrian had deliberately fired above her head and was now rocking his -long, lean body to and fro in a paroxysm of horrible, noiseless mirth. -Evidently he purposed to amuse himself by inflicting the torture of -suspense upon his victim before he actually murdered her, for Latimer -had been at one time an expert revolver shot, and, even drug-ridden as -he had since become, he could not well have missed his helpless target -by accident. - -Claire’s head had fallen back, but no merciful oblivion of -unconsciousness had come to her relief. Her mouth was a little open and -the breath came in short, quick gasps between her grey lips. Her face -looked like a mask, set in a blank stupor of horror. - -The sound of the shot brought Blaise and Nick racing to Jean’s side. One -glance through the glass door sufficed them. - -“God in heaven! He’s gone mad!” Nick’s voice was quick with fear for the -woman he loved. - -“Get Tucker here at once!” - -Blaise’s swift command, flung at her as he and Nick leaped forward, sent -Jean flying along the terrace as fast as feet winged with unutterable -terror could carry her. As she ran, she heard the crash of splintering -glass as the two men she had left behind smashed in the panel of the -locked door, and, almost simultaneously, Sir Adrian’s pistol barked -again--another shot, and then a third in quick succession. - -The sound seemed to wring every nerve in her body... had that madman -shot him? - -With sobbing breath she rushed blindly on into the house and met the -butler, running too, white faced and horror-stricken. - -“My God, miss! Sir Adrian’s murdering her ladyship--and the room door’s -locked!” - -The man almost babbled out the words in his extremity of fear. - -“The terrace door... Quick, Tucker!”--Jean gasped out the order. “Mr. -Brennan’s there they’ve broken in the glass...” - -Not waiting to hear the end of the sentence, Tucker bolted out of the -hall and along the terrace, while Jean leaned up against the doorway -drawing long, shuddering breaths that seemed actually to tear their way -through her throat and yet brought no relief to the agonised thudding of -her heart. For the moment she was physically unable to run another yard. - -But her mind was working with abnormal clarity and swiftness. This was -her doing--hers! If she had not dissuaded Nick that day when he -had proposed taking Claire away with him, all this would never have -happened.... Claire would have been safe--safe! But she had interfered, -clinging to her belief that no real good ever came by doing wrong, and -now her creed had failed her utterly. Nick’s resistance of temptation -was culminating in a ghastly tragedy that might have been avoided. To -Jean it seemed in that moment as if her world were falling in ruins -about her. - -Sick with apprehension, she almost reeled out again into the mocking -summer sunlight, and, running as fast as the convulsive throbbing of -her heart would let her, regained the far end of the terrace and peered -through the door that led into Claire’s room. - -Its great panes were shattered. Jagged teeth and spites of glass stuck -out from the wooden framework, while here and there, dependent from -them, were bits of cloth tom from the men’s coats as they had scrambled -through. - -Within the room Jean could discern a confused hurly-burly of swaying, -writhing figures--Blaise and Nick and the butler struggling to overpower -Sir Adrian, who was fighting them with all the cunning and the amazing -strength of madness. From beyond came the clamour of people battering -uselessly at the door, the shrill, excited voices of the frightened -servants who had collected in the hall outside the room. - -For a few breathless seconds Jean was in doubt--wondered wildly whether -Sir Adrian would succeed in breaking away from his captors. Then she saw -Nick’s foot shoot out suddenly like the piston-rod of an engine, and Sir -Adrian staggered and came crashing down on to his knees. The other two -closed in upon him swiftly, and a minute later he was lying prone on his -back with the three men holding him down by main force. - -With difficulty avoiding the protruding pieces of glass, Jean stepped -into the room. Her first thought was for Claire, who now hung helpless -and unconscious against the bonds that held her. But Blaise very -speedily directed her attention to something of more urgent importance -for the moment. - -“Unlock that door,” he called to her. “Quick!” He was still panting from -the exertion of the recent struggle. “Get a rope of some sort!” - -Jean turned the key and tore open the door leading into the hall. The -little flock of servants gathered outside it overflowed into the room, -frightened and excitedly inquisitive. - -“Get some cord, one of you,” commanded Jean authoratively. “Anything -will do if it’s strong.” - -Two or three of the servants broke away from the main body and ran -frantically in search of the required cord, glad to be of use, and very -soon Sir Adrian, bound as humanely as his struggles rendered possible, -was borne to his own room and laid upon his bed. - -“Ring up the doctor,” ordered Blaise, as he assisted in the rather -difficult process of conveying Sir Adrian upstairs. “Tell him to come -to Charnwood as quickly as he can get here.” And another eager -little detachment of domestics flew off to carry out his bidding. The -under-footman won the race for the telephone by a good half-yard, and, -in a voice which fairly twittered with the agitating and amazing news he -had to impart, transmitted the message to the doctor’s parlour-maid -at the other end of the wire, adding a few picturesque and stimulating -details concerning the struggle which had just taken place--and which, -apparently, he had perceived with the eye of faith through the wooden -panels of the locked door. - -Meanwhile Nick and Jean had turned their attention towards releasing -Claire, who, as the last of her bonds was cut, toppled forward in a dead -faint into the former’s arms. - -A second procession wended its way upstairs, Nick bearing the slight, -unconscious figure in his arms while Jean and a kindly-faced housemaid -followed. - -“Her ladyship’s maid is out, miss,” volunteered the girl. “But perhaps I -can help?” - -Jean smiled at her, the frank, friendly smile that always won for her -the eager, willing service of man and maid alike. - -“I’m sure you can,” she said gently. “As soon as we can bring her -ladyship round, you shall help me undress her and put her to bed.” - -In a few minutes Claire recovered consciousness, but she was -horribly shaken and distraught, crying and clinging to Jean or to the -housemaid--who was almost crying, too, out of sympathy--like a child -frightened by the dark. - -Jean, understanding just what was needed, shepherded Nick to the door of -the room, where he lingered unhappily, his anxious gaze still fixed on -the slender, shrinking figure upon the couch. - -“Don’t worry, Nick,” she said reassuringly. “She’ll he all right; -it’s only reaction. But I know what she wants--she wants a real -mother-person. Go down and ring up Lady Anne, will you, and ask her to -come over in the car as quickly as she can.” - -Nick nodded; the idea commended itself to him. His “pale golden -narcissus,” so nearly broken, would be safe indeed with the kind, -comforting arms of his mother about her. - -It was an intense relief to Jean when Lady Anne arrived and quietly and -efficiently took command of affairs. And there was sore need for her -unruffled poise and capability throughout the night that followed. - -Claire, nervous and utterly unstrung, slept but little, waking -constantly with a cry of terror as in imagination she relived the ordeal -of the afternoon, while in the big bedroom across the landing, where -her husband lay, the grim shadow of death itself was drawing momentarily -closer. - -By the time the doctor had arrived in answer to the summons sent, there -seemed small need for the strong cords with which Sir Adrian’s limbs -were bound. The wild fury of the afternoon’s struggle had thoroughly -exhausted him, and he lay, propped up with pillows, apparently in a -state of stupor, breathing very feebly. - -“Heart,” the doctor told Tormarin after he had made a swift examination. -“I’ve known for months that Sir Adrian might go out at any moment. His -heart was already impaired, and, of course, he’s drugged for years. He -may recover a little, but if, as I think is highly probable, there’s any -recurrence of the brain disturbance--why, he’ll not live out a second -paroxysm. The heart won’t stand it.” - -Tormarin endeavoured to look appropriately shocked. But the doctor was a -man and an honest one, and not even professional etiquette prevented his -adding, with a jerk of his head in the direction of Claire’s bedroom: - -“It would be a merciful deliverance for that poor little woman. -There’s a strain of madness in the Latimer’s you know. And”--with a -shrug--“naturally Sir Adrian’s habits have accentuated it in his own -case.” - -But the doctor was mistaken in his calculations. Sir Adrian’s -constitution was stronger than he estimated. As Nick had once bitterly -commented to Jean, the man was like a piece of steel wire, and two -dreadful outbreaks of maniacal fury had to be endured before the wire -began to weaken. - -During the course of the first paroxysm it was all the four men could do -to restrain him from leaping from the bed and rushing out of the room, -since, during the period of quiescence which had preceded the doctor’s -arrival, a mistaken feeling of humanity had dictated the loosening of -the cords which bound him. - -He fought and screamed, uttering the most horrible imprecations, and his -evil intent towards the woman who was his wife was unmistakable. With -her husband free to work his will, Claire’s life would not have been -worth a moment’s purchase. - -In the period of coma that succeeded this outbreak Sir Adrian, was again -secured, as mercifully as possible, from any possibility of doing his -wife a mischief, and the second paroxysm which convulsed the bound and -shackled madman was very terrible to witness. - -Like its predecessor, this attack was followed by a stupor, during which -Sir Adrian appeared more dead than alive. - -He was palpably weaker, restoratives failing to produce any appreciable -effect, and towards morning, in those chill, small hours when the powers -of the body languish and fail, the crazed and self-tormented spirit of -Adrian Latimer quitted a world in which he had been able to perceive -none of those things that are just and pure and lovely and of good -report, but only distrust and malice and, finally, black hatred. - -***** - -A fortnight had come and gone. Sir Adrian’s body had been laid to rest -in Coombe Eavie churchyard, and Claire, in the simplest of widow’s -weeds, went about once more, looking rather frail and worn-out but with -a fugitive light of happiness on her face that was a source of rejoicing -to those who loved her. - -She made no pretence at mourning the man who had turned her life into a -living hell for nearly three years and who stood like a gaoler betwixt -her and the happiness which might have been hers had she been free. But -the conventions, as well as her own feelings, dictated that a decent -interval must elapse before she and Nick could be married, and this -would be for her a quiet period dedicated to the readjustment of her -whole attitude towards life. - -The length of that period was the subject of considerable discussion. -Nick protested that six months was amply long enough to wait--too long -indeed!--but Claire herself seemed disposed to prolong her widowhood -into a year. - -“It isn’t in the least because I feel I owe it to Adrian,” she said in -answer to Nick’s protest. “I don’t consider that I owe him anything at -all. But I feel so battered, Nick, so utterly tired and weary after the -perpetual struggle of the last three years that I don’t want to plunge -suddenly into the new duties of a new life--not even into new happiness. -It’s difficult to make you understand, but I feel just like a sponge -which has soaked up all it can and simply can’t absorb any more of -_anything_. You must let me have time for the past to evaporate a bit.” - -But it required the addition of a few common-sense observations on the -part of Lady Anne to drive the nail home. - -“Claire is quite right, Nick,” she told him. “She is temporarily worn -out--mentally, physically and spiritually spent. Her nerves have been -kept at their utmost stretch off and on for years, and now that release -has come they’ve collapsed like a fiddle-string when the peg that holds -it taut is loosened. You must give her time to recover, to key herself -up to normal pitch again. At present she isn’t fit to face even the -demands that big happiness brings in its train.” - -So Nick had perforce to bow to Claire’s decision, and it was settled -that for the first month of two, at least, of her widowhood Jean should -remove herself and her belongings from Staple and bear her company at -Charnwood. And meanwhile Nick and Claire would spend many peaceful hours -together of quiet happiness and companionship, while Claire, as she -herself expressed it, “rebuilt her soul.” - -To Jean the issue of events had brought nothing but pure joy. Her belief -had been justified, and the grim gateway of death had become for these -two friends of hers the gateway to happiness. - -She had neither seen nor heard anything from Burke since the day she had -fled from him on the Moor, although indirectly she had discovered that -he had quitted the bungalow the day following that of her flight from it -and had gone to London. - -Judith sent her a brief, rather formal letter of congratulation upon her -engagement, but in it she made no reference to him nor did she endeavour -to explain away or palliate her own share in his scheme to force Jean’s -hand. Probably an odd kind of loyalty to her brother prevented her from -clearing herself at his expense, added to a certain dogged pride which -refused to let her extenuate any action of hers; to the daughter of Glyn -Peterson. - -But none of these things had any power to hurt Jean now. In her new-born -happiness she felt that she could find it in her heart to forgive -anybody anything! She was even conscious of a certain tentative -understanding and indulgence for Burke himself. He had only used the -“primitive man” methods his temperament dictated in his effort to win -the woman he wanted for his wife. And he had failed. Just now, Jean -could not help sympathising with anybody who had failed to find the -happiness that love bestows. - -She reflected that the old gipsy on the Moor had been wonderfully -correct in her prophecy concerning Nick and Claire. The sun was “shin’ -butivul” for them at last, just as she had assured them that it would. - -And, with the same, came a sudden little clutch of fear at Jean’s heart, -like the touch of a strange hand. The gipsy had had other words for -her--harsher, less sweet-sounding. - -“For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” - -She shivered a little. She felt as though a breath of cold air had -passed over her, chilling the warm blood that ran so joyously in her -veins. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI--AN UNWELCOME VISITOR - - -BLAISE was seated at his study table, regarding somewhat dubiously a -letter which lay open in front of him. - -It was written in a flowing, foreign hand and expressed with a quaintly -stilted, un-English turn of phrase. The heading of the notepaper upon -which it was inscribed was that of a hotel in Exeter. - - “Dear Mr. Tormarin,” it ran. “You will, without doubt, be - surprised to receive a letter from me, since we have met - only once. But I have something of the most great importance - to confide in you, and I therefore beg that you will accord - me an interview. When I add to this that the matter - approaches very closely the future of your fiancée, Miss - Peterson, I do not doubt to myself that you will appoint a - time when I may call to see you.” - -The letter was signed _M. de Varigny_. - -Blaise had received this thought-provoking epistle two days previously, -and had been impressed by an uncomfortable consciousness that it -foreboded something unpleasant. He could not imagine in what manner the -affairs of Madame de Varigny impinged upon his own, or rather, as -she seemed to imply, upon those of his future wife, and this very -uncertainty had impelled him to fix the interview the Countess had -demanded at as early a moment as possible. Disagreeables were best met -and faced without delay. So now he was momentarily awaiting her arrival, -still unable to rid himself of the impression that something of an -unpleasant nature impended. - -He glanced through the open window, facing him. Afterwards, he was -always able to recall every little detail of the picture upon which his -eyes rested; it was etched upon his mind as ineffaceably as though cut -upon steel with a graver’s tool. - -Although the mellow sunlight of September flooded the lawns and -terraces, that indescribable change which heralds autumn had already -begun to manifest itself. Not that any hint of chill as yet edged the -balmy atmosphere or tint of russet reddened the gently waving foliage of -the trees. It was something less definite--a suggestion of maturity, of -completed ripening, conveyed by the deep, rich green of the grass, the -strong, woody growth of the trees, the full-blown glory of the roses -nodding on their stems. - -To the left, in the shade of a stately cedar, Lady Anne and Jean were -encamped with their sewing and writing materials at hand, and the rays -of sunshine, filtering between the widespread branches above them, -woke fugitive gold and silver lights in the down-bent auburn and -white-crowned heads. Further away, in the valley below, the brown smudge -of a wide-bottomed boat broke the smooth expanse of the lake whence the -mingled laughter of Nick and Claire came floating up on the breeze. - -It was a peaceful scene, full of intimate happiness and tender promises, -and Blaise watched it with contented eyes. The voice of Baines, formal -and urbane, roused him from a pleasant reverie. - -“Madame de Varigny,” announced that functionary, throwing open the door -and standing aside for the visitor to enter. - -Blaise rose courteously to greet her, holding out his hand. But the -Countess shook her head. - -“No, I will not shake hands,” she said abruptly. “When you know why I am -come, you will not want to shake hands with me.” - -There was something not unattractive about the outspoken refusal to sail -under false colours, more especially softened, as it was, by the charm -of the faintly foreign accent and intonation. - -Madame de Varigny had paused a moment in the middle of the room and -was regarding her host with curiously appraising eyes, and as Blaise -returned her gaze he was conscious, as once before at the fancy-dress -ball at Montavan, of the strange sense of familiarity this woman had for -him. - -“I am sorry for that,” he said, answering her refusal to shake hands. -“Won’t you, at least, sit down?” pulling forward a chair. - -“Yes, I will sit.” - -She sank into the chair with the quick, graceful motion of the South, -and continued to regard Blaise watchfully between the thick fringes of -her lashes. Had Jean been present, she would have been struck anew by -the expression of implacability which hardened the dark-brown eyes. By -that, and by something else as well--a look of unmistakable triumph. - -“I have much--much to say to you, Monsieur Tor-ma-rin,” she began at -last. “I will commence by telling you a little about myself. I am”--here -she looked away for an instant, then shot a swift, penetrating glance at -him--“an Italian by birth.” - -A brief silence followed this announcement. Blaise was thinking -concentratedly. So Madame de Varigny, despite her French name and her -French mannerisms, was an Italian! He might have guessed it had the -possibility ever definitely presented itself to him--guessed it from -those broad, high cheek bones, those liquid, southern-dark eyes, and -the coarse, blue-black hair. Yet, except for one fleeting moment at -Montavan, the idea had never occurred to him, and it had then been -swiftly dissipated by Jean’s explanation that the impressive-looking -Cleopatra was the Comtesse de Varigny and her chaperon for the time -being. - -Italian! Blaise felt more convinced than ever now that Madame de -Varigny’s visit portended unpleasant developments. Something, a voice -from the past, was about to break stridently on the peaceful present. He -braced himself to meet and counter whatever might be coming. Vaguely -he foresaw some kind of blackmail, and he thanked Heaven for Jean’s -absolute understanding and complete knowledge of the past and of all -that appertained to his first unhappy marriage. There would be little -foothold here for an attempt at blackmail, however skilfully worked, he -reflected grimly. - -He therefore responded civilly to Madame de Varigny’s statement, -apparently accepting it at its mere face value. - -“I am surprised,” he told her. “You have altogether the air of a -Parisian.” - -The Countess smiled. - -“Oh, I had a French grandmother,” she returned carelessly. “Also, I have -lived much in Paris.” - -“Ah! that explains it,” replied Tormarin, leaning back in his chair as -though satisfied. “It’s the influence of environment and heredity, I -expect.” - -He was fencing carefully, waiting for the woman to show her hand. - -“I have also Corsican blood in my veins,” pursued Madame de Varigny. -Then, as Tormarin made no answer, she leaned forward and said intently: -“Do you know the characteristic of the Corsicans, Monsieur Tor-ma-rin? -They never forget--_nevaire_”--her foreign accent increasing, as usual, -with emotion of any kind. “The Corsican always repays.” - -“Yes? And you have something to repay? Is that it?” - -“Yes. I have something to repay.” - -“A revenge, in fact?” - -“She shook her head. - -“No. I do not call it revenge. It is punishment--the just punishment -earned by the man who married Nesta Freyne and brought her in return -nothing but misery.” Tormarin rose abruptly. - -“What have the affairs of Nesta Freyne to do with you?” he asked -sternly. “As you are obviously aware, she was my wife. And I do not -propose to discuss private personal matters with an entire stranger.” He -moved towards the door. “I think our interview can very well terminate -at that. I do not wish to forget that I am your host.” - -“You are more than that,” said Madame de Varigny suavely. “You are my -brother-in-law.” - -“_What?_” Tormarin swung ’round and faced her. - -“Yes.” The suavity was gone now, replaced by a curious deadly precision -of utterance, enhanced by the foreign rendering of syllabic values. “I -am--or was, until my marriage--Margherita Valdi. I am Nesta’s sister.” - -Tormarin regarded her steadily. - -“In that case,” he said, “I will hear what you have to say. Though I -don’t think,” he added, “that any good can come of raking up the past. -It is better--forgotten.” - -“Forgotten?” Madame de Varigny seized upon the unlucky word. “Yes--it -may be easy enough for you to forget--you who took Nesta’s young, -beautiful life and crushed it; you who came like a thief and stole from -me the one creature in the whole world whom I loved--my _bambina_, my -little sister. Oh, yes”--her voice rose passionately--“easy enough when -there is another woman--a new love--with whom you think to start your -life all over again! But I tell you, you _shall not!_ There shall be no -new beginning for you--no marriage with this Jean Peterson to whom you -are now _fiancé_. I forbid it--I----” - -Blaise stemmed the torrent of her speech with an authoritative gesture. - -“May I ask how the news of my engagement reached you?” he asked, his -cool, dispassionate question falling like a hailstone dropped into some -molten stream of lava. - -“Oh, I have kept watch. I have the means of knowing. There is very -little that has happened to you since--since I wrote to you of Nesta’s -death”--she stumbled a little over the words, and Blaise, despite his -anger, was conscious of a sudden flash of sympathy for her--“very little -that I have not known. And this--your engagement, I knew of that when it -was barely a week old.” - -“I’m really curious to know why my affairs should be of such surpassing -interest to you. My engagement, for instance--how did you hear of it?” - -“Oh, that was easy”--contemptuously. “There was another man who loved -your Mees Peterson--this Monsieur Burke. I used him. I knew he was -afraid that you might win her, and I told him that if ever you became -engaged he must come and tell me, and I would show him how to make sure -that you should never marry her. Oh! That was _vairy_ simple!” - -“I’m afraid you promised him more than you can hope to perform. I -grant that you have every reason to dislike me--hate me, if you will. I -acknowledge, too, that I was to blame, miserably to blame, for Nesta’s -unhappiness--as much in fault as she herself. But there is nothing -gained at this late hour by apportioning the blame. We each made bad -mistakes--and we have each had to pay the price.” - -“Yours has been a very light price--comparatively,” she commented with -intense bitterness. - -“Do you think so?” - -Something in the quiet, still utterance of the brief question brought -her glance swiftly, curiously, back to his face. It was as though, -behind those four short words, she could feel the intolerable pressure -of years of endurance. For a moment she seemed to waver, then, as -though she had deliberately pushed the impression aside, she laughed -disagreeably. - -“Too light to satisfy her sister, at any rate.” - -Tormarin froze. - -“It is fortunate, then, that my ultimate fate does not lie in your -hands,” he observed. - -“But that is just where it does lie--in the palm of my hand--there!” - -She flung out one shapely hand, palm, upward, and pointed to it with the -other. - -“And now--see--I close my hand--so!... And this beautiful marriage of -which you have dreamed, your marriage with Mees Peterson--_it does not -take place!_” - -“Are you mad?” asked Blaise contemptuously, experiencing all an -Englishman’s distaste for this display of unforced drama. - -She shook her head. - -“No,” she said quietly. “I am not mad.” - -The air of theatricality seemed to fall suddenly away from her, leaving -her a stern and sombre figure, invested with an intrinsic atmosphere of -tragedy, filled with one sentiment only--the thirst for vengeance. - -“No. I am not mad. I am telling you the truth. You can never marry Jean -Peterson, because Nesta--your wife--still lives.” - -Tormarin fell back a pace. For one moment he believed the woman had gone -genuinely mad--that by dint of long brooding upon how she might most -hurt and punish the Englishman whom she had never forgiven for marrying -her sister, she had evolved from a half-crazed mind the belief that -Nesta still lived and that thus she would be able to prevent his -marriage with any other woman. - -And then, looking into those seeming soft brown eyes with the granite -hardness in their depths, he could see the light of reason burning -steadily within them. - -Madame de Varigny was quite sane, as sane as he was himself. And if -so... - -A great fear came upon him--the fear of a man who dimly senses the -approach of some appalling danger and knows that it will find him -utterly defenceless. - -“Do you know what you are saying?” he demanded, his voice roughened and -uneven. - -“Yes, I know. Nesta is alive,” she repeated simply. - -“_Alive?_” - -The word was wrung from him, hardly more than a hoarse whisper of sound. -He swung round upon her violently. - -“But you yourself wrote and told me of her death?” She nodded placidly. - -“Yes. I wrote a lie.” - -“But the official information? We had that, too, later, from the French -police, confirming your account. You had better be careful about what -you are telling me,” he added sternly. “Lies won’t answer, now.” - -“The need for lying is past,” she answered with the most absolute -candour. “The French police wrote quite truthfully all they knew. They -had found the body of a suicide, whom I identified as my sister. To -strengthen matters I bribed someone I knew also to identify the dead -girl as Nesta. She was a married woman, too, the poor little dead, one! -So it was quite simple. And I took Nesta home--home to Château Varigny. -I had married by then. But she had heard of my marriage through friends -in Italy and wrote to me from there, telling me of her misery with you -and begging me to succour her. So I went to Italy and brought her back -with me to Varigny. Then I planned that you should believe her dead. It -was all very simple,” she repeated complacently. - -“But what was your object in all this? Why did you scheme to keep me in -ignorance? What was your purpose?” - -“Why?” Her voice deepened suddenly, the placid satisfaction with which -she had narrated the carrying out of her plan disappearing from it -completely. “Why? I did it to punish you--first for stealing my Nesta -from me and then because, after you had stolen her, you brought her -nothing but misery and heart-break. She was so young--so young! And you, -with your hideous temper and cold, formal English ways--you broke her -heart, cowed her, crushed her!” - -“She was old enough to coquette with every man she met,” came grimly -between Tormarin’s teeth. “No husband--English or Italian, least of all -Italian--would have endured her conduct.” - -“She would not have played with other men if you had loved her. She -was all fire. And you--you were like a wet log that will not burn!” - She gestured fiercely. “You _never_ loved her! It was in a moment -of passion--of desire that you married her!... But you were sure, -eventually, to meet some other woman and learn what love--real love--is. -So I waited. And when I saw you at Montavan with Jean--I knew that -the day I had waited for so long would come at last. I knew that your -punishment was ready to my hand.” - -“Do you mean”--Blaise spoke in curiously measured accents--“do you -mean that you deliberately concealed the fact that Nesta still lived so -that----” - -“So that you should not marry the woman that you loved when the time -came! Yes, I planned it all! I kept Nesta safely hidden at Varigny, -and I made little changes in her appearance--a woman can, you -know”--mockingly--“the colour of her hair, the way of dressing it. Oh, -just little changes, so that if by chance she was seen in the street -by anyone who had known her as your wife she would not easily be -recognised.” Oh once more with that exasperating complacence at her own -skill in deception--“I thought of every little detail.” - -Tormarin stood listening to her silently, like a man in a trance. His -face had grown drawn and haggard, and his eyes burned in their sockets. -Once, as she poured out her story of trickery and deception, she heard -him mutter dazedly: “Jean... Jean,” and the anguish in his voice might -have moved any woman to pity save only one who was utterly and entirely -obsessed with the desire for vengeance. - -But the intolerable suffering which had suddenly lined his face and -rimmed his mouth with tiny beads of sweat was meat and drink to her. She -gloried in it. This was her hour of triumph after long years of waiting. - -She smiled at him blandly. - -“I think I have behaved very well,” she pursued. “I might have waited -till you were actually married. But I have no wish to punish the little -Jean. She, at least, is ‘on the square,’ as you say--though it would -have revenged my Nesta well had I waited. You ruined Nesta’s life; I -could have ruined the life of the woman you love. I did think of it. Ah! -You would have suffered then, knowing that the Jean you worshipped was -neither wife, nor maid, but a----” - -“_Be silent, woman!_” - -Tortured beyond bearing, this final taunt, levelled at the woman he -held more dear than anything in life, snapped his last thread of -self-control. - -He flung himself forward and his hands were gripping, gripping at the -soft ivory throat from which the taunt had sprung. He felt the woman -writhe, struggling to pull his hands from her neck. But it meant nothing -to him. He did not think of her any longer as a woman. She was something -vile--leprous to the very core of her being--a thing to be destroyed. -The thing which had made of all Jean’s promised happiness a black and -bitter mockery. - -The mad Tormarin rage surged through his veins like a consuming fire. He -would break her--break her and utterly destroy her just as one destroyed -a deadly snake. - -And then across the thunderous roar that beat in his ears came the -beloved voice, the voice that would have power to call him out of the -depths of hell itself--Jean’s voice. - -“Blaise! Blaise! What are you doing? Stop!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII--THE DIVIDING SWORD - -SLOWLY, reluctantly, Tormarin’s hands loosened their clasp of Madame -de Varigny’s throat, and with a swift, flexible twist of the body she -slipped aside and stood a few paces away from him. - -Jean looked from one to the other with horrified eyes. “Madame de -Varigny?--Blaise?” she stammered. “What is it?... Why, you--you might -have killed her, Blaise!” - -He stared at her blankly. His release of the Italian woman had been in -mere blind response to Jean’s first imperative appeal that he should -desist But the mists of ungovernable anger had hardly yet cleared from -his brain; the blood still drummed in his ears like the roar of the sea. - -“Blaise”--Jean spoke imploringly. “What were you doing? Tell me------” - -With an effort he seemed to recover himself. - -“It’s a pity you didn’t let me finish it, Jean,” he said harshly. “Such -women are better dead.” - -Madame de Varigny was fingering her neck delicately where the pressure -of Blaise’s grip had scored red marks on the cream-like flesh. She -seemed quite composed. Her smile still held its quiet triumph and her -long dark eyes gleamed with the same mockery that had brought her within -measureable distance of quick death. - -“As Monsieur Tor-ma-rin seems to find a difficulty in explaining--permit -me,” she said at last “He was angry with me because I bring him the good -news that his wife is still alive, that he need mourn no longer.” - -While she spoke her eyes, resting on Blaise’s mask-like face, held an -expression of malicious satisfaction. - -“His wife... alive?” repeated Jean dazedly. “Blaise, is she mad? Nesta -has been dead years--years.” Then, as he made no answer, she continued -rapidly, a faint note of fear vibrating in her voice: “Isn’t it so? -Blaise--speak! Quickly, tell her--Nesta has been dead some years!” - -“He cannot tell me anything about her which I do not know already, Mees -Peterson, seeing that she is my sister and has been living with me ever -since her husband’s cruelty drove her from his home.” - -“Is it true, Blaise?” whispered Jean. - -Belief that some substance of terrible truth lay behind the Italian’s -coolly uttered statements was beginning to lay hold of her. - -“Blaise, Blaise”--her voice rising a little--“say it isn’t true--tell -her it isn’t true.” - -He looked at her speechlessly, but the measureless pain in his eyes -answered her more fully, more convincingly than any words. - -“You see?” broke in Madame de Varigny triumphantly. “He cannot deny it! -It was I who told him of her death and I who now tell him that she still -lives. Listen to me, mademoiselle, and I will recount you how----” - -“No!” interrupted Jean proudly. “Whatever there may be for me to hear, I -will hear it from Blaise--not from you.” - -She turned again to Tormarin. - -“Tell me everything, Blaise,” she said simply. - -He took her outstretched hands and drew her slowly towards him. No one, -reading now the calm sadness, the stern imprint of endurance on his -face, could have imagined it was that of the same man who, a few moments -earlier, had been swept by such a tempest of uncontrollable anger. - -“Jean,” he said very gently and pitifully. “I’m afraid that what Madame -de Varigny says may be true. I have no proof that it is not----” - -“Nor have you any proof that it is,” broke in Jean swiftly. She swung -round on Madame de Varigny. “Where is your proof--where is your proof?” - -The Italian smiled. - -“Monsieur Tor-ma-rin will find his wife in my car. I bade the chauffeur -wait with it at the lodge gate.” - -“Do you mean you have brought Nesta--_here?_” cried Blaise. - -“Why not?” replied Madame do Varigny, with a return to the same -exasperating complacency with which she had originally described her -whole scheme of revenge. “And--_here?_ Surely her husband’s house is the -proper place to which to bring his wife?” - -“She cannot remain here,” said Blaise with decision. - -“No? For the moment that was not my idea. I brought her with me because -I thought there could be no more convincing proof.” - -Blaise looked at her searchingly. He fancied he detected a false note -in her voluble speech, and a new idea presented itself to him. Was the -woman simply putting up a gigantic bluff? Or was it really Nesta, his -wife, waiting in the car at the lodge gates? It occurred to him as -perfectly feasible that it might be merely some woman whose remarkable -resemblance to the dead girl had suggested to the Countess’s fertile -brain the scheme that she should impersonate her. - -His mind seized eagerly upon the idea, bolstering it up with Madame de -Varigny’s own admissions. “_I made little changes in her appearance_,” - she had said. “_The colour of her hair, the way of dressing it_.” - Probably she was relying on those “little changes,” and on the blurred -recollection resulting from the length of time which had elapsed since -Nesta’s death, to aid her in her plan of introducing as his wife a woman -who closely resembled her. He felt morally sure of it, and the light of -hope suddenly shone bravely. - -“I believe you are deceiving me,” he said quietly. “Lying--as you have -lied all through the piece. I’ll come and see this ‘wife’ you have -waiting in the car for me”--grimly. He turned to Jean. “Keep up your -courage, sweetheart” he said in a low voice full of infinite solicitude. -“I believe the whole thing is a put-up job to separate us.” - -Jean smiled at him radiantly. She felt all at once very confident. In a -few minutes this nightmarish story of a Nesta still alive and claiming -her rights as Blaise’s wife would be proved a lie. - -Tormarin crossed the room and opened the door. - -“Now, Madame de Varigny--will you come with me?” - -The woman hesitated a moment. - -“Come,” insisted Blaise firmly. “Or--are you afraid, after all, to bring -me face to face with my wife?” - -She shook her head. - -“No,” she said. “I am not afraid. It is only that I am so sorry--so -sorry for the little Jean.” - -Her eyes, soft and dark and liquid as the eyes of a deer, sought Jean’s -beseechingly. - -“I am so sorry,” she repeated. And passed, slowly,--almost unwillingly, -it seemed, out of the room, followed by Tormarin. - -***** - -Jean raised her head from Blaise’s shoulder and pushed back her hair, -damp with perspiration, from her forehead. It seemed to her as though -she had been down, down into some awful, limitless abyss of darkness -from which she was now feebly struggling back to a painful consciousness -of material things. A great sea had surged over her head, blotting -out everything, and remained poised above her like a huge black arch, -imprisoning her in the vast, deserted chaos in which she found herself -wandering. Then--after a long time, it seemed--it had surged away again -and she could distinguish Blaise’s face bent above her. - -“Then--then it’s true?” she said stupidly. Her voice sounded tiny, even -to herself--a mere thread of sound. - -Blaise made no answer. He only held her a little closer in his arms. She -supposed he hadn’t heard that thin little thread of voice. She must try -again. - -“Is it true, Blaise? Is Nesta----” But somehow the last word wouldn’t -come. - -She felt his arm jerk against her side. - -“Yes,” he said baldly. “It’s true. Nesta is alive. I’ve seen her.” - -Jean said nothing. She knew it--had known it all the time the arched -wall of sea had kept her down in that awful black waste where there -had been neither warmth nor sunshine but only bitter, freezing cold and -lightless space. She clung a little closer to Blaise, like a frightened, -exhausted child. - -“Heart’s beloved... little _dearest_ Jean...” She heard the wrung murmur -of his voice above her head. Then suddenly, his arms tightening round -her: “_My soul!_” - -The sunlight still slanted in through the windows, mellow and golden. -A gay shout of laughter came up from the boat on the lake. The clock on -the chimney-piece struck the hour--twelve slow, maddening strokes. - -Jean stared at its blank, foolish face. The hands had pointed to -half-past eleven when the door of the room had closed behind Blaise and -Madame de Varigny. It had taken just a brief half-hour to smash up her -whole world--to rob her of everything that mattered. - -“I must think--I must think,” she muttered. - -“Belovedest”--Blaise’s voice was wonderfully tender--not with the -passionate tenderness of a lover but with a solicitude that was almost -maternal. “Belovedest, don’t try to think now. Try to rest a little, -won’t you?” - -And at that Jean came right back to an understanding of all that had -happened, as the needle of a compass swings back to the frozen north. - -“Rest?” she said. “_Rest?_ Do you realise that I shall have all the -remainder of life to--rest in? There’ll he nothing else to do.” - -She released herself very gently from Tormarin’s arms and, crossing the -room to the window, stood looking out. - -“How funny!” she said in a rather high-pitched, uncertain voice. “It all -looks just the same--although everything in the world is changed.” - -He came and stood beside her. - -“No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is changed, dear. Our love is the same -as it was before. Always remember that.” - -“But we can’t every marry now.” - -“No. We can’t marry--now. You’ll never have the Tormarin temper to bear -with, after all!” - -She laid her hand swiftly across his lips. - -“Oh, it was dreadful!” she said, recalling the terrible scene which she -had interrupted. “It--it hardly seemed--_you_, Blaise.” - -“For the moment it wasn’t. It was the Tormarin devil--the curse of every -generation. But I think that Varigny woman could turn a saint into a -devil if she tried! She said something about you--and I couldn’t stand -it.” - -“Was that it? Then I suppose I shall have to forgive you”--with a pale -little attempt at a smile. - -But the half-hearted smile faded again almost instantly. - -“Oh, Blaise, what would your temper matter if we could still be -together?” she cried passionately. “Nothing in the wide world would -matter then!” - -Presently she spoke again. - -“But it’s worse for you than for me. I wish it were more equal.” - -“How worse for me? I don’t understand. Unless”--with a brief, sad -smile--“you love me less?” - -“Ah, you know I don’t mean that! But I’ve only the separation to face. -I’m not tied to somebody I don’t love. You’ve got Nesta to consider.” - -“Nesta?” He gave a short, grim laugh. “Nesta can go back to where she -came from.” - -There was a long silence. At last Jean broke it. - -“Blaise, you can’t do that--you can’t send her away again,” she said in -quick, low tones. “She’s your wife.” - -“My wife! She seems to have been oblivious of the fact--and to have -wished me to be equally oblivious of it--for the last few years.” - -“Yes, of course she’s been wrong, wickedly wrong. But that doesn’t -alter the fact that she’s your responsibility, Blaise. You must take her -back.” - -“Take her back?”--violently. “I’ll be shot if I do! She’s chosen to live -her life without me for the last few years--she can continue to do so.” - -Jean laid her hand on his arm. She was smiling wistfully. “Dear, you’ll -have to take her back,” she persisted gently. “Don’t you see--she’s not -wholly to blame? You’ve admitted that. You’ve blamed yourself in a large -measure for her running away. It’s up to you now to put things straight, -to--to give her the chance she didn’t have before.” - -“You’re discounting these last few years,” he returned gravely. -“These years in which she has lived a lie, allowing me to believe her -dead---cheating and deceiving me as no man was ever cheated before. -She’s cheated me out of my happiness”--heavily--“taken _you_ from me!” - -“Yes, I know.” Jean’s voice quivered, but she steadied it again. “But -even in that, she was not solely to blame. You’ve told me how--how weak -she is and easily led astray. And she’s very young. What chance would -Nesta have of asserting her will against her sister’s, even had she -wished to return to you? She ran away from Staple in a fit of temper -and because you had frightened her. After that--you can see for -yourself--Madame de Varigny is responsible for everything that has -happened since.” - -Tormarin remained silent. The quiet justice of Jean’s summing up of the -situation struck at him hard. - -She waited a moment, then added quietly: - -“You must take her back, Blaise.” - -He wheeled round on her violently. - -“And you?” he exclaimed. “You? Did you ever love me, Jean, that you can -talk so coolly about turning me over to another woman?” - -She whitened at the bitter accusation in his tones, but she did not -flinch. - -“It’s just _because_ I love you, Blaise, that I want you to do this -thing--to do the only thing that is worthy of you. Oh, my dear, my -dear”--her hands went out to him in sudden, helpless pleading--“do you -think it’s _easy_ for me to ask it?” The desolate cry pierced him. He -caught her in his arms, kissing her fiercely, adoringly. - -“Sweetheart!... Forgive me! I’m half mad, I think. Beloved, say that you -forgive me!” - -She leaned against him, glad to feel the straining clasp of his arms -about her--to rest once more in her place against his heart. - -“Dearest of all,” she said tremulously, “there is no question of -forgiveness between us two. There never will be. We’re just--both of -us--struggling in the dark, and there’s only duty”--brokenly--“only duty -to hold to.” - -They stood together in silence, comforted just a little by the mere -human touch of each other in this communion of sorrow which had so -suddenly come upon them, yet knowing in their hearts that this was the -very comfort that must for ever be denied them in the lonely future. - -At last Jean raised her head from its resting-place and her eyes -searched Blaise’s face, asking the question she could no longer bring -herself to put in words. He met their gaze. “Jean, is it your wish I do -this thing--take Nesta back?” He felt a shudder run through her frame. -Twice she tried ineffectually to answer. At last she forced her dry lips -to utter an affirmative. - -“So be it.” - -His answer sounded in her ears like the knell to the whole meaning of -life. The future was settled. Henceforth their lives must lie apart. - -“So be it,” said Blaise. “She shall come back and take her place again -at Staple.” - -Jean clung to him a little closer. - -“Blaise, beloved--I know the harder part will be yours. But mine -won’t be easy, dear. I shall go to Charnwood to be with Claire at -once--to-morrow--and it won’t be easy, when I see in an evening the -lights twinkle up at Staple, to know that you two are within, shut in -from the world together, while I’m outside--always outside your life and -your love.” - -“You’ll never be outside my love,” he said swiftly. “That’s yours, now -and forever. And no other woman shall rob you of one jot or tittle -of it, were she my wife twenty times over. I will bring Nesta back to -Staple, and she shall bear my name and live as my wife in the eyes of -the world. But my love--that is yours, utterly and entirely. Yours and -no other’s.” - -She lifted her face to his, and their lips met in a kiss that was the -seal of love and all love’s faithfulness. - -“So is mine yours,” she said. “How and forever, in this world and the -next. Oh, Blaise--beloved!”--she clung to him in a passion of love and -anguish and straining belief--“Some day, surely, in that other world, -God will give us freedom to take our happiness!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII--THE RETURNING TIDE - -TWO months had elapsed since Fate’s dividing sword had fallen, forever -separating Jean from the man she loved, and the subsequent march of -events, with the many changes involved and the bitter loneliness of soul -entailed, had made the two months seem to her more like two years. - -She had left Staple for Charnwood on the day following that of Madame de -Varigny’s visit. It was no longer possible for her to remain under the -same roof with Blaise, where the enforced strain of meeting each other -daily, and of endeavouring to behave as though nothing more than mere -commonplace friendship linked them together, would have been too great -for either of them to endure even for the few remaining days which still -intervened before the date originally planned for her departure. - -Lady Anne, with her usual sympathetic insight, had made no effort -to dissuade her, reluctant though she had been to part with her. For -herself, the fact that Nesta was alive had come upon her in the light of -an almost overwhelming blow. She had never liked the girl, whereas -she had grown to look upon Jean as a beloved daughter, and no one had -rejoiced more sincerely than his mother when Blaise had confided to her -the news of his engagement. At last she would see that grey page in his -life turned down for ever and the beginning of a newer, fairer page, -illuminated with happiness! And instead, like a tide that has receded -far out and then rushes in again with redoubled energy, the whole -misery and sorrow of the past had returned upon him, a thousand times -accentuated by reason of his love for Jean. - -It was with a heavy heart, therefore, that Lady Anne, together with -Nick, quitted Staple and established herself for the second time at the -Dower House, retiring thither in favour of Nesta who was now installed -once more at the Manor. And the thought of how gladly she would have -effected the same change, had it been Jean whom Blaise was bringing home -as his bride, added but a keener pang to her sorrow. - -She watched with anxious eyes the progress of events at Staple. At the -commencement of the new régime Nesta had appeared genuinely repentant -and ashamed of her conduct in the past, and there was something -disarming in the little, half-apologetic air with which she had at first -reassumed her position of châtelaine of Staple, deferring eagerly to -Blaise on every point and trying her utmost to please him and conform -to his wishes. It held something of the appeal of a forgiven child who -tries to atone for former naughtiness by an almost alarming access of -virtue. - -She accepted with meek docility Blaise’s decision regarding the purely -formal relations upon which their married life was henceforth to be -based, apparently humbly thankful to be reinstated as his wife on any -terms whatsoever that he chose to dictate.. - -“I know I have been bad--_bad_,” she declared, “to run away and leave -you like that. I can’t”--forlornly--“hope for you to love me again----” - -And Tormarin had replied with unmistakable decision: - -“No, you can’t hope for that. And I’m glad you understand and recognise -the fact. Still, we can try to be good friends, Nesta, at least.” - -But this tranquil state of things only lasted for a comparatively short -time. Very soon, as the novelty and satisfaction of her reinstatement -began to wear off, Nesta became more self-assured and, apparently, -considerably less frequently visited by spasms of repentance and -remorse. - -Her butterfly nature could retain no very deep impression for any -length of time, and gradually the characteristics of the old Nesta--the -pettish, self-willed, pleasure-loving woman of former times--began to -reassert themselves. - -Blaise tried hard to exercise forbearance with her and to treat her, at -least with justice and with a certain meed of kindliness. But she did -not second his efforts. Instead, she became more exigeant and difficult -as time passed on. - -She was no longer satisfied by the fact that she was once more installed -as the mistress of Staple. She demanded a husband who would surround her -with all the little observances that only love itself can dictate, whom -she could alternately scold and cajole as the fancy took her, but who -would always come back to her, after a tiff, ready anew to play the -adoring lover. - -She found Blaise’s cool, measured, elder-brotherly kindness unendurable, -and she exhausted herself beating continually against the rock of his -determination, without producing any effect other than to make his -manner even more austere, less friendly than it had been before. - -Then when she recognised her total inability to move him to any sort of -responsive emotion, and that her beauty--which was undeniable--made no -more impression upon him than if he had been blind, she resorted to the -old, painfully, familiar weapons of tears and fits of temper, in the -course of which she would upbraid him bitterly, pouring forth streams -of reproaches which more often than not culminated in an attack of -hysterics. - -All of which Blaise bore with a curious, stoical self-control. It seemed -as though the Tormarin temper had been exorcised, as if that fierce -storm of anger provoked by Madame de Varigny’s taunts, and which had so -nearly resulted in a tragedy, had shocked Blaise into realisation of -the terrible latent possibilities of the family failing and the absolute -necessity for an iron self-government. - -For weeks he supported Nesta’s petty gibes and ebullitions of temper -with illimitable patience, and it was only when, trading on his -unaccustomed forbearance, she ventured too far, that she was brought -very suddenly to understand that there was a limit beyond which she -might not go. - -“I know why you no longer love me,” she told him at last, on an occasion -when she had been vainly endeavouring, by every feminine blandishment -and wile of which she was mistress, to evoke from him some sign of an -awakening _tendresse_. “I know!” - -She nodded her dark head significantly, while pin-points of jealous -anger flickered in her long, narrow eyes, black as midnight. - -“Then, if you know,” replied Tormarin patiently, “it is surely most -foolish of you to keep asking why I do not. Why can’t you content -yourself with things as they are, Nesta? We can only try to make the -best of a bad job. You don’t help me much in the matter.” - -“I don’t want to help you,” she retorted viciously. “I want you to love -me. And you won’t, because of that washed-out-looking, carroty-haired -woman who is living with Lady Latimer. And she’s in love with -you, too!... No! I _won’t_ be quiet! Oh!”--her voice rising -hysterically--“you think I don’t notice things, but I do. I do, I tell -you!” - -She sprang up from the couch, where she had been lolling indolently amid -a heap of cushions, and crossed the room to his side. - -“Do you hear me?” she cried violently, shaking him by the arm. “You -think I’m a blind fool! But I’m not! I’m not! I’ve seen that Peterson -woman looking at you like a cat looking through the larder window----” - -Suddenly she felt Blaise’s hand clapped against her lips, stemming the -torrent of vulgar recrimination and abuse that poured from them. He held -it there quite gently, so as not to hurt her, but immovably, and she had -perforce to hear what he wished to say in rebellious silence. - -“Listen to me,” he said gently. “It is quite true what you say--that I -love Jean Peterson and that she loves me. But we have given up our love, -and with it our hope of happiness in this world, for you. In return, you -will give up something for us. You will give up the infinite pleasure -you appear to derive from vilifying and belittling a woman who is as -much above you as the heavens are above the earth, whose conception of -love is as fine and pure as yours is mean and commonplace and jealous. -You will never again speak to Miss Peterson with anything but respect, -nor will you ever again refer to the love which you now know for a fact -exists between us. Your lips soil such love as ours. If you do, if you -disobey my commands in either of these respects, you go out of my house -that same day. _And you don’t return._” - -He released her and had the satisfaction, for once, of perceiving -that she believed he meant what he said. Presumably she came to the -conclusion that, in the circumstances, discretion was the better part -of valour, for she made no attempt to challenge his determination in the -matter. - -At the same time, unknown to him, she compelled Jean to pay for the -silence enforced upon her at home. With a species of venom, absurdly -childish in its manifestation, she essayed to excite Jean’s envy by -constantly enlarging to her upon the subject of Blaise’s perfections as -a husband, drawing entirely imaginary descriptions of the attention he -paid her and of his constant solicitude for her welfare, and vaunting -her happiness at being his wife. - -“I am so proud to have won so fine and splendid a husband,” she would -declare fervently. “Would you not feel the same, Miss Peterson, if you -were me?” - -And Jean would make answer, outwardly unmoved: - -“Indeed I should. You ought to be a happy woman, Mrs. Tormarin.” - -The quiet composure which Jean invariably opposed to these knat-like -attacks annoyed Nesta intensely. Endowed with all the petty jealousy of -a small nature, she herself, had the situation been reversed, would -have found this pinprick kind of warfare insupportable, and it made her -furious that her best thought-out and most spiteful efforts failed to -goad Jean into any expression of either anger or distress. The “cold -Englishwoman’s” armour of indifference and reserve seemed impervious to -no matter what poison-tipped dart she loosed against her. - -Nesta felt that, as the woman in possession, she was missing half the -satisfaction in life by reason of her inability to triumph openly over -the other woman--the woman without the gate. Finally, at the end of -her resources of innuendo and allusion, she tried the effect of open -warfare. - -She had driven over to Charnwood to call and, as Claire was away, -spending the afternoon with friends, Jean had perforce to entertain her -undesired visitor alone. It was just as she was preparing to take her -departure that Nesta launched her attack. - -“You look so ill, Miss Peterson,” she remarked commiseratingly. “So pale -and worn! It does not suit you, I am sure, for of course you must have -been very pretty at one time for my husband to have wished to marry -you.” - -Jean stared at her without reply. The outrageous speech almost took her -breath away, by its sheer, impudent bravado. - -“There!” Nesta feigned dismay. “Now I have offended you! And I so want -us to be good friends. But of course”--quickly--“it is difficult for you -to feel friendly towards the wife of Blaise. I can understand that. I -suppose”--her head a little tilted to one side like that of an enquiring -robin and her eyes fastened on the other’s white face with a merciless, -gimlet gaze that filled Jean with helpless rage--“I suppose you loved -him _very_ much?” - -Jean felt the blood rush into her cheeks and caught a responsive gleam -of satisfaction in the other’s half-closed eyes. - -“I think that is hardly a subject which can be discussed between us,” - she said, with a supreme effort at self-control. - -And then, to her unbounded thankfulness, Tucker threw open the door and -announced that Mrs. Tormarin’s car was waiting. - -This open declaration of hostility on Nesta’s part gave Jean food for -reflection. Briefly she recounted the incident to Claire, adding: - -“It means I must not go to Staple again. If she intends to adopt that -attitude, it would make a situation which is already quite difficult -enough hopelessly impossible.” - -The two girls were pacing up and down the terrace at Charnwood together -when Jean indicated the consequences of Nesta’s visit, and Claire, -sensing the pain in her friend’s voice, pressed her arm sympathetically. -But she said nothing. What was there to say? Within herself, she felt -that Jean’s determination to eschew the Tormarin menage altogether was -the only wise one. - -“Poor Blaise!” pursued Jean, a slight tremor in her voice. “He has the -hardest part to bear. She must make life hideously difficult for him.” - -Claire nodded. - -“Yes. He is looking very fagged and strained. Horrid little beast!” she -added with unusual vehemence. “Why on earth couldn’t she have _stayed_ -dead?” - -Jean laughed joylessly. - -“Why indeed?--Only she never really died, you see.” - -“Jean”--Claire’s hand crept further along the other’s arm and the kind -little fingers sought and clasped Jean’s own--“if you knew how miserable -I am about you! It makes me feel wicked--disgustingly selfish and -wicked!--to be so happy myself when you have so much to bear.” - -There were tears in her voice, and Jean squeezed her hand reassuringly. - -“My dear,” she said earnestly, “you had your black years if anyone -ever had! If a woman ever deserved her happiness at last, you do.... -I suppose we all get our share of trouble in this world,” she went on -thoughtfully. “I remember the first time I ever met Blaise--that day -at Montavan, you know--he said that Destiny, with her snuffers, came -to most of us sooner or later and snuffed out our light of happiness. -Well”--rather drearily--“I suppose it’s my turn now and she’s come to -me. That’s all.” - -A little wind blew up from the valley, chill and complaining. Autumn had -the world at her mercy now, and a grey mist was rising from the sodden -fields, soaked by the continual rains of the preceding fortnight. - -Claire shivered. - -“Let’s go in,” she said. “It’s growing too cold to stay out any longer. -Besides, it’s depressing. Grey skies, bare branches--Oh! How I detest -the autumn!” They turned and retraced their steps to the house. As they -entered by way of the front door, they caught a glimpse of the postman -making his way briskly down the drive. A solitary letter lay upon the -hall table, addressed to Jean in a rather flourishy copper-plate style -of writing. - -“A bill, I suppose!” she commented indifferently. - -She picked it up carelessly, carrying it unopened to her room. Nor did -she open it immediately upon arriving there, stopping first to remove -her hat and coat. - -When at last she slit the envelope she found that it was no tradesman’s -bill, as she had imagined, but a letter from Glyn Peterson’s family -solicitor, announcing, in the stiff phraseology without which no lawyer -seems able to express himself, the sudden death of her father. - -Jean sat down abruptly, her legs seeming all at once to give way under -her. She could not grasp it--could not realise that the witty, charming -personality which, after all, in spite of Peterson’s lack of the more -conventional paternal attributes, had meant a great deal to her, had -been swept without warning out of her life for ever. - -Glyn Peterson had, it seemed, died very suddenly, in a remote corner of -Africa whither his restless wanderings had led him, and it had been -some weeks before the news of his death had reached his lawyer, who had -immediately communicated it to Jean. - -By his will, everything he possessed, except for a certain sum set aside -to cover a few legacies to old and valued servants, was left to Jean, -and with the quaint whimsicality which was characteristic of him he had -particularly mentioned: “_Beirnfels, the House of Dreams-Come-True_.” - -The little phrase, with its suggestion of joyous consummation, stabbed -her with a sharp thrill of pain. Greeting her, as it did, at the moment -when all her hopes of happiness were lying trampled beneath the iron -heel of hostile destiny, it seemed to add a last touch of irony to the -bitterness of the burden she had to bear. - -The House of Dreams-Come-True! In the solicitude and silence of her room -Jean laughed out loud at the mockery of it! But her breath caught in her -throat, sobbingly, and then quite suddenly the merciful, healing -tears began to fall, and, laying her head down on her arms, she cried -unrestrainedly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV--THE TEST - - -NEW YEAR’S EYE found Jean sitting alone in Claire’s special -sanctum--the room which had witnessed that frightful scene when Sir -Adrian had suddenly gone mad. - -It was a cosy enough little room in winter-time. A cheery fire crackled -in the open grate, while a heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the -door that gave egress to the terrace, effectually screening out the -ubiquitous draught which invariably seeks entry through crack and -hinge-space. - -Claire was at the Dower House this evening, where a New Year’s -dinner-party was in progress, but Jean had no heart for festivities of -any kind even had she not been precluded from taking part in them by -reason of her father’s death. - -The grief and strain of the last four months had set their mark upon -her. She was much thinner than formerly--her extreme slenderness -accentuated by the clinging black of the dress she was wearing--while -faint purple shadows lay beneath her eyes, giving her a look of frailty -and fatigue. - -She and Claire led a very sober and uneventful existence at Charnwood, -the one absorbed in her quiet happiness, the other in her quiet grief. -But the bond of their friendship had held true throughout the differing -fortunes which had fallen to the lot of each, and although for Jean -there was inevitable additional pain involved in still remaining within -the neighbourhood of Staple, it was counterbalanced by the comfort she -drew from Clare’s companionship. - -Besides, as she reflected dispiritedly, where else had she to go? The -Dower House would have been open to her, of course, at any time, but -there she would be certain to encounter Blaise more frequently, and of -late her principal preoccupation had been to avoid such meeting whenever -possible. And she could not face Beirnfels yet--alone! Some day, when -Claire was married, she knew that she must brace herself to return -there--to a house of dreams that would never come true now. But -at present she shrank intolerably from the idea. She craved -companionship--above all, the consoling, tender understanding which -Claire, who had herself suffered, was so well able to give her. - -The book that she had been reading earlier in the evening lay open -on her knee, and her thoughts were with Claire now. She pictured her -sitting next to Nick at dinner, her flower-like face radiant with -unclouded happiness, and Jean was thankful to the very bottom of her -heart that she was able to feel glad--glad of that happiness. At least -her own sorrow had not yet taught her the grudging envy which cannot -endure another’s joy. - -With a quickly repressed sigh, she turned again to her book. Its pages -fluttered faintly, as though stirred by some passing current of air, -and Jean, coming suddenly out of her reverie, was conscious of a cool -draught wafting towards her from the direction of the terrace door. - -Vaguely surprised, she glanced up, and a startled cry broke from her -lips. The door was open, the folds of the curtain had been drawn aside, -and in the aperture stood Blaise Tormarin. - -Jean sprang up from her chair and stood staring at him with dilated -eyes, one hand gripping the edge of the chimney-piece. - -“Blaise!... You!” The words issued stammeringly from her lips. - -“Yes,” he returned shortly. “May I come in?” - -Without waiting for an answer he closed the door behind him, letting the -curtain fall back into its place, and crossed the room to her side. - -Jean felt her heart contract as her eyes marked the changes wrought in -him by the few weeks which had elapsed since she had seen him. His face -was haggard as though from lack of sleep, and the lines on either side -the mouth were scored deep into the flesh. The mouth itself closed in a -tense line of savage misery and the stark bitterness of his eyes filled -her with grief and pity, knowing how utterly powerless she was to help -or comfort him. - -Distrusting her self-control, she snatched at the first conventional -remark that suggested itself. - -“I thought--I thought you and Nesta were both dining at the Dower -House,” she said confusedly. - -“Nesta is there. I made an excuse. I came here instead.” - -Something in the curt, clipped sentences sounded a note of warning in -her ears. - -“But you ought not to have come here,” she replied quickly--defensively -almost. “Why have you come, Blaise?” - -“I came,” he said slowly, “because I can’t bear my life without you a -day longer. Because---- Oh, Jean! Jean!... _Beloved!_ Do you need to ask -me why I came?” - -With a swift, irresistible movement he swept her up into his arms, -holding her crushed against his breast, his mouth on hers, kissing her -as a man kisses when love that has been long thwarted and denied at last -bursts asunder the shackles which constrained it. - -And Jean, starved for four long months of the touch of the beloved arms, -the pressure of the beloved lips upon her own, had yielded to him almost -before she was aware of her surrender. - -Then the remembrance of the woman who stood between them rushed across -her and she tore herself free from his embrace, white and trembling in -every limb. - -“Blaise!... Blaise!... What are you thinking of? Oh! We’re mad--mad!” - -She covered her face with her shaking hands but he drew them away, -gazing down at her with eyes that worshipped. - -“No, beloved, we’re not mad,” lie cried triumphantly. “We’re sane--sane -at last. We were mad to think we could live apart, mad to dream we could -starve love like ours. That was when we were mad! But we’ll never be -parted again; sweet----” - -“Blaise,” she whispered, staring at him with horrified, dilated eyes. -“You don’t know what you are saying! You’re forgetting Nesta--your wife. -Oh, go--go quickly! You must not stay here and talk like this to me!” - -“No,” he returned. “I won’t go, Jean. I’ve come to take you away with -me.” Once more his arms went round her. “Belovedest, I can’t live -without you any longer. I’ve tried--and I can’t do it. Jean, you’ll -come? You love me enough--enough to come away with me to the ends of the -earth where we’ll find happiness at last?” - -She sought to free herself from his, clasp, pressing with straining -hands against his chest. - -“No! No!” she cried breathlessly. “I can’t go with you... you know I -can’t! Ah! Don’t ask me, Blaise!” There was an agony of supplication in -her voice. - -“But I do ask you. And if you love me”--his eyes holding hers--“you’ll -come, Jean.” - -“I do love you,” she answered earnestly. “But it isn’t the you I love -asking me this, Blaise. It’s some other man--a stranger----” - -“If you love me, you’ll come,” he reiterated doggedly. “I can’t live -without you, Jean. I want you--oh, heart’s beloved, if you knew--” And -the burning, passionate words, the pent-up love and longing of months -of separation and despair, came pouring from his lips--beseeching and -demanding, wringing her heart, pulling at the love within her that ached -to give him the answer which he craved. - -“Oh, Blaise, dearest of all--hush! Hush!” She checked him brokenly, with -quivering lips. “I can’t go with you. It wouldn’t bring us happiness. -Ah, listen to me, dear!” She came close to him and laid her hands -imploringly on his arm, lifting her white, stricken face to his. “It -would only spoil our love--to take it like that when we have no right -to. It would smirch and soil it, make it something different. I think--I -think, in the end, Blaise, it would kill it.” - -“Nothing would ever kill my love for you,” he exclaimed passionately. -“Jean, little Jean, think of what our life together might be--the glory -and beauty of it--just you and I in our House of Dreams!” - -She caught her breath. Oh! Why did he make it so hard for her? With -every fibre of her being yearning towards him she must refuse, deny him, -drive him away from her. - -“No, no!” she cried tremulously. “We could never reach our House of -Dreams that way--Oh, I know it! At least, not the sort of House of -Dreams that would be worth anything to you or me, Blaise. It would -only be a sham, a make-believe. You can’t build true on a rotten -foundation.... Don’t ask me any more, dear. It’s so hard--so hard to -keep on saying no when everything in me wants to say yes. But I must say -it. And you... you must go back to Nesta.” - -Her voice almost failed her. She could feel her strength ebbing with -every moment that he stayed beside her. She knew that she would not -be able to resist his pleading much longer. Her own heart was fighting -against her--fighting on his side! - -He saw her weakness and caught at it eagerly. - -“Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded hoarsely. “Do you -know what you are sending me back to? Our life together--Nesta’s and -mine--has been simple hell upon earth. I obeyed you--and I took her -back. But I have done no good by it. She is as weak and worthless as she -ever was. Our days are one continual round of bickering and quarrels.” - His face darkened. “And she is not satisfied! Her nominal position as my -wife does not con tent her. Do you understand what that must mean--if -I go back?” He paused, his eyes bent steadily upon her. “Jean”--very -low--“now that you know--will you still send me hack to Nesta? Or will -you come with me and let us find our happiness together?” - -He watched the scarlet flood surge into her face and then retreat, -leaving it a pallid white. - -“Answer me!” he persisted, as she remained silent. - -“Wait... wait a little...” she muttered helplessly. - -She turned away from him and, leaning her elbows on the chimney-piece, -buried her face in her hands. - -The supreme test had come at last. She realised, now, that her -renunciation--that renunciation which had cost her so much pain -and bitterness--had been, after all, only something superficial and -incomplete. She had not made the full sacrifice that duty and honour -demanded of her. Though she had outwardly renounced her lover--bade him -return to Nesta--she still held him hers by the utter faithfulness of -his love for her. Nesta had had but the husk, the shell--a husband in -name only, every hour of their life together an insult to her pride and -womanhood. - -Jean’s thoughts lashed her. Her shoulders bent and cowered a little as -though beneath a physical blow. - -There had been a time--oh! very long ago, it seemed, before Destiny -had come with her snuffers and quenched the twin flames and love and -happiness--a time when dimly, as in some exquisite dream, she had heard -the sound of little voices, felt the helpless touch of tiny hands. -Perhaps Nesta, too, had heard those voices, felt those clinging hands, -while her soul quickened to the vision of a future which might hold -some deeper meaning, some more sacred trust and purpose, than her empty, -wayward past. - -And she, Jean, had stood between Nesta and the fulfilment of that dream, -forever forbidding her entrance to her woman’s kingdom. - -She saw it all now with a terrible clarity of vision, understood to -the full the two alternatives which faced her--to go with Blaise, as -he implored, or to send him--her man, the man she loved--hack to Nesta. -There was no longer any middle course. - -A voice sounded in her ears. - -“_No true happiness ever came of running away from duty. And if ever I’m -up against such a thing--a choice like this--I hope to God I’d be able -to hang on, to run straight, even if it half-killed me to do it!_” - -The words sounded so clear and distinct that Jean half raised her head -to see who spoke them. And then, in an overwhelming rush of memory, she -recognised that it was no actual voice she heard but the mental echo -of her own words to Nick--to Nick at the time when he had been passing -through a like fire of fierce temptation. - -How easily, in her young, untried ignorance, the words had fallen from -her lips as she had urged Nick to renounce his fixed resolve! Such -eminently wise and excellent counsel! And how little--how crassly little -had she realised at the time the huge demand that she was making! - -She had spoken as though it were comparatively easy to reject the wrong -and choose the right--to follow the stern and narrow path of Duty, -through the mists and utter darkness that enshrouded it, up to those -shining heights which lie beyond human sight--the outposts of Eternal -Heaven itself. - -_Easy!_.... Oh, God!.... - -***** - -When at last Jean uncovered her face and lifted it to meet the set gaze -of the man beside her, it was wan and ravaged “the face of one who has -come through some fierce purgatory of torment.” - -“Well?” he demanded, his voice roughened because he found himself unable -to steady it with that strained and altered face upturned to his. “Well? -Are you going to send me back to Nesta?” - -She did not answer his question. Instead, she put another. - -“Do you think she--loves you?” - -He stared. - -“Nesta? Yes. As far as her sort can love, I believe she does.” - -Jean nodded, as though it were the answer she had expected. - -“Blaise... I’m going to send you back to her. I’m sure now. I _know_. -It’s the only thing we can do... We must say good-bye--altogether--never -see each other again.” - -“Never?” The word came draggingly. - -“Never. It--it would be too hard for us, Blaise, to see each other.” - -“Yes,” he answered slowly. “It would be too hard.” - -They were both silent. The minutes ticked away unregarded. Time had -ceased to count. This farewell was till the end of time. - -“Blaise--” All the resonance had gone out of her voice. It sounded flat -and tired. “You--you will go back to her?” - -“Yes, I will go back.” - -She stretched out her hands flutteringly. - -“Then go.... go soon, Blaise! I--I can’t bear very much more.” - -He opened his arms, then, and she went to him, and for a space they -clung together in silence. For the last time he set his lips to hers, -held her once more against his heart. Then slowly they drew apart, -stricken eyes gazing lingeringly into other eyes as stricken, and -presently the closing of the terrace door told her that he had gone, and -that she must turn her feet to the solitary path of those who have said -farewell to love. - -Henceforth, she would be alone--living or dying, quite alone. - -It was long past midnight when Claire returned from the Dower House. - -She found Jean sitting beside the grey embers of a burnt-out fire, her -hands lying folded upon her knee, her eyes staring stonily in front of -her in a fixed, unseeing gaze. - -Claire called to her softly, as when one wakes a sleeper. - -“Jean!” - -Jean turned her head. - -“So you have got back?” she said dully. She stood up stiffly, as though -her limbs were cramped. “Claire, I am going away--right away from -here--to Beirnfels.” - -“Why?” asked Claire. - -She waited tensely for the answer. - -“Blaise has been here. He asked me to go away with him. I’ve sent him -back to Nesta.” - -The short, stilted sentences fell mechanically from her lips. She spoke -exactly like a child repeating a lesson learned by rote. - -Claire’s eyes grew very pitiful. - -“And must you go to Beirnfels alone?” she asked quietly. “Won’t you take -me with you?” - -“_Will you come?_”--incredulously. - -“Of course I’ll come. I shouldn’t dream of letting you go by yourself.” - -And then, all at once, Jean’s tired body, exhausted by the soul’s long -conflict, gave way, and she slipped to the ground in a dead faint. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV--THE EVE OF DEPARTURE - -A WEEK later Jean sat at the foot of the stairs and surveyed with faint -amusement the motley collection of trunks and suit-cases which thronged -the hall. - -She was still looking pale and worn, strung up to face her self-imposed -exile from the country which now held everything that was dear to -her, but no enormity of sorrow, would ever blind Jean for long to the -whimsical aspect that attends so many of the little things of daily -life. - -“What a lot of useless lumber we women carry about with us wherever we -go!” she commented. “Five--six--_seven_ packages to supply the needs of -two solitary females--and Heaven only knows how many brown paper parcels -will be required at the last moment for all the things we shall find we -have forgotten when the time actually comes to start.” Claire, standing -on the flight of stairs above and viewing the assemblage in the hall -from over the top of the banister rail, giggled helplessly. - -“Yes, they do look a lot,” she admitted. “However”--hopefully--“there’ll -be plenty of room for them all when we actually get to Beirnfels.” - -“Oh, plenty,” agreed Jean. “But we’ve got to convey them half across -Europe first--two lone women and one miserable maid who will probably -combine train-sickness and home-sickness to an extent that will totally -incapacitate her for the performance of her duties.” - -At this moment the front-door bell clanged violently through the house, -as though pulled by someone in a tremendous hurry. Claire hastily -withdrew her head from over the banister rail and disappeared upstairs, -while Jean relinquished the accommodation offered by the bottommost step -and sought refuge in the nearest of the sitting-rooms, closing the door -stealthily behind her. - -A moment later Tucker, who had caught sight of her hurriedly retreating -figure, reopened it and announced imperturbably: - -“Mr. Burke.” - -Jean greeted him with surprise, but without any feeling of -embarrassment. So much had happened since the day she had eluded him on -the Moor, events of such intimate and tragic import had swept her path, -that the unexpected meeting failed to rouse any feeling either of anger -or dismay. Burke, and everything connected with him, belonged to another -period of her existence altogether--to that glorious care-free time when -it had seemed as though life were a deep, inexhaustible well bubbling -over with wonderful possibilities. Burke was merely a ghost--a -_revenant_ from that far distant epoch. - -“I’m in time, then?” he said, when he had shaken hands. “In time? In -time for what?” - -“In time to see you before you go.” - -“Oh, yes.” Jean spoke lightly. “You’re in time for that. But who told -you I was going away? I didn’t know you were in England, even.” - -“I came back a fortnight ago--to London. Judith wired me from home that -you were leaving Coombe Eavie.” - -“I don’t see the necessity for her wiring you,” remarked Jean a little -coldly. “There was no need for you to see me.” - -“There was--every need.” - -She glanced at him keenly, detecting a new note in his voice, an -unexpected gravity and restraint. - -“Every need,” he repeated. He paused, then went on quickly, with a -nervousness that was foreign to him. “Jean, I know everything that has -happened--that your engagement to Tormarin is at an end--and I have come -to ask you if you will be my wife. No--hear me out!”--as she would have -interrupted him. “I’m not asking you now as--as I did before. If you -will marry me, I swear I will ask for nothing that you are not willing -to give. I’m making no demands. I’ve learned now”--with a faint weary -smile--“that you cannot force love. It can only be given. And I want -nothing but just the right to take care of you, to shield you--to -keep the sharp corners of life away from you.” Then, as he read her -incredulous face, he went on gravely: “If I had wanted more than that, -Jean, if I had not learned something--just from loving you, I should not -have waited until now. I should have come at once--as soon as I learned -from Madame de Varigny that Tormarin’s wife was still alive.” - -She looked at him curiously. - -“Why didn’t you come then, Geoffrey? I sometimes wondered--you being -you!”--with a faint smile. “Because, of course, I knew why you had -rushed off to France. Madame de Varigny explained that.” - -A dull flush mounted to his face. - -“Did she? I expect she told you merely what was the truth. I went to see -her because she had assured me that she could stop your marriage with -Tormarin--could interfere in some way to prevent it. That was why I went -to France.... But when she told me her blackguardly scheme--how she -had planned and plotted to conceal the fact that Tormarin’s wife was -alive--_and why_ she had done it, I would have no hand in anything that -followed. I’m no saint”--a brief, ironical smile flitted across his -face--“but there are some methods at which even I draw the line.” - -“So--that was why you stayed away?” - -“That was why. I wanted you, Jean--God only knows how I wanted you!--but -I couldn’t try to force your hand at such a time. I couldn’t profit by a -damnable scheme like that.” - -Jean’s eyes grew soft as she realised that beneath all the impetuous -arrogance and dominant demands of the man’s temperament there yet lay -something fine and clean and straight--difficult to get at, perhaps, but -which could yet rise, in answer to a sense of honour and fairness with -which she had not credited him, and take command of his whole nature. - -“I’m glad--glad you didn’t come, Geoffrey,” she said gently. “Glad -you--couldn’t.” - -“I don’t know that I’m glad about it,” he returned with a grim candour. -“I simply couldn’t do it, and that’s all there is to it. But I’ve come -now, Jean. I’ve come because I want you to give me just the right -to look after you. I’m not asking for anything. I only want to serve -you--if you’ll let me--just to be near you. If Tormarin were free, I -would not have come to you again. I know I should have no chance. But -he’s not free. Does that give me a chance, Jean? If it doesn’t, I’ll -take myself off--I’ll never bother you again. I’ll try Africa--big game -shooting”--with a short laugh. “But if it does----” - -He paused and waited for her answer. The intensity of longing in his -eyes was the sole indication of the emotion that stirred within him--an -emotion held in check by a stern self-control that seemed to Jean to be -part of this new, changed lover of hers. Surely, in the months which had -elapsed since she had fled from him on Dartmoor, he had fought with his -devils and cast them out! - -She held out her hands to him. - -“Geoffrey, I’m so sorry--but I’m afraid it doesn’t. I wish--I wish I -could give you any other answer. But, you see, it isn’t marrying--it’s -love that matters. And all my love is given.” - -He took her hands in his and held them gently with that strange, new -restraint he seemed to have learned. - -“I see,” he said slowly. Then for a moment his calm wavered. The -underlying passion, so strongly held in leash, shook the even tones of -his voice. “Tormarin is a lucky man--in spite of everything! I’d give my -soul to have what he has--your love, Jean.” - -His big hands closed round her slight ones and he lifted them to his -lips. Then, without another word, he went away, and Jean was left -wondering sorrowfully why the love that she did not want was offered her -in such full measure, hers to take at will, while the love for which she -craved, the love which would have meant the glory and fulfilment of life -itself, was denied her--shut away by all the laws of God and Man. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI--REUNION - - -JEAN leaned idly against the ancient wall which bounded the stone-paved -court at Beirnfels and looked down towards the valley below. - -Spring was in the air--late comer to this eastern corner of Europe--but, -at last, even here the fragrance of fresh growing things was permeating -the atmosphere, strips of vivid blue rent the grey skies, and splashes -of golden sunshine lay dappled over the shining roofs of the village -that nestled in the valley. - -But no responsive light had lit itself in Jean’s wistful eyes. She was -out of tune with the season. Spring and hope go hand in hand, the one -symbolical of the other, and the promise of spring-time, the blossom of -hope, was dead within her heart--withered almost before it had had time -to bud. - -The months since she had quitted England had sufficed to blunt the -keen edge of her pain, but always she was conscious of a dull, unending -ache--a corroding sense of the uselessness and emptiness of life. - -Yet she had learned to be thankful for even this much respite from the -piercing agony of the first few weeks which she had spent at Beirnfels. -Whatever the coming years might bring her of relief from pain, or even -of some modicum of joy, those weeks when she had suffered the torments -of the damned would remain stamped indelibly upon her memory. - -During the last days at Charnwood she had been keyed up to a high pitch -of endurance by the very magnitude of the renunciation she had made. It -seems as though, when the soul strains upwards to the accomplishment -of some deed that is almost beyond the power of weak human nature to -achieve, there is vouchsafed, for the time being, a merciful oblivion to -the immensity of pain involved. A transport of spiritual fervour lifts -the martyr beyond any ordinary recognition of the physical fire that -burns and chars his flesh, and some such ecstasy of sacrifice -had supported Jean through the act of abnegation by which she had -surrendered her love, and with it her life’s happiness, at the foot of -the stern altar of Duty. - -Afterwards had followed the preparations and bustle of departure, the -necessary arrangements to be made and telegraphed to Beirnfels, and -finally the long journey across Europe and the hundred and one small -details that required settlement before she and Claire were fully -installed at Beirnfels and the wheels of the household machinery running -smoothly. - -But when all this was accomplished, when the need to arrange and plan -and make decisions had gone by and her mind was free to concern itself -again with her own affairs, then Jean realised the full price of her -renunciation. - -And she paid it. In days that were an endless procession of anguished -hours; in sleepless nights that were a mental and physical torment of -unbearable longing such as she had never dreamed of; in tears and in -dumb, helpless silences, she paid it. And at last, out of those racked -and tortured weeks she emerged into a numbed, listless capacity to pick -up once more the torn and mutilated threads of life. - -Looking backward, she marvelled at the wonderful patience with which -Claire had borne with her, at the selfless way in which she had -devoted all her energies to ministering to one who was suffering from -heart-sickness--that most wearying of all complaints to the sufferer’s -friends because so difficult of comprehension by those not similarly -afflicted. - -Nick’s “pale golden narcissus!” To Jean, who had clung to her, -helped inexpressibly by her tranquil, steadfast, unswerving faith and -loving-kindness, it seemed as though the staunch and sturdy oak were a -more appropriate metaphor in which to express the soul of Claire. - -She heard her now, coming with light steps across the court. She rarely -left Jean brooding long alone these days, exercising all her tact and -ingenuity to devise some means by which she might distract her thoughts -when she could see they had slipped back into the past. - -Jean turned to greet her with a faint smile. - -“Well, my good angel? Come to rout me out? I suppose”--teasingly--“you -want me to ride down to the village and bring back two lemons urgently -demanded by the cook?” - -Claire laughed a little. Many had been the transparent little devices -she had employed to beguile Jean into the saddle, knowing well that -once she was on the back of her favourite mare the errand which was -the ostensible purpose of the occasion would quite probably be entirely -forgotten. But Jean would return from a long ride over the beloved hills -and valleys that had been familiar to her from childhood with a faint -colour in her pale cheeks, and with the shadow in her eyes a little -lightened. There is no cure for sickness of the soul like the big, open -spaces of the earth and God’s clean winds and sunlight. - -“No,” said Claire, “it’s not lemons this time.” - -“Then what is it?” demanded Jean. “You didn’t come out here just to look -at the view. There’s an air of importance about you.” - -It was true. Claire wore a little fluttering aspect of excitement. The -colour came and went swiftly in her cheeks, and her eyes had a bright, -almost dazzled look, while a small anxious frown kept appearing between -her pretty brows. She regarded Jean uncertainly. - -“Well--yes, it is something,” she acknowledged. “I had a letter from -Lady Anne this morning.” - -Both girls had their _premiers déjeuners_ served to them in their rooms, -so that each one’s morning mail was an unknown quantity to the other -until they met downstairs. - -“From Lady Anne?” Jean looked interested. “What does she say?” - -“She says--she writes------” Here Claire floundered and came to a stop -as though uncertain how to proceed, the little puzzled frown deepening -between her brows. “Oh, Jean, she had a special reason for writing--some -news----” - -Jean’s arm, hanging slackly at her side, jerked suddenly. Something in -Claire’s half-frightened, deprecating air sent a thrill of foreboding -through her. Her heart turned to ice within her. - -“News?” she said in a harsh, strangled voice. “Tell me quick--what -is it?... Blaise? He’s not--dead?” Her face, drained of every drop of -colour, her suddenly pinched nostrils and eyes stricken with quick fear -drew a swift cry from Claire. - -“_No--no!_” she exclaimed in hasty reassurance. “It’s _good_ news! -Good---not bad!” - -Jean’s taut muscles relaxed and she leaned against the wall as though -seeking support. - -“You frightened me,” she said dully. “Good news? Then it can’t be for -me. What is it, Claire? Is Nick”--forcing a smile--“coming out here to -see you?” - -Claire nodded. - -“Yes, Nick--and Blaise with him.” - -Jean stared at her. - -“Blaise--coming here? Oh, but he must not--he mustn’t come!”--in sudden -panic. “I couldn’t go through it all again! I couldn’t!” - -Claire slipped an arm round her. - -“You won’t have to,” she answered. “Because, Jean-Jean! Blaise has the -right to come now. He’s free!” - -“Free? _Free?_” repeated Jean. “What do you mean! How can he be free?” - -“Nesta is dead,” said Claire simply. - -“Dead?” Jean began to laugh a trifle hysterically. - -“Oh, yes, she’s been ‘dead’ before. But----” - -“She is really dead this time,” said Claire. “That is why Lady Anne has -written--to tell us.” - -“I can’t believe it!” muttered Jean. “I can’t believe it.” - -“You _must_ believe it,” insisted Claire quietly. “It is all quite true. -She was buried last week in the little churchyard at Coombe Eavie, and -Lady Anne writes that Nick and Blaise will be here almost as soon as her -letter. They’re on their way now--_now_, Jean! Do you understand?” Her -eyes filling with tears, Claire watched the gradual realisation of the -amazing truth dawn in Jean’s face. That face so tragically worn, so -fined and spiritualised by suffering, glowed with a new light; a glory -of unimaginable hope lit itself in the tired golden eyes, and on the -half-parted lips there seemed to quiver those kisses which still waited -to be claimed. - -Jean passed her hand across her eyes like one who has seen some bright -light of surpassing radiance. - -“Tell me, Claire,” she said at last, tremulously. “Tell me...” She broke -off, unable to manage her voice. - -“I’ll read you what Lady Anne says,” replied Claire quickly. “After -writing that Nesta is dead and Nick and Blaise are coming here, she -goes on: ‘Poor Nesta! One cannot help feeling sorry for her--killed -so suddenly and so tragically. And yet such a death seems quite in the -picture with her lawless, wayward nature! She was shot, Claire, shot -in the Boundary Woods by a Frenchman who had apparently followed her -to England for the express purpose. It appears he met her at Château -Varigny, in the days when she was posing as Madame de Varigny’s niece, -and fell violently in love with her. Of course Nesta could not marry -him, and equally of course the Frenchman--he was the Vicomte de -Chassaigne--did not know that she had a husband already. So, naturally, -he hoped eventually to win her, and Nesta, (who, as you know, would flirt -with the butcher’s boy if there were no one else handy) encouraged him -and allowed him to make love to her to his heart’s content. Then, after -her return to Staple, he learned of her marriage, and, furious at having -been so utterly deceived, he followed. He must have watched her very -carefully for some days, as he apparently knew her favourite walks, -and waylaid her one afternoon in the woods. What passed between them we -shall never know, for Chassaigne killed her and then immediately turned -the revolver on himself. Blaise and Nick heard the shots and rushed down -to the Boundary Woods where the shots had sounded--you’ll know where -I mean, the woods that lie along the border between Willow Ferry and -Staple. There they found them. Nesta was dead, and de Chassaigne -dying. He had just strength enough to confide in Blaise all that I have -written. I am writing to you, because I think it might come as too great -a shock to Jean as you say she is still so far from strong. You must -tell her----” - -Jean interrupted the reading with a shout of laughter. - -“Oh, Claire! Claire! You blessed infant! I suppose all those preliminary -remarks of yours about ‘a letter from Lady Anne’ and the ‘news’ it -contained were by way of preparing me for the shock--‘breaking the news’ -in fact?” - -“Yes,” admitted Claire, flushing a little. - -Jean rocked with laughter--gay, spontaneous laughter such as Claire had -not heard issue from her lips since the day when Madame de Varigny had -come to Staple. - -“And you just about succeeded in frightening me to death!” continued -Jean. “Oh, Claire, Claire, you adorable little goose, didn’t you know -that good news never kills?” - -“I didn’t feel at all sure,” returned Claire, laughing a little, too, in -spite of herself. “You’ve looked lately as though it wouldn’t take very -much of anything--good or bad--to kill you.” - -“Well, it would now,” Jean assured her solemnly. “Not all the powers -of darkness would prevail against me, I verily believe.” She paused, -frowning a little. “How beastly it is though, to feel outrageously happy -because someone is dead! It’s indecent. Poor little Nesta! Oh, Claire! -Is it hateful of me to feel like this? Do say it isn’t, because--because -I can’t help it!” - -“Of course it isn’t,” protested Claire. “It’s only natural.” - -“I suppose it is. And I really _am_ sorry for Nesta--though I’m so -happy myself that it sort of swamps it. Oh, Claire darling”--the -shadow passing and sheer gladness of soul bubbling up again into her -voice--“I’m bound to kiss someone--at once. It’ll have to be you! And -look! Those two may be here any moment--Lady Anne said so. I’m going to -make myself beautiful--if I can. I wish I hadn’t grown so thin! The -most ravishing frock in the world would look a failure draped on a -clothes-horse. Still, I’ll do what I can to conceal from Blaise the -hideous ravages of time. And I’m not going to wear black--I won’t -welcome him back in sackcloth and ashes! I won’t! I won’t! I’ve got the -darlingest frock upstairs--a filmy grey thing like moonlight. I’m going -to wear that. I know--I know”---softly--“that Glyn would understand.” - -And if he knew anything at all about it--and one would like to think -he did--it is quite certain Peterson would have approved his daughter’s -decision. For to his incurably romantic spirit, the idea of a woman -going to meet the lover of whom a malign fate had so nearly robbed her -altogether, clad in the sable habiliments with which she had paid filial -tribute to her father’s death, would have appeared of all things the -most incongruous and irreconcilable. - -So that when at last a prehistoric vehicle, chartered from the inn of -the Green Dragon in the village below, toiled slowly up the hill to -Peirnfels and Blaise and Nick climbed down from its musty interior, -a slender, moon-grey figure, which might have been observed standing -within the shadow of a tall stone pillar and following with straining -eyes the snail-like progress of the old-fashioned carriage up the steep -white road, flitted swiftly hack into the shelter of the house. Claire, -dimpling and smiling at the great gateway of the castle, alone received -the travellers. - -“Go along that corridor,” she said to Blaise, when they had exchanged -greetings. “To the end door of all. That’s the sun-parlour. You’ll find -Jean there. She thought it appropriate”--smiling at him. - -Then, as Blaise strode down the corridor indicated, she turned to -Nick and asked him with an adorable coquetry why he, too, had come to -Beirnfels? - -“I’ve heard it is the House of Dreams-Come-True,” replied Nick promptly. -“It seemed a likely place in which to find you, most beautiful.” - -Claire beamed at him. - -“Oh, am I that--_really_, Nick?” - -“Of course you are. The most beautiful in all the world. -Claire”--tucking his arm into hers--“tell me, how is the -‘soul-rebuilding’ process getting on? That’s why I came, really, you -know, to find out if you had completely finished redecorating your -interior?--I can vouch for the outer woman myself”--with an adoring -glance at the fluffy ash-blonde hair and pure little Greuze profile. - -Claire rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. To a woman who has been -for four months limited almost exclusively to the society of one other -woman--even though that other woman be her chosen friend--the rough -‘feel’ of a man’s coat-sleeve (more particularly if he should happen to -be _the_ man) and the faint fragrance of tobacco which pervades it form -an almost delirious combination. - -Claire hauled down her flag precipitately. - -“I’m ready to go back to England any time now, Nick,” she murmured. - -“Are you? Darling! How soon can you be ready? In a week? To-morrow? Next -day?” - -“Quite soon. And meanwhile, mightn’t you--you and Blaise--stay for a bit -at the Green Dragon?” - -“We might,” replied Nick solemnly, quite omitting to mention that -something of the sort had been precisely their intention when leaving -England. - -Meanwhile Blaise had made his way to the door at the end of the -corridor. Outside it he paused, overwhelmed by the sudden realisation -that beyond that wooden barrier lay holy ground--Paradise! And the Angel -with the Flaming Sword stood at the gate no longer.... - -She was waiting for him over by the window, straight and slim and tall -in her moon-grey, her hands hanging in front of her tight-clasped like -those of a child. But her eyes were woman’s eyes. - -With a little inarticulate cry she ran to him--to the place that was -hers, now and for all time, against his heart--and his arms, that had -been so long empty, held her as though he would never let her go. - -“Beloved of my heart!” he murmured. “Oh, my sweet--my sweet!” - -They spoke but little. Only those foolish, tender words that seem so -meaningless to those who are not lovers, but which are pearls strung -on a thread of gold to those who love--a rosary of memory which will be -theirs to keep and tell again when the beloved voice that uttered them -shall sound no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII--“AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS” - - -THE landlord of the inn of the Green Dragon watched his two English -visitors ride away up the steep road that led to Beirnfels with -unquestionable regret. - -They had been lodging at the Green Dragon for the past fortnight, and he -had discovered that English milords, whatever else they might be, were -not niggardly with their money. They required a good deal of attention, -it is true, and had a strange, outlandish predilection for innumerable -baths, demanding a quite unheard-of quantity of water for the same. And -at all unlikely hours of the day, too--when returning from a ride or -before going up to the castle to dine, mark you! - -Still, they made no difficulty about paying--and paying handsomely--for -all they wanted, and if a man chooses to spend his money upon the -superfluous scrubbing of his epidermis, it is, after all, his own -affair! - -And now the two English milords were taking their departure from the -Green Dragon and, so the landlord understood, proposed to stay at the -castle itself until their return to England. - -It appeared that their lady-mother--who, it was rumoured in the village, -was the daughter of an English archduke, no less!--was coming to -Beirnfels and there was much talk amongst the village girls of weddings -and the like. Apparently the Green Dragon’s two eccentric visitors, not -withstanding their altogether abnormal liking for soap and water, were -much as most men in other respects and had lost their hearts to the two -pretty English ladies living at the castle. - -So, no doubt, the “daughter of an English archduke, no less” was -coming from England post haste to enquire into the suitability of the -brides-elect--and also into the important point of the amount of the -dowry each might be expected to bring her future husband. - -There was no question that Lady Anne was certainly coming post haste--in -reply to a series of joyful and imperative telegrams demanding that -she should pack up and come to Beirnfels immediately--“for we are all -enjoying ourselves far too much to return to England at present,” as -Nick wired her with an iniquitous disregard for the cost per word of -foreign telegrams. And Lady Anne, who always considered money -well-spent if it purchased happiness, proceeded to wire back with equal -extravagance that she was delighted to hear it and that she and her maid -would start at once. - -It was a very happy party that gathered round the table in the great -dining-hall at Beirnfels on the night of Lady Anne’s arrival, and -beneath all the surface laughter and gaiety lay the deep, quiet -thanksgiving that only comes to those who have emerged out of the night -of darkness and sorrow into a glorious sunlight of happiness and hope. - -After dinner, in the soft, candle-lit dusk--for Peterson had never -introduced the garish anomaly of electric light into the ancient -castle--Jean sang to them in that quaintly appealing, husky voice of -hers, simple tender folk-songs of the country-side, and finally, at a -murmured request from Blaise, she gave them _The House of Dreams_. - - “It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True, - - Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, - - And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, - - The Wayfarers--I and you. - - - “But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - - To the House of Dreams-Come-True. - - We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, - - If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, - - Wayfarers--I and you.” - -As the last words died away into silence, she looked up and met Blaise’s -eyes. He was leaning against the piano, looking down at her with a -tranquil happiness in his gaze. - -“_Our_ House of Dreams-Come-True, Jean, at last,” he said softly. - -She met his glance with one of utter trust. - -“And we needn’t ever fear, now, that it will tumble down. But oh! -Blaise, if we had built on a rotten foundation, we should never have -felt safe--not safe like this!” - -“No. You were right, belovedest--as you always have been, always will -be.” Then, very low, so that none but she should hear: “Thank God for -you, my sweet!” - -***** - -It was ultimately settled that the whole party should remain at -Beirnfels until the latter end of June, when they would all return -to England together and the two weddings should take place as soon as -possible afterwards. - -“But we won’t have a double wedding,” declared Jean. “It’s always -supposed to be unlucky.” - -“Do you believe in good and bad luck, then?” asked Lady Anne, smiling. - -“I don’t know,” Jean answered seriously. “But it’s always just as -well to be on the safe side. Anyway, we won’t tempt Fate by running -unnecessary risks!” - -“Besides, madonna,” added Nick, “in the excitement of the moment we -might get mixed and the parson hitch us up to the wrong people. The -average nerve-strain attendant upon the rôle of bridegroom will be -quite sufficient for me, thank you, without the added uncertainty as to -whether I’m getting tied up to the right woman or not.” - -So spring lengthened out into summer, and, as the heat increased, -boating and swimming on the big lake that nestled in a basin of the -hills were added to the long rides and excursions with which they whiled -away the pleasant, sunshiny days. - -Ever afterwards, the memory of those tranquil months at Beirnfels would -linger in the minds of those who shared them as something rare and -precious. It was as though for this little span of time, passed so far -away from the noise and bustle of the big world, they had pulled their -barque out of the busy fairway of the river and moored it in some quiet, -shady backwater. Then, when they were rested and refreshed, they would -be ready to face anew, with fresh strength and courage, the difficulties -and dangers of midstream. - -“I’m sorry it’s so nearly over--this long, long holiday of ours,” said -Jean regretfully. “The only thing that reconciles me to the fact is that -after we’re married Blaise and I propose to spend at least six months -out of every year at Beirnfels.” - -She was lying on her back in the shady wood whither they had ridden out -to lunch that day, staring up at the bits of blue sky overhead which -showed between the interlacing branches of the trees. The remainder of -the party were grouped around her, reclining in various attitudes of a -_dolce far niente_ nature, while from a little distance away, where the -horses were picketed in charge of a groom, came the drowsy, rhythmic -sound of the munching of corn, punctuated by an occasional stamp of an -impatient hoof. - -“Yes, it’s been good,” agreed Lady Anne. “I shall never settle down -again properly as a dowager at the Dower House!” And she laughed -gleefully. - -To her, it had been almost like a return to the days of her youth, for -“her four children”--as she called them--had insisted on her sharing in -all their active pursuits, and Lady Anne, who in her girlhood and -early married life had been a first-class horsewoman and a magnificent -swimmer, had consented _con amore_. - -Blaise pulled himself lazily up into a sitting posture and glanced -toward the crimson glow of westering sun where it struck athwart the -tall trunks of the trees. - -“You’ll none of you live to go back to England. Instead, you’ll be -dying of pneumonia and a few other complaints--if we don’t get a move -on soon,” he observed. “It’s almost sunset, and after that it grows -abominably chilly in this eastern paradise of Jean’s. Besides, I fancy -it’s going to blow great guns before long.” - -It was true. Already a little chill whisper of wind was shaking the -tops of the trees, and before the party was fairly mounted and away, the -whisper had changed to a shrill whistling, heralding the big gale which -drove along behind the innocent seeming breeze which at first had barely -rocked the topmost branches. - -It was a longish ride back to Beirnfels, and the sun had dipped below -the horizon in a sullen splendour of purple and red before the shoulder -of the hill, upon the further side of which the castle stood, came into -sight. - -Now and again the moon peered out between the racing, wind-driven -clouds, clearly limning the bold, black curve of the hill against a -background of lowering sky. - -Jean and Blaise were riding abreast, a little in advance of the rest, -engrossed by the difficulties of carrying on an animated conversation in -a high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the -hill’s great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at -the sky above it with a puzzled frown on her face. - -“Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly half an hour -ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in the sky. Look, -Blaise--just above where Beirnfels stands.” - -Blaise glanced up casually in the direction indicated, then suddenly -reigned in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red -glow deepening in the sky ahead. - -“That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s--Great heavens, Jean! -Beirnfels is _on fire!_” - -Even as he spoke a tongue of flame, mocking the dull glow with its -gleaming blaze, shot up like a thin red knife into the sky and sank -again. - -A shout came from behind. The others had seen it, also, and recognised -its deadly import. The next moment the clatter of galloping hoofs echoed -along the road as the whole party urged their horses on towards home as -fast as they could cover the ground. - -Soon they struck off from the road, taking a bridle-path which slanted -through the woods clothing the base of the hill, and as they emerged on -to the broad plateau where Beirnfels had stood sentinel through wind -and weather for so many years, the whole extent of the catastrophe was -revealed. - -By this time the angry glow in the sky had turned dusk into day, while -from the doors and windows of the castle fire vomited forth as from a -furnace--upward in long, sinuous tongues of flame, licking the blackened -walls, downward in spangled showers of sparks that drifted towards the -earth like flights of golden butterflies. - -Little groups of men and women, helpless as ants to stay the fire, -rushed futilely hither and thither with hosepipe and engine, while on -the smooth sward which fronted the castle lay piled enormous quantities -of household stuff a medley of fine old furniture, torn tapestry wrenched -from its place against the walls, pictures, mirrors--anything and -everything that could be dragged out into the open by eager hands and -willing arms. - -The major-domo, an elderly, grey-haired man who had been born and reared -upon the estate and who had taken service with Glyn Peterson on the -day when he had first brought Jacqueline, a bride, to Beirnfels, caught -sight of the riding-party returned and came hurrying to Jean’s side. - -The tears were running down his wrinkled face as he recounted the -discovery of the fire, which must have started either just before or -during the servants’ dinner-hour, when few people, of course, were about -the castle, and which had obtained a firm hold before it was detected. - -The household staff, practised to a limited extent,--a fire drill had -been held once a month in Peterson’s time--had done their hest to cope -with the flames, but vainly. The high wind which had arisen had thwarted -their utmost efforts, and finally giving up all hope of saving the -interior from being gutted, they had confined themselves to rescuing -such valuables as could be easily removed. - -There was the usual mystery as to how the fire had originated, and -several stories circulated amongst the chattering throng which hurried -hither and thither, momentarily augmented by the peasants who, at sight -of the castle in flames, had come trooping up the hill from the village -below. - -The most likely story, and the one to which Blaise inclined to give most -credence, was that the child of a woman who worked daily at the castle, -escaping from its mother’s care and launched on an independent voyage -of discovery through the rooms, had knocked over a burning lamp. Then, -terrified at the immediate consequences--the sudden flaring of some -ancient tapestry, dry as tinder with the summer heat, near which the -lamp had fallen--he had bolted away, out of the castle and so home, too -scared to tell anyone of the accident. - -But, as Jean commented mournfully, what did it matter how it happened? -Except from the prosaic viewpoint of the fire insurance company, -who would probably desire to know: all kinds of details that it was -impossible to supply! - -For her, nothing mattered except that Beirnfels, her home from childhood -and the place where she and Blaise had proposed to spend a great part of -their married life, was a furnace of flames. - -It was a splendid but very terrible sight The great, grim walls of the -castle stood four-square against the sky, charred and blackened but -defiantly impervious to the flames that were licking covetously against -the solid stone which fashioned them. Sentinel to the very end, they -reared themselves unvanquished, guardians still, though all that they -had sheltered through their centuries of watch and ward lay consumed -within their very heart. - -Jean, standing beside Blaise and watching the upward tossing flames and -the crimson banner of the lowering heavens, spoke suddenly: - -“‘And the sky as red as blood above it.’ Blaise, the last of Keturah -Stanley’s prophecies has come true!” - -An hour later help was forthcoming from the distant town to which a -messenger had been despatched post haste as soon as it was realised -that the household staff, even with assistance from the village, was -hopelessly inadequate to cope with a fire of such magnitude. But it was -already too late to accomplish very much in the way of salvage. All that -remained possible was to quench that inferno of fire as soon as might be -and so, perhaps, save some of the outbuildings. - -Hour after hour through the night, human endeavour fought with the -flames--subduing them again and again only to find them kindling into -fresh life at the gusty bidding of the wind, leaping redly from the -lambent heart of the conflagration, which glowed and pulsed and heaved -like some living monster intent upon destruction. - -It was not until dawn was breaking that, with the dying down of the -wind, the flickering crimson light faded finally from the sky; and half -an hour later, when the fire had been at last extinguished, the village -folk, gathered about the scene of the catastrophe, had dispersed to -their homes. - -Lady Anne, accompanied by Nick and Claire, started for the inn of the -Green Dragon, whither the landlord had hurried on ahead to prepare -temporary quarters for the now homeless little company from the castle. -But Jean and Blaise still lingered by the deserted ruins, loth to say -farewell to the place that had meant so much to them. - -Beneath the misty azure of the summer morning sky, fanned by little -vagrant zephyrs--rearguard of the hurricane which had passed--stood all -that remained of Beirnfels--blackened, naked walls, stark against that -tender blue, brooding above a mass of cooling wreckage. - -Jean’s mouth quivered a little as her glance took in the scene of utter -desolation. - -“My House of Dreams,” she whispered brokenly. - -She was silent for a few moments, her eyes embracing all that had once -been Beirnfels in a gaze which held both farewell and retrospect. And -something more--some vision of the future. In the dawn-light pearling -the sky above she recognised the eternal promise of Him Who “commanded -the light to shine out of darkness.” - -Her House of Dreams! The inner meaning of the song had grown suddenly -clear to her. - -When she turned again to Blaise, her expression was serene and tranquil. -Touched with regret perhaps, but bravely confident. - -“I don’t think it matters, Blaise,” she said simply. “Beirnfels was only -a symbol, after all. My House of Dreams-Come-True isn’t built of stones -and mortar. No one’s is. It’s just--where love is.” - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The House Of Dreams-Come-True, by Margaret Pedler - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE *** - -***** This file should be named 55928-0.txt or 55928-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/9/2/55928/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The House Of Dreams-Come-True - -Author: Margaret Pedler - -Release Date: November 10, 2017 [EBook #55928] -Last Updated: February 24, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE HOUSE OF <br />DREAMS-COME-TRUE - </h1> - <h2> - By Margaret Pedler - </h2> - <h4> - Grosset & Dunlap Publishers,New York - </h4> - <h3> - 1919 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <span class="indent15"> It’s a strange road leads to the House of - Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True, - <br /><span class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, - <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span - class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><br /><span - class="indent15">But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span - class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, <br /><span - class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, <br /><span - class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><span class="indent30">Margaret - Pedler. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> - </span> - </p> - <p> - Note:—Musical setting by Harold Pincott. Published by Edward - Schubert & Co., 11 East Sand Street, New York. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE - HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE</b> </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—THE WANDER-FEVER </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—MADAME DE VARIGNY - </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—THE - STRANGER ON THE ICE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0004"> - CHAPTER IV—THE STOLEN DAY </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—AMONG THE SNOWS </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—THE MAGIC MOMENT - </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—WHICH - DEALS WITH REFLECTIONS </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0008"> - CHAPTER VIII—THE MAN FROM MONTAVAN </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE MASTER OF STAPLE </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—OTHER PEOPLE’S - TROUBLES </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—“THE - SINS OF THE FATHERS” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—A SENSE OF DUTY </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—“WILL YOU - WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV.—A COMPACT </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—LADY ANNE’S - DISCLOSURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI—THE - GIFT OF LOVE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER - XVII—IN THE ROSE GARDEN </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII—CROSS-PURPOSES </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX—THE SPIDER </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX—THE SHADOW OF THE - FUTURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI—DIVERS - HAPPENINGS </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER - XXII—“WILLING OR UNWILLING!” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII—ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED - MEETING </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV—ARRANGED - BY TELEPHONE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER - XXVI—MOONLIGHT ON THE MOOR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII—INTO THE MIST </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII—THEY WHO WAITED - </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX—THE - GOLDEN HOUR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER - XXX—THE GATEWAY </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0031"> - CHAPTER XXXI—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII—THE DIVIDING SWORD </a><br /><span - class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII—THE RETURNING - TIDE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV—THE - TEST </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV—THE - EVE OF DEPARTURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0036"> - CHAPTER XXXVI—REUNION </a><br /><span class="toc"><a - href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII—“AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH - HANDS” </a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE HOUSE OF <br />DREAMS-COME-TRUE - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—THE WANDER-FEVER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE great spaces of - the hall seemed to slope away into impenetrable gloom; velvet darkness - deepening imperceptibly into sable density of panelled wall; huge, - smoke-blackened beams, stretching wide arms across the roof, showing only - as a dim lattice-work of ebony, fretting the shadowy twilight overhead. - </p> - <p> - At the furthermost end, like a giant golden eye winking sleepily through - the dark, smouldered a fire of logs, and near this, in the luminous circle - of its warmth, a man and woman were seated at a table lit by tall wax - candles in branched candlesticks. With its twinkling points of light, and - the fire’s red glow quivering across its shining surface, the table - gleamed out like a jewel in a sombre setting—a vivid splash of light - in the grey immensity of dusk-enfolded hall. - </p> - <p> - Dinner was evidently just over, for the candlelight shone softly on - satin-skinned fruit, while wonderful gold-veined glass flecked the dark - pool of polished mahogany with delicate lines and ripples of opalescent - colour. - </p> - <p> - A silence had fallen on the two who had been dining. They had been gay - enough together throughout the course of the meal, but, now that the - servants had brought coffee and withdrawn, it seemed as though the - stillness—that queer, ghostly, memory-haunted stillness which lurks - in the dim, disused recesses of a place—had crept out from the four - corners of the hall and were stealing upon them, little by little, as the - tide encroaches on the shore, till it had lapped them round in a curious - atmosphere of oppression. - </p> - <p> - The woman acknowledged it by a restless twist of her slim shoulders. She - was quite young—not more than twenty—and as she glanced - half-enquiringly at the man seated opposite her there was sufficiency of - likeness between the two to warrant the assumption that they were father - and daughter. - </p> - <p> - In each there was the same intelligent, wide brow, the same straight nose - with sensitively cut nostrils—though a smaller and daintier affair - in the feminine edition, and barred across the top by a little string of - golden freckles—and, above all, the same determined, pointed chin - with the contradictory cleft in it that charmed away its obstinacy. - </p> - <p> - But here the likeness ended. It was from someone other than the - dark-browed man with his dreaming, poet’s eyes—which were - neither purple nor grey, but a mixture of the two—that Jean Peterson - had inherited her beech-leaf brown hair, tinged with warm red where the - light glinted on it, and her vivid hazel eyes—eyes that were - sometimes golden like the heart of a topaz and sometimes clear and still - and brown like the waters of some quiet pool cradled among the rocks of a - moorland stream. - </p> - <p> - They were like that now—clear and wide-open, with a certain pensive, - half-humorous questioning in them. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” she said, at last breaking the long silence. “What - is it?” - </p> - <p> - The man looked across at her, smiling a little. - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be—anything?” he demanded. - </p> - <p> - She laughed amusedly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Glyn dear”—she never made use of the conventional - address of “father.” Glyn Peterson would have disliked it - intensely if she had—“Oh, Glyn dear, I haven’t been your - daughter for the last twenty years without learning to divine when you are - cudgelling your brains as to the prettiest method of introducing a - disagreeable topic.” - </p> - <p> - Peterson grinned a little. He tossed the end of his cigarette into the - fire and lit a fresh one before replying. - </p> - <p> - “On this occasion,” he observed at last, slowly, “the - topic is not necessarily a disagreeable one. Jean”—his - quizzical glance raked her face suddenly—“how would you like - to go to England?” - </p> - <p> - “To England?” - </p> - <p> - Her tone held the same incredulous excitement that anyone unexpectedly - invited to week-end at El Dorado might be expected to evince. - </p> - <p> - “<i>England!</i> Glyn, do you really mean to take me there at last?” - </p> - <p> - “You’d like to go then?” A keen observer might have - noticed a shade of relief pass over Peterson’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Like it? It’s the one thing above all others that I’ve - longed for. It seems so ridiculous to be an Englishwoman and yet never - once to have set foot in England.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s eyes clouded. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not—entirely—English,” he said in a - low voice. Jean knew from what memory the quick correction sprang. Her - mother, the beautiful opera singer who had been the one romance of Glyn - Peterson’s life, had been of French extraction. - </p> - <p> - “I know,” she returned soberly. “Yet I think I’m - mostly conscious of being English. I believe it’s just the very fact - that I know Paris—Rome—Vienna—so well, and nothing at - all about England, that makes me feel more absolutely English than - anything else.” - </p> - <p> - A spark of amusement lit itself in Peterson’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “How truly feminine!” he commented drily. - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid it’s rather illogical of me.” - </p> - <p> - Her father blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. - </p> - <p> - “Thank God for it!” he replied lightly. “It’s the - cussed contradictoriness of your sex that makes it so enchanting. If women - were logical they would be as obvious and boring as the average man.” - </p> - <p> - He relapsed into a dreaming silence. Jean broke it rather hesitatingly. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve never suggested taking me to England before.” - </p> - <p> - His face darkened suddenly. It was an extraordinarily expressive face—expressive - as a child’s, reflecting every shade of his constant changes of - mood. - </p> - <p> - “There’s no sense of adventure about England,” he said - shortly. “It’s a dull corner of the world—bristling with - the proprieties.” - </p> - <p> - Jean realised how very completely, from his own point of view, he had - answered her. Romance, beauty, the sheer delight of utter freedom from the - conventions were as the breath of his nostrils to Glyn Peterson. - </p> - <p> - Born to the purple, as it were, of an old English county family, he had - stifled in the conventional atmosphere of his upbringing. There had been - moments of wild rebellion, bitter outbursts against the established order - of things, but these had been sedulously checked and discouraged by his - father, a man of iron will, who took himself and his position intensely - seriously. - </p> - <p> - Ultimately, Glyn had come to accept with more or less philosophy the fact - of his heirship to old estates and old traditions, with their inevitable - responsibilities and claims, and he was just preparing to fulfill his - parents’ wishes by marrying, suitably and conventionally, when - Jacqueline Mavory, the beautiful half-French opera singer, had flashed - into his horizon. - </p> - <p> - In a moment the world was transformed. Artist soul called to artist soul; - the romantic vein in the man, so long checked and thwarted, suddenly - asserted itself irresistibly, and the very day before that appointed for - his wedding, he and Jacqueline ran away together in search of happiness. - </p> - <p> - And they had found it. The “County” had been shocked; Glyn’s - father, unbending descendant of the old Scottish Covenanters, his whole - creed outraged, had broken under the blow; but the runaway lovers had - found what they sought. - </p> - <p> - At Beirnfels, a beautiful old schloss on the eastern border of Austria, - remote from the world and surrounded by forest-clad hills, Glyn Peterson - and Jacqueline had lived a romantically happy existence, roaming the world - whenever the wander-fever seized them, but always returning to Schloss - Beirnfels, where Peterson had contrived a background of almost exotic - richness for the adored woman who had flung her career to the winds in - order to become his wife. - </p> - <p> - The birth of Jean, two years after their marriage, had been frankly - regarded by both of them as an inconvenience. It interrupted their idyll. - They were so essentially lovers that no third—not even a third born - of love’s consummation—could be other than superfluous. - </p> - <p> - They had proceeded to shift the new responsibility with characteristic - lightheartedness. A small army of nursemaids and governesses was engaged, - and later, when Jean was old enough, she was despatched to one of the best - Continental schools, whilst her parents continued their customary - happy-go-lucky existence uninterruptedly. During the holidays she shared - their wanderings, and Egypt and the southern coast of Europe became - familiar places to her. - </p> - <p> - At the age of seventeen, Jean came home to live at Beirnfels, - thenceforward regarding her unpractical parents with a species of kindly - tolerance and amusement. The three of them had lived quite happily - together, though Jean had remained always the odd man out; but she had - accepted the fact with a certain humorous philosophy which robbed it of - half its sting. - </p> - <p> - Then, two years later, Jacqueline had developed rapid consumption, and - though Glyn hurried her away to Montavan, in the Swiss Alps, there had - been no combating the disease, and the romance of a great love had closed - down suddenly into the grey shadows of death. - </p> - <p> - Peterson had been like a man demented. For a time he had disappeared, and - no one ever knew, either then or later, how he had first faced the grim - tragedy which had overtaken him. - </p> - <p> - Jean had patiently awaited his return to Beirnfels. When at last he came, - he told her that it was the most beautiful thing which could have happened—that - Jacqueline should, have died in the zenith of their love. - </p> - <p> - “We never knew the downward swing of the pendulum,” he - explained. “And when we meet again it will be as young lovers who - have never grown tired. I shall always remember Jacqueline as still - perfectly beautiful—never insulted by old age. And when she thinks - of me—well, I’m still a ‘personable’ fellow, as - they say——” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Glyn, you’re still a boy! You’ve never grown - up,” Jean made answer. To her he seemed a sort of Peter Pan among - men. - </p> - <p> - She had been amazed—although in a sense relieved—to find how - swiftly he had rallied. It seemed almost as though his intense loathing of - the onset of old age and decay, of that slow cooling of passion and - gradual decline of faculties which age inevitably brings, had served to - reconcile him to the loss of the woman he had worshipped whilst yet there - had been no dimming of her physical perfection, no blunting of the fine - edge of their love. - </p> - <p> - It was easily comprehensible that to two such temperamental, joy-loving - beings as Glyn and Jacqueline, England, with her neutral-tinted skies and - strictness of convention, had made little appeal, and Jean could with - difficulty harmonise the suddenly projected visit to England with her - knowledge of her father’s idiosyncrasies. - </p> - <p> - It was just possible of course, since all which had meant happiness to him - lay buried in a little mountain cemetery in Switzerland, that it no longer - mattered to Peterson where he sojourned. One place might be as good—or - as bad—as another. - </p> - <p> - Rather diffidently Jean voiced her doubts, recalling him from the reverie - into which he had fallen. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I</i> go to England?” he exclaimed. “God forbid! No, - you would go without me.” - </p> - <p> - “Without you?” - </p> - <p> - Peterson sprang up and began pacing restlessly to and fro. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, without me. I’m going away. I—I can’t stay - here any longer. I’ve tried, Jean, for your sake”—he - looked across at her with a kind of appeal in his eyes—“but I - can’t stand it. I must move on—get away somewhere by myself. - Beirnfels—without her——” - </p> - <p> - He broke off abruptly and stood still, staring down into the heart of the - fire. Then he added in a wrung voice: - </p> - <p> - “It will be a year ago... to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent. Never before had he let her see the raw wound in his - soul. Latterly she had divined a growing restlessness in him, sensed the - return of the wander-fever which sometimes obsessed him, but she had not - realised that it was pain—sheer, intolerable pain—which was - this time driving him forth from the place that had held his happiness. - </p> - <p> - He had appeared so little changed after Jacqueline’s death, so much - the wayward, essentially lovable and unpractical creature of former times, - still able to find supreme delight in a sunset, or an exquisite picture, - or a wild ride across the purple hills, that Jean had sometimes marvelled, - how easily he seemed able to forget. - </p> - <p> - And, after all, he had not forgotten—had never been able to forget! - </p> - <p> - The gay, debonair side which he had shown the world—that same rather - selfish, beauty-loving, charming personality she had always known—had - been only a shell, a husk hiding a hurt that had never healed—that - never would find healing in this world. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt herself submerged beneath a wave of self-reproach that she could - have thus crudely accepted Glyn’s attitude at its face value. But it - was useless to give expression to her penitence. She could find no words - which might not wound, and while she was still dully trying to readjust - her mind to this new aspect of things, her father’s voice broke - across her thoughts—smooth, polished, with just its usual inflection - of whimsical amusement, rather as though the world were a good sort of - joke in which he found himself constrained to take part. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve made the most paternal arrangements for your welfare in - my absence, Jean. I want to discuss them with you. You see, I couldn’t - take you with me—I don’t know in the least where I’m - going or where I shall fetch up. That’s the charm of it”—his - face kindling. “And it wouldn’t be right or proper for me to - drag a young woman of your age—and attractions—half over the - world with me.” - </p> - <p> - By which Jean, not in the least deceived by his air of conscious - rectitude, comprehended that he didn’t want to be bothered with her. - He was bidding for freedom, untrammelled by any petticoats. - </p> - <p> - “So I’ve written to my old pal, Lady Anne Brennan,” - pursued Peterson, “asking if you may stay with her for a little. You - would have a delightful time. She was quite the most charming woman I knew - in England.” - </p> - <p> - “That must be rather more than twenty years ago,” observed - Jean drily. “She may have altered a good deal.” - </p> - <p> - Peterson frowned. He hated to have objections raised to any plan that - particularly appealed to him. - </p> - <p> - “Rubbish! Why should she change? Anne was not the sort of woman to - change.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was perfectly aware that her father hadn’t the least wish to - “discuss” his proposals with her, as he had said. What he - really wanted was to tell her about them and for her to approve and - endorse them with enthusiasm—which is more or less what a man - usually wants when he suggests discussing plans with his womankind. - </p> - <p> - So, recognising that he had all his arrangements cut and dried, Jean - philosophically accepted the fact and prepared to fall in with them. - </p> - <p> - “And has Lady Anne signified her readiness to take me in for an - indefinite period?” she enquired. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t had her answer yet. But I have no doubt at all what - form it will take. It will be a splendid opportunity for you, altogether. - You know, Jean”—pictorially—“you ought really to - see the ‘stately homes of England.’ Why, they’re—they’re - your birthright!” - </p> - <p> - Jean reflected humorously that this point of view had only occurred to him - now that it chanced to coincide so admirably with his own wishes. Hitherto - the “stately homes of England” had been relegated to a quite - unimportant position in the background and Jean’s attention focussed - more directly upon the unpleasing vagaries of the British climate. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to go to England,” was all she said. Peterson - smiled at her radiantly—the smile of a child who has got its own way - with much less difficulty than it had anticipated. - </p> - <p> - “You shall go,” he promised her. “You’ll adore - Staple. It’s quite a typical old English manor—lawns and - terraces all complete, even down to the last detail of a yew hedge.” - </p> - <p> - “Staple? Is that the Brennans’ place?” - </p> - <p> - “God bless my soul, no! The Tormarins acquired it when they came - pushing over to England with the Conqueror, I imagine. Anne married twice, - you know. Her first husband, Tormarin, led her a dog’s life, and - after his death she married Claude Brennan—son of a junior branch of - the Brennans. Now she is a widow for the second time.” - </p> - <p> - “And are there any children?” - </p> - <p> - “Two sons. The elder is the son of the first marriage and is the - owner of Staple, of course. The younger one is the child of the second - marriage. I believe that since Brennan’s death they all three live - very comfortably together at Staple—at least, they did ten years ago - when I last heard from Anne. That was not long after Brennan died.” - </p> - <p> - Jean wrinkled her brows. - </p> - <p> - “Rather a confusing household to be suddenly pitchforked into,” - she commented. - </p> - <p> - “But not dull!” submitted Peterson triumphantly. “And - dullness is, after all, the biggest bugbear of existence.” - </p> - <p> - As if suddenly stabbed by the palpable pose of his own remark, the light - died out of his face and he looked round the great dim ball with a - restless, eager glance, as though trying to impress the picture of it on - his memory. - </p> - <p> - “Beirnfels—my ‘House of Dreams-Come-True,’” - he muttered to himself. - </p> - <p> - He had named it thus in those first glowing days when love had - transfigured the grim old border castle, turning it into a place of magic - visions and consummated hopes. The whimsical name took its origin from a - little song which Jacqueline had been wont to sing to him, her glorious - voice investing the simple words with a passionate belief and triumph. - <br /><br /><span class="indent15">It’s a strange road leads to the - House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of - Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its - valleys deep, <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with tears the - Wayfarers weep, <br /><span class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you. - <br /><br /><span class="indent15">But there’s sure a way to the House - of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True. - <br /><span class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set. - <br /><span class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, - <br /><span class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Peterson’s eyes rested curiously on his daughter’s face. There - was something mystic, almost visionary, in their quiet, absent gaze. - </p> - <p> - “One day, Jean,” he said, “when you meet the only man - who matters, Beirnfels shall be yours—the house where <i>your</i> - dreams shall come true. It’s a house of ghosts now—a dead - house. But some day you and the man you love will make it live again.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—MADAME DE VARIGNY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN was standing - looking out from the window of her room in the hotel at Montavan. In the - distance, the great white peaks of the Alps strained upwards, piercing the - mass of drifting cloud, whilst below lay a world sheeted in snow, the long - reach of dazzling purity broken only where the pine-woods etched black - trunks against the whiteness and the steely gleam of a frozen lake showed - like a broad blade drawn from a white velvet scabbard. - </p> - <p> - It had been part of Peterson’s expressed programme that, before - going their separate ways, he and Jean should make a brief stay at - Montavan, there to await Lady Anne Brennan’s answer to his letter. - Jean had divined in this determination an excuse, covering his need to - take farewell of that grave on the lonely mountain-side before he set out - upon the solitary journey which could not fail to hold poignant memories - of other, former wanderings—wanderings invested with the exquisite - joy of sharing each adventure with a beloved fellow-wayfarer. - </p> - <p> - Instinctively though Jean had recognised the desire at the back of Glyn’s - decision to stop at Montavan, she was scrupulously careful not to let him - guess her recognition. She took her cue from his own demeanour, which was - outwardly that of a man merely travelling for pleasure, and she listened - with a grim sense of amusement when poor Monsieur Vautrinot, the <i>maître - d’hôtel</i>, recognising Peterson as a former client, - sympathetically recalled the sad circumstances of his previous visit and - was roundly snubbed for his pains. - </p> - <p> - To Jean the loss of her mother had meant far less than it would have done - to a girl in more commonplace circumstances. It was true that Jacqueline - had shown herself all that was kindhearted and generous in her genuine - wish to compass the girl’s happiness, and that Jean had been frankly - fond of her and attracted by her, but in no sense of the words had there - been any interpretation of a maternal or filial relationship. As Jean - herself, to the huge entertainment of her parents, had on one occasion - summed up the situation: “Of course I know I’m a quite - superfluous third at Beirnfels, but, all the same, you two really do make - the most perfect host and hostess, and you try awfully hard not to let me - feel <i>de trop</i>.” - </p> - <p> - But, despite the fact that Jacqueline had represented little more to her - daughter than a brilliant and delightful personality with whom - circumstances happened to have brought her into contact, Jean was - conscious of a sudden thrill of pain as her glance travelled across the - wide stretches of snow and came at last to rest on the little burial - ground which lay half hidden beneath the shoulder of a hill. She was moved - by an immense consciousness of loss—not just the mere sense of - bereavement which the circumstances would naturally have engendered, but - something more absolute—a sense of all the exquisite maternal - element which she had missed in the woman who was dead. - </p> - <p> - And then came recognition of the uselessness of such regret. Nothing could - have made Jacqueline other than she was—one of the world’s - great lovers. Mated to the man she loved, she asked nothing more of - Nature, nor had she herself anything more to give. And the same reasoning, - though perhaps in a less degree, could be applied to Peterson’s own - attitude of detachment towards his daughter; although Jean was intuitively - aware that she had come to mean much more to him since her mother’s - death, even though it might be, perhaps, only because she represented a - tangible link with his past happiness. - </p> - <p> - Thrusting aside the oppression of thought conjured up by her glimpse of - that quiet God’s Acre, set high up among the hills, she turned - abruptly from the window and made her way downstairs to the hotel - vestibule. - </p> - <p> - Here she discovered that Peterson had been claimed by some acquaintances. - The encounter was obviously not of his own choosing, for, to Jean’s - experienced eye, his face bore the slightly restive expression common to - it when circumstances had momentarily got the better of him. - </p> - <p> - His companions were a somewhat elaborate little Frenchman of fifty or - thereabouts, with an unmistakable air of breeding about him, and a - stately-looking woman some fifteen years younger, whose warm brunette - colouring and swift, mobile gesture proclaimed her of Latin blood. All - three were conversing in French. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ah! La voici qui vient!</i>,” Peterson turned as Jean - approached, his quick exclamation tinctured with relief. Still in French, - which both he and Jean spoke as fluently and with as little accent as - English, he continued rapidly: “Jean, let me present you to Madame - la Comtesse de Varigny.” - </p> - <p> - The girl found herself looking straight into a pair of eyes of that - peculiarly opaque, dense brown common to Southern races. They were heavily - fringed with long black lashes, giving them a fictitiously soft and - disarming expression, yet Jean was vaguely conscious that their real - expression held something secret and implacable, almost repellant, an - impression strengthened by the virile, strongly-marked black brows that - lay so close above them. - </p> - <p> - For the rest, Madame de Varigny was undeniably a beautiful woman, her - blue-black, rather coarse hair framing an oval face, extraordinarily - attractive in contour, with somewhat high cheek bones and a clever, - flexible mouth. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s first instinctive feeling was one of distaste. In spite of - her knowledge that Varigny was one of the oldest names in France, the - Countess struck her as partaking a little of the adventuress—of the - type of woman of no particular birth who has climbed by her wits—and - she wondered what position she had occupied prior to her marriage. - </p> - <p> - She was sharply recalled from her thoughts to find that Madame de Varigny - was introducing the little middle-aged Frenchman to her as her husband, - and immediately she spoke Jean felt her suspicions melting away beneath - the warm, caressing cadences of an unusually beautiful voice. Such a voice - was a straight passport to the heart. It seemed to clothe even the prosaic - little Count in an almost romantic atmosphere of tender charm, an effect - which he speedily dispelled by giving Jean a full, true, and particular - account of the various pulmonary symptoms which annually induced him to - seek the high, dry air of Montavan. - </p> - <p> - “It is as an insurance of good health that I come,” he - informed Jean gravely. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, we are not here merely for pleasure—<i>comme ces - autres</i>”—-Madame de Varigny gestured smilingly towards a - merry party of men and girls who had just come in from luging and were - stamping the snow from off their feet amid gay little outbursts of chaff - and laughter. “We are here just as last year, when we first made the - acquaintance of Monsieur Peterson”—the suddenly muted quality - of her voice implied just the right amount of sympathetic recollection—“so - that <i>mon pauvre mari</i> may assure himself of yet another year of - health.” - </p> - <p> - The faintly ironical gleam in her eyes convinced Jean that, as she had - shrewdly begun to suspect, the little Count was a <i>malade imaginaire</i>, - and once she found herself wondering what could be the circumstances - responsible for the union of two such dissimilar personalities as the - high-bred, hypochondriacal little Count and the rather splendid-looking - but almost certainly plebeian-born woman who was his wife. - </p> - <p> - She intended, later on, to ask her father if he could supply the key to - the riddle, but he had contrived to drift off during the course of her - conversation with the Varignys, and, when at last she found herself free - to join him, he had disappeared altogether. - </p> - <p> - She thought it very probable that he had gone out to watch the progress of - a ski-ing match to which he had referred with some enthusiasm earlier in - the day, and she smiled a little at the characteristic way in which he had - extricated himself, at her expense, from the inconvenience of his - unexpected recontre with the Varignys. - </p> - <p> - But, two hours later, she realised that once again his superficial air of - animation had deceived her. From her window she saw him coming along the - frozen track that led from the hillside cemetery, and for a moment she - hardly recognised her father in that suddenly shrank, huddled figure of a - man, stumbling down the path, his head thrust forward and sunken on his - breast. - </p> - <p> - Her first imperative instinct was to go and meet him. Her whole being - ached with the longing to let him feel the warm rush of her sympathy, to - assure him that he was not utterly alone. But she checked the impulse, - recognising that he had no use for any sympathy or love which she could - give. - </p> - <p> - She had never really been anything other than exterior to his life, - outside his happiness, and now she felt intuitively that he would wish her - to remain equally outside the temple of his grief. - </p> - <p> - He was the type of man who would bitterly resent the knowledge that any - eyes had seen him at a moment of such utter, pitiable self-revelation, and - it was the measure of her understanding that Jean waited quietly till he - should choose to come to her. - </p> - <p> - “When he came, he had more or less regained his customary poise, - though he still looked strained and shaken. He addressed her abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve decided to go straight on to Marseilles and sail by the - next boat, Jean. There’s one I can catch if I start at once.” - </p> - <p> - “At once?” she exclaimed, taken aback. “You don’t - mean—to-day?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, this very evening. I find I can get down to Montreux in time - for the night mail.” Then, answering her unspoken thought: “You’ll - be quite all right. You will be certain to hear from Lady Anne in a day or - two, and, meanwhile, I’ll ask Madame de Varigny to play chaperon. - She’ll be delighted”—with a flash of the ironical humour - that was never long absent from him. - </p> - <p> - “Who was she before she married the Count?” queried Jean. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t tell you. She is very reticent about her antecedents—probably - with good reason”—smiling grimly. “But she is a big and - beautiful person, and our little Count is obviously quite happy in his - choice.” - </p> - <p> - “She is rather a fascinating woman,” commented Jean. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—but preferable as a friend rather than an enemy. I don’t - know anything about her, but I wouldn’t mind wagering that she has a - dash of Corsican blood in her. Anyway, she will look after you all right - till Anne Brennan writes.” - </p> - <p> - “And if no letter comes?” suggested Jean. “Or supposing - Lady Anne can’t have me? We’re rather taking things for - granted, you know.” - </p> - <p> - His face clouded, but cleared again almost instantly. - </p> - <p> - “She <i>will</i> have you. Anne would never refuse a request of - mine. If not, you must come on to me, and I’ll make other - arrangements,”—vaguely. “I’ll let the next boat - go, and stay in Paris till I hear from you. But I can’t wait here - any longer.” - </p> - <p> - He paused, then broke out hurriedly: - </p> - <p> - “I ought never to have come to this place. It’s haunted. I - know you’ll understand—you always do understand, I think, you - quiet child—why I must go.” - </p> - <p> - And Jean, looking with the clear eyes of unhurt youth into the handsome, - grief-ravaged face, was suddenly conscious of a shrinking fear of that - mysterious force called love, which can make, and so swiftly, terribly - unmake the lives of men and women. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—THE STRANGER ON THE ICE - </h2> - <p> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“A</span> ND this - friend of your father’s? You have not heard from her yet?” - </p> - <p> - Jean and Madame de Varigny were breakfasting together the morning after - Peterson’s departure. - </p> - <p> - “No. I hoped a letter might have come for me by this morning’s - post. But I’m afraid I shall be on your hands a day or two longer”—smiling. - </p> - <p> - “But it is a pleasure!” Madame de Varigny reassured her - warmly. “My husband and I are here for another week yet. After that - we go on to St. Moritz. He is suddenly discontented with Montavan. If, by - any chance, you have not then heard from Lady—Lady—I forget - the name——” - </p> - <p> - “Lady Anne Brennan,” supplied Jean. - </p> - <p> - A curiously concentrated expression seemed to flit for an instant across - Madame de Varigny’s face, but she continued smoothly: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mais, oui</i>—Lady Brennan. <i>Eh bien</i>, if you have - not heard from her by the time we leave for St. Moritz, you must come with - us. It would add greatly to our pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s very good of you,” replied Jean. She felt frankly - grateful for the suggestion, realising that if, by any mischance, the - letter should be delayed till then, Madame de Varigny’s offer would - considerably smooth her path. In spite of Glyn’s decision that she - must join him in Paris, should Lady Anne’s invitation fail to - materialise, she was well aware that he would not greet her appearance on - the scene with any enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose”—the Countess was speaking again—“I - suppose Brennan is a very frequent—a common name in England?” - </p> - <p> - The question was put quite casually, more as though for the sake of making - conversation than anything else, yet Madame de Varigny seemed to await the - answer with a curious anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” Jean replied readily enough, “I don’t - think it is a common name. Lady Anne married into a junior branch of the - family, I believe,” she added. - </p> - <p> - “That would not be considered a very good match for a peer’s - daughter, surely?” hazarded the Countess. “A junior branch? I - suppose there was a romantic love-affair of some kind behind it?” - </p> - <p> - “It was Lady Anne’s second marriage. Her first husband was a - Tormarin—one of the oldest families in England.” Jean spoke - rather stiffly. There was something jarring about the pertinacious - catechism. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny’s lips trembled as she put her next question, and - not even the dusky fringe of lashes could quite soften the sudden tense - gleam in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Tor—ma—rin!” She pronounced the name with a - French inflection, evidently finding the unusual English word a little - beyond her powers. “What a curious name! That, I am sure, must be - uncommon. And this Lady Anne—she has children—sons? No?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes. She has two sons.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed?” Madame de Varigny looked interested. “And what - are the sons called?” - </p> - <p> - Jean regarded her with mild surprise. Apparently the subject of - nomenclature had a peculiar fascination for her. - </p> - <p> - “I really forget. My father did once tell me, but I don’t - recollect what he said.” - </p> - <p> - A perceptible shade of disappointment passed over the other’s face, - then, as though realising that she had exhibited a rather uncalled-for - curiosity, she said deprecatingly: - </p> - <p> - “I fear I seem intrusive. But I am so interested in your future—I - have taken a great fancy to you, mademoiselle. That must be my excuse.” - She rose from the table, adding smilingly: “At least you will not - find it dull, since Lady Anne has two sons. They will he companions for - you.” - </p> - <p> - Jean rose, too, and together they passed out of the <i>salle à manger</i>. - </p> - <p> - “And what do you propose to do with yourself to-day?” asked - the Countess, pausing in the hall. “My husband and I are going for a - sleigh drive. Would you care to come with us? We should he delighted.” - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “It’s very kind of you. But I should really like to try my - luck on the ice. I haven’t skated for some years, and as I feel a - trifle shaky about beginning again, Monsieur Griolet, who directs the - sports, has promised to coach me up a bit some time this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Bon!</i>” Madame de Varigny nodded pleasantly. “You - will be well occupied while we are away. Au revoir, then, till our return. - Perhaps we shall walk down to the rink later to witness your progress - under Monsieur Groilet’s instruction.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled mischievously, the smile irradiating her face with a sudden - charm. Jean felt as though, for a moment, she had glimpsed the woman the - Countess might have been but for some happening in her life which had - soured and embittered it, setting that strange implacability within the - liquid depths of her soft, southern eyes. - </p> - <p> - She was still speculating on Madame de Varigny’s curious personality - as she made her way along the beaten track that led towards the rink, and - then, as a sudden turn of the way brought the sheet of ice suddenly into - full view, all thoughts concerning the bunch of contradictions that goes - to make up individual character were swept out of her mind. - </p> - <p> - In the glory of the morning sunlight the stretch of frozen water gleamed - like a shield of burnished silver, whilst on its further side rose great - pine-woods, mysteriously dark and silent, climbing the steeply rising - ground towards the mountains. - </p> - <p> - There were a number of people skating, and Jean discovered Monsieur - Griolet in the distance, supervising the practice of a pretty American - girl who was cutting figures with an ease and exquisite balance of lithe - body that hardly seemed to stand in need of the instructions he poured - forth so volubly. Probably, Jean decided, the American had entered for - some match and was being coached up to concert pitch accordingly. - </p> - <p> - She stood for a little time watching with interest the varied performances - of the skaters. Bands of light-hearted young folk, indulging in the sport - just for the sheer enjoyment of it, sped gaily by, broken snatches of - their talk and laughter drifting back to her as they passed, whilst groups - of more accomplished skaters performed intricate evolutions with an - earnestness and intensity of purpose almost worthy of a better cause. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt herself a little stranded and forlorn. She would have liked - someone to share her enthusiasm for the marvels achieved by the - figure-skaters—and to laugh with her a little at their deadly - seriousness and at the scraps of heated argument anent the various schools - of technique which came to her, borne on the still, clear air. - </p> - <p> - Presently her attention was attracted by the solitary figure of a man who - swept past her in the course of making a complete circle of the rink. He - skimmed the ice with the free assurance of an expert, and as he passed, - Jean caught a fleeting glimpse of a supple, sinewy figure, and of a lean, - dark face, down-bent, with a cap crammed low on to the somewhat scowling - brows. - </p> - <p> - There was something curiously distinctive about the man. Brief as was her - vision of him, it possessed an odd definiteness—a vividness of - impression that was rather startling. - </p> - <p> - He flashed by, his arms folded across his chest, moving with long, - rhythmic strokes which soon carried him to the further side of the rink. - Jean’s eyes followed him interestedly. He was unmistakably an - Englishman, and he seemed to be as solitary as herself, but, unlike her, - he appeared indifferent to the fact, absorbed in his own thoughts which, - to judge by the sullen, brooding expression of his face, were not - particularly pleasant ones. - </p> - <p> - Soon she lost sight of him amid the scattered groups of smoothly gliding - figures. The scene reminded her of a cinema show. People darted suddenly - into the picture, materialising in full detail in the space of a moment, - then rushed out of it again, dwindling into insignificant black dots which - merged themselves into the continuously shifting throng beyond. - </p> - <p> - At last she bent her steps towards the lower end of the rink, by common - consent reserved for beginners in the art of skating. She had not skated - for several years, owing to a severe strain which had left her with a weak - ankle, and she felt somewhat nervous about starting again. - </p> - <p> - Rather slowly she fastened on her skates and ventured tentatively on to - the ice. For a few minutes she suffered from a devastating feeling that - her legs didn’t belong to her, and wished heartily that she had - never quitted the safe security of the bank, but before long her - confidence returned, and with it that flexible ease of balance which, once - acquired, is never really lost. - </p> - <p> - In a short time she was thoroughly enjoying the rapid, effortless motion, - and felt herself equal to steering a safe course beyond the narrow limits - of the “Mugs’ Corner”—as that portion of the ice - allotted to novices was unkindly dubbed. - </p> - <p> - She struck out for the middle of the rink, gradually increasing her speed - and revelling in the sting of the keen, cold air against her face. Then, - all at once, it seemed as though the solid surface gave way beneath her - foot. She lurched forward, flung violently off her balance, and in the - same moment the sharp clink of metal upon ice betrayed the cause. One of - her skates, insecurely fastened, had come off. - </p> - <p> - She staggered wildly, and in another instant would have fallen had not - someone, swift as a shadow, glided suddenly abreast of her and, slipping a - supporting arm round her waist, skated smoothly beside her, little by - little slackening their mutual pace until Jean, on one blade all this - time, could stop without danger of falling. - </p> - <p> - As they glided to a standstill, she turned to offer her thanks and found - herself looking straight into the lean, dark face of the Englishman who - had passed her when she had been watching the skaters. - </p> - <p> - He lifted his cap, and as he stood for a moment bare-headed beside her, - she noticed with a curious little shock—half surprised, half - appreciative—that on the left temple his dark brown hair was - streaked with a single pure white lock, as though a finger had been laid - upon the hair and bleached it where it lay. It conferred a certain air of - distinction—an added value of contrast—just as the sharp black - shadow in a neutral-tinted picture gives sudden significance to the whole - conception. - </p> - <p> - The stranger was regarding Jean with a flicker of amusement in his grey - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “That was a near thing!” he observed. - </p> - <p> - Evidently he judged her to be a Frenchwoman, for he spoke in French—very - fluently, but with an unmistakable English accent. Instinctively Jean, who - all her life had been as frequently called upon to converse in French as - English, responded in the same language. - </p> - <p> - She was breathing rather quickly, a little shaken by the suddenness of the - incident, and his face took on a shade of concern. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not hurt, I hope? Did you twist your ankle?” - </p> - <p> - “No—oh, no,” she smiled up at him. “I can’t - have fastened my skate on properly, and when it shot off like that I’m - afraid I rather lost my head. You see,” she added explanatorily, - “I haven’t skated for some years. And I was never very - proficient.” - </p> - <p> - “I see,” he said gravely. “It was a little rash of you - to start again quite alone, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it was. However, as you luckily happened to be there to - save me from the consequences, no harm is done. Thank you so much.” - </p> - <p> - There was a note of dismissal in her voice, but apparently he failed to - notice it, for he held out his hands to her crosswise, saying: - </p> - <p> - “Let me help you to the bank, and then I’ll retrieve your - errant skate for you.” - </p> - <p> - He so evidently expected her to comply with his suggestion that, almost - without her own volition, she found herself moving with him towards the - edge of the rink, her hands grasped in a close, steady clasp, and a moment - later she was scrambling up the bank. Once more on level ground, she made - a movement to withdraw her hands. - </p> - <p> - “I can manage quite well now,” she said rather nervously. - There was something in that strong, firm grip of his which sent a curious - tremor of consciousness through her. - </p> - <p> - He made no answer, but released her instantly, and in her anxiety to show - him how well she could manage she hurried on, struck the tip of the skate - she was still wearing against a little hummock of frozen snow, and all but - fell. He caught her as she stumbled. - </p> - <p> - “I think.” he remarked drily, “you would do well to - sacrifice your independence till your feet are on more equal terms with - one another.” - </p> - <p> - Jean laughed ruefully. - </p> - <p> - “I think I should,” she agreed meekly. - </p> - <p> - He led her to where the prone trunk of a tree offered a seat of sorts, - then went in search of the missing skate. Returning in a few moments, he - knelt beside her and fastened it on—securely this time—to the - slender foot she extended towards him. - </p> - <p> - “You’re much too incompetent to be out on the ice alone,” - he remarked as he buckled the last strap. - </p> - <p> - A faint flush of annoyance rose in Jean’s cheeks at the - uncompromising frankness of the observation. - </p> - <p> - “What are your friends thinking of to let you do such a thing?” - he pursued, blandly ignoring her mute indignation. - </p> - <p> - “I have no friends here. I am—my own mistress,” she - replied rather tartly. - </p> - <p> - He was still kneeling in the snow in front of her. Now he sat back on his - heels and subjected her face to a sharp, swift scrutiny. Almost, she - thought, she detected a sudden veiled suspicion in the keen glance. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not the sort of girl to be knocking about—alone—at - a hotel,” he said at last, as though satisfied. - </p> - <p> - “How do you know what I’m like?” she retorted quickly, - “You are hardly qualified to judge.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Pardon, mademoiselle</i>, I do not know what you are—but I - do know very certainly what you are not. And”—smiling a little—“I - think we have just had ocular demonstration of the fact that you’re - not accustomed to fending for yourself.” - </p> - <p> - There was something singularly attractive about his smile. It lightened - his whole face, contradicting the settled gravity that seemed habitual to - it, and Jean found herself smiling back in response. - </p> - <p> - “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m not,” she admitted. - “I came here with my father, and he was—was suddenly called - away. I am going on to stay with friends.” - </p> - <p> - “This is my last day here,” he remarked with sudden - irrelevance. “I am off first thing to-morrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not stopping at the hotel, are you?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No. I’m staying at a friend’s chalet a little way - beyond it. <i>Mais, voyons, mademoiselle</i>, you will catch cold sitting - there. Are you too frightened to try the ice again?” - </p> - <p> - He seemed to assume that her next essay would be made in his company. Jean - spoke a little hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, I was supposed to have a lesson with Monsieur Griolet this - morning. He is an instructor,” she explained. “But he was - engaged coaching someone else when I came out.” - </p> - <p> - “And which is this Monsieur Griolet? Can you see him?” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s glance ranged over the scattered figures on the rink. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. There he is.” - </p> - <p> - His eyes followed the direction indicated. - </p> - <p> - “He seems to be well occupied at the moment,” he commented. - “Suppose—would you allow me to act as coach instead?” - </p> - <p> - She hesitated. This stranger appeared to be uncompromisingly progressive - in his tendencies. - </p> - <p> - “I’m perfectly capable,” he added curtly. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure of that. But——” - </p> - <p> - His eyes twinkled. “But it would not be quite <i>comme il faut?</i> - Is that it?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” she retaliated. - </p> - <p> - His face grew suddenly grave, and she noticed that when in repose there - were deep, straight lines on either side of his mouth—lines that are - usually only furrowed by severe suffering, either mental or physical. - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “To-day, it seems, we - are two very lonely people. Couldn’t we forget what is <i>comme il - faut</i> for once? We shall probably never meet again. We know nothing of - each other—just ‘ships that pass in the night.’ Let us - keep one another company—take this one day together.” - </p> - <p> - He drew a step nearer to her. - </p> - <p> - “Will you?” he said. “Will you?” - </p> - <p> - He was looking down at her with eyes that were curiously bright and - compelling. There was a tense note in his voice which once again sent that - disconcerting tremor of consciousness tingling through her blood. - </p> - <p> - She knew that his proposal was impertinent, unconventional, even regarded - from the standpoint of the modern broad interpretation of the word - convention, and that by every law of Mrs. Grundy she ought to snub him - soundly for his presumption and retrace her steps to the hotel with all - the dignity at her command. - </p> - <p> - But she did none of these things. Instead, she stood hesitating, - alternately flushing and paling beneath the oddly concentrated gaze he - bent on her. - </p> - <p> - “I swear it shall bind you to nothing,” he pursued urgently. - “Not even to recognising me in the street should our ways ever - chance to cross again. Though that is hardly likely to occur”—with - a shrug—“seeing that mademoiselle is French and that I am - rarely out of England. It will be just one day that we shall have shared - together out of the whole of life, and after that the ‘darkness - again and a silence.’.... I can promise you the ‘silence’!” - he added with a sudden harsh inflection. - </p> - <p> - It was that bitter note which won the day. In some subtle, subconscious - way Jean sensed the pain which lay at the back of it. She answered - impulsively: - </p> - <p> - “Very well. It shall be as you wish.” - </p> - <p> - A rarely sweet smile curved the man’s grave lips. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” he said simply. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—THE STOLEN DAY - </h2> - <p> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“E</span> NCORE <i>une - fois!</i> Bravo! That went better!” Monsieur Griolet’s - understudy had amply justified his claim to capability. After a morning’s - tuition at his hands, Jean found her prowess in the art of skating - considerably enhanced. She was even beginning to master the mysteries of - “cross-cuts” and “rocking turns,” and a somewhat - attenuated figure eight lay freshly scored on the ice to her credit. - </p> - <p> - “You are really a wonderful instructor,” she acknowledged, - surveying the graven witness to her progress with considerable - satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - Her self-appointed teacher smiled. - </p> - <p> - “There is something to be said for the pupil, also,” he - replied. “But now”—glancing at his watch—“I - vote we call a halt for lunch.” - </p> - <p> - “Lunch!” Jean’s glance measured the distance to the - hotel with some dismay. - </p> - <p> - “But not lunch at the hotel,” interposed her companion - quickly. - </p> - <p> - Jean regarded him with curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “Where then, monsieur?” - </p> - <p> - “Up there!” he pointed towards the pine-woods. “Above - the woods there is a hut of sorts—erected as a shelter in case of - sudden storms for people coming up from the lower valley to Montavan and - beyond. It’s a rough little shanty, but it would serve very well as - a temporary salle à manger. It isn’t a long climb,” he added - persuasively. “Are you too tired to take it on after your recent - exertion?” - </p> - <p> - “Not in the least. But are you expecting a wayside refuge of that - description to be miraculously endowed with a well-furnished larder?” - </p> - <p> - “No. But I think my knapsack can make good the deficiency.” he - replied composedly. - </p> - <p> - Jean looked at him with dancing eyes. Having once yielded to the day’s - unconventional adventure, she had surrendered herself whole-heartedly to - the enjoyment of it. - </p> - <p> - She made one reservation, however. Some instinct of self-protection - prevented her from enlightening her companion as to her partly English - nationality. There was no real necessity for it, seeing that he spoke - French with the utmost fluency, and his assumption that she was a - Frenchwoman seemed in some way to limit the feeling of intimacy, - conferring on her, as it were, a little of the freedom of an incognito. - </p> - <p> - “<i>A la bonne heure!</i>” she exclaimed gaily. “So you - invite me to share your lunch, <i>monsieur le professeur?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve invited you to share my day, haven’t I?” he - replied, smiling. - </p> - <p> - They steered for the bank, and when he had helped off her skates and - removed his own, slinging them over his arm, they started off along the - steep white track which wound its way upwards through the pine-woods. - </p> - <p> - As they left the bright sunlight that still glittered on the snowy slopes - behind them, it seemed as though they plunged suddenly into another world—a - still, mysterious, twilit place, where the snow underfoot muffled the - sound of their steps and the long shadows of the pines barred their path - with sinister, distorted shapes. - </p> - <p> - Jean, always sensitive to her surroundings, shivered a little. - </p> - <p> - “It’s rather eerie, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s - just as if someone had suddenly turned the lights out.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite a nice bit of symbolism,” he returned enigmatically. - </p> - <p> - “How? I don’t think I understand.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed a little. - </p> - <p> - “How should you? You’re young. Fate doesn’t come along - and snuff out the lights for you when you are—what shall we say? - Eighteen?” - </p> - <p> - “You’re two years out,” replied Jean composedly. - </p> - <p> - “As much? Then let’s hope you’ll have so much the longer - to wait before Madame Destiny comes round with her snuffers.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke with a kind of bitter humour, the backwash, surely, of some storm - through which he must have passed. Jean looked across at him with a vague - trouble in her face. - </p> - <p> - “Then, do you think”—she spoke uncertainly—“do - you believe it is inevitable that she will come—sooner or later?” - </p> - <p> - “I hope not—to you,” he said gently. “But she - comes to most of us.” - </p> - <p> - She longed to put another question, but there was a note of finality in - his voice—a kind of “thus far shalt thou come and no further”—that - warned her to probe no deeper. Whatever it was of bitterness that lay in - the Englishman’s past, he had no intention of sharing the knowledge - with his chance companion of a day. He seemed to have become absorbed once - more in his own thoughts, and for a time they tramped along together in - silence. - </p> - <p> - The ascent steepened perceptibly, and Jean, light and active as she was, - found it hard work to keep pace with the man’s steady, swinging - stride. Apparently his thoughts engrossed him to the exclusion of - everything else, for he appeared to have utterly forgotten her existence. - It was only when a slip of her foot on the beaten surface of the snow - wrung a quick exclamation from her that he paused, wheeling round in - consternation. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon! I’m walking you off your legs! Why on - earth didn’t you stop me?” - </p> - <p> - There was something irresistibly boyish about the quick apology. Jean - laughed, a little breathless from the swift climb uphill. - </p> - <p> - “You seemed so bent on getting to the top in the least possible - time,” she replied demurely, “that I didn’t like to - disappoint you.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid I make a poor sort of guide,” he admitted. - “I was thinking of something else. You must forgive me.” - </p> - <p> - They resumed their climb more leisurely. The trees were thinning a bit - now, and ahead, between the tall, straight trunks winged with drooping, - snow-laden branches, they could catch glimpses of the white world beyond. - </p> - <p> - Presently they came out above the pine-wood on to the edge of a broad - plateau and Jean uttered an exclamation of delight, gazing spell-bound at - the scene thus suddenly unfolded. - </p> - <p> - Behind them, in the pine-ringed valley, a frozen reach of water gleamed - like a dull sheet of metal, whilst before them, far above, stretched the - great chain of mountains, pinnacle after pinnacle, capped with snow, - thrusting up into the cloud-swept sky. Through rifts in the cloud—almost, - it seemed, torn in the breast of heaven by those towering peaks—the - sunlight slanted in long shafts, chequering the snows with shimmering - patches of pale gold. - </p> - <p> - “It was worth the climb, then?” - </p> - <p> - The Englishman, his gaze on Jean’s rapt face, broke the silence - abruptly. She turned to him, radiant-eyed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s so beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!” - she exclaimed, laying her hand on her breast with the little foreign turn - of gesture she derived from her French ancestry. - </p> - <p> - She said no more, but remained very still, drinking in the sheer - loveliness of the scene. - </p> - <p> - The man regarded her quietly as she stood there silhouetted against the - skyline, her slim, brown-clad figure striking a warm note amid the chill - Alpine whites and greys. Her face was slightly tilted, and as the sunshine - glinted on her hair and eyes, waking the russet lights that slumbered in - them, there was something vividly arresting about her—a splendour of - ardent youth which brought a somewhat wistful expression into the rather - weary eyes of the man watching her. - </p> - <p> - His thought travelled hack to the brief snatch of conversation evoked by - the sudden gloom of the pine-woods. Surely, for once, Fate would lay aside - her snuffers and let this young, eager life pass by unshadowed! - </p> - <p> - Even as the thought took shape in his mind, Jean turned to him again, her - face still radiant, “Thank you for bringing me up here,” she - said simply. “It has been perfect.” - </p> - <p> - She stretched out her hand, and he took it and held it in his for a - moment. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad you’ve liked it,” he answered quietly. - “It will always be a part of our day together—the day we stole - from <i>les convenances</i>”—he smiled whimsically. “And - now, if you can bring yourself back to more prosaic matters, I suggest we - have lunch. Scenery, however fine, isn’t exactly calculated to - sustain life.” - </p> - <p> - “Most material person!” She laughed up at him. “I - suppose you think a ham sandwich worth all the scenery in the world?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll admit to a preference for the sandwich at the moment,” - he acknowledged. “Come, now, confess! Aren’t you hungry, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Starving! This air makes me feel as if I’d never had anything - to eat in my life before!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, come and inspect my <i>salle à manger</i>.” - </p> - <p> - The proposed refuge proved to be a roughly constructed little hut—hardly - more than a shed provided with a door and thick-paned window, its only - furniture a wooden bench and table. But that it had served its purpose as - a kind of “travellers’ rest” was proved by the fragments - of appreciation, both in prose and verse, that were to be found inscribed - in a species of “Visitors’ Book” which lay on the table, - carefully preserved from damp in a strong metal box. Jean amused herself - by perusing the various contributions to its pages while the Englishman - unpacked the contents of his knapsack. - </p> - <p> - The lunch that followed was a merry little meal, the two conversing with a - happy intimacy and freedom from reserve based on the reassuring knowledge - that they would, in all probability, never meet again. Afterwards, they - bent their energies to concerting a suitable inscription for insertion in - the “Visitors’ Book,” squabbling like a couple of - children over the particular form it should take. - </p> - <p> - So absorbed were they in the discussion that they failed to notice the - perceptible cooling of the temperature. The sun no longer warmed the - roofing of the hut, and there was a desolate note in the sudden gusts of - wind which shook the door at frequent intervals as though trying to - attract the attention of those within. Presently a louder rattle than - usual, coincident with a chance pause in the conversation, roused them - effectually. - </p> - <p> - The Englishman’s keen glance flashed to the little window, through - which was visible a dancing, whirling blur of white. - </p> - <p> - “Great Scott!” he exclaimed in good round English. “It’s - snowing like the very dickens!” - </p> - <p> - In two strides he had reached the door, and, throwing it open, peered out. - A draught of icy air rushed into the hut, accompanied by a flurry of fine - snow driven on the wind. - </p> - <p> - When he turned back, his face had assumed a sudden look of gravity. - </p> - <p> - “We must go at once,” he said, speaking in French again and - apparently unconscious of his momentary lapse into his native tongue. - “If we don’t, we shan’t be able to get back at all. The - snow drifts quickly in the valley. Half an hour more of this and we - shouldn’t be able to get through.” - </p> - <p> - Jean thrust the Visitors’ Book back into its box, and began hastily - repacking her companion’s, knapsack, but he stopped her almost - roughly. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind that. Fasten that fur thing closer round your throat and - come on. There’s no taking chances in a blizzard like this. Don’t - you understand?”—almost roughly. “If we waste time we - may have to spend the night here.” - </p> - <p> - Impelled by the sudden urgency of his tones, Jean followed him swiftly out - of the hut, and the wind, as though baulked by her haste, snatched the - door from her grasp and drove it to with a menacing thud behind them. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—AMONG THE SNOWS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S Jean stepped - outside the hut it seemed as though she had walked straight into the heart - of the storm. The bitter, ice-laden blast that bore down from the - mountains caught away her breath, the fine driving flakes, crystal-hard, - whipped her face, almost blinding her with the fury of their onslaught, - whilst her feet slipped and slid on the newly fallen snow as she trudged - along beside the Englishman. - </p> - <p> - “This is a good preparation for a dance!” she gasped - breathlessly, forcing her chilled lips to a smile. - </p> - <p> - “For a dance? What dance?” - </p> - <p> - “There’s a fancy dress ball at the hotel to-night. There won’t - be—much of me—left to dance, will there?” - </p> - <p> - The Englishman laughed suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “My chief concern is to get you back to the hotel—alive,” - he observed grimly. - </p> - <p> - Jean looked at him quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Is it as bad as that?” she asked more soberly. - </p> - <p> - “No. At least I hope not. I didn’t mean to frighten you”—hastily. - “Only it seemed a trifle incongruous to be contemplating a dance - when we may be struggling through several feet of snow in half an hour.” - </p> - <p> - The fierce gusts of wind, lashing the snow about them in bewildering - eddies, made conversation difficult, and they pushed on in a silence - broken only by an occasional word of encouragement from the Englishman. - </p> - <p> - “All right?” he queried once, as Jean paused, battered and - spent with the fury of the storm. - </p> - <p> - She nodded speechlessly. She had no breath left to answer, but once again - her lips curved in a plucky little smile. A fresh onslaught of the wind - forced them onwards, and she staggered a little as it blustered by. - </p> - <p> - “Here,” he said quickly. “Take my arm. It will be better - when we get into the pine-wood. The trees there will give us some - protection.” - </p> - <p> - They struggled forward again, arm in arm. The swirling snow had blotted - out the distant mountains; lowering storm-filled clouds made a grey - twilight of the day, through which they could just discern ahead the - vague, formless darkness of the pine-wood. - </p> - <p> - Another ten minutes walking brought them to it, only to find that the - blunted edge of the storm was almost counterbalanced by the added - difficulties of the surrounding gloom. High up overhead they could hear - the ominous creak and swing of great branches shaken like toys in the - wind, and now and again the sharper crack of some limb wrenched violently - from its parent trunk. Once there came the echoing crash of a tree torn up - bodily and flung to earth. - </p> - <p> - “It’s worse here,” declared Jean, “I think”—with - a nervous laugh—“I think I’d rather die in the open!” - </p> - <p> - “It might be preferable. Only you’re not going to die at all, - if I can help it,” the Englishman returned composedly. - </p> - <p> - But, cool though he appeared, he experienced a thrill of keen anxiety as - they emerged from the pine-wood and his quick eyes scanned the dangerously - rapid drifting of the snow. - </p> - <p> - The wind was racing down the valley now, driving the snow before it and - piling it up, inch by inch, foot by foot, against the steep ground which - skirted the sheet of ice where they had been skating but a few hours - before. - </p> - <p> - Through the pitiless beating of the snow Jean strove to read her companion’s - face. It was grim and set, the lean jaw thrust out a little and the grey - eyes tense and concentrated. - </p> - <p> - “Can we get through?” she asked, raising her voice so that it - might carry against the wind. - </p> - <p> - “If we can get through the drifted snow between here and the track - on the left, we’re all right,” answered the man. - </p> - <p> - “The wind’s slanting across the valley and there’ll be - no drifts on the further side. I wish I’d got a bit of rope with me.” - </p> - <p> - He felt in his pockets, finally producing the rolled-up strap of a - suit-case. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all I have,” he said discontentedly. - </p> - <p> - “What’s it for?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s to go round your waist. I don’t want to lose you”—smiling - briefly—“if you should stumble into deep snow.” - </p> - <p> - “Deep snow? But it’s only been snowing an hour or so!” - she objected. - </p> - <p> - “Evidently you don’t know what a blizzard can accomplish in - the way of drifting during the course of an ‘hour or so.’ I - do.” - </p> - <p> - Deftly he fastened the strap round her waist, and, taking the loose end, - gave it a double turn about his wrist before gripping it firmly in his - hand. - </p> - <p> - “Now, keep close behind me. Regard me”—laughing shortly—“as - a snow-plough. And if I go down deep rather suddenly, throw your weight - backward as much as you can.” - </p> - <p> - He moved forward, advancing cautiously. He was badly handicapped by the - lack of even a stick with which to gauge the depth of drifting snow in - front of him, and he tested each step before trusting his full weight to - the delusive, innocent-looking surface. - </p> - <p> - Jean went forward steadily beside him, a little to the rear. The snow was - everywhere considerably more than ankle-deep, and at each step she could - feel that the slope of the ground increased and with it the depth of the - drift through which they toiled. - </p> - <p> - The cold was intense. The icy fingers of the snow about her feet seemed to - creep upward and upward till her whole body felt numbed and dead, and as - she stumbled along in the Englishman’s wake, buffeted and beaten by - the storm, her feet ached as if leaden weights were attached to them. - </p> - <p> - But she struggled on pluckily. The man in front of her was taking the - brunt of the hardship, cutting a path for her, as it were, with his own - body as he forged ahead, and she was determined not to add to his work by - putting any weight on the strap which bound them together. - </p> - <p> - All at once he gave a sharp exclamation and pulled up abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “It’s getting much deeper,” he called out, turning back - to her. “You’ll never get through, hampered with your skirts. - I’m going to carry you.” - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head, and shouted back: - </p> - <p> - “<i>You</i> wouldn’t get through, handicapped like that. No, - let’s push on as we are. I’ll manage somehow.” - </p> - <p> - A glint of something like admiration flickered in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Game little devil!” he muttered. But the wind caught up the - words, and Jean did not hear them. He raised his voice again, releasing - the strap from his wrist as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll do what I tell you. It’s only a matter of - getting through this bit of drift, and we’ll be out of the worst of - it. Put your arms round my neck.” Then, as she hesitated: “Do - you hear? Put your arms round my neck—<i>quick!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The dominant ring in his voice impelled her. Obediently she clasped her - arms about his neck as he stooped, and the next moment she felt herself - swung upward, almost as easily as a child, and firmly held in the embrace - of arms like steel. - </p> - <p> - For a few yards he made good progress, thrusting his way through the - yielding snow. But the task of carrying a young woman of average height - and weight is no light one, even to a strong man and without the added - difficulty of plunging through snow that yields treacherously at every - step, and Jean could guess the strain entailed upon him by the double - burden. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do put me down!” she urged him. “I’m sure I - can walk it—really I am.” - </p> - <p> - He halted for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Look down!” he said. “Think you could travel in that?” - </p> - <p> - The snow was up to his knees, above them whenever the ground hollowed - suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “But you?” she protested unhappily. “You’ll—you’ll - simply kill yourself!” - </p> - <p> - “Small loss if I do! But as that would hardly help you out of your - difficulties, I’ve no intention of giving up the ghost just at - present.” - </p> - <p> - He started on again, pressing forward slowly and determinedly, but it was - only with great difficulty and exertion that he was able to make headway. - Jean, her cheek against the rough tweed of his coat, could hear the - labouring beats of his heart as the depth of the snow increased. - </p> - <p> - “How much further?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “Not far,” he answered briefly, husbanding his breath. - </p> - <p> - A few more steps. They were both silent now. Jean’s eyes sought his - face. It was ashen, and even in that bitter cold beads of sweat were - running down it; he was nearing the end of his tether. She could bear it - no longer. She stirred restlessly in his arms. - </p> - <p> - “Put me down,” she cried imploringly. “<i>Please</i> put - me down.” - </p> - <p> - But he shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Keep still, can’t you?” he muttered between his teeth. - She felt his arms tighten round her. - </p> - <p> - The next moment he stumbled heavily against some surface root or boulder, - concealed beneath the snow, and pitched forward, and in the same instant - Jean felt herself sinking down, down into a soft bed of something that - yielded resistlessly to her weight. Then came a violent jerk and jar, as - though she had been seized suddenly round the waist, and the sensation of - sinking ceased abruptly. - </p> - <p> - She lay quite still where she had fallen and, looking upwards, found - herself staring straight into the eyes of the Englishman. He was lying - flat on his face, on ground a little above the snow-filled hollow into - which his fall had flung her, his hand grasping the strap which was - fastened round her body. He had caught the flying end of it as they fell, - and thus saved her from sinking into seven or eight feet of snow. - </p> - <p> - “Are you hurt?” - </p> - <p> - His voice came to her roughened with fierce anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “No. I’m not hurt. Only don’t leave go of your end of - the strap!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God!” she heard him mutter. Then, aloud, reassuringly: - “I’ve got my end of it all right. How, can you catch hold of - the strap and raise yourself a little so that I can reach you?” - </p> - <p> - Jean obeyed. A minute later she felt his arms about her shoulders, - underneath her armpits, and then very slowly, but with a sure strength - that took from her all sense of fear, he drew her safely up beside him on - to the high ground. - </p> - <p> - Eor a moment they both rested quietly, recovering their breath. The - Englishman seemed glad of the respite, and Jean noticed with concern the - rather drawn look of his face. She thought he must be more played out than - he cared to acknowledge. - </p> - <p> - Across the silence of sheer fatigue their eyes met—Jean’s - filled with a wistful solicitude as unconscious and candid as a child’s, - the man’s curiously brilliant and inscrutable—and in a moment - the silence had become something other, different, charged with emotional - significance, the revealing silence which falls suddenly between a man and - woman. - </p> - <p> - At last: - </p> - <p> - “This is what comes of stealing a day from Mrs. Grundy,” - commented the man drily. - </p> - <p> - And the tension was broken. - </p> - <p> - He sprang up, as though, anxious to maintain the recovered atmosphere of - the commonplace. - </p> - <p> - “Come! Having shot her bolt and tried ineffectually to down you in a - ditch, I expect the old lady will let us get home safely now. We’re - through the worst. There are no more drifts between here and the hotel.” - </p> - <p> - It was true. Anything that might have spelt danger was past, and it only - remained to follow the beaten track up to the hotel, though even so, with - the wind and snow driving in their faces, it took them a good half-hour to - accomplish the task. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur and Madame de Varigny, a distracted <i>maître d’hôtel</i>, - and a little crowd of interested and sympathetic visitors welcomed their - arrival. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mon dieu, mademoiselle!</i> But we rejoice to see you back!” - exclaimed Madame de Varigny. “We ourselves are only newly returned—and - that, with difficulty, through this terrible storm—and we arrive to - find that none knows where you are!” - </p> - <p> - “Me, I made sure that mademoiselle had accompanied <i>Madame la - Comtesse.</i>” asseverated Monsieur Vautrinot, nervously anxious to - exculpate himself from any charge of carelessness. - </p> - <p> - “We were just going to organise a search-party,” added the - little Count. “I, myself”—stoutly—“should - have joined in the search.” - </p> - <p> - Weary as she was, Jean could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of - the diminutive Count in the rôle of gallant preserver. He would have been - considerably less well-qualified even than herself to cope with the - drifting snow through which the sheer, dogged strength of the Englishman - had brought her safely. - </p> - <p> - Instinctively she turned with the intention of effecting an introduction - between the latter and the Varignys, only to find that he had disappeared. - He had taken the opportunity presented by the little ferment of excitement - which had greeted her safe return to slip away. - </p> - <p> - She felt oddly disconcerted. And yet, she reflected, it was so like him—so - like the conception of him which she had formed, at least—to evade - both her thanks and the enthusiasm with which a recital of the afternoon’s - adventure Would have been received. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—THE MAGIC MOMENT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN, surprisingly - revived by a hot bath and a hot drink, and comfortably tucked up beside - the fire in her room, was recounting the day’s adventure to Madame - de Varigny. - </p> - <p> - It was a somewhat expurgated version of the affair that she outlined—thoughtfully - calculated to allay the natural apprehensions of a temporary chaperon—in - which the unknown Englishman figured innocuously as merely having come to - her assistance when, in the course of her afternoon’s tramp, she had - been overtaken by the blizzard. Of the stolen day, snatched from under - Mrs. Grundy’s enquiring nose, Jean preserved a discreet silence. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know who he could be,” she pursued. “I’ve - never seen him on the ice before; I should certainly have recognised him - if I had. He was a lean, brown man, very English-looking—that sort - of cold-tub-every-morning effect, you know. Oh! And he had one perfectly - white lock of hair that was distinctly attractive. It looked”—descriptively—“as - though someone had dabbed a powdered finger on his hair—just in the - right place.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny’s eyes narrowed, and a quick ejaculation escaped - her. It was something more than a mere exclamation connoting interest; it - held a definitely individual note, as though it sprang from some sudden - access of personal feeling. - </p> - <p> - Jean, hearing it, looked up in some surprise, and the other, meeting her - questioning glance, rushed hastily into speech. - </p> - <p> - “A lock of white hair? But how <i>chic!</i> - </p> - <p> - “It should not”—thoughtfully—“be difficult - to discover the identity of anyone with so distinctive a characteristic.” - </p> - <p> - “He is not staying in the hotel, at all events,” said Jean. - “He told me he was at a friend’s chalet.” - </p> - <p> - “And he did not enlighten you as to his name? Gave you no hint?” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny spoke with an assumption of indifference, but there was - an undertone of suppressed eagerness in her liquid voice. - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head, smiling a little to herself. It had been part of the - charm of that brief companionship that neither of the two comrades knew - any of the everyday, commonplace details concerning the other. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will see him again at the rink to-morrow,” - suggested Madame de Varigny, still with that note of restrained eagerness - in her tones. “The snow is not deep except where it has drifted; - they will clear the ice in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent. She was not altogether sure that she wanted to see him - again. As it stood, robbed of all the commonplace circumstances of - convention, the incident held a certain glamour of whimsical romance which - could not but appeal to the daughter of Glyn Peterson. Nicely rounded off, - as, for instance, by the unknown Englishman’s prosaically calling at - the hotel the next day to enquire whether she had suffered any ill - effects, it would lose all the thrill of adventure. It was the suggestion - of incompleteness which flavoured the entire episode so piquantly. - </p> - <p> - No, on the whole, Jean rather hoped that she would not meet the Englishman - again—at least, not yet. Some day, perhaps, it might be rather nice - if chance brought them together once more. There would be a certain - element of romantic fitness about it, should that happen. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I am likely to see him again,” she said - quietly, replying to Madame de Varigny’s suggestion. “He told - me he was going away to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Had it been conceivable, Jean would have said that a flash of - disappointment crossed the Countess’s face. But there seemed no - possible reason why the movements of an unknown Englishman should cause - her any excitation of feeling whatever, pleasant or otherwise. The only - feasible explanation was that odd little streak of inquisitiveness - concerning other people’s affairs which appeared to be - characteristic of her and which she had before evinced concerning the - circumstances of Lady Anne Brennan. - </p> - <p> - Whatever curiosity she may have felt, however, on this occasion Madame de - Varigny refrained from giving expression to it. Apparently dismissing the - subject of the Englishman’s identity from her mind, she switched the - conversation into a fresh channel. - </p> - <p> - “It is unfortunate that you should have met with such a contretemps - to-day. You will not feel disposed to dance this evening, after so much - fatigue,” she observed commiseratingly. - </p> - <p> - But Jean scouted the notion. With the incomparable resiliency of youth, - she felt quite equal to dancing all night if needs be. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mais tout au contraire!</i>” she exclaimed. “I’m - practically recovered—at least, I shall be after another half-hour’s - lazing by this glorious fire. I wonder what heaven-sent inspiration - induced Monsieur Vautrinot to install a real English fire-place in this - room? It’s delicious.” - </p> - <p> - The Countess rose, shrugging her expressive shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “You are wonderful—you English! If it had been I who had - experienced your adventure to-day, I should be fit for nothing. As to - dancing the same evening—<i>ma foi, non! Voyons</i>, I shall leave - you to rest a little.” - </p> - <p> - She nodded smilingly and left the room. Once in the corridor outside, - however, the smile vanished as though it had been wiped off her face by an - unseen hand. Her curving lips settled into a hard, inflexible line, and - the soft, disarming dark eyes grew suddenly sombre and brooding. - </p> - <p> - She passed swiftly along to her own suite. It was empty. The little Count - was downstairs, agreeably occupied in comparing symptoms with a fellow - health crank he had discovered. - </p> - <p> - With a quick sigh of relief at his absence she flung herself into a chair - and lit a cigarette, smoking rapidly and exhaling the smoke in quick, - nervous jerks. The long, pliant fingers which held the cigarette were not - quite steady. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Tout va bien!</i>” she muttered restlessly. “All - goes well! <i>Assurément</i>, his punishment will come.” She bent - her head. “<i>Que Dieu le veuille!</i>” she whispered - passionately. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Jean took a final and not altogether displeased survey of herself in the - mirror before descending to the big <i>salle</i> where the fancy-dress - ball was to be held. She had had her dinner served to her in her room so - that she might rest the longer, and now, as there came wafted to her ears - the preliminary grunts and squeals and snatches of melody of the hotel - orchestra in process of tuning up, she was conscious of a pleasant glow of - anticipation. - </p> - <p> - There was nothing strikingly original about the conception of her costume. - It represented “Autumn,” and had been designed for a - fancy-dress ball of more than a year ago—before the death of - Jacqueline had suddenly shuttered down all gaiety and mirth at Beirnfels. - But, simple as it was, it had been carried out by an artist in colour, and - the filmy diaphanous layers of brown and orange and scarlet, one over the - other, zoned with a girdle of autumn-tinted leaves, served to emphasise - the russet of beech-leaf hair and the topaz-gold of hazel eyes. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny’s glance swept the girl with approval as they - entered the great <i>salle</i> together. - </p> - <p> - “But it is charming, your costume! <i>Regarde</i>, Henri”—turning - to the Count, who, as a swashbuckling d’Artagnan, was getting into - difficulties with his sword. “Has it not distinction—this - costume<i> d’automne?</i>” - </p> - <p> - The Count retrieved himself and, hitching his sword once more into - position, poured forth an unembarrassed stream of Gallic compliment. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny herself was looking supremely handsome as Cleopatra. - Jean reflected that her eyes,—slumberous and profound, with their - dusky frame of lashes and that strange implacability she always sensed in - them—might very well have been the eyes of the Egyptian queen - herself. - </p> - <p> - The <i>salle</i> was filling up rapidly. Jean, who did not anticipate - dancing overmuch, as she had made but few acquaintances in the hotel, - watched the colourful, shifting scene with interest. There was the usual - miscellany of a masquerade—Pierrots jostling against Kings and - Cossacks, Marie Antoinettes flaunting their jewels before the eyes of - demure-faced nuns, with here and there an occasional costume of - outstanding originality or merit of design. - </p> - <p> - Contrary to her expectations, however, Jean soon found herself with more - partners than she had dances to bestow, and, newly emancipated from the - rigour of her year’s mourning, she threw herself into the enjoyment - of the moment with all the long repressed enthusiasm of her youth. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was nearing the small hours when at last she found herself alone for a - few minutes. In the exhilaration of rapid movement she had completely - forgotten the earlier fatigues of the day, but now she was beginning to - feel conscious of the strain which the morning’s skating, followed - by that long, exhausting struggle through the blizzard, had imposed upon - even young bones and muscles. Close at hand was a deserted alcove, - curtained off from the remainder of the <i>salle</i>, and here Jean found - temporary sanctuary, subsiding thankfully on to a big cushioned divan. - </p> - <p> - The sound of the orchestra came to her ears pleasantly dulled by the heavy - folds of the screening curtain. Vaguely she could feel the rhythmic - pulsing, the sense of movement, in the <i>salle</i> beyond. It was all - very soothing and reposeful, and she leaned her head against a fat, pink - satin cushion and dosed, at the back of her mind the faintly disturbing - thought that she was cutting a Roman senator’s dance. - </p> - <p> - Presently she stirred a little, hazily aware of some disquiet that was - pushing itself into her consciousness. The discomfort grew, crystallising - at last into the feeling that she was no longer alone. Eor a moment, - physically unwilling to be disturbed, she tried to disregard it, but it - persisted, and, as though to strengthen it, the recollection of the - defrauded senator came back to her with increased insistence. - </p> - <p> - Broad awake at last, she opened her eyes. Someone—the senator - presumably—was standing at the entrance to the little alcove, and - she rushed into conscience-stricken speech. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, have I cut your dance? I’m so sorry——” - </p> - <p> - She broke off abruptly, realising as she spoke that the intruder was not, - after all, the senator come to claim his dance, but a stranger wearing a - black mask and domino. She was sure she had not seen him before amongst - the dancers in the <i>salle</i>, and for a moment she stared at him - bewildered and even a little frightened. Vague stories she had heard of a - “hold-up” by masked men at some fancy-dress ball recalled - themselves disagreeably to her memory, and her pulse quickened its beat - perceptibly. - </p> - <p> - Then, quite suddenly, she knew who it was. It did not need even the - evidence of that lock of <i>poudré</i> hair above the mask he wore, just - visible in the dim light of the recess, to tell her. She knew. And with - the knowledge came a sudden, disturbing sense of shy tumult. - </p> - <p> - She half-rose from the divan. - </p> - <p> - “You?” she stammered nervously. “Is it you?” - </p> - <p> - He whipped off his mask. - </p> - <p> - “Who else? Did this deceive you?”—dangling the strip of - velvet from his finger, and regarding her with quizzical grey eyes. - “I’ve been hunting for you everywhere. I’d almost made - up my mind that you had gone to bed like a good little girl. And then my - patron saint—or was it the special devil told off to look after me, - I wonder?—prompted me to look in here. <i>Et vous voilà, - mademoiselle!</i> How are you feeling after your exploits in the snow?” - </p> - <p> - He spoke very rapidly, in a light half-mocking tone that seemed to Joan to - make the happenings of the afternoon unreal and remote. His eyes were very - bright, almost defiant in their expression—holding a suggestion of - recklessness, as though he were embarked upon something of which his - inmost self refused to approve but which he was nevertheless determined to - carry through. - </p> - <p> - “So you <i>did</i> ‘call to enquire,’ after all!” - </p> - <p> - As she spoke, Jean’s mouth curled up at the corners in an - involuntary little smile of amused recollection. - </p> - <p> - “So I did call after all?” He looked puzzled—not - unnaturally, since he had no clue to her thoughts. “What do you - mean? I came”—he went on lightly—“because I wanted - the rest of the day which you promised to share with me. The proceedings - were cut short rather abruptly this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “But how did you get here?” she asked. “And—and - why did you disappear so suddenly after we got back to the hotel this - afternoon?” - </p> - <p> - “I got here by the aid of a pair of excellent skis and the light of - the moon; the snow ceased some hours ago and the surface is hardening - nicely. I disappeared because, as I told you, if you gave me this one day, - it should bind you to nothing—not even to introducing me to your - friends.” - </p> - <p> - “I should have had to present you as <i>Monsieur l’Inconnu,</i>” - remarked Jean without thinking. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” He met her glance with smiling eyes, but he did not - volunteer his name. - </p> - <p> - He had made no comment, uttered no word beyond the bald affirmative, yet - somehow Jean felt as though she had committed an indiscretion and he had - snubbed her for it. The blood rushed into her cheeks, staining them - scarlet. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. - </p> - <p> - Again that glint of ironical amusement in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “For what, mademoiselle?” - </p> - <p> - She was conscious of a rising indignation at his attitude. She could not - understand it; he seemed to have completely changed from the man of a few - hours ago. Then he had proved himself so good a comrade, been so entirely - delightful in his thought and care of her, whereas now he appeared bent on - wilfully misunderstanding her, putting her in a false position just for - his own amusement. - </p> - <p> - “You know perfectly well what I meant,” she answered, a tremor - born of anger and wounded feeling in her voice. “You thought I was - inquisitive—trying to find out your name——” - </p> - <p> - “Well”—humorously—“you were, weren’t - you?” Then, as her lip quivered sensitively, “Ah! Forgive me - for teasing you! And”—more earnestly—“forgive me - for not telling you my name. It is better—much better—that you - should not know. Remember, we can only have this one day together; we’re - just ‘ships that pass.’” He paused, then added: “Mine’s - only a battered old hulk—a derelict vessel—and derelicts are - best forgotten.” - </p> - <p> - There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his voice, the steadfast, - submissive sadness of a man who has long ago substituted endurance for - revolt. - </p> - <p> - “Remember, we can only have this one day together.” The quiet - utterance of the words stung Jean into a realisation of their - significance, and suddenly she was conscious that the knowledge that this - unknown Englishman was going away—going out of her life as abruptly - as he had come into it—filled her with a quite disproportionate - sense of regret. She found herself unexpectedly up against the recognition - of the fact that she would miss him—that she would like to see him - again. - </p> - <p> - “Then—you want me to forget?” she asked rather - wistfully. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes fell away from him as she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he returned gravely. “Just that. I want you to - forget.” - </p> - <p> - “And—and you?” The words seemed dragged from her without - her own volition. - </p> - <p> - “I? Oh”—he laughed a little—“I’m - afraid I’m inconsistent. I’m going to ask you to give me - something I can remember. That’ll even matters up, if you forget and - I—remember.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you want me to give you?” - </p> - <p> - He made a sudden step towards her. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to dance with me—just once. Will you?”—intently. - </p> - <p> - He waited for her reply, his keen, compelling glance fixed on her face. - Then, as though he read his answer there, he stepped to her side and held - out his arm. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Almost as if she were in a dream, Jean laid her hand lightly on his sleeve - and he pulled aside the portière for her to pass through. Then, putting - his arm about her, he swung her out on to the smooth floor of the <i>salle</i>. - </p> - <p> - They danced almost in silence. Somehow the customary small-change of - ballroom conversation would have seemed irrelevant and apart. This dance—the - Englishman had implied as much—was in the nature of a farewell. It - was the end of their stolen day. - </p> - <p> - The band was playing <i>Valse Triste</i>, that unearthly, infinitely sad - vision of Sibelius’, and the music seemed to hold all the strange, - breathless ecstacy, the regret and foreboding of approaching end of which - this first, and last, dance was compact. - </p> - <p> - It was over at last. The three final chords of the <i>Valse</i>—inexorable - Death knocking at the door—dropped into silence, and with the end of - the dance uprose the eager hum of gay young voices, as the couples drifted - out from the <i>salle</i> in search of the buffet or of secluded corners - in which to “sit out” the interval, according as the spirit - moved them. - </p> - <p> - Jean and her partner, making their way through the throng, encountered - Madame de Varigny on the arm of a handsome Bedouin Arab. For the fraction - of a second her eyes rested curiously on Jean’s partner, and a gleam - of something that seemed like triumph flickered across her face. But it - was gone in an instant, and, murmuring some commonplace to Jean, she - passed on. - </p> - <p> - “Who was that?” - </p> - <p> - The Englishman rapped out the question harshly, and Jean was struck by an - unaccustomed note in his voice. It held apprehension, distaste; she could - not quite analyse the quality. - </p> - <p> - “The Cleopatra, do you mean?” she said. “That was my - chaperon, the Comtesse de Varigny. Why do you ask?” He gave a short, - relieved laugh. - </p> - <p> - “No particular reason,” he returned with some constraint - “She reminded me—extraordinarily—of someone I used to - know, that’s all. Even the timbre of her voice was similar. It - startled me for a moment.” - </p> - <p> - He dismissed the matter with apparent indifference, and led Jean again - into the same little alcove in which he had found her. They stood together - silently in the dim, rose-hued twilight diffused by the shaded lamp above. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he said at last, slowly, reluctantly. “So this - is really the end of our stolen day.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s hands, hanging loosely clasped in front of her, suddenly - tightened their grip of each other. She felt herself struggling in the - press of new and incomprehensible emotions. A voice within her was crying - out rebelliously: “Why? Why must it be the end? Why not—other - days?” Pride alone kept her silent. It was his choice, his decision, - that they were not to meet again, and if he could so composedly define the - limits of their acquaintance, she was far too sensitively proud to utter a - word of protest. After all, he was only the comrade of a day. How—why - should it matter to her whether he stayed or went? - </p> - <p> - “I always believe”—the Englishman was speaking again, - his eyes bent on hers—“I always believe that, no matter how - sad or tragic people’s lives may be, God invariably gives them one - magic moment—so that they may believe in heaven.... I have had mine - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you—believe in heaven?” - </p> - <p> - He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “I do now. I believe... in a heaven that is out of my reach.” - </p> - <p> - His hands slipped upward from her shoulders, cupping her face, and for a - moment he held her so, staring down at her with grave, inscrutable eyes. - Then, stooping his head, he kissed her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, little comrade,” he said unevenly. “Thank you - for my magic moment.” - </p> - <p> - He turned away sharply. She heard his step, followed by the quick, jarring - rattle of brass rings jerked violently along the curtain-pole, and a - moment later he was gone. With a dull sense of finality she watched the - heavy folds of the portière swing sullenly back into their place. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—WHICH DEALS WITH REFLECTIONS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE dawn of a new - day possesses a curious potency of readjustment. It is as though Dame - Nature, like some autocratic old nurse, wakes us up and washes and dresses - our minds afresh for us each morning, so that they come to the renewed - consideration of the affairs of life freed from the influences and - emotions which were clogging their pores when we went asleep. Not - infrequently, in the course of this species of mental ablution, a good - deal of the glamour which invested the doings of the previous day gets - scrubbed off, and a new and not altogether pleasing aspect of affairs - presents itself. - </p> - <p> - This was somewhat Jean’s experience when she woke on the morning - following that of the fancy-dress ball. Looking back upon the events of - the previous day, it seemed to her newly-tubbed, matutinal mind almost - incredible that they should have occurred. It was like a dream—life - itself tricked out in fancy dress. - </p> - <p> - Stripped of the glamour of romance and adventure with which the unknown - Englishman had contrived to clothe it, the whole episode of their day - together presented itself as disagreeably open to criticism, and the - memory of that final scene in the alcove sent the blood flying into her - cheeks. She asked herself in mute amazement how it was possible that such - a thing should have happened to her,—to “our chaste Diana,” - as her father used laughingly to call her in recognition of the - instinctive little air of aloofness with which she had been wont to keep - men at a distance. - </p> - <p> - Of course, the Englishman had taken her by surprise, but Jean was too - honest, even in her dealings with herself, to shelter behind this excuse. - </p> - <p> - She knew that she had yielded to his kiss—and knew, too, that the - bare memory of it sent her heart throbbing in an inexplicable tumult of - emotion. - </p> - <p> - The stolen day, that day embarked upon so unconcernedly, in a gay spirit - of adventure, had flamed up at its ending into something altogether - different from the light-hearted companionship with which it had begun. - </p> - <p> - Then her conscience, recreated and vigorous from its morning toilet, - presented another facet of the affair for her inspection. With officious - detail it marshalled the whole series of events before her, dwelling - particularly on the fact that, with hut very slight demur, she had - consented to abrogate the accepted conventions of her class—conventions - designed to safeguard people from just such consequences as had ensued—and - winding up triumphantly with the corollary that although, like most men in - similar circumstances, the Englishman had not scrupled to avail himself of - the advantages the occasion offered, he had probably, none the less, - thought rather cheaply of her for permitting him to do so. - </p> - <p> - This reflection stung her pride—exactly as Conscience had intended - it should, without doubt. Last night there had seemed to her no question - about the quality of that farewell in the little screened-off alcove. - There had been nothing common or “cheap” about it. The - gathering incidents of the whole day, the fight through the storm, the - prelude of <i>Valse Triste</i>, all seemed to have led her by - imperceptible degrees to a point where she and the Englishman could kiss - at parting without shame. And now, with the morning, the delicate rainbow - veiling woven by romance was rudely torn asunder, and the word “cheap” - dinned in her ears like the clapper of a bell. - </p> - <p> - The appearance of her <i>premier dejeuner</i> came as a web come - distraction from her thoughts, and with the consumption of <i>café au lait</i> - and the crisp little rolls, hot from the oven, accompanying it, the whole - matter began to assume a less heinous aspect. After all, argued Jean’s - weak human nature, the unconventionality of the affair had been - considerably tempered by the fact that the Englishman had practically - saved her life during the course of the day. Alone, she would undoubtedly - have foundered in the drifting snow; and when a man has rescued you from - an early and unpleasantly chilly grave, it certainly sets the acquaintance - between you, however short its duration, on a new and more intimate plane. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, little comrade; thank you for my magic moment.” - </p> - <p> - The words, and the manner of their utterance, came back to Jean, bringing - with them a warm and comforting reassurance. The man who had thus spoken - had not thought her cheap; he was too fine in his perceptions to have - misunderstood like that. She felt suddenly certain of it. And the pendulum - of self-respect swung back into its place once more. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Presently she caught herself wondering whether she would see him again - before she left Montavan. True, he had told her he was going away the next - day. But had he actually gone? Somewhere within her lurked a fugitive, - half-formed hope that he might have altered his intention. - </p> - <p> - She tried to brush the thought aside, refusing to recognise it and - determinedly maintaining that it mattered nothing to her whether he stayed - or went. Nevertheless, throughout the whole day—in the morning when - she made a pretence of enjoying the skating on the rink, and again in the - afternoon when she walked through the pine-woods with the Varignys—she - was subconsciously alert for any glimpse of the lean, supple figure which - a single day had sufficed to mate so acutely familiar. - </p> - <p> - But by evening she was driven into accepting the fact that he had quitted - the mountains, and of a sudden Montavan ceased to interest her; the magic - that had disguised it yesterday was gone. It had become merely a dull - little village where she was awaiting Lady Anne Brennan’s answer to - her father’s letter, and she grew restlessly impatient for that - answer to arrive. - </p> - <p> - It came at last, during the afternoon of the following day, in the form of - a telegram: “<i>Delighted to welcome you. Letter follows.</i>” - </p> - <p> - The letter followed in due course, two days later, the tardiness of its - arrival accounted for by the fact that the writer had been moving about - from place to place, and that Peterson’s own letter, after pursuing - her for days, had only just caught up with her. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell you,” wrote Lady Anne in her squarish, - characteristic hand, “how delighted I shall be to have the daughter - of Glyn and Jacqueline with me for a time. Although Glyn with a grown-up - daughter sounds quite improbable; he never really grew up himself. So you - must come and convince me that the unexpected has happened.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Jean liked the warm-hearted, unconventional tone of the letter, and the - knowledge that she would so soon be leaving Montavan filled her with a - sense of relief. - </p> - <p> - During the four days which had elapsed since the Englishman’s - departure her restlessness had grown on her. Montavan had become too - vividly reminiscent of the hours which they had shared together for her - peace of mind. She wanted to forget that stolen day—thrust it away - into the background of her thoughts. - </p> - <p> - Unfortunately for the success of her efforts in this direction, the - element of the unknown which surrounded the Englishman, quite apart from - anything else, would have tended to keep him in the forefront of her mind. - It was only now, surveying their acquaintance in retrospect, that she - fully realised how complete had been his reticence. True his figure - dominated her thoughts, but it was a figure devoid of any background of - home, or friends, or profession. He might be a king or a crossing-sweeper, - for all she knew to the contrary—only that neither the members of - the one nor the other profession are usually addicted to sojourning at - Swiss chalets and forming promiscuous friendships on the ice. - </p> - <p> - There were moments when she felt that she detested this man from nowhere - who had contrived to break through her feminine guard of aloofness merely - to gratify his whim to spend a day in her company. - </p> - <p> - But there were other moments when the memory of that stolen day glowed and - pulsed like some rare gem against the even, grey monotony of all the days - that had preceded it—and of those which must come after. She could - not have analysed, even to herself, the emotions it had wakened in her. - They were too complex, too fluctuating. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - As she packed her trunks in preparation for an early start the following - day, Jean recalled with satisfaction the genuine ring of welcome which had - sounded through the letter that had come from England. Until she had - received it, she had been the prey of an increasing diffidence with regard - to suddenly billeting herself for an indefinite period upon even such an - old friend of her father’s as Lady Anne—a timidity Peterson - himself had certainly not shared when he penned his request. - </p> - <p> - “Give my little girl house-room, will you, Anne?” he had - written with that candid and charming simplicity which had made and kept - for him a host of friends through all the vicissitudes of his varied and - irresponsible career. “I am off once more on a wander-year, and I - can’t be tripped up by a petticoat—certainly not my own - daughter’s—at every yard. This isn’t quite as cynical as - it sounds. You’ll understand, I know. Frankly, a man whose life, to - all intents and purposes, is ended, is not fit company for youth and - beauty standing palpitating on the edge of the world. By the way, did I - tell you that Jean is rather beautiful? I forget. Let her see England—that - little corner where you live, down Devonshire way, always means England to - my mind. And let her learn to love Englishwomen—if there are any - more there like you.” - </p> - <p> - And, having accomplished this characteristic, if somewhat; sketchy - provision for his daughter’s welfare, Peterson had gone cheerfully - on his way, convinced that he had done all that was paternally encumbent - on him. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny was voluble in her regrets at the prospect of losing her - “<i>chère Mademoiselle Peterson</i>,” yet in spite of her - protestations of dismay Jean was conscious of an impression that the - Countess derived some kind of satisfaction from the imminence of her - departure. - </p> - <p> - She could not reconcile the contradiction, and it worried her a little. - She believed—quite justly—that Madame de Varigny had conceived - a real affection for her, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she - had considerably revised her first impressions of the other, finding more - to like in her than she had anticipated, noticeably a genuine warmth and - fervour of nature, and a certain kind-hearted capacity for interesting - herself in other people. - </p> - <p> - And, liking her so much better than she had at first conceived possible, - Jean resented the sudden recurrence of her original distrust produced by - the suggestion of insincerity which she thought she detected in the - Countess’s expressions of regret. - </p> - <p> - On the face of it the thing seemed absurd. She could imagine no - conceivable reason why her departure should give Madame de Varigny any - particular cause for complacency, which only made the more perplexing her - impression that this was the actual feeling underlying the latter’s - cordial interest in her projected visit to England. - </p> - <p> - On the morning of her departure, Jean’s mind was too preoccupied - with the small details attendant upon starting off on a journey dwell upon - the matter. But, as she shook bands with Madame de Varigny for the last - time, the recollection surged over her afresh, and she was strongly - conscious that beneath the other woman’s pleasant, “<i>Adieu, - mademoiselle! Bon voyage!</i>” something stirred that was less - pleasant—even inimical—just as some slimy and repulsive form - of life may stir amid the ooze at the bottom of a sunlit stream. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—THE MAN FROM MONTAVAN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN arrived in - London with a good three hours to spare before the South-Western express, - by which she proposed to travel to Devonshire, was due to leave Waterloo - Station. She elected, therefore, to occupy the time by touring round the - great, unknown city of her dreams in a taxicab, and spent a beatific hour - glimpsing the Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, and the old, grey, misty - river that Londoners love, and skirmishing in and out of the shops in - Regent Street and Bond Street with her hands full of absurd, expensive, - unnecessary purchases only bought because this was London and she felt she - just simply <i>must</i> have something English at once, and winding up - with a spin through Hyde Park—which didn’t impress her very - favourably in its winter aspect of leafless trees and barren stretches of - sodden grass. - </p> - <p> - Then she drove to a hotel, and, her luggage deposited there to await her - departure, her thoughts turned very naturally towards lunch. Her scamper - round London in the crisp, clear, frosty air had converted the - recollection of her early morning coffee and roll into something extremely - nebulous and unsupporting, and it was with the healthy appetite of an - eager young mind in an eager young body that she faced the several courses - of the table d’hote. - </p> - <p> - She glanced about her with interest, the little snatches of English - conversation which drifted to her from other near-by tables giving her a - patriotic thrill of pure delight. These were typically English people - lunching in a typically English hotel, and she, hitherto a stranger to her - own mother-country, was doing likewise. The knowledge filled her with - ridiculous satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - Nor were English people—at home in their own country—anything - like as dull and dowdy as Glyn Peterson’s sweeping criticisms had - led her to expect. The men were immensely well-groomed and clean-looking. - She liked the “morning-tub” appearance they all had; it - reminded her of the Englishman at Montavan. Apparently it was a British - characteristic. - </p> - <p> - The women, too, filled her with a species of vicarious pride. They were so - well turned-out, with a slim, long limbed grace of figure she found - admirable, and with splendid natural complexions—skins like rose and - ivory. - </p> - <p> - Two of them were drifting into the room together now, with a superbly cool - assurance of manner—rather as though they had bought the hotel—which - brought the sleek head-waiter automatically to their side, bowing and - obsequious. - </p> - <p> - Somewhat to Jean’s satisfaction he convoyed them to the table next - her own, and she was pleasantly conscious, as they passed her, of a - provocative whisper of silk and of the faint fragrance of violets subtly - permeating the atmosphere. - </p> - <p> - Conscious that perhaps she had been manifesting her interest a little too - openly, she turned her attention to a magazine she had bought en route - from Dover and was soon absorbed in the inevitable happy-ever-after - conclusion of the story she had been reading. - </p> - <p> - “Lady Anne? Oh, she lives at Staple now. Didn’t you know?” - </p> - <p> - The speaker’s voice was clear and resonant, with the peculiar - carrying quality which has replaced in the modern Englishwoman of the - upper classes that excellent thing in woman which was the proud boast of - an earlier generation. - </p> - <p> - The conjunction of the familiar words “Lady Anne” and “Staple” - struck sharply on Jean’s ears, and almost instinctively she looked - up. - </p> - <p> - As she stirred, one of the women glanced indifferently in her direction, - then placidly resumed her conversation with her companion. - </p> - <p> - “It was just after the smash-up,” she pursued glibly. “Blaise - Tormarin rushed off abroad for a time, and the news of Nesta’s death - came while he was away. Poor Lady Anne had to write and tell him of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Rather ghastly!” commented the other woman. “I never - heard the whole story of the affair. I was in Paris, then, and it was all - over—barring the general gossip, of course!—by the time I - returned. I tried to pump it out of Lady Anne once, but she was as close - as an oyster.” - </p> - <p> - Both women talked without lowering their voices in the slightest degree, - and with that complete indifference to the proximity of a stranger - sometimes exhibited by a certain arrogant type. - </p> - <p> - Jean, realising that it was her father’s friends who were under - discussion, and finding herself forced into the position of an unwilling - auditor, felt wretchedly uncomfortable. She wished fervently that she - could in some way arrest the conversation. Yet it was clearly as - impossible for her to lean forward and say: “You are talking about - the people I am on my way to visit,” as it would have been for her - to put her fingers in her ears. So far nothing had been said to which she - could actually object. Her feeling was chiefly the offspring of a - supersensitive fear that she might learn from the lips of these two - gossiping women, one of whom was apparently intimately acquainted with the - private history of the Tormarin family, some little fact or detail which - Lady Anne might not care for her future guest to know. Apart from this - fear, it would hardly have been compatible with human nature—certainly - not feminine human nature—if she had not felt pricked to - considerable personal interest in the topic under discussion. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it was a fool business,” the first woman rejoined, - settling down to supply the details of the story with an air of rapacious - satisfaction which reminded Jean of nothing so much as of a dog with a - bone. “Nesta Freyne was a typical Italian—though her father - was English, I believe—all blazing, passionate eyes and blazing, - passionate emotion, you know; then there was another man—and there - was Blaise Tormarin! You can imagine the consequences for yourself. Blaise - has his full share of the Tormarin temper—and a Tormarin in a temper - is like a devil with the bit between his teeth. There were violent - quarrels and finally the girl bolted, presumably with the other man. Then, - later, Lady Anne heard that she had died abroad somewhere. The funny thing - is that it seemed to cut Tormarin up rather badly. He’s gloomed - about the world ever since, so I suppose he must have been pretty deeply - in love with her before the crash came. I never saw her, but I’ve - been told she was diabolically pretty.” - </p> - <p> - The other woman laughed, dismissing the tragedy of the little tale with a - shallow tinkle of mirth. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, I’ve only met Blaise Tormarin once, but I should - say he was not the type to relish being thrown over for another man!” - She peered short-sightedly at the grilled fish on her plate, poking at it - discontentedly with her fork. “I never think they cook their fish - decently here, do you?” she complained. - </p> - <p> - And, with that, both women shelved the affairs of Blaise Tormarin and - concentrated upon the variety of culinary sins from which even expensive - hotel chefs are not necessarily exempt. - </p> - <p> - Jean had no time to bestow upon the information which had been thus thrust - upon her until she had effected the transport of herself and her - belongings from the hotel to Waterloo Station, but when this had been - satisfactorily accomplished and she found herself comfortably settled in a - corner seat of the Plymouth express, her thoughts reverted to her newly - acquired knowledge. - </p> - <p> - It added a bit of definite outline to the very slight and shadowy picture - she had been able to form of her future environment—a picture - roughly sketched in her mind from the few hints dropped by her father. - </p> - <p> - She wondered a little why Glyn should have omitted all mention of Blaise - Tormarin’s love affair and its unhappy sequel, but a moment’s - reflection supplied the explanation. Peterson had admitted that it was ten - years since he had heard from Lady Anne; presumably, then, the - circumstances just recounted in Jean’s hearing had occurred during - those years. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt that the additional knowledge she had gained rather detracted - from the prospective pleasure of her visit to Staple. Judging from the - comments which she had overheard, her host was likely to prove a somewhat - morose and gloomy individual, soured by his unfortunate experience of - feminine fidelity. - </p> - <p> - Thence her thoughts vaulted wildly ahead. Most probably, as a direct - consequence, he was a woman-hater and, if so, it was more than possible - that he would regard her presence at Staple as an unwarrantable intrusion. - </p> - <p> - A decided qualm assailed her, deepening quickly into a settled conviction—Jean - was nothing if not thorough!—that the real explanation of the delay - in Lady Anne’s response to Glyn’s letter had lain in Blaise - Tormarin’s objection to the invasion of his home by a strange young - woman—an objection Lady Anne had had to overcome, or decide to - ignore, before she could answer Glyn’s request in the affirmative. - </p> - <p> - The idea that she might be an unwelcome guest at Staple filled Jean with - lively consternation, and by the time she had accomplished the necessary - change of train at Exeter, and found herself being trundled along on the - leisurely branch line which conducted her to her ultimate destination, she - had succeeded in working herself up into a condition that almost verged - upon panic. - </p> - <p> - “Coombe <i>Ea</i>-vie! <i>Coombe</i> Eavie!” - </p> - <p> - The sing-song intonation of a depressed-looking porter, first rising from - a low note to a higher, then descending in contrary motion abruptly from - high to low, was punctuated by the sharper, clipped pronouncement of the - stationmaster as he bustled up the length of the platform declaiming: - “’Meavie! ’Meavie! ’Meavie!” with a - maddeningly insistent repetition that reminded one of a cuckoo in June. - </p> - <p> - Apparently both stationmaster and porter were too much absorbed in the - frenzied strophe and antistrophe effect they were producing to observe - that any passenger, handicapped by luggage, contemplated descending from - the train—unexpected arrivals were of rare occurrence at Coombe - Eavie—and Jean therefore hastened to transfer herself and her - hand-baggage to the platform unassisted. A minute later the train ambled - on its way again, leaving the stationmaster and the depressed porter - grouped in astonished admiration before the numerous trunks and - suit-cases, labelled “Peterson,” which the luggage van of the - departing train had vomited forth. - </p> - <p> - To the bucolic mind, such an unwonted accumulation argued a passenger of - quite superlative importance, and with one accord the combined glances of - the station staff raked the diminutive platform, to discover Jean standing - somewhat forlornly in the middle, of it, surrounded by the smaller fry of - her luggage. The stationmaster hurried forward immediately to do the - honours, and Jean addressed him eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “I want a <i>fiacre</i>—cab”—correcting herself - hastily—“to take me to Staple Manor.” - </p> - <p> - The man shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “There are no cabs here, miss,” he informed her regretfully. - “Anyone that wants to be met orders Wonnacott’s wagonette in - advance.” Then, seeing Jean’s face lengthen, he continued - hastily: “But if they’re expecting you up at Staple, miss, - they’ll be sure to send one of the cars to meet you. There!”—triumphantly, - as the chug-chug of an approaching motor came to them clearly on the - crisp, cold air—“that’ll be it, for certain.” - </p> - <p> - Followed the sound of a car braking to a standstill in the road outside - the station, and almost immediately a masculine figure appeared advancing - rapidly from the lower end of the platform. - </p> - <p> - Even through the dusk of the winter’s afternoon Jean was struck by - something curiously familiar in the man’s easy, swinging stride. A - surge of memories came flooding over her, and she felt her breath catch in - her throat at the sudden possibility which flashed into her mind. For an - instant she was in doubt—the thing seemed so amazingly improbable. - Then, touching his hat, the stationmaster moved respectfully aside, and - she found herself face to face with the unknown Englishman from Montavan. - </p> - <p> - She gazed at him speechlessly, and for a moment he, too, seemed taken - aback. His eyes met hers in a startled, leaping glance of recognition and - something more, something that set her pulses racing unsteadily. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Little comrade!</i>” She could have sworn the words - escaped him. Then, almost in the same instant, she saw the old, rather - weary gravity replace the sudden fire that had blazed up in the man’s - eyes, quenching its light. - </p> - <p> - “So—<i>you</i> are Miss Peterson!” - </p> - <p> - There was no pleasure, no welcome in his tones; rather, an undercurrent of - ironical vexation as though Fate had played some scurvy trick upon him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” The brief monosyllable came baldly in reply; she hardly - knew how to answer him, how to meet his mood. Then, hastily calling up her - reserves, she went on lightly: “You don’t seem very pleased to - see me. Shall I go away again?” - </p> - <p> - His mouth relaxed into a grim smile. - </p> - <p> - “This isn’t Clapham Junction,” he answered tersely. - “There won’t be a train till ten o’clock to-night.” - </p> - <p> - A glint of humour danced in Jean’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “In that case,” she returned gravely, “what do you - advise?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t advise,” he replied promptly. “I - apologise. Please forgive such an ungracious reception, Miss Peterson—but - you must acknowledge it was something in the nature of a surprise to find - that you were—you!” - </p> - <p> - Jean laughed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s given you an unfair advantage, too,” she replied. - “I still haven’t penetrated your incognito—but I suppose - you are Mr. Brennan?” - </p> - <p> - “No. Nick Brennan’s my half-brother. I’m Blaise - Tormarin, and, as my mother was unable to meet you herself, I came - instead. Shall we go? I’ll give the station-master instructions - about your baggage.” - </p> - <p> - So the unknown Englishman of Montavan was the man of whom the two women at - the neighbouring lunch table in the hotel had been gossiping—the - central figure of that most tragic love-affair! Jean thought she could - discern, now, the origin of some of those embittered comments he had let - fall when they were together in the mountains. - </p> - <p> - In silence she followed him out of the little wayside station to where the - big head-lamps of a stationary car shed a blaze of light on the roadway, - and presently they were slipping smoothly along between the high hedges - which flanked the road on either hand. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—THE MASTER OF STAPLE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was too dark to - distinguish details as the big car flew-along, but Jean found herself - yielding instinctively to the still, mysterious charm of the country-side - at even. - </p> - <p> - A slender young moon drifted like a curled petal in the dusky blue of the - calm sky, its pale light faintly outlining the tops of the trees and the - dim, gracious curves of distant hills, and touching the mist that filled - the valleys to a nebulous, pearly glimmer, so that to Jean’s eager - eyes the foot of the hills seemed laved by some phantom sea of faery. - </p> - <p> - She felt no inclination to talk. The smooth rhythm of the pulsing car, the - chill sweetness of the evening air against her face, the shadowy, - half-revealed landscape all combined to lull her into a mood of tranquil - appreciation, aloof and restful after the fatigue of her journey and the - shock of her unexpected meeting with the Englishman from Montavan. She - knew that later she would have to take up the thread of things again, - adjust her mind to the day’s surprising developments, but just for - the moment she was content to let everything else slide and simply enjoy - this first exquisite revelation of twilit Devon. - </p> - <p> - For a long time they drove in silence, Tormarin seeming no more disposed - to talk than she herself. - </p> - <p> - Presently, however, he slowed the car down and, half-turning in his seat, - addressed her abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “This is somewhat in the nature of an anti-climax,” he - remarked, the comment quite evidently springing from the thoughts which - had been absorbing him. - </p> - <p> - He spoke curtly, as though he resented the march of events. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt herself jolted suddenly out of the placid reverie into which she - had fallen. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It is odd we should meet again so soon,” she assented - hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “The silence has been broken—after all! You may be sure, Miss - Peterson, it was by no will of mine.” - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled under cover of the darkness. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not very complimentary,” she returned. “I’m - sorry our meeting seems to afford you so little satisfaction.” There - was a ripple of laughter in her tones. - </p> - <p> - “It’s not that.” As he spoke, he slackened speed until - the car was barely moving. “You know it’s not that,” he - continued, his voice tense. “But, all the same, I’m going to - ask you to—forget Montavan.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s heart gave a violent throb, and the laughter went suddenly - out of her voice as she repeated blankly: - </p> - <p> - “To forget Montavan?” - </p> - <p> - “Please. I said—and did—a few mad things that day we - spent together. It was to be an uncounted day, you know, and—oh, - well, the air of the Alps is heady! I want you to forgive me—and to - blot out all remembrance of it.” - </p> - <p> - He seemed to speak with some effort, yet each word was uttered - deliberately, searing its way into her consciousness like red-hot iron. - </p> - <p> - The curt, difficultly spoken sentences could only signify one thing—that - he had meant nothing, not even good, honest comradeship, that day at - Montavan. He had merely been amusing himself with a girl whom he never - expected to meet again, and now that circumstances had so unexpectedly - brought them together he was clearly anxious that she should be under no - misapprehension in the matter. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s pride writhed beneath the insult of it. It was as though he - feared she might make some claim upon his regard and had hastened to warn - her, almost in so many words, not to set a fictitious value upon anything - that had occurred between them. The glamour was indeed torn from her - stolen day on the mountains! The whole memory of it, above all the memory - of that pulsing moment of farewell, would henceforth he soiled and - vulgarised—converted into a rather sordid little episode which she - would gladly have blotted out from amongst the concrete happenings of - life. - </p> - <p> - The feminine instinct against self-betrayal whipped her into quick speech. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve no wish to forget that you practically saved my life,” - she said. “I shall always”—lightly—“feel - very much obliged for that.” - </p> - <p> - “You exaggerate my share in the matter,” he replied - carelessly. “You would have extricated yourself from your - difficulties without my assistance, I have no doubt. Or, more truly”—with - a short laugh—“you would never have got into them.” - </p> - <p> - He said no more, but let out the car and they shot forward into the - gathering dusk. Presently they approached a pair of massive iron gates - admitting to the manor drive, and as these were opened in response to a - shrill hoot from Tormarin’s horn the car swung round into an avenue - of elms, the bare boughs, interlacing overhead, making a black network - against the moonlit sky. - </p> - <p> - Still in silence they approached the house, its dim grey bulk, looming - indeterminately through the evening mist, studded here and there with a - glowing shield of orange from come unshaded window, and almost before - Tormarin had pulled up the car, the front door flew open and a wide riband - of light streamed out from the hall behind. - </p> - <p> - Jean was conscious of two or three figures grouped in the open doorway, - dark against the welcoming blaze of light, then one of them detached - itself from the group and hastened forward with outstretched hands. - </p> - <p> - “Here you are at last!” - </p> - <p> - For an instant Jean hesitated, doubtful as to whether the speaker could be - Lady Anne. The voice which addressed her was so amazingly young—clear - and full of vitality like the voice of a girl. Then the light flickered on - to hair as white as if it had been powdered, and she realized that this - surprisingly young voice must belong to her hostess. - </p> - <p> - “I was so sorry I could not meet you at the station myself,” - continued Lady Anne, leading the way into the house. “But a tiresome - visitor turned up—one of those people who never know when it’s - time to go—and I simply couldn’t get away without forcibly - ejecting her.” - </p> - <p> - In the fuller light of the hall, Jean discerned in Lady Anne’s - appearance something of that same quality of inherent youth apparent in - her voice. The keen, humorous grey eyes beneath their black, arched brows - were alertly vivacious, and the quite white hair served to enhance, rather - than otherwise, the rose-leaf texture of her skin. Many a much younger - woman had envied Lady Anne her complexion; it was so obviously genuine, - owing nothing at all to art. - </p> - <p> - “And now”—Jean felt herself pulled gently into the light—“let - me have a good look at you. Oh, yes!”—Lady Anne laughed - amusedly—“You’re Glyn Peterson’s daughter right - enough—you have just his chin with that delicious little cleft in - it. But your eyes and hair are Jacqueline’s.” She leaned - forward a little and kissed Jean warmly. “My dear, you’re very - welcome at Staple. There is nothing I could have wished more than to have - you here—except that you could have prevailed upon Glyn to bring you - himself.” - </p> - <p> - “When you have quite finished going into the ancestral details of - Miss Peterson’s features, madonna, perhaps you will present me.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne laughed good-humouredly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, this is my pushful younger son, Jean. (I’m certainly - going to call you Jean without asking whether I may!) You’ve already - made acquaintance with Blaise. This is Nick.” - </p> - <p> - Nick Brennan was as unlike his half-brother as he could possibly be—tall, - and fair, and blue-eyed, with a perfectly charming smile and an air of not - having a care in the world. Jean concluded he must resemble closely the - dead Claude Brennan, since, except for a certain family similarity in cut - of feature, he bore little resemblance to his mother. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise has had an hour’s start of me in getting into your - good graces, Miss Peterson,” he said, shaking hands. “I - consider it very unfair, but of course I had to be content—as usual—with - the younger son’s portion.” - </p> - <p> - Jean liked him at once. His merry, lazy blue eyes smiled friendship at - her, and she felt sure they should get on together. She could not imagine - Nick “glooming” about the world, as one of the women at the - hotel had declared his half-brother did. - </p> - <p> - It occurred to her that it would simplify matters if both he and Lady Anne - were made aware at once of her former meeting with Blaise, so she took the - opportunity offered by Nick’s speech. - </p> - <p> - “He’s had more than that,” she said gaily. “Mr. - Tor-marin and I had already met before—at Montavan.” - </p> - <p> - “At Montavan?” Lady Anne gave vent to an ejaculation of amused - impatience. “If we had only known! Blaise could have accompanied you - back and saved you all the bothersome details of the journey. But we had - no idea where he was. He went off in his usual way”—smiling a - shade ruefully—“merely condescending to inform his yearning - family that he was going abroad for a few weeks.” Then, as Tormarin, - having surrendered the car to a chauffeur, joined the group in the hall, - she turned to him and continued with a faint note of expostulation in her - voice: “You never told us you had already met Miss Peterson, Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t know it myself till I found her marooned on the - platform at Coombe Eavie,” he returned. His eyes, meeting Jean’s, - flickered with brief amusement as he added nonchalantly: “I did not - catch Miss Peterson’s name when we met at Montavan.” - </p> - <p> - “No, we were not formally introduced,” supplemented Jean. - “But Mr. Tormarin was obliging enough to pull me out of an - eight-foot deep snowdrift up in the mountains, so we allowed that to count - instead.” - </p> - <p> - “What luck!” exclaimed Nick with fervour. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it was rather,” agreed Jean. “To be smothered in a - snowdrift isn’t exactly the form of extinction I should choose.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I meant luck for Blaise,” explained Nick. “Opportunities - of playing knight-errant are few and far between nowadays”—regretfully. - </p> - <p> - They all laughed, and then Lady Anne carried Jean off upstairs. - </p> - <p> - Here she found that a charming bedroom, with a sitting-room connecting, - had been allotted her—“so that you’ll have a den of your - own to take refuge in when you’re tired of us,” as Lady Anne - explained. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt touched by the kindly thought. It takes the understanding - hostess to admit frankly that a guest may sometimes crave for the solitude - of her own company—and to see that she can get it. - </p> - <p> - The rooms which were to constitute Jean’s personal domain were - delightfully decorated, old-world tapestries and some beautiful old prints - striking just the right note in conjunction with the waxen-smooth mahogany - of Chippendale. From the bedroom, where a maid was already busying herself - unstrapping the traveller’s manifold boxes, there opened off a - white-tiled bathroom frankly and hygienically modern, and here Jean was - soon splashing joyfully. By the time she had finished her bath and dressed - for dinner she felt as though the fatigue of the journey had slipped from - her like an outworn garment. - </p> - <p> - The atmosphere at dinner was charmingly informal, and presently, when the - meal was at an end, the party of four adjourned into the hall for coffee. - As Jean’s eyes roved round the old-fashioned, raftered place, she - was conscious of a little intimate thrill of pleasure. With its walls - panelled in Jacobean oak, and its open hearth where a roaring fire of logs - sent blue and green flames leaping up into the chimney’s cavernous - mouth, it reminded her of the great dining-hall at Beirnfels. But here - there was a pleasant air of English cosiness, and it was obvious that at - Staple the hall had been adopted as a living-room and furnished with an - eye to comfort. There were wide, cushioned window-seats, and round the - hearth clustered deep, inviting chairs, while everywhere were the little, - pleasant, home-like evidences—an open book flung down here, a piece - of unfinished needlework there—of daily use and occupation. - </p> - <p> - Nick at once established himself at Jean’s side, kindly informing - her that now that his inner man was satisfied he was prepared to make - himself agreeable. Upon which Lady Anne apologised for his manners and - Nick interrupted her, volubly pointing out that the fault, if any (which - he denied), was entirely hers, since she had been responsible both for his - upbringing and inherited tendencies. They both talked at once, wrangling - together with huge zest and enjoyment, and it was easily apparent that the - two were very close friends indeed. - </p> - <p> - Blaise took no part in the stream of chatter and nonsense which ensued, - but stood a little apart, his shoulder propped against the chimney-piece, - drinking his coffee in silence. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s glance wandered reflectively from one brother to the other. - They presented a striking contrast—the stern, dark-browed face of - the elder man, with its bitter-looking mouth and that strange white streak - lying like some, ghostly finger-mark across his dark hair, and the - bubbling, blue-eyed charm of the younger. The difference between them was - as definite as the difference between sunlight and shadow. - </p> - <p> - Nick was full of plans for Jean’s entertainment, suggestions for - boating and tennis occupying a prominent position in the programme he - sketched out. - </p> - <p> - “It’s really quite jolly paddling about on our lake,” he - rattled on. “The stream that feeds it hails from Dartmoor, of - course. All Devonshire streams do, I believe—at least, you’ll - never hear of one that doesn’t, the Moor being our proudest - possession. Besides, people always believe that your water supply must be - of crystalline purity if you just casually mention that its source is a - Dartmoor spring. So of course, we all swear to the Dartmoor origin of our - domestic waterworks. It sounds well—even if not always strictly - true.” - </p> - <p> - “Miss Peterson must find it a trifle difficult to follow your train - of thought,” commented Blaise a little sharply. “A moment ago - you were discussing boating, and now it sounds as though you’ll - shortly involve yourself—and us—in a disquisition upon - hygiene.” - </p> - <p> - Nick smiled placidly. - </p> - <p> - “My enthusiasm got away with me a bit,” he admitted with - unruffled calm. “But I haven’t the least doubt that Miss - Peterson will like to know these few reassuring particulars. However——” - And he forthwith returned enthusiastically to the prospects of tennis and - kindred pastimes. - </p> - <p> - Once again Blaise broke in ungraciously. It seemed as though, for some - reason, Nick’s flow of light-hearted nonsense and the dozen - different plans he was proposing for Jean’s future divertisement, - irritated him. - </p> - <p> - “Your suggestions seem to me remarkably inept, Nick,” he - observed scathingly, “seeing that at present it is midwinter and the - lake frozen over about a foot deep. Quite conceivably, by the time that - tennis and boating become practicable, Miss Peterson may not be here. She - may get tired of us long before the summer comes,” he added quickly, - as though in a belated endeavour to explain away the suggestion of - inhospitality which might easily be inferred from his previous sentence. - </p> - <p> - But if the hasty addition were intended to reassure Jean, it failed of its - purpose. The idea that her coming to Staple was not particularly - acceptable to its master had already taken possession, of her. Originally - the consequence of the conversation she had overheard at the hotel, - Tormarin’s reluctantly given welcome when he met her at Coombe Eavie - Station had served to increase her feeling of embarrassment And now, this - last speech, though so hastily qualified, convinced her that her advent - was regarded by her host in anything but a pleasurable light. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I don’t think you must count on me for the tennis - season, Mr. Brennan,” she said quickly, “I don’t propose - to billet myself on you indefinitely, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but I hope you do, my dear,” Lady Anne interposed with a - simple sincerity there was no doubting. “You must certainly stay - with us till your father comes home, and”—with a smile—“unless - Glyn has altered considerably, I imagine Beirnfels will not see him again - under a year.” - </p> - <p> - “But I couldn’t possibly foist myself on to you for a year!” - exclaimed Jean. “That would be a sheer imposition.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne smiled across at her. - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” she said, “I’ve never had a daughter—only - these two great, unmanageable sons—and I’m just longing to - play at having one. You’re not going to disappoint me, I hope?” - </p> - <p> - There was something irresistibly winning in Lady Anne’s way of - putting the matter, and Jean jumped up and kissed her impulsively. - </p> - <p> - “I should hate to!” she answered warmly. - </p> - <p> - But she evaded giving a direct promise; there must be a clearer - understanding between herself and Tormarin before she could accept Lady - Anne’s hospitality as frankly and fully as it was offered. - </p> - <p> - The opportunity for this clearer understanding came with the entry of - Baines, the butler, who brought the information that a favourite young - setter of Nick’s had been taken ill and that the stableman feared - the dog had distemper. - </p> - <p> - Nick sprang up, his concern showing in his face. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll come out and have a look at him,” he said quickly. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll come with you,” added Lady Anne. - </p> - <p> - She slipped her hand through his arm, and they hurried off to the stables, - leaving Blaise and Jean alone together. - </p> - <p> - For a moment neither spoke. Blaise, smoking a cigarette, remained staring - sombrely into the fire. Apparently he did not regard it as incumbent on - him to make conversation, and Jean felt miserably nervous about broaching - the subject of her visit. At last, however, fear lest Lady Anne and Nick - should return before she could do so drove her into speech. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Tormarin,” she said quietly—so quietly that none - would have guessed the flurry of shyness which underlay her cool little - voice—“I am very sorry my presence here is so unwelcome to - you. I’m afraid you will have to put up with me for a week or two, - but I promise you I will try to make other arrangements as soon as I can.” - </p> - <p> - He turned towards her abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask what you mean?” he demanded. It was evident from - the haughty, almost arrogant tone of his voice that something had aroused - his anger, though whether it was the irritation consequent upon her - presence there, or because he chose to take her speech as censuring his - attitude, Jean was unable to determine. His eyes were stormy and inwardly - she quailed a little beneath their glance; outwardly, however, she - retained her composure. - </p> - <p> - “I think my meaning is perfectly clear,” she returned with - spirit. “Even at the station you made it quite evident that my - appearance came upon you in the light of an unpleasant surprise. And—from - what you said just now to Mr. Brennan—it is obvious you hope my - visit will not be a long one.” - </p> - <p> - If she had anticipated spurring him into an impulsive disclaimer, she was - disappointed. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry I have failed so lamentably in my duties as host,” - he said coldly. - </p> - <p> - The apology, uttered with such an entire lack of ardour, served to - emphasise the offence for which it professed to ask pardon. Jean’s - face whitened. She would hardly have felt more hurt and astonished if he - had struck her. - </p> - <p> - “I—I——” she began. Then stopped, finding her - voice unsteady. - </p> - <p> - But he had heard the break in the low, shaken tones, and in a moment his - mood of intolerant anger vanished. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me,” he said remorsefully—and there was genuine - contrition in his voice now. “I’m a cross-grained fellow, Miss - Peterson; you’ll find that out before you’ve been here many - days. But never think that you are unwelcome at Staple.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why—I don’t understand you,” she stammered. - She found his sudden changes of humour bewildering. - </p> - <p> - He smiled down at her, that rare, strangely sweet smile of his which when - it came always seemed to transform his face, obliterating the harsh - sternness of its lines. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I don’t quite understand, either,” he said - gently. “Only I know it would have been better if you had never come - to Staple.” - </p> - <p> - “Then—you wish I hadn’t come?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,”—slowly. “I think I do wish that.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him a little wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “Is that why you were angry—because I’ve come here? Lady - Anne and—and Mr. Brennan seemed quite pleased,” she added as - though in protest. - </p> - <p> - “No doubt. Nick, lucky devil, has no need to economise in magic - moments.” - </p> - <p> - She felt her cheeks flush under the look he bent upon her, but she forced - herself to meet it. - </p> - <p> - “And—and you?” she questioned very low. - </p> - <p> - “I have”—briefly. - </p> - <p> - It was long before sleep visited Jean that night The events of the day - marched processionally through her mind, and her thoughts persisted in - clustering round the baffling, incomprehensible personality of Blaise - Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - His extreme bitterness of speech she ascribed to the unfortunate episode - that lay in his past. But she could find no reason for his strange, - expressed wish to disregard their former meeting at Montavan—to wipe - out, as it were, all recollection of it. - </p> - <p> - That he did not dislike her she felt sure; and a woman rarely makes a - mistake over a man’s personal attitude towards her. But for some - reason, it seemed to her, he was <i>afraid</i> to let himself like her! It - was as though he were anxious to bolt and bar the door against any - possibility of friendship between them. From whichever way she looked at - it, she could find no key to the mystery of his behaviour. It was - inexplicable. - </p> - <p> - Only one thing emerged from the confusion of thought; the lost glamour of - that night at Montavan had returned—returned with fresh impulse and - persuasiveness. And when at last she fell asleep, it was with the - beseeching, soul-haunting melody of <i>Valse Triste</i> crying in her - ears. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—OTHER PEOPLE’S TROUBLES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN woke to find - the chill, wintry sunlight thrusting in long fingers through the space - between the casements and the edges of the window-blinds. At first the - unfamiliar look of a strange bedroom puzzled her, and she lay blinking - drowsily at the wavering slits of light, wondering in vague, half-awake - fashion where she was. Gradually, however, recollection returned to her, - and with it a lively curiosity to view Staple by daylight. She jumped out - of bed and, rattling up the blinds on their rollers, peered out of the - window. - </p> - <p> - There was a hard frost abroad, and the stillness which reigned over the - ice-bound country-side reminded her of the big Alpine silences. But here - there was no snow—no dazzling sheet of whiteness spread, with cold, - grey-blue shadows flung across it Green and shaven the lawns sloped gently - down from a flagged terrace, running immediately beneath her window, to - the very rim of the frozen lake that gleamed in the valley below. Beyond - the valley, scattered woods and copses climbed the hillside opposite, - leafless and bare save where a cluster of tall pines towered in evergreen - defiance against the slate of the sky. - </p> - <p> - In the farther distance, beyond the confines of the manor park itself, - Jean could catch glimpses of cultivated fields—the red Devon soil - glowing jewel-like through filmy wisps of morning mist that still hung in - the atmosphere, dispersing slowly as though loth to go. Here and there a - little spiral of denser, blue-grey smoke wreathed its way upwards from the - chimney of some thatched cottage or farmhouse. And back of it all, - adumbrated in a dim, mysterious purple, the great tors of Dartmoor rose - sentinel upon the horizon. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s glance narrowed down to the sloping sward in front of the - house. It was all just as her father had pictured it to her. On the left, - a giant cedar broke the velvet smoothness of mown grass, its gnarled arms - rimmed with hoar-frost, whilst to the right a tall yew hedge, clipped into - huge, grotesque resemblances of birds and beasts, divided the lawns from a - path which skirted a walled rose garden. By craning her neck and almost - flattening her nose against the window-pane, she could just make out a - sunk lawn in the rose garden, and in its centre the slender pillar of an - ancient sundial. - </p> - <p> - It was all very English and old-fashioned, breathing the inalienable charm - of places that have been well loved and tended by successive generations. - And over all, hills and valleys, park and woodland, lay that faint, almost - imperceptible humid veil wherewith, be it in scorching summer sunshine or - iron frost, the West Country tenderly contrives to soften every harsh - outline into something gracious, and melting, and alluring. - </p> - <p> - To Jean, familiarised from childhood with the piercing clarity of - atmosphere, the brilliant colouring and the definiteness of silhouette of - southern Europe and of Egypt, there was something inexpressibly restful - and appealing in those blurred hues of grey and violet, in the warm red of - the Devon earth, with its tender overtone of purple like the bloom on a - grape, and the rounded breasts of green-clad hills curving suavely one - into the other till they merged into the ultimate, rock-crowned slopes of - the brooding moor. - </p> - <p> - “I’m going to love your England,” she told Nick. - </p> - <p> - They were making their way down to the lake—alone together, since - Blaise had curtly refused to join them—and as she spoke, Nick - stopped and regarded her consideringly. - </p> - <p> - “I rather imagine England will love you,” he replied, adding, - with the whimsical impudence which was somehow always permitted Nick - Brennan: “If it were not for a prior claim, I’m certain I - should have loved you in about five minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry I happened too late,” retorted Jean. - </p> - <p> - “But I can still be a brother to you,” he pursued, ignoring - her interpolation. “I think,”—reflectively—“I - shall like being a brother to you.” - </p> - <p> - “I should expect a brother to fetch and carry,” cautioned - Jean. “And to make himself generally useful.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t got the character from my last place about me at - the moment, but I’ll write it out for you when we get back. - Meanwhile, I will perform the menial task of fastening on your skates.” - </p> - <p> - They had reached the lake by now. It was a wide stretch of water several - acres in extent, and rimmed about its banks with rush and alder. At the - far end Jean could discern a boat-house. - </p> - <p> - “It must be an ideal place for boating in the summer,” she - said, taking in the size of the lake appreciatively as together they - circled it with long, sweeping strokes, hands interlocked. It was much - larger than it had appeared from her bedroom window, when it had been - partially screened from her view by rising ground. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all right just for paddling about,” answered Nick. - “But there’s really jolly boating on our river. That’s - over on the west side of the park”—he pointed in the direction - indicated. “It divides Staple from Willow Ferry—the property - of our next-door neighbour, so to speak. You’d like the boating - here,” he added, “though I’m afraid our skating - possibilities aren’t likely to impress anyone coming straight from - Switzerland.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure I shall like skating—or anything else—here,” - said Jean Warmly. “It is all so beautiful. I suppose Devonshire is - really quite the loveliest county in England? My father always declared it - was.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>We</i> think so,” replied Nick modestly. “Though a - Cornishman would probably want to knock me down for saying so! But I love - it.” he went on. “There’s nowhere else I would care to - live.” His eyes softened, seeming almost to caress the surrounding - fields and woods. - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded. “I can understand that,” she said. “Although - I’ve only been here a few hours, I’m beginning to love it, - too. I don’t know why it is—I can’t explain it—but - I feel as if I’d <i>come home</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “So you have. The Petersons lived here for generations.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean”—Jean stared at him in astonishment—“do - you mean that they lived at Coombe Eavie?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Didn’t you know? They used to own Charnwood—a - place about a mile from here. It was sold after your grandfather’s - death. Did your father never tell you?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “He always avoided speaking of anything in connection with his life - over here. I think he hated England. Is there anyone living at Charnwood - now?” she asked, after a pause. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It has changed hands several times, and now a friend of ours - lives there—Lady Latimer.” - </p> - <p> - “Then perhaps I shall be able to go there some day. I should like to - see the place where my father’s people lived”—eagerly. - </p> - <p> - Nick laughed. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve got the true Devonshire homing instinct,” he - declared. “Devon folk who’ve left the country always want to - see the ‘place where their people lived.’ I remember, about a - year ago, a Canadian girl and her brother turned up at Staple. They were - descendants of a Tormarin who had emigrated two or three generations - before, and they had come across to England for a visit. Their first trip - was to Devonshire; they wanted to see ‘the place where Dad’s - people had lived.’ And, by Jove, they knew a lot more about it than - we did! They were posted up in every detail, and insisted on a personally - conducted tour over the whole place. They went back to Canada rejoicing, - loaded with photographs of Staple.” - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I think it was rather dear of them to come back like that,” - she said simply. - </p> - <p> - They swung round the head of the lake and, as they turned, Jean caught - sight of a woman’s figure emerging from the path which ran through - the woods. Apparently the newcomer descried the skaters at the same - moment, for she stopped and waved her hand in a friendly little gesture of - greeting. Nick lifted his cap. - </p> - <p> - “That is Lady Latimer,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Something in his voice, some indescribable deepening of quality, made Jean - look at him quickly. She remembered on one occasion, in a jeweller’s - shop, noticing a very beautiful opal lying in its case; she had commented - on it casually, and the man behind the counter had lifted it from its - satiny bed and turned it so that the light should fall full upon it. In an - instant the red fire slumbering in its heart had waked into glowing life, - irradiating the whole stone with pulsing colour. It was some such - vitalising change as this that she sensed in the suddenly eager face - beside her. - </p> - <p> - Hastening their pace, she and Nick skated up to the edge of the lake where - Lady Latimer awaited them, and as he introduced the two women to each - other it seemed as though the eyes of the woman on the bank asked hastily, - almost frightenedly: “Will you prove friend or foe?” And Jean’s - eyes, all soft and luminous like every real woman’s in the presence - of love, signalled back steadily: “Friend!” - </p> - <p> - “Claire!” said Nick. And Jean thought that no name could have - suited her better. - </p> - <p> - She was the slenderest thing, with about her the pliant, delicate grace of - a harebell. Ash-blonde hair, so fair that in some lights it looked silver - rather than gold, framed the charming Greuze face. Only it was not quite a - Greuze, Jean reflected. There was too much character in it—a certain - gentle firmness, something curiously still and patient in the closing of - the curved lips, and a deeper appeal than that of mere wondering youth in - the gentian-blue eyes. They were woman’s eyes, eyes out of which no - weeping could quite wash the wistfulness of some past or present sorrow. - </p> - <p> - “So you are one of the Charnwood Petersons?” said Lady Latimer - in her soft, pretty voice. “You won’t like me, I’m - afraid”—smiling—“I’m living in your old - home.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jean won’t quarrel with you over that,” put in - Nick. “She’s got a splendacious castle all her own somewhere - in the wilds of Europe.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Beirnfels is really my home. I’ve never even seen - Charnwood,” smiled Jean. “But I should like to—some day, - if you will ask me over.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, certainly you must come,” replied Lady Latimer a - little breathlessly. But she seemed unaccountably flurried, as though Jean’s - suggestion in some way disquieted her. “But of course, Charnwood—now—isn’t - a bit like what it must have been when the Petersons had it. I think a - place changes with the people who inhabit it, don’t you? I mean, - their influence impresses itself on it. If they are good and happy people, - you can feel it in the atmosphere of the place, and if they are people - with bad and wicked thoughts, you feel that, too. I know I do.” And - there was no doubt in the mind of either of her hearers that she was - referring to the last-named set of influences. - </p> - <p> - “But I think Charnwood must be lovely, since it’s your home - now,” said Jean sincerely. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes—of course—it is my home now.” Lady - Latimer looked troubled. “But other people live—have lived - there. It’s changed hands several times, hasn’t it, Nick?”—turning - to him for confirmation. - </p> - <p> - Nick was frowning. He, too, appeared troubled. - </p> - <p> - “Of course it’s changed hands—heaps of times,” he - replied gruffly. “But I should think your influence would be enough - to counteract that of—of everybody else. Look here, chuck discussing - rotten, psychic influences, Claire, and come on the ice.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I can’t,” she replied hastily. “I haven’t - my skates here.” - </p> - <p> - “That doesn’t matter. We’ve a dozen pairs up at the - house. One of them is sure to fit you. I’ll go and collect a few.” - </p> - <p> - He wheeled as though to cross the lake on his proposed errand, but Claire - Latimer laid her hand quickly on his arm. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” she said. “I can’t skate this morning. I’m - on my way home.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, change your mind!” begged Jean, noticing with friendly - amusement Nick’s expression of discontent. - </p> - <p> - “No, really I can’t” Claire’s face had whitened - and her big eyes sought Nick’s in a kind of pathetic appeal. “Adrian - is not—very well to-day. My husband,” she added explanatorily - to Jean. - </p> - <p> - The latter was conscious of a sense of shock. She had quite imagined Lady - Latimer to be a widow, and had been mentally engaged in weaving the most - charming and happy-ever-after of romances since the moment she had seen - that wonderful change come over Nick’s face. Probably her impression - was due to the manner of his first introduction of Claire’s name, - “A friend of ours lives there—Lady Latimer,” without - reference to any husband lurking in the background. - </p> - <p> - She observed that Nick made no further effort to persuade Claire to - remain, and after exchanging a few commonplace remarks the latter - continued her way back to Charnwood. - </p> - <p> - It was so nearly lunch time that it did not seem worth while resuming - their skating. Besides, with Claire Latimer’s refusal to join them, - the occupation seemed to have lost some of its charm, and when Jean - suggested a return to the house Nick assented readily. - </p> - <p> - “She is very sweet—young Lady Latimer,” remarked - </p> - <p> - Jean, as they walked back over the frostily crisp turf. “But she - looks rather sad. And she isn’t the kind of person one associates - with sadness. There’s something so young and fresh about her; she - makes one think of spring flowers.” - </p> - <p> - Nick’s face kindled. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she’s like that, isn’t she?” he answered - eagerly. “Like a pale golden narcissus.” - </p> - <p> - They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the thoughts of each of them - dwelling on the woman who had just left them. Then Jean said softly: - </p> - <p> - “So that’s the ‘prior claim?’” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he acknowledged simply. - </p> - <p> - “You never mentioned that she had a husband concealed somewhere. I - quite thought she was a widow till she suddenly mentioned him.” - </p> - <p> - “I never think of him as her husband”—shortly. “You - can’t mate light and darkness.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose he’s an invalid?” ventured Jean. - </p> - <p> - Rick’s face darkened. - </p> - <p> - “He’s a drug fiend,” he said in a low, hard voice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” - </p> - <p> - After that one breathless exclamation of horror Jean remained silent. The - swift picture conjured up before her eyes by Rick’s terse speech was - unspeakably revolting. - </p> - <p> - Years ago she had heard her father describing the effect of the drug habit - upon a friend of his own who had yielded to it. He had been telling her - mother about it, characteristically oblivious of the presence of a child - of eleven in the room at the time, and some of Glyn Peterson’s - poignant, illuminating phrases, punctuated by little, stricken murmurs of - pity from Jacqueline, had impressed a painfully accurate picture on the - plastic mind of childhood. Ever since then, drug-mania had represented to - Jean the uttermost abyss. - </p> - <p> - And now, the vision of that slender, gracious woman, Rick’s “pale - golden narcissus,” tied for life to a man who must ultimately become - that which Glyn Peterson’s friend had become, filled her with - compassionate dismay. - </p> - <p> - It was easy enough, now, to comprehend Claire Latimer’s curious lack - of warmth when Jean expressed the hope that she might go over to Charnwood - some day. It sprang from the nervous shrinking of a woman at the prospect - of being driven to unveil before fresh eyes the secret misery and - degradation of her life. - </p> - <p> - Jean was still silent as she and Nick re-entered the hall at Staple. It - was empty, and as, by common consent, they instinctively drew towards the - fire Nick pulled forward one of the big easy-chairs for her. Then he stood - gloomily staring down into the leaping flames, much as Tormarin had stood - the previous evening. - </p> - <p> - Intuitively she knew that he wanted to give her his confidence. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about it, Nick,” she said quietly. - </p> - <p> - “May I?” The words jerked out like a sigh of relief. He - dropped into a chair beside her. - </p> - <p> - “There isn’t very much to tell you. Only, I’d like you - to know—to be a pal to her, if you can, Jean.” He paused, then - went on quickly: “They married her to him when she was hardly more - than a child—barely seventeen. She’s only nineteen now. Sir - Adrian is practically a millionaire, and Claire’s father and mother - were in low water—trying to cut a dash in society on nothing a year. - So—they sold Claire. Sir Adrian paid their debts and agreed to make - them a handsome allowance. And they let her go to him, knowing, then, that - he had already begun to take drugs.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>How could they?</i>” burst from Jean in a strangled - whisper. - </p> - <p> - Nick nodded. His eyes, meeting hers, had lost their gay good humour and - were dull and lack-lustre. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you’d wonder how, wouldn’t you?” he said. - His voice rasped a little. “Still—they did it. Then, later on, - the Latimers came to Charnwood, and Claire and I met. It didn’t take - long to love her—you can understand that, can’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Nick—yes! She is so altogether lovable.” - </p> - <p> - “But understand this, too,”—and the sudden sternness - that gripped his speech reminded her sharply of his brother—“we - recognise that that is all there can ever be between us. Just the - knowledge that we love each other. I think even that helps to make her - life—more bearable.” - </p> - <p> - He fell silent, and presently Jean stretched out a small, friendly hand. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you for telling me, Nick,” she said. “Perhaps - some day you’ll be happy—together. You and Claire. It sounds a - horrible thing to say—to count on—I know, but a man who takes - drugs——” - </p> - <p> - Nick interrupted her with a short laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You needn’t count on Latimer’s snuffing out, if that’s - what you mean. He is an immensely strong man—like a piece of steel - wire. It will take years for any drug to kill him. I sometimes think”—bitterly—“that - it will kill Claire first.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—“THE SINS OF THE FATHERS” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days later, - Jean, coming in from a long tramp across country in company with Nick and - half a dozen dogs of various breeds, discovered Tormarin lounging in a - chair by the fire. He was in riding kit, having just returned from - visiting an outlying corner of the estates where his bailiff had suggested - that a new plantation might be made, and Jean eyed his long supple figure - with secret approval. Like most well-built Englishmen, he looked his best - in kit that demanded the donning of breeches and leggings. - </p> - <p> - A fine rain was falling out of doors, and beads of moisture clung to Jean’s - clothes and sparkled in the blown tendrils of russet hair which had - escaped from beneath the little turban hat she was wearing. Apparently, - however, her appearance did not rouse Tormarin to any reciprocal - appreciation, for, after bestowing the briefest of glances upon her as she - entered, he averted his eyes, concentrating his attention upon the misty - ribands of smoke that drifted upwards from his cigarette. - </p> - <p> - Jean knelt down on the hearth, and, pulling off her rain-soaked gloves, - held out her hands to the fire’s cheerful blaze. - </p> - <p> - “It’s good-bye to all the skating, I’m afraid,” - she said regretfully. “Nick says we’re not likely to have - another hard frost like the last, now that the weather has broken so - completely.” - </p> - <p> - “No. It’s April next month—supposedly springtime, you - know,” returned Blaise indifferently. - </p> - <p> - He seemed disinclined to talk, and Jean eyed him contemplatively. His - attitude towards her baffled her as much as ever. He was unfailingly - courteous and considerate, but he remained, nevertheless, unmistakably - aloof, avoiding her whenever it was politely possible, and when it was - not, treating her with a cool neutrality of manner that was as complete a - contrast to his demeanour when they were together at Montavan as could - well be imagined. Indeed, sometimes Jean almost wondered if the events of - that day they spent amid the snows had really taken place—they - seemed so far away, so entirely unrelated to her present life, - notwithstanding the fact that she was in daily contact with the man who - had shared them with her. - </p> - <p> - “It was rather uncomplimentary of you not to come skating with us a - solitary <i>once</i>,” she remarked at last, an accent of reproach - in her voice. “Was my performance on the rink at Montavan so - execrable that you felt you couldn’t risk it again?” - </p> - <p> - He looked up, his glance meeting hers levelly. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve phrased it excellently,” he replied briefly. - “I felt I couldn’t risk it.” - </p> - <p> - A sudden flush mounted to Jean’s face. There was no misunderstanding - the significance that underlay the curt words, which, as she was vibrantly - aware, bore no relation whatever to her skill, or absence of it, on the - ice. - </p> - <p> - Blaise made no endeavour to relieve the awkward silence that ensued. - Instead, his eyes rested upon her with a somewhat quizzical expression, as - though he were rather entertained than otherwise by her evident confusion. - Jean felt her indignation rising. - </p> - <p> - “It is fortunate that other people are not so—nervous,” - she said disdainfully. “Otherwise I should find myself as isolated - as a fever hospital.” - </p> - <p> - “It is fortunate indeed,” he agreed politely. - </p> - <p> - In the course of the three weeks which had elapsed since her arrival at - Staple, Jean had dared several similar passages-at-arms with her host. - Woman-like, she was bent on getting behind his guard of reticence, on - forcing him into an explanation of his altered attitude towards her—since - no woman can be expected to endure that a man should completely change - from ill-suppressed ardour to a cool, impersonal detachment of manner, - without aching to know the reason why! But in every instance Tormarin had - carried off the honours of war, parrying her small thrusts with a lazy - insouciance which she found galling in the extreme. - </p> - <p> - Hitherto she had encountered little difficulty in getting pretty much her - own way with the men of her acquaintance; she had sufficient of the - temperament and charm of the red-haired type to compass that. But her - efforts to elucidate the cause of the change in Blaise Tormarin were about - as prolific of result as the efforts of a butterfly at stone-breaking. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately for the preservation of peace, at this juncture there came the - sound of voices, and Lady Anne entered the room, accompanied by a visitor. - Her clever, grey eyes flashed quickly from Jean’s flushed face to - that of her son, but, if she sensed the electricity in the atmosphere, she - made no comment. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise, my dear, here is Judith,” she said pleasantly. - “I found her wandering forlornly in the lanes, so I drove her back - here. She has just returned from town, and for some reason her car wasn’t - at the station to meet her.” - </p> - <p> - “I wired home saying what time I should reach Coombe Eavie,” - explained the new-comer. “But as I was rather late reaching - Waterloo, I rashly entrusted the wire to a small boy to send off for me, - and I’m afraid he’s played me false. I should have had to - trudge the whole way back to Willow Ferry if Lady Anne hadn’t - happened along.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne turned to Jean, and, laying an affectionate hand on her arm, - drew her forward. - </p> - <p> - “Jean, let me introduce you to Mrs. Craig. My new acquisition, - Judith, she went on contentedly. A daughter. I always told you I wanted - one. Now I’ve borrowed someone else’s.” - </p> - <p> - Jean found herself shaking hands with a slender, distinctive-looking woman - who moved with a slow, languorous grace that was almost snake-like in its - peculiar suppleness. - </p> - <p> - She gave one the impression that she had no bones in her body, or that if - she had, they had never hardened properly but still retained the - pliability of cartilage. - </p> - <p> - She was somewhat sallow—the consequence, it transpired later, of - long residence in India—with sullen, slate-coloured eyes, appearing - almost purple in shadow, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth. Jean decided - that she was not in the least pretty, though attractive in an odd, feline - way, and that she must be about thirty-two. As a matter of fact, Judith - Craig was forty, but no one would have guessed it—and she would - certainly not have confided it. - </p> - <p> - Presently Nick, who had been personally supervising the feeding of his - beloved dogs, joined the party, greeting Mrs. Craig with the easy - informality of an old friend, and shortly afterwards Baines brought in the - tea-things. - </p> - <p> - “And where is Burke?” enquired Blaise, of Mrs. Craig, as he - handed her tea. “Didn’t he come back with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey? Oh, no. He’s not coming down till the end of April. - You know he detests Willow Ferry in the winter—‘beastly wet - swamp,’ he calls it! He’s dividing his time between London and - Leicestershire—London, while that long frost stopped all hunting.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Craig was evidently on a footing of long-established intimacy with - the Staple household, and Jean, listening quietly to the interchange of - news and of little personal happenings, regarded her with rather critical - interest. She was not altogether sure that she liked her, but she was - quite sure that, wherever her lot might be cast, Judith Craig would never - occupy the position of a nonentity. She had considerable charm of manner, - and there was a quite unexpected fascination about her smile—unexpected, - because, when in repose, her thin lips lay folded together in a straight - and somewhat forbidding line, whereas the moment they relaxed into a smile - they assumed the most delightful curves, and two little lines, which - should have been dimples but were not, cleft each cheek on either side of - the mouth. - </p> - <p> - All at once Mrs. Craig turned to Jean as though she had made up her mind - about something over which she had been hesitating. - </p> - <p> - “Have I seen you anywhere before?” she asked, her charming - smile softening the abruptness of the question. “Your face is so - extraordinarily familiar.” - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so,” she answered. “I’m sure - I should remember you if we had met anywhere. Besides, I’ve lived - abroad all my life; this is only my first visit to England.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I can explain,” said Lady Anne. There was a - deliberateness about her manner that suggested she was about to make a - statement which she was aware would be of some special interest to at - least one of the party. “Jean is Glyn Peterson’s daughter; so - of course you see a likeness, Judith.” - </p> - <p> - Jean, glancing enquiringly across at Mrs. Craig, was startled at the - sudden change in her face produced by Lady Anne’s simple - announcement. The sallow skin seemed to pale—almost wither, like a - cut flower that needs water—and the lips that had been parted in a - smile stiffened slowly into their accustomed straight line. - </p> - <p> - “Of course”—Mrs. Craig’s voice sounded flat and - she swallowed once or twice before she spoke—“that must be it. - I—knew your father, Miss Peterson.” - </p> - <p> - To Jean, always sensitive to the emotional quality of the atmosphere, it - seemed as though some current of hostility, of malevolence, leapt at her - through the innocent-sounding speech. “<i>I knew your father</i>.” - It was quite ridiculous, of course, but the words sounded almost like a - threat. - </p> - <p> - She had no answer ready, and a brief silence followed. Then Lady Anne - bridged the awkward moment with some commonplace, adroitly steering the - conversation into smoother waters, and a few minutes later Mrs. Craig rose - to go. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll see you across the park, Judith,” volunteered - Nick, and he and his mother accompanied her out of the room. - </p> - <p> - In the hall, Lady Anne detained her visitor an instant with a light hand - on her arm, while Nick foraged for his own particular headgear, amongst - the family assortment of hats and caps. - </p> - <p> - “Jean is a dear girl, Judith,” she said earnestly. “I - want you to be friends with her. Don’t”—pleadingly—“visit - the sins of the fathers on the children.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, I shouldn’t,” replied Mrs. Craig, with - apparent frankness. “It was only that, for the moment, it was rather - a shock to learn that she was—that woman’s—child.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it was,” acquiesced Lady Anne. “Good-bye, - dear Judith.” - </p> - <p> - But notwithstanding Mrs. Craig’s assurances, a troubled look - lingered in Lady Anne’s grey eyes long after her guest’s - departure. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—A SENSE OF DUTY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN was immensely - puzzled at the abrupt change which had occurred in Mrs. Craig’s - manner immediately upon hearing that she was the daughter of Glyn - Peterson, and, as soon as the visitor had taken her departure, she sought - an explanation. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth made Mrs. Craig freeze up the instant my father’s - name was mentioned? Did she hate him for any reason?” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin looked across at her. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he answered quietly. “She didn’t hate him. - She loved him.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at him in frank astonishment. She had never dreamed that there - had been any other woman than Jacqueline in Glyn’s life. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Craig—and my father?” she exclaimed incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “She wasn’t Mrs. Craig in those days. She was Judith Burke.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, but——” persisted Jean, determined to get to - the bottom of the mystery. “I still don’t see why.” - </p> - <p> - “Why what?”—unwillingly. - </p> - <p> - “Why she looked as if she loathed the very sight of me. That’s - not”—drily—“quite the effect you would expect love - to produce!” - </p> - <p> - There was a curiously abstracted look in Tormarin’s eyes as he made - answer. - </p> - <p> - “Love is productive of very curious effects on occasion. More - particularly when it is without hope of fulfilment,” he added in a - lower tone. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I suppose my father couldn’t help not falling in love - with Mrs. Craig,” protested Jean with some warmth. “Nor could - he have prevented her caring for him. And it’s certainly illogical - of her to feel any resentment towards me on that score. <i>I</i> had - nothing to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - “Love and logic have precious little to say to each other, as a - rule,” replied Tormarin grimly. “To Judith, you’re the - child of the woman who stole her lover away from her, so you can hardly - expect her to feel an overwhelming affection for you.” - </p> - <p> - “The woman who stole her lover away from her?” repeated Jean - slowly. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, Blaise?” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at her in some surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Surely—— Don’t you know the circumstances?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No. I simply don’t know in the least what you are talking - about. Please tell me.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin made no response for a moment. He was standing with his back to - the light, but as he lit a cigarette the flare of the match revealed a - worried expression on his face, as though he deprecated the turn the - conversation was taking. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well,” he said at last, evading the point at issue, - “it’s all ancient history now. Let it go. There’s never - anything gained by digging up the dry bones of the past.” Jean’s - mouth set itself in a mutinous line of determination. “Please tell - me, Blaise,” she reiterated. “As it is something which - concerns my father and a woman I shall probably be meeting fairly often in - the future, I think I have a right to know about it.” - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders resignedly. - </p> - <p> - “Very well—if you insist. But I don’t think you’ll - be any happier for knowing.” He paused. “Still inflexible?” - She bent her head. - </p> - <p> - “Quite”—firmly—“whatever it is, I’d - rather know it.” - </p> - <p> - “On your own head be it, then.” He seemed trying to infuse a - lighter element into the conversation, as though hoping to minimise the - effect of what he had to tell her. “It was just this—that your - father and Judith Burke were engaged to be married at the time he met your - mother, and that—well, to make a long story short, he ran away with - Miss Mavory on the day fixed for his wedding with Judith.” - </p> - <p> - A dead silence followed the disclosure. Then Jean uttered a low cry of - dismay. - </p> - <p> - “My father did that? Are you sure?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite sure.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin could see that the story had distressed her. Her eyes showed hurt - and bewildered like those of a child who has met with a totally unexpected - rebuff. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t take it like that!” he urged hastily. “After - all, It was nothing so terrible. You look as though he had broken every - one of the ten commandments”—smiling. - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled back rather wanly. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know that I should worry very much if he had—in - some circumstances. But—don’t you see?—it was so cruel, - so horribly selfish!” - </p> - <p> - “You’ve got to remember two things in justification——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Justification?</i>”—expressively. “There wasn’t - any. There couldn’t be.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, excuse, then, if you like. One thing is that Jacqueline - Mavory was one of the most beautiful of women, and the other, that your - father’s engagement to Judith had really been more or less - engineered by their respective parents—adjoining properties, friends - of long standing, and so on. It was no love-match—on his side.” - </p> - <p> - “But on her wedding-day!”—pitifully. “Oh! Poor - Judith!” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin smiled a trifle cynically. - </p> - <p> - “That was the root of the trouble. It was Judith’s pride that - was hurt—as well as her heart. She married Major Craig not long - after, and I believe they were really fond of one another and - comparatively happy. But she has never forgiven Peterson from that day to - this. And you, being Jacqueline Mavory’s daughter, will come in for - the residue of her bitterness. Unless”—ironically—“you - can make friends with her.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall try to,” said Jean simply. “Is Major Craig - living now?” - </p> - <p> - “No. He died out in India, and after his death Judith came back to - England. She has lived at Willow Ferry with her brother, Geoffrey Burke, - ever since.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence, while Jean tried to fit in the new facts she had - learned with her knowledge of her father’s character. She was a - little afraid that Tormarin might misunderstand her impulsive outburst of - indignation. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t think that I am sitting in judgment on my father,” - she said at last. “In a way, I can—even understand his doing - such a thing. You know, for the last two years of my mother’s life I - was with them both constantly, and anyone living with them could - understand their doing all kinds of things that ordinary people wouldn’t - do.” She paused, as though seeking words that might make her meaning - clearer. “They would never really mean to hurt anyone, but they were - just like a couple of children together—gloriously irresponsible and - happy. I always felt years older than either of them. Glyn used to say I - was ‘cursed with a damnable sense of duty’”—laughing - rather ruefully. “I suppose I am. Probably I inherit it from our old - Puritan ancestors on the Peterson side. I know I couldn’t have - cheerfully run off and taken my happiness at the cost of someone else’s - prior right.” - </p> - <p> - A look of extreme bitterness crossed Tormarin’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Wait till you’re tempted,” he said shortly. “Wait - till <i>what you want</i> wars against what you ought to have—what - you’ve the right to take.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment she made no answer. Put bluntly like that, the matter - suddenly presented itself to her as one of the poignant possibilities of - life. Supposing—supposing such a choice should ever be demanded of - her? She felt a vague fear catch at her heart, an indefinable dread. - </p> - <p> - When at last she spoke, the eyes she lifted to meet Tor-marin’s were - troubled. In them he could read the innate honesty which was prepared to - face the question he had raised, and behind that—courage. A young, - untried courage, not sure of itself, it is true, but still courage that - only waited till some call should wake it into fighting actuality. - </p> - <p> - “I hope,” she said with a wistful humility that was rather - touching, “I hope I should stick it out One’s ideals, and - duty, and other people’s rights—it would be horrible to scrap - the lot—just for love.” - </p> - <p> - “Worth it, perhaps. You”—his voice was the least bit - uneven—“you haven’t been up against love—yet.” - </p> - <p> - Again she was conscious of that little catch at her heart—the same - convulsive tightening of the muscles as one experiences when a telegram is - put into one’s hand which may, or may not, contain bad news. - </p> - <p> - “You haven’t been up against love yet.” - </p> - <p> - The words recalled her knowledge of the tragic episode that lay in - Tormarin’s own past. The whole history she did not know—only - the odds and ends of gossip which one woman had confided to another. But - here, in the man’s curt brevity of speech, surely lay proof that he - had suffered. And if he had suffered, it followed that he must have cared - deeply for the woman who had thrown him aside for the sake of another man. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s first generous impulse of pity as she realised this was - strangely intermingled with a fleeting disquiet, a subconscious sense of - loss. It was only momentary, and not definite enough for her to express in - words, even to herself—hardly more than the slightly blank sensation - produced upon anyone sitting in the sunshine when a cloud suddenly - intervenes and drops a shadow where a moment before there has been warmth - and light. - </p> - <p> - An instant later it was overborne by her spontaneous sympathy for the man - beside her, and, recognising the rather painful similarity between her - father’s treatment of Judith Craig and the story she had heard of - the unknown woman’s treatment of Tormarin himself, she tactfully - deflected the conversation to something that would touch him less closely, - launching into a description of the life her parents had led at Beirnfels. - </p> - <p> - “They were wonderfully happy together there. Not in the least—as - I suppose they ought to have been—an awful example of poetic - justice!” she declared. “Glyn used to call Beirnfels his - ‘House of Dreams-Come-True’.” - </p> - <p> - “Glyn?”—suddenly remarking her use of Peterson’s - Christian name. - </p> - <p> - She smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I never called them father and mother. They would have loathed it. - Glyn used to say that anything which savoured so much of domesticity would - kill romance!” - </p> - <p> - “That sounds like all that I have ever heard about him,” said - Tormarin, smiling too. “So does the ‘House of - Dreams-Come-True.’ It’s a charming idea.” - </p> - <p> - “He took it from one of Jacqueline’s songs. She had a glorious - voice, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, so I’ve heard. I suppose you have inherited it?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No, I wish I had. But Jacqueline insisted on trying to teach me - singing, all the same. Poor dear! I was a dreadful disappointment to her, - I’m afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “Couldn’t you sing the ‘House of Dreams’ song? I’m - rather curious to hear the remainder of it.” - </p> - <p> - Jean rose and crossed to the piano. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I can sing you that. Jacqueline always used to say it was - the only thing I sang as if I understood it, and Glyn declared it was - because it agreed with my ‘confounded principles’!” - </p> - <p> - She smiled up at him as her fingers slid into the prelude of the song, but - her little joke against herself brought no answering smile to his lips. - Instead, he stood waiting for the song to begin with an odd kind of - expectancy on his face. - </p> - <p> - Jean had most certainly not inherited her mother’s exquisite voice, - but she had a quaint little pipe of her own, with a clouded, husky quality - in it that was not without its appeal. It lent a wistful charm to the - simple words of the song. <br /><br /><span class="indent15">"It’s a - strange road leads to the House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To - the House of Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span class="indent15">Its Hills are - steep and its valleys deep, <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with - tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I - and you. <br /><br /><span class="indent15">"But there’s sure a way to - the House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of - Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere - the sun has set, <br /><span class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come - fine, come wet, <br /><span class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you.” - </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The soft, husky voice ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then - Tormarin said quietly: - </p> - <p> - “Thank you. I don’t think your mother need have felt any great - disappointment concerning your voice. It has its own qualities, even if it - is not suited to the concert hall.” - </p> - <p> - “But the words of the song?” questioned Jean eagerly. “Don’t - you like them?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a pretty enough idea.” He laid a faint, - significant stress on the last word. “But for some of us the ‘House - of Dreams-Come-True’ has never been built. Or, if it has, we’ve - lost the way there.” - </p> - <p> - There was a note of rigid acceptance in his voice, as though he no longer - strove against the decisions of destiny, and Jean’s eager sympathy - leaped impulsively to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say that!” she began. Then checked herself, - flushing a little. “I hate to hear you speak in that way,” she - went on more quietly. “It sounds as though there were nothing worth - trying for—worth waiting for. I like to believe that everyone has a - house of dreams which may ‘come true’ some day.” She - paused. “‘If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,’” - she repeated softly. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes had a far-away look in them, as though they were envisioning that - narrow, winding track which leads, somewhen, to the place where dreams - even the most wonderful of them—shall become realities. - </p> - <p> - Glorious faith and optimism of youth! If we could only recapture it in - those after years, when time has added tolerance and a little wisdom to - our harvest’s store, the houses where dreams come true might add - themselves together until there were whole streets of them—glowing - townships—instead of merely an isolated dwelling here or there. - </p> - <p> - As Tormarin listened to Jean’s young, eager voice, his face softened - and some of the tired lines in it seemed to smooth themselves out “Little - Comrade,” he said gently, and she felt her breath quicken as he - called her again by the name which he had used at Montavan—and once - since, when they had come suddenly face to face at Coombe Eavie Station. - But that second time the words had escaped him unawares. Now he was using - them deliberately, withholding no part of their significance. “Little - comrade, I think the man who ‘fares straight on’ with you for - fellow-traveller <i>will</i> find the House of Dreams-Come-True. But it - isn’t—just any man who may start that journey with you. It - mustn’t be”—his grave eyes held hers intently—“a - man who has tried to find the road once before—and failed.” - </p> - <p> - It seemed to Jean that, as he spoke, the wall which he had built up - between them since she came to Staple crumbled away. This was the same man - she had known at Montavan, whose hands reached out to hers across some - fixed dividing line which neither he nor she might pass. She knew now what - that dividing line must be—the shadow flung by a past love, his love - for Nesta Freyne which had ended in hopeless tragedy. - </p> - <p> - There must always be a limit set to any friendship of theirs. So much he - had implied at their first meeting. But, since then, he had taken even - that friendship from her, substituting a deliberate indifference against - which she had struggled in vain. - </p> - <p> - And now, without knowing quite how it had come about, the barrier was - down. They were comrades once more—she and the Englishman from - Montavan—and she was conscious of a great content that it should be - so. - </p> - <p> - For the moment she asked nothing more, was unconscious of any further - wish. The woman in her still slumbered, and, to the girl, this friendship - seemed enough. She did not realise that something deeper, more imperative - in its ultimate demands, was mingled with it—was, indeed, - unrecognised by her, the very essence of it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—“WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN, sculling - leisurely down the river which ran between Staple and Willow Eerry, looked - around her with a little thrill of enjoyment—the sheer, physical - thrill of youth unconsciously in harmony with the climbing sap in the - trees, with the upward thrust of young green, with all the exquisite - recreation of Nature in the spring of the year. - </p> - <p> - April had been, as it too commonly is in this northern clime of ours, the - merest travesty of spring, a bleak, cold month of penetrating wind and - sleet, but now May had stolen upon the world almost unawares, opening with - tender, insistent fingers the sticky brown buds fast curled against the - nipping winds, and misting all the woods with a shimmer of translucent - green. - </p> - <p> - Overhead arched a sky of veiled, opalescent blue, and Jean, staring up at - it with dreamy eyes, was reminded of the “great city” of the - Book of Revelation whose “third foundation” was of chalcedony. - This soft English sky must be the third foundation, she decided - whimsically. - </p> - <p> - But the occupation of sky-gazing did not combine well with that of - steering a straight course down a stream whose width hardly entitled it to - its local designation of “the river,” and a few minutes later - the boat’s nose cannoned abruptly against the bank. - </p> - <p> - As, however, to tie up somewhere under the trees which edged the water had - been Jean’s original intention, this did not trouble her overmuch, - and discovering a gnarled stump convenient to her purpose, she looped the - painter round it, collected the rug and a couple of cushions which she had - brought with her, and established herself comfortably in the stern of the - boat. - </p> - <p> - Everyone else at Staple having engagements of one sort or another, she had - promised herself a lazy afternoon in company with the latest novel sent - down from Mudie’s. But she was in no immediate hurry to begin its - pages. The mellow warmth of the afternoon tempted her to the more restful - occupation of mere day-dreaming, and as she lay tucked up snugly amongst - her cushions, enjoying the sweet-scented airs that played among the trees - and over the surface of the water, she allowed her thoughts to drift idly - back across the two months she had spent at Staple. - </p> - <p> - The time had slipped by so quickly that it was hard to believe that rather - more than eight weeks had elapsed since that grey February evening when - she had alighted on the little, deserted platform at Coombe Eavie Station. - They had been quiet, happy weeks, filled with the pleasant building up of - new friendships, and Jean reflected that she had already grown to look - upon Staple almost as “home.” She possessed in a large measure - the capacity to adapt herself to her surroundings, and realising that Lady - Anne had been perfectly sincere in her expressed desire to play at having - a daughter, Jean had, at first a little tentatively, but afterwards, - encouraged by Lady Anne’s obvious delight, with more assurance, - gradually assumed the duties that would naturally fall to the daughter of - the house. - </p> - <p> - Day by day she had discovered an increasing pleasure and significance in - their performance. They were like so many tiny links knitting her life - into the lives of those around her, and already Lady Anne had begun to - turn to her instinctively in the small difficulties and necessities which, - one way or another, most days bring in their train. Jean appreciated this - as only a girl who had counted for very little in the lives of those - nearest her could do. It seemed to make her “belong” in a way - in which she had never “belonged” at Beirnfels. There, Glyn - and Jacqueline had turned to each other for counsel in the little daily - vicissitudes of life equally as in its larger concerns, and Jean had - learned to regard herself as more or less outside their lives. - </p> - <p> - She had had one letter from Peterson since her arrival at Staple, a brief, - characteristic note in which he expressed the hope that she liked England - “better than her father ever could” but suggested that if she - were bored she should return to Beirnfels, and ask some woman friend to - stay with her; he warned her not to expect further letters from him for - some time to come as, according to his present plans—of which he - volunteered no particulars—he expected to spend the next few months - “as far from civilisation as the restricted size of this world - permits.” - </p> - <p> - With this letter it seemed to Jean as though the last link with her former - life had snapped. She felt no regret. Beirnfels, and the unconventional, - rather exotic life she had led there—dictated by her parents’ - whims and the practically unlimited wealth to gratify them which Peterson’s - flair for successful speculation had achieved—seemed very far away, - and Staple, with its peaceful, even-flowing English life, very near and - enfolding. - </p> - <p> - Her first visit to Charnwood had been a disappointment. Under changing - ownerships, little now remained to remind her of the generations of - Petersons who had lived there long ago. Such of the old pieces of - furniture and china as Peterson had not considered worth transferring to - Beirnfels at his father’s death had been bought by the next owners - of the place, and had been taken away by them when they, in their turn, - disposed of the property. Only a great square stone remained, sunk into - one of the walls and bearing the Peterson coat of arms and the family - motto: <i>Omnia debeo Deo</i>. - </p> - <p> - Sir Adrian Latimer had translated the words to Jean, with a cynical gleam - in his heavy-lidded eyes and accompanying the translation by a caustic - reference to her father. The drug had not so far dulled his intellect. On - the contrary, it seemed to have had the opposite effect of endowing him - with an almost uncanny insight into people’s minds, so that he could - prick them on a sensitive spot with unerring accuracy and a diabolical - enjoyment of the process. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s sympathy for his wife was boundless. A great affection had - sprung up between the two girls, and bit by bit Claire had drawn aside the - veil of reticence, letting the other see into the arid, bitter places of - her life. - </p> - <p> - Jean could understand, now, of what Claire had been thinking on the - occasion of their first meeting, when she had spoken of the influences of - the people who inhabit a house. The whole atmosphere of Charnwood seemed - permeated with the influence of Adrian Latimer—a grey, sinister, - unwholesome influence, like the miasma which rises from some poisonous - swamp. - </p> - <p> - The hell upon earth which he contrived to make of life for his young wife - had been a revelation to Jean, accustomed as she had been to the exquisite - love and tenderness with which her father had surrounded Jacqueline. - </p> - <p> - Sir Adrian’s chief pleasure in life seemed to be to thwart and - humiliate his wife in every possible way, and once, in an access of - indignation over some small refinement of cruelty of which he had been - guilty, Jean had declared her intention of giving him her frank opinion of - his behaviour. She had never forgotten the look of bitter amusement with - which Claire had greeted the suggestion. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what would happen? He would listen to you with the - utmost politeness, and very likely let you think you had impressed him. - But afterwards he would <i>make me pay</i>—for a day, or a week, or - a month. Till his revenge was satisfied. And he would put an end to our - friendship——” - </p> - <p> - “He couldn’t!” Jean had interrupted impulsively. - </p> - <p> - “Couldn’t he? You don’t know Adrian.... And I can’t - afford to lose you, Jean. You’re one of my few comforts in life. - Promise me”—she caught Jean’s hands in hers and held - them tightly—“<i>promise me</i> that you will do nothing—that - you won’t try to interfere? I can generally manage; him—more - or less. And when I can’t, why, I have to put up with the - consequences of my own bad management”—with a smile that was - more sad than tears. - </p> - <p> - With an effort of will Jean tried to banish the recollection of Sir Adrian - from her thoughts. The picture of his thin, leaden-hued face, with its - cruel mouth and furtive, suspicious eyes, was out of harmony with this - soft day of spring. She wished she had not let the thought of him intrude - upon her pleasant reverie at all. His sinister figure seemed to cast a - shadow over the sunlit river, a shadow which grew bigger and bigger, - blurring the green of the trees and the sky’s faint blue, and even - silencing the comfortable little chirrups of the birds, busy with their - spring housekeeping. At least, Jean couldn’t hear them any longer, - and she took no notice even when one enterprising young cock-bird hopped - near enough to filch a feather that was sticking out invitingly from the - corner of the cushion behind her head. - </p> - <p> - The next thing she was conscious of was of sitting up with great - suddenness, under the impression that she had overslept and that the - housemaid was calling to her very loudly to waken her. - </p> - <p> - Someone <i>was</i> calling—shouting lustily, in fact, and collecting - her sleep-bemused faculties, she realised that instead of being securely - moored against the bank her boat was rocking gently in mid-stream, and - that the occupant of another boat, coming from the opposite direction, was - doing his indignant best to attract her attention, since just at that - point the river was too narrow for them to pass one another unless each - pulled well in towards the bank. - </p> - <p> - Jean reached hastily for her sculls, only to find, to her intense - astonishment, that they had vanished as completely as though they had - never existed. She cast a rapid glance of dismay around her, scanning the - surface of the water in her vicinity for any trace of them. But there was - none. She was floating serenely down the middle of the stream, perfectly - helpless to pull out of the way of the oncoming boat. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile its occupant was calling out instructions—tempering his - wrath with an irritable kind of politeness as he perceived that the fool - whose craft blocked the way was of the feminine persuasion. - </p> - <p> - “Pull in a bit, please. We can’t pass here if you don’t.... - Pull in!” he yelled rather more irately as Jean’s boat still - remained in the middle of the river, drifting placidly towards him. - </p> - <p> - She flung up her hand. - </p> - <p> - “<i> I cant!</i>” she shouted back. “I’ve lost my - sculls!” - </p> - <p> - “Lost your sculls?” The man’s tones sufficiently implied - what he thought of the proceeding. - </p> - <p> - A couple of strokes, and, gripping the gunwale of her boat as he drew - level, he steadied it to a standstill alongside his own. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s eyes travelled swiftly from the squarish, muscular-looking - hand that gripped the boat’s side to the face of its owner. He was - decidedly an ugly man as far as features were concerned, with a - dogged-looking chin and a conquering beak of a nose that jutted out - arrogantly from his hatchet face. The sunlight glinted on a crop of - reddish-brown hair, springing crisply from the scalp in a way that - suggested immense vitality; Jean had an idea that it would give out tiny - crackling sounds if it were brushed hard. His eyebrows, frowning in - defence against the sun, were of the same warm hue as his hair and very - thick; in later life they would probably develop into the bristling, - pent-house variety. The eyes themselves, as Jean described them on a later - occasion, were “too red to be brown”; an artist would have had - to make extensive use of burnt sienna pigment in portraying them. - Altogether, he was not a particularly attractive-looking individual—and - just now the red-brown eyes were fixed on Jean in a rather uncompromising - glare. - </p> - <p> - “How on earth did you lose your oars?” he demanded—as - indignantly as though she had done it on purpose, she commented inwardly. - </p> - <p> - Her lips twitched in the endeavour to suppress a smile. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t the least idea,” she confessed. “I tied - up under some trees further up and—and I suppose I must have fallen - asleep. But still that doesn’t explain how I came to be adrift like - this.” - </p> - <p> - “A woman’s knot, I expect,” he vouchsafed rather - scornfully. “A woman never ties up properly. Probably you just - looped the painter round any old thing and trusted to Providence that it - would stay looped.” - </p> - <p> - She gave vent to a low laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you’ve described the process quite accurately,” - she admitted. “But I’ve done the same thing before without any - evil consequences. There’s hardly any current here, you know. I don’t - believe”—with conviction—“that my loop could have - unlooped itself. And anyway”—triumphantly—“the - sculls couldn’t have jumped out of the boat without assistance.” - </p> - <p> - The man smiled, revealing strong white teeth. - </p> - <p> - “No, I suppose not. I fancy”—the smile broadening—“some - small boy must have spotted you asleep in the boat and, finding the - opportunity too good to be resisted, removed your tackle and set you - adrift.” - </p> - <p> - There was a sympathetic twinkle in his eyes, and Jean, suddenly sensing - the “little boy” in him which lurks in every grown-up man, - flashed back: - </p> - <p> - “I believe that’s exactly what you would have done yourself in - your urchin days!” - </p> - <p> - “I believe it is,” he acknowledged, laughing outright. “Well, - the only thing to do now is for me to tow you back. Where do you want to - go—up or down the river?” - </p> - <p> - “Up, please. I want to get back to Staple.” - </p> - <p> - He threw a quick glance at her. - </p> - <p> - “Surely you must be Miss Peterson?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. How did you guess?” - </p> - <p> - “My sister, Mrs. Craig, told me a Miss Peterson was staying at - Staple. It wasn’t very difficult, after that, to put two and two - together.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you must be Geoffrey Burke?” returned Jean. - </p> - <p> - He nodded. - </p> - <p> - “That’s right. So now that we know each other, will you come - into my parlour?”—smiling. “If I’m going to take - you back, there seems no reason why we shouldn’t accomplish the - journey together and tow your boat behind.” - </p> - <p> - He held out his hand to steady her as she stepped lightly from one boat to - the other, and soon they were gliding smoothly upstream, the empty craft - tailing along in their wake. - </p> - <p> - For a while Burke sculled in silence, and Jean leant back, idly watching - the effortless, rhythmic swing of his body as he bent to his oars. His - shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, broad-based neck, and - she noticed in a detached fashion that small, fine hairs covered his bared - arms with a golden down, even encroaching on to the backs of the brown, - muscular hands. - </p> - <p> - She found herself femininely conscious that the most dominant quality - about the man was his sheer virility. Nor was it just a matter of - appearances. It lay in something more fundamental than merely externals. - She had known men of great physical strength to be not infrequently gifted - with an almost feminine gentleness of nature, yet she was sure this latter - element played but a small part in the make-up of Geoffrey Burke. - </p> - <p> - The absolute ease with which he sent the boat shearing through the water - seemed to her in some way typical. It conveyed a sense of mastery that was - unquestionable, even a little overpowering. - </p> - <p> - She felt certain that he was, above and before all other things, primeval - male, forceful and conquering, of the type who in a different age would - have cheerfully bludgeoned his way through any and every obstacle that - stood between him and the woman he had chosen as his mate—and, - afterwards, if necessary, bludgeoned the lady herself into submission. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s where you tied up, then?” - </p> - <p> - Burke’s voice broke suddenly across her thoughts, and she looked - round, recognising the place where she had moored her boat earlier in the - afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “How did you divine that?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “It didn’t require much divination! There are your sculls”—pointing—“stuck - up against the trunk of a tree—and looking as though they might - topple over at any moment. I fancy”—with a smile—“that - my ‘small boy’ theory was correct. I believe I could even put - a name to the particular limb of Satan responsible,” he went on. - “You moored your boat on the Willow Perry side of the stream, and - our lodge-keeper’s kids are a troop of young demons. They want a - thorough good thrashing, and I’ll see that they get it before they - are much older.” - </p> - <p> - He pulled in to the shore and rescuing the sculls from their precarious - position, restored them to the empty boat. - </p> - <p> - “All the same,” he added, as, a few minutes later, he helped - Jean out on to the little wooden landing-place at Staple, “I think I’m - rather grateful to the small boy—whoever he may be!” - </p> - <p> - She laughed and retorted impertinently: - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure I’m very grateful to the bigger boy who came - to the rescue.” - </p> - <p> - There was something quite unconsciously provocative about her as she stood - there with one foot poised on the planking, her head thrown back a trifle - to meet his glance, and a hint of gentle raillery tilting the corners of - her mouth. - </p> - <p> - The cave-man woke suddenly in him. He was conscious of an almost - irresistible impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her. But the - conventions of the centuries held, and all Jean knew of that swift - flare-up of desire in the man beside her was that the grip of his hand on - hers suddenly tightened so that the pain of it almost made her cry out. - </p> - <p> - And because she was not given to regarding every unmarried man she met in - the light of a potential lover—as some women are prone to do—and - because, perhaps, her thoughts were subconsciously preoccupied by a lean, - dark face, rather stern and weary-looking as though from some past - discipline of pain, Jean never ascribed that fierce pressure of the hand - to its rightful origin, but merely rubbed her bruised fingers - surreptitously and wished ruefully that men were not quite so muscular. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go with you up to the house,” remarked Burke, - without any elaboration of “by your leave.” - </p> - <p> - She was privately of the opinion that her leave would have little or - nothing to do with the matter. If this exceedingly autocratic and - masculine individual had decided to accompany her through the park, - accompany her he would, and she might as well make the best of it. - </p> - <p> - He was extraordinarily unlike his sister, she thought. Where Judith Craig - would probably seek to attain her ends in a somewhat stealthy, cat-like - fashion, Burke would employ the methods of the club and battering-ram. Of - the two, perhaps these last were preferable, since they at least left you - knowing what you were up against. - </p> - <p> - “Will you come in?” asked Jean, pausing as they reached the - house. “Though I’m afraid everyone is out.” - </p> - <p> - “So much the better,” he replied promptly. “I’d - much rather have tea alone with you.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s not very polite to the others”—smiling a - little. “I thought the Staple people were old friends of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “So they are. That’s exactly it. I feel the mood of the - explorer on me this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re one of the people with a penchant for new - acquaintances, then?” she said indifferently, leading the way into - the hall, where, in place of the great log fire of chillier days, a hank - of growing tulips made a glory of gold and orange and red in the wide - hearth. - </p> - <p> - “No, I’m not,” he returned bluntly. “But I’ve - every intention of making your acquaintance right now.” - </p> - <p> - Jean rang the bell and ordered tea. - </p> - <p> - “I think perhaps I might be consulted in the matter,” she - returned lightly when Baines had left the room. “The settling of - questions of that kind is usually considered a woman’s prerogative. - Supposing”—smiling—“I don’t ask you to tea, - after all?” - </p> - <p> - There was a smouldering fire in the glance he bestowed upon her vivid - face. - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t make a bit of difference—in the long run,” - he replied deliberately. “If a man makes up his mind he can usually - get his own way—over most things.” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t force friendship,” she said quickly. It was - as though she were defying something that threatened. - </p> - <p> - Again that queer gleam showed for a moment in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Friendship? No, perhaps not,” he conceded. - </p> - <p> - He said no more and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Jean was - suddenly conscious that it might be possible to be a little afraid of this - man. She did not like that side of him—the self-willed, masterful - side—of which, almost deliberately, he had just given her a glimpse. - </p> - <p> - With the appearance of tea the slight sense of tension vanished, and the - conversation dropped into more ordinary channels. She discovered that he - had travelled considerably and was familiar with many of the places to - which, at different times, she had accompanied her father and mother, and - over the interchange of recollections the little hint of discord—of - challenge, almost—was forgotten. - </p> - <p> - They were still chatting amicably together half an hour later when Blaise - returned. The latter’s face darkened as he entered the hall and - found them together, nor did it lighten when Jean recounted the afternoon’s - adventure. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose Miss Peterson has your lodge-keeper’s boys to thank - for this?” he demanded stormily of Burke. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid that’s so,” admitted the other. - </p> - <p> - “If you had any consideration for your neighbours, you’d sack - the lot of them,” returned Blaise sharply. “Or else see that - they’re kept under proper control. They’ve given trouble - before, but it is a little too much of a good thing when they dare to play - practical jokes of that description on a guest of ours.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at him in astonishment. She had told the story as rather a - good joke and in explanation of Burke’s presence, and, instead of - laughing at her dilemma, Tormarin appeared to be thoroughly angry over the - matter. - </p> - <p> - Burke remained coolly unprovoked. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t say I’ve any quarrel with the young ruffians,” - he said. “They afforded me a charming afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Doubtless,” retorted Blaise. “But that’s hardly - the point. Anyway”—heatedly—“I’ll thank you - to see that those lads are kept in hand for the future.” - </p> - <p> - Jean glanced across at Burke with some apprehension, half fearing a - responsive explosion of wrath on his part, but to her relief he was - smiling—a twinkling, mirthful smile that redeemed the ugliness of - his features. - </p> - <p> - “’Fraid I can’t truthfully declare I’m sorry, - Tormarin,” he said good-humouredly. “You wouldn’t, in my - place.” - </p> - <p> - The man was keeping his temper in the face of considerable provocation, - and Jean liked him better at that moment than she had done throughout the - entire afternoon. Tormarin’s own attitude she quite failed to - understand, and after Burke’s departure she took him to task for his - churlishness. - </p> - <p> - “It was really absurd of you, Blaise,” she scolded, - half-smiling, half in genuine vexation. “As if Mr. Burke could - possibly be held responsible for the actions of a mischievous schoolboy! - At least he did all he could to repair the damage; he brought me back, and - recovered the missing pair of oars for me. You hadn’t the least - reason to flare up like that.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise listened to her quietly. The anger had died out of his face and his - eyes were somewhat sad. - </p> - <p> - “You’re right,” he said at last, “absolutely - right. But there rarely is any reason for a Tormarin’s temper. Do - you know—it sounds ridiculous, but it’s perfectly true—it - was all I could do not to knock Burke down.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Blaise, you fill me with alarm! I’d no idea you were - such a bloodthirsty individual! But seriously, what had the poor man done - to incur your wrath? He’s been most helpful.” - </p> - <p> - There was an element of self-mockery in the brief smile which crossed his - face. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps that was just it. I’ve rather grown to look upon it - as my own particular prerogative to help you out of difficulties.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, naturally I’d rather it had been you,” she - allowed, twinkling. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that?”—swiftly. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I do”—lightly. She had failed to notice the - eagerness of demand in his quick question. “I’m more used to - it! Besides, I believe Mr. Burke rather frightens me. He’s a trifle—overwhelming. - Still”—shaking her head reprovingly—“I don’t - think that excuses you. You must have a shocking temper.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed shortly. - </p> - <p> - “Most of the Tormarins have ruined their lives by their temper. I’m - no exception to the rule.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s thought flew back to the description she had overheard when - in London: “<i>A Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the bit - between his teeth</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it’s true, escaped her lips. - </p> - <p> - “What’s true?”—with some surprise. “That the - Tormarins are a vile-tempered lot? Quite. If you want to know more about - it, ask my mother. She’ll tell you how I came by this white lock of - hair—the mark of the beast.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was trying to make the comments of the woman at the hotel and Blaise’s - own confession tally with her recollection of the latter’s complete - self-control on several occasions when he, or any other man, might have - been pardoned for yielding to momentary anger. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you’re exaggerating absurdly,” she said at - last. “As a matter of fact, I’ve often been surprised at your - self-control, seeing that I know you have a temper concealed about you - somewhere. I think that is why your anger this afternoon took me so aback. - It seemed unlike you to be so fearfully annoyed over practically nothing - at all. I don’t believe”—half smiling—“that - really you’re anything like bad-tempered as a Tormarin ought to be—to - support the family tradition!” - </p> - <p> - He was looking, not at her but beyond her, as she spoke, as though his - thoughts dwelt with some past memory. His expression was inscrutable; she - could not interpret it. Presently he turned back to her, and though he - smiled there was a deep, unfathomable sadness in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve had one unforgettable lesson,” he said quietly. - “The Tormarin temper—the cursed inheritance of every one of us—has - ruined my life just as it has ruined others before me.” - </p> - <p> - The words seemed to fall on Jean’s ears with a numbing sense of - calamity, not alone in that past to which they primarily had reference, - but as though thrusting forward in some mysterious way into the future—<i>her</i> - future. - </p> - <p> - She was conscious of a vague foreboding that that “cursed - inheritance” of the Tormarins was destined, sooner or later, to - impinge upon her own life. - </p> - <p> - At night, when she went to bed, her mind was still groping blindly in the - dark places of dim premonition. Single sentences from the afternoon’s - conversation kept flitting through her brain, and when at last she slept - it was to dream that she had lost her way and was wandering alone in a - wild and desolate region. Presently she came to a solitary dwelling, set - lonely in the midst of the interminable plain. Three wretched-looking - scrubby little fir trees grew to one side of the house, all three of them - bent in the same direction as though beaten and bowed forward by ceaseless - winds. While she stood wondering whether she should venture to knock at - the door of the house and ask her way, it opened and Geoffrey Burke came - out. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! There you are!” he exclaimed, as though he had been - expecting her. “I’ve been waiting for you. Will you come into - my parlour?” - </p> - <p> - He smiled at her as he spoke—she could see the even flash of his - white teeth—but there was something in the quality of the smile - which terrified her, and without answering a word she turned to escape. - </p> - <p> - But he overtook her in a couple of strides, catching her by the hand in a - grip so fierce that it seemed as though the bones of her fingers must - crack under it. - </p> - <p> - “Come into my parlour,” he repeated. “If you don’t, - you’ll be stamped forever with the mark of the beast. It’s too - late to try and run away.” - </p> - <p> - Jean woke in a cold perspiration of terror. The dream had been of such - vividness that it was a full minute before she could realise that, - actually, she was safely tucked up in her own bed at Staple. When she did, - the relief was so immeasurable that she almost cried. - </p> - <p> - The next morning, with the May sunshine streaming in through the open - window, it was easier to laugh at her nocturnal fears, and to trace the - odd phrases which, snatched from the previous day’s conversation - with Burke and Tormarin and jumbled up together, had supplied the - nightmare horror of her dream. - </p> - <p> - But, even so, it was many days before she could altogether shake off the - disagreeable impression it had made on her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV.—A COMPACT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“Y</span> OU don’t - like Jean Peterson.” - </p> - <p> - Burke made the announcement without preface. He and Judith were sitting - together on the verandah at Willow Perry, where their coffee had been - brought them after lunch. Judith inhaled a whiff of cigarette smoke before - she answered. Then, without any change of expression, her eyes fixed on - the glowing tip of her cigarette, she answered composedly: - </p> - <p> - “No. Did you expect I should?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, hang it all, you don’t hold her accountable for her - father’s defection, do you?” - </p> - <p> - A dull red crept up under Mrs. Craig’s sallow skin, but she did not - lift her eyes. They were still intent on the little red star of light - dulling slowly into grey ash. - </p> - <p> - “Not accountable,” she replied coolly. “I look upon her - as an unpleasant consequence.” She bent forward suddenly. “Do - you realise that she might have been—my child?” There was a - sudden vibrating quality in her voice, and for an instant a rapt look - came into her face, transforming its hard lines. “But she isn’t. - She happens to be the child of the man I loved—and another woman.” - </p> - <p> - “You surely can’t hate her for that?” - </p> - <p> - “Can’t I? You don’t know much about women, Geoff. Glyn - Peterson stamped on my pride, and a woman never forgives that.” - </p> - <p> - She leaned back in her chair again, her face once more an indifferent - mask. Burke sat silent, staring broodingly in front of him. Presently her - glance flickered curiously over his face. - </p> - <p> - “Why does it matter to you whether I like her or not?” she - asked, breaking the silence which had fallen. - </p> - <p> - Burke shifted in his chair so that he faced her. His eyes looked far more - red than brown at the moment, as though they glowed with some hot inner - light. - </p> - <p> - “Because,” he said deliberately, “I’m going to - marry her.” - </p> - <p> - Judith sat suddenly upright. - </p> - <p> - “So that’s the meaning of your constant pilgrimages to Staple, - is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Just that.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed—a disagreeable little laugh like a douche of cold water. - </p> - <p> - “You’re rather late in the field, aren’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that Blaise Tormarin wants her?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I do. It’s evident enough, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Burke pulled at his pipe reflectively. - </p> - <p> - “I should have thought he’d had a sickener with Nesta Freyne.” - </p> - <p> - “So he had. But not in the way you mean. He never—loved—Nesta.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why on earth did he ask her to marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens, Geoffrey! You’re a man—and you ask me - that! There are heaps of men who ask women to marry them on the strength - of a temporary infatuation, and then regret it ever after. Luckily for - Blaise, Nesta saved him the ‘ever after’ part. But”—eyeing - him significantly—“Blaise’s feeling for Jean isn’t - of the ‘temporary’ type. Of that I’m sure.” - </p> - <p> - “All the same, I don’t believe he means to ask her to marry - him.” - </p> - <p> - “No. I don’t think he does—<i>mean</i> to. He’s - probably got some high-minded scruples about not asking a second woman to - make a mess of her life as a result of the Tormarin temper. It would be - just like Blaise to adopt that attitude. But he <i>will</i> ask her, all - the same. The thing’ll get too strong for him. And when he asks her, - Jean will say yes.” - </p> - <p> - “You may be right. I’ve always said you were no fool, Judy. - But if it’s as you think, then I must get in first, that’s - all. First or last, though”—with a grim laugh—“I’ll - back myself to beat Blaise Tormarin. <i>And you’ve got to help me.</i>” - </p> - <p> - Followed a silence while Judith threw away the stump of her cigarette and - lit another. She did not hurry over the process, but went about it slowly - and deliberately, holding the flame of the match to the tip of her - cigarette for quite an unnecessarily long time. - </p> - <p> - At last: - </p> - <p> - “I don’t mind if I do,” she said slowly. “I don’t - think I—envy—your wife much, Geoffrey. She won’t be a - very happy woman, so I don’t mind assisting Glyn Peterson’s - daughter to the position. It would make things so charming all round if he - and I ever met again”—smiling ironically. - </p> - <p> - Burke looked at her with a mixture of admiration and disgust. - </p> - <p> - “What a thorough-going little beast you are, Judith,” he - observed tranquilly. - </p> - <p> - She shrugged her thin, supple shoulders with indifference. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t make myself. Glyn Peterson had a good share in - kneading the dough; why shouldn’t his daughter eat the bread? And - anyhow, old thing”—her whole face suddenly softening—“I - should like you to have what you want—even if you wanted the moon! - So you can count on me. But I don’t think you’ll find it all - plain sailing.” - </p> - <p> - “No”—sardonically. “She’ll likely be a - little devil to break.... Well, start being a bit more friendly, will you? - Ask her to lunch.” - </p> - <p> - Accordingly, a day or two later, a charming little note found its way to - Staple, inviting Jean to lunch with Mrs. Craig. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be quite alone,” it ran, “as Geoffrey is going - off for a day’s fishing, so I hope Lady Anne will spare you to come - over and keep me company for an hour or two.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was delighted at this evidence that Judith was thawing towards her. - She was genuinely anxious that they should become friends, feeling that it - was up to her, as Glyn’s daughter, to atone—in so far as - friendliness and sympathy could be said to atone—for his treatment - of her. Beyond this, she had a vague hope that later, if she and Judith - ever became intimate enough to touch on the happenings of the past, she - might be able to make the latter see her father in the same light in which - she herself saw him—as a charming, lovable, irresponsible child, - innocent of any intention to wound, but with all a child’s - unregarding pursuit of a desired object, irrespective of the consequences - to others. - </p> - <p> - She felt that if only Judith could better comprehend Glyn’s nature, - she would not only be disposed to judge him less hardly, but, to a certain - extent, would find healing for her own bitterness of resentment and hurt - pride. - </p> - <p> - Judith was an unhappy woman, embittered by one of those blows in life - which a woman finds hardest to hear. And Jean hated people to be unhappy. - </p> - <p> - So that it was with considerable satisfaction that she set out across the - park towards Willow Perry, crossing the river by the footbridge which - spanned it at a point about a quarter of a mile below the scene of her - boating mishap. - </p> - <p> - Judith welcomed her with unaccustomed warmth, and after lunch completely - won her heart by a candour seemingly akin to Jean’s own. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been quite hateful to you since you came to Staple,” - she said frankly. “Just because you were—who you were. I - suppose”—turning her head a little aside—“you’ve - heard—you know that old story?” - </p> - <p> - Then, as Jean murmured an affirmative, she went on quickly: - </p> - <p> - “Well, it was idiotic of me to feel unfriendly to you because you - happened to be Glyn’s daughter, and I’m honestly ashamed of - myself. I should have loved you at once—you’re rather a dear, - you know!—if you had been anyone else. So will you let me love you - now, please—if it isn’t too late?” - </p> - <p> - It was charmingly done, and Jean received the friendly overture with all - the enthusiasm dictated by a generous and spontaneous nature. - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course,” she agreed gladly. “Let’s begin - over again”—smiling. - </p> - <p> - Judith smiled back. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we’ll make a fresh start.” - </p> - <p> - After that, things progressed swimmingly. The slight gene which had - attended the earlier stages of the visit vanished, and very soon, prompted - by Judith’s eager, interested questions, Jean found herself chatting - away quite naturally and happily about her life before she came to Staple - and confessing how much she was enjoying her first experience of England. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all so soft, and pretty, and old,” she said. - “I feel as if Staple must always have been here—just where it - is, looking across to the Moor, and nodding sometimes, as much as to say, - ‘I’ve been here so long that I know some of your secrets.’ - The Moor always seems to me to have secrets,” she added dreamily. - “Those great tors watch us all the time, just as they’ve - watched for centuries. They remind me of the Egyptian Sphinx, they are so - still, and silent, and—and eternal-looking.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ve not been on to Dartmoor yet, have you?” asked - Judith. “We have a bungalow up there—Three Fir Bungalow, it’s - called. You must come and spend a few days there with us when the weather - gets warmer.” - </p> - <p> - “I should love it,” cried Jean, her eyes sparkling. “I’m - aching to go to the Moor. I want to see it in all sorts of moods—when - it’s raining, and when the sun’s shining, and when the wind - blows. I’m sure it will be different each time—rather like a - woman.” - </p> - <p> - “I think it’s loveliest of all by moonlight,” said - Judith, her eyes soft and shining with recollection. She loved all the - beauty of the world as much as Jean herself did. “I remember being - on the top of one of the tors at night. All the surrounding valleys were - hidden in a mist like a silver sea, and I felt as if I had got right away - from the everyday world, into a sort of holy of holies that God must have - made for His spirits. One almost forgot that one was just an ordinary, - plain-boiled human being tied up in a parcel of flesh and bone.” - </p> - <p> - “Only people aren’t really in the least plain-boiled or - ordinary,” observed Jean quaintly. - </p> - <p> - “You aren’t, I verily believe.” Judith regarded her - curiously for a moment. “I think I wish you were,” she said - abruptly. - </p> - <p> - She was not finding the part assigned to her by her brother any too easy. - It complicates matters, when you are deliberately planning a semblance of - friendship towards someone, if that someone persists in inspiring you with - little genuine impulses of liking and friendliness. - </p> - <p> - Jean herself was delighted with the result of her visit to Willow Perry. - She was convinced that Judith was a much nicer woman than she had - imagined, or than anyone else imagined her to be, and when she took her - departure she carried these warmer sentiments with her, characteristically - reproaching herself not a little for her first hasty judgment. People - improved upon acquaintance enormously, she reflected. - </p> - <p> - She did not go straight back to Staple, but took her way towards Charnwood - on the chance of finding Claire at home, and, Fate being in a benevolent - mood, she discovered her in her garden, precariously mounted upon a ladder - and occupied in nailing back a creeper. - </p> - <p> - Claire greeted her joyfully and proceeded to descend. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been lunching at Willow Perry,” explained Jean, - “so I thought I might as well come on here and cadge my tea as well!” - </p> - <p> - “Of course you might Adrian has gone into Exeter to-day, so we shall - be alone.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was conscious of an immense relief. The knowledge that Sir Adrian was - not anywhere on the premises seemed like the lifting of a blight. - </p> - <p> - Claire’s blue eyes smiled at her understandingly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know,” she nodded, as though Jean had given voice to - her thought. “It’s just as if someone had opened a window and - let the fresh air in, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - She collected her tools, and slipping her arm within Jean’s led her - in the direction of the house. - </p> - <p> - “We’ll have tea at once,” she said, “and then I’ll - walk back with you part way.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re bent on getting rid of me quickly, then?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—seriously. “He”—there was little - need to specify to whom the pronoun referred—“will be back by - the afternoon train, and for some reason or other he is very unfriendly - towards you just now.” - </p> - <p> - “What have I done to offend?” queried Jean lightly. Somehow, - with Sir Adrian actually away, it didn’t seem a matter of much - importance whether he was offended or not. Even the house had a different - “feel” about it as they entered it. - </p> - <p> - “It’s not anything you’ve done; it’s what you are, - I think, sometimes, that when a man is full of evil and cruel thoughts and - knows he has given himself up to wickedness, he simply hates to see anyone - young and—and <i>good</i>, like you are, Jean, with all your life - before you to make a splendid thing of.” - </p> - <p> - “And what about you?” asked Jean, her eyes resting - affectionately on the other’s delicate flower face with its - pathetically curved lips and the look of trouble in the young blue eyes. - “He sees you constantly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he’s used to me. I’m only his wife, you see. - Besides”—wearily—“he knows that he can effectually - prevent me from making a splendid thing of my life.” - </p> - <p> - The note of bitterness in her voice wrung Jean’s heart. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know how you bear it!” she exclaimed. - </p> - <p> - “One can bear anything—a day at a time,” answered Claire - with an attempt at brightness. “But I never look forward,” she - added in a lower tone. - </p> - <p> - The words seemed to Jean to contain an epitome of tragedy. Not yet twenty, - and Claire’s whole philosophy of life was embodied in those four - desolate words: “I never look forward!” - </p> - <p> - The world seemed built up of sadness and cross-purposes. Claire and Nick, - Judith, and Blaise Tormarin—all had their own particular burdens to - carry, burdens which had in a measure spoiled the lives of each one of - them. It seemed as though no one was allowed to escape those “snuffers - of Destiny” of which Blaise had spoken as he and Jean had climbed - the mountain-side together. She felt a depressing conviction that her own - turn would come and wondered whether it would be sooner or later. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t look so blue!” Claire’s voice broke in upon - her gloomy trend of thought. She was laughing, and Jean was conscious of a - sudden uprush of admiration for the young gay courage which could laugh - even while it could not look forward. “After all, there are - compensations in life. You’re one of them, my Jean, as I’ve - told you before! Now let’s talk about something else.” - </p> - <p> - Jean responded gladly enough, and presently Sir Adrian was temporarily - forgotten in the little intimate half-hour of woman-talk which followed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—LADY ANNE’S DISCLOSURE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“W</span> ELL, have - you enjoyed yourself?” enquired Lady Anne when Jean returned. - “I suppose so, as you stayed to tea”—smiling. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I had tea with Claire. Sir Adrian was away”—with a - small grimace—“so we had quite a nice little time together. - But, yes, madonna”—Jean had fallen into the use of the - gracious little name which Blaise and Nick kept for their mother—“I - really enjoyed myself very much. Judith was ever so much nicer than I - expected.” - </p> - <p> - “So now, I suppose, we shall all be side-tracked in favour of Burke - and his sister?” put in Blaise, who had been listening quietly. - There was a sharpness in his tones, as though the prospect did not please. - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled at him engagingly. - </p> - <p> - “Of course you will,” she replied. “I invariably - sidetrack old friends when I get the chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you’ll get the chance right enough!”—rather - sulkily. “Yes, I think I shall”—demurely. “Geoffrey - has always been nice to me; and now Judith, too, has succumbed to my - charms, and says she hopes we shall be good pals.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin rose, pushing back his chair with unnecessary violence. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I see Judith Craig extending her friendship to - Glyn Peterson’s daughter,” he commented cynically. - </p> - <p> - An instant later the door banged behind, and Lady Anne and Jean looked - across at each other smiling, as women will when one of their menkind - proceeds to behave exactly like a cross little boy. - </p> - <p> - But a quick sigh chased the smile from Lady Anne’s lips. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Blaise!” she murmured, as though to herself. Then, - her grey eyes meeting Jean’s squarely, she said quietly: - </p> - <p> - “Jean, you’re so much one of us, now, that I should like you - to know what lies at the hack of things. You’d understand—some - of us—better.” - </p> - <p> - Jean turned impulsively. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t need to understand you,” she said quickly. - “I love you.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, my dear.” Lady Anne’s voice trembled - slightly. “If I were not sure of that, I shouldn’t tell you - what I am going to. But I want you to understand Blaise—and to make - allowances for him, if you can.” - </p> - <p> - Jean pulled forward a stool and settled herself at Lady Anno’s feet. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean about the ‘mark of the beast’?” she - asked, smiling a little. “Blaise told me to ask you about it one - day.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he? He thinks far too much about it and what it stands for”—sadly. - “It has come to be almost a symbol in his eyes. You see, he too has - suffered from the family failing—the very failing that was - responsible for that white lock of hair.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about it.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne looked down at her thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Well, there’s no need for me to tell you that the Tor-marins - have hot tempers! You’ve seen evidences of it in Blaise—that - sudden flaming up of anger. Though he has learnt through one most bitter - experience to hold himself more or less in check.” She paused a - moment, as if her thoughts had reverted painfully to the past. Presently - she resumed: “All the Tormarin men have had it—that blazing, - uncontrollable kind of temper which simply cannot brook opposition. Blaise’s - father had it, and it was that which made our life together so unhappy.” - </p> - <p> - So Destiny had been busy with her snuffers here, also! - </p> - <p> - “You—you, too!” whispered Jean. - </p> - <p> - “I. too?” Lady Anne questioned. “What does that mean?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, it seems to me as if <i>no one</i> is ever allowed to be - really happy and to live their life in peace! There is Judith, whose life - my father spoilt, and Claire, whose life Sir Adrian spoils—and that - means Nick’s life as well. And now—you!” - </p> - <p> - Some unconscious instinct of reticence deep within her forbade the mention - of Blaise Tormarin’s name. - </p> - <p> - “I expect we are not meant to be too joyful,” said Lady Anne. - “Though, after all, it’s largely our own fault if we are not. - We make or mar each other’s happiness; it isn’t all Fate.... - But I’ve had my share of happiness, Jean—never think that I - haven’t. Afterwards, with Claude, I was utterly happy.” - </p> - <p> - She fell silent for a space, ceasing on that quiet note of happiness. - Presently, almost loth to disturb the reverie into which she had fallen, - Jean questioned hesitantly: - </p> - <p> - “And the ‘mark of the beast,’ madonna? You were going to - tell me about it.” - </p> - <p> - “It came as a consequence of the Tormarin temper. That’s why - Blaise calls it the ‘mark of the beast.’ It was just before he - was born—when I was waiting for the supreme joy of holding my - first-born in my arms. Derrick—Blaise’s father—was an - extremely jealous-natured man. He hated to think that there had ever been - anyone besides himself who cared for me. And there was one man, in - particular, of whom he had always been foolishly jealous and suspicious. I - can’t imagine why, though”—with a little puzzled laugh. - “You would think that the mere fact that I had married <i>him</i>, - and not the other man, would have been sufficient proof that he had no - cause for jealousy. But no! Men are queer creatures, and he always - resented my friendship with John Lovett—which continued after my - marriage. I had known John from childhood, and he was the truest friend a - woman ever had!” She sighed: “And I needed friends in those - days! For somehow, brooding over things to himself, my husband conceived - the idea that the little son who was coming was not his own child—but - the child of John Lovett. I think someone must have poisoned his mind. - There was a certain woman of our acquaintance whom I always suspected; she - hated me and was very much attached to Derrick—she had wanted to - marry him, I believe. In any case, he came home one evening, from her - house, like a madman; and there was a scene... a terrible scene... he - hurling accusations at me.... I won’t talk of it, because he was - bitterly repentant afterwards. As soon as the fit of rage was past, he - realised how utterly groundless his suspicions had been, and I don’t - think he ever ceased to reproach himself. But that has always been the - way! The Tormarins have invariably brought the bitterest self-reproach - upon themselves. One way or another, the same story of blind, reckless - anger, and its consequences, has repeated itself generation after - generation.” - </p> - <p> - “And then? What happened then?” asked Jean in low, shocked - tones. - </p> - <p> - “I was very ill—so ill that they thought I should not live. - But I did live, and I brought my baby into the world. Only, he was born - with that white lock of hair. And my own hair had turned perfectly white.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent for a little. At last she said softly: - </p> - <p> - “I’m so glad, madonna, that you were happy afterwards. <i>Your</i> - ‘house of dreams’ came true in the end!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—Lady Anne’s grey eyes were very bright and - luminous. “My house of dreams came true.” - </p> - <p> - After a while, she went on quietly: - </p> - <p> - “But my poor Blaise’s house of dreams fell in ruins. The - foundation was rotten. You knew, didn’t you, that there was a woman - he once cared for?” - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded. Speech was difficult to her just at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “It was a miserable business altogether. The girl, Nesta Freyne was - an Italian. Blaise met her when he was travelling in Italy, and—oh, - well, it wasn’t love! Not love as I know it, and as I think, one - day, you too will know it. It blazed up, just one of those wild - infatuations that sometimes spring into being between a man and a woman, - and almost before he had time to think, Blaise had married her——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Married her!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The words leapt from Jean’s lips before she could check them. In the - account of Tormarin’s disastrous love affair which had been forced - upon her hearing in London, there had been no mention of the word - marriage, and she had always imagined that the woman, this Nesta Freyne, - had simply jilted him in favour of another man. Moreover, since she had - been at Staple, nothing had been said to correct this impression, as, very - naturally, the subject was one avoided by general consent. - </p> - <p> - And now, without warning or preparation, she found herself face to face - with the fact that Blaise had been married—that he had belonged to - another woman! It seemed to set her suddenly very far apart from him, and - a fierce, intolerable jealousy of that other woman leaped to life in her - heart, racking her with an anguish that was almost physical. She was - confused, bewildered, by the storm of emotion which suddenly swept her - whole being. - </p> - <p> - “Married her?” she repeated with dry lips. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Didn’t you know that Blaise was a widower?” - </p> - <p> - Had Lady Anne divined the stress under which the girl was labouring that - she so quickly interposed the knowledge that his wife was dead? - </p> - <p> - “No,” answered Jean unsteadily. “I didn’t even - know that he had been married.” - </p> - <p> - The fact of that other woman’s being dead did not serve to allay the - tumult within her. She had lived, and while she lived she had been <i>his - wife!</i> - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he married her.” Lady Anne went on speaking in level - tones. “I think matters were hurried to a climax by the fact that - Nesta’s step-sister, Margherita Valdi, detested English people. She - was much the elder of the two, and as their mother had died when Nesta was - born, she had practically brought the girl up. She would never have - countenanced the idea of her marrying an Englishman, but Nesta so - contrived her meetings with Blaise that Margherita was unaware of his very - existence, and eventually they married without her knowledge. From that - day onward, Margherita declined to hold any communication with her sister.” - </p> - <p> - “Why had she such a rooted antipathy to the English?” Jean had - recovered her composure during the course of Lady Anne’s narrative, - and now put her question with a very good semblance of detachment. But, - inside, her brain was dully hammering out the words “Married—married!” - </p> - <p> - “It seems that Margherita’s step-father—Nesta’s - father, of course,—who was an Englishman, treated his wife extremely - badly, and Margherita, who had adored her mother, never forgave him and - hated all Englishmen in consequence. At least, that was what Nesta told - Blaise, and it seems quite probable. Italians are a hot-blooded race, you - know, and very vindictive and revengeful. Of course, these Valdis were of - no particular family—that was where the trouble began. Nesta was - just a rather second-rate, though extraordinarily beautiful girl, suddenly - elevated to a position which she was not in the least fitted to fill. It - didn’t take a month for the glamour to wear off—and for Blaise - to see her as I saw her. He came to his senses to find himself married to - a bit of soulless, passionate flesh and blood. Oh, Jean! If I could only - have been there—in Italy, to have saved him from it all!” - </p> - <p> - Jean hardly heeded that instinctive mother-cry. She was keyed up to know - the end of the story. She felt as though she must scream if Lady Anne were - long about the telling. - </p> - <p> - “Go on,” she said, forcing herself to speak quietly. “Tell - me the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “The rest had the Tormarin temper for its corner-stone. Nesta was an - utterly spoilt child, and a coquette to her very finger-tips. She tossed - dignity to the winds, and there were everlasting scenes and quarrels. - Then, one day, Blaise came in and found her entertaining a man whom he had - forbidden the house. I don’t know what he said to her—but I - can guess, poor child! He horsewhipped the man, and he must have - frightened Nesta half out of her mind. That evening she ran away from - Staple—Nick and I, of course, were living at the Dower House then—and - after months of fruitless enquiry I had a letter from Margherita Valdi - telling me that she had been found drowned. She had evidently made her way - back to Italy, hoping to reach her sister, and then, in a fit of despair, - committed suicide.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, poor Blaise! How awful for him!” exclaimed Jean, - horror-stricken. For the moment her own individual point of view was swept - away in a flood of sympathy for Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It broke him up badly. Always, I think, he is brooding over - the past. It colours his entire outlook on things. You see, he blamed - himself—his ungovernable temper—for the whole tragedy.... If - only he had been gentler with her, not terrified her into running away!... - After all, she was a mere child—barely seventeen. But she was a - heartless, conscienceless minx, nevertheless.... And Margherita Valdi did - not let him down lightly. She wrote him a terrible letter, accusing him of - her sister’s death. I opened it—he was abroad at the time—but, - of course, he had to see it ultimately. Tied up in a little separate - packet was Nesta’s wedding-ring, together with a newspaper report of - the affair, and, to add a last stab of horror, she had folded the - newspaper clipping and thrust it through the wedding-ring, labelling the - packet ‘Cause and effect.’ It was a brutal thing to do.” - </p> - <p> - They were both silent for a space, Jean painfully envisaging the tragedy - that lay behind that stern, habitual gravity of Tormarin’s, Lady - Anne asking herself tremulously if she had been wise—if she had been - wise in her disclosure? She wanted her son’s happiness so - immeasurably! She believed she knew wherein it might lie, and she had - raked over the burning embers of the past that she might help to give it - him. - </p> - <p> - She knew that he himself was very unlikely to confide in Jean the story of - his unhappy marriage, or that if he ever did so, it would be but to - shoulder all the blame himself, exonerating Nesta entirely. Nor, unless - Jean understood the fiery furnace through which he had passed—that - ordeal of impetuous, mistaken love, of disillusion, and, finally, of the - most bitter self-reproach—could she possibly interpret aright Blaise’s - strange, churlish moods, his insistent efforts to stand always on one - side, as though he were entitled to make no further claim on life, and, - above all, the bitter quality which permeated his whole outlook. - </p> - <p> - All these things had been in Lady Anne’s mind when she had decided - to enlighten Jean. She had seen, just as Judith had seen, whither Blaise - was tending, fight against it as he might, and she was determined to - remove from his path whatever of stumbling-block and hindrance she could. - And, in this instance, she felt instinctively that Jean’s own - attitude might constitute the greatest danger. Any woman, as sincere and - positive as she, might easily be driven in upon herself, shrinkingly - misunderstanding Blaise’s deliberate aloofness, and thus - unconsciously assist in strengthening that barrier against love which he - was striving to hold in place between them—and which Lady Anne so - yearned to see thrown down. - </p> - <p> - It was to this end that she had reopened the shadowed pages of the past—so - that no foolish obstacle, born of sheer misunderstanding, might imperil - her son’s hope of happiness if the time should ever come—as - she prayed it would come—when he would free himself from the - shackles of a tragic memory and turn his face towards the light of a new - dawn. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI—THE GIFT OF LOVE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE are some - people to whom love comes in a single blinding flash; it is as though the - heavens were opened and the vision and the glory theirs in a sudden, - transcendant revelation. To others it comes gradually, their hearts - opening diffidently to its warmth and light as a closed bud unfolds its - petals, almost imperceptibly, to the sun. - </p> - <p> - With Jean, its coming partook in a measure of both of these. Love itself - did not come to her suddenly. It had been secretly growing and deepening - within her for months. But the recognition of it came upon her with an - overwhelming suddenness. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne, in recalling that bleak tragedy of the past, had accomplished - more than she knew. She had shown Jean her own heart. - </p> - <p> - From those fierce, unexpected pangs of jealousy which had stabbed her as - she realised the part played by another woman in Blaise’s life—the - woman who had been his wife—had sprung the knowledge that she loved - him. Only love could explain the instant, clamorous rebellion of her whole - being against that other woman’s claim. And now, looking back upon - the months which she had spent at Staple, she comprehended that the veiled - figure of Love, face shrouded, had walked beside her all the way. That was - why these even, uneventful weeks at Staple had seemed so wonderful! - </p> - <p> - The recognition of the great thing that had come into her life left her a - little breathless and shaken. But she did not seek to evade or deny it. - The absolute candour of her mind—candid even to itself—accepted - the truth quite simply and frankly. No false shame that she had, as far as - actual fact went, given her love unasked, tempted her to disguise from - herself the reality of what had happened. For good or ill, whether Blaise - returned her love or no, it was his. - </p> - <p> - But in her inmost heart she believed that he, too, cared—half-fearfully, - half-joyfully recognising the pent-up force which surged behind the bars - of his deliberate aloofness. - </p> - <p> - True, he had never definitely spoken of his love in so many words, hut - Lady Anne had supplied the key to his silence. The past still bound him! - Alive, Nesta had held him by her beauty; and dead, she still held him with - the cords of remorse and unavailing self-reproach—cords which can - bind almost as closely as the strands of love. - </p> - <p> - But for that—— - </p> - <p> - The hot colour surged into Jean’s cheeks at the sweet, secret - thought which lay behind that “but”. Blaise cared! Cared for - her, needed her, just as she cared for and needed him. To her woman’s - eyes, newly anointed with love’s sacramental oil and given sight, it - had become suddenly evident in a hundred ways, most of all evident in his - sullen effort to conceal it from her. - </p> - <p> - So much that he had said, or had not said—those clipped sentences, - bitten off short with a savage intensity that had often enough troubled - and bewildered her, now found their right interpretation. He cared... but - the bondage of the past still held. - </p> - <p> - And with that thought came reaction. The brief, quivering ecstacy, which - had sent little fugitive thrills and currents racing through every nerve - of her, died suddenly like a damped-out fire, as she realised all which - that bondage implied. - </p> - <p> - It was possible he might never break the silence which he himself had - decreed. From the very beginning he had recognised and insisted upon—the - fact that they two were only “ships that pass,” and though - now, for a little space, Fate had directed the course of each into the - same channel, a year, at most, would float them out again on to the big - ocean of life where vessels signalled—and passed—each other. - She must, in the ordinary course of events, return eventually to - Beirnfels, while Blaise remained in England. And that would be the end of - it. - </p> - <p> - She knew the man’s dogged pertinacity; he would hold to an idea or - belief immovably if he conceived it right, no matter what the temptation - to break away. And in the flood of light vouchsafed by Lady Anne’s - disclosure, she felt convinced that he had somehow come to regard the - tragic happenings of the past as standing betwixt him and any future - happiness. Why, Jean could not altogether fathom, but she guessed that the - dominant factor in the matter was probably an exaggerated consciousness of - responsibility for his wife’s death, and perhaps, too, a certain - lingering tenderness, a subconscious feeling of loyalty to the dead woman, - which urged him on to the sacrifice of his own personal happiness as some - kind of atonement. - </p> - <p> - Unless—and a swift spasm of pain shot through her, searing its way - like a tongue of flame—unless Lady Anne had been altogether mistaken - in her fixed belief that Blaise had not really cared for his wife but had - only been carried away on the swift tide of passion—that tide which - runs so fiercely and untrammelled in hot youth. - </p> - <p> - Jean had her black hour then, when she faced the fact that although her - love was given, and although she tremulously believed it was returned, she - would probably never know the supreme joy of utter certainty, never hear - the beloved’s voice utter those words which hold all heaven for the - woman who hears them. - </p> - <p> - But, through the darkness that closed about her, there gleamed a single - thread of light—the light of her own bestowal of love. Even if she - never knew, of a surety, that Blaise cared, even if—and here she - shrank, but forced herself to face the possibility sincerely—even if - she were utterly mistaken and he did not care for her in any other way - save as a friend—his “little comrade”—still there - would remain always the golden gleam of love that has been given. For no - one who loves can be quite unhappy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII—IN THE ROSE GARDEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE chalcedony of - the spring skies had deepened into the glowing sapphire of early June—a - deep, pulsating blue, tremulous with heat. On the sundial, the shadow’s - finger pointed to twelve o’clock, and the sleepy hush of noontide - hung over the rose garden where Jean was gathering roses for the house. - </p> - <p> - “Can’t I help?” - </p> - <p> - Burke’s voice broke across the drowsy quiet so unexpectedly that she - jumped, almost letting fall the scissors with which she was scientifically - snipping the stems of the roses. She bestowed a small frown upon the head - and shoulders appearing above the wooden gate on which he leant. - </p> - <p> - “It’s not very helpful to begin by giving one an electric - shock,” she complained. “How long have you been there?” - His attitude had a repose about it which suggested that he might have been - standing there some time watching her. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know. But as I <i>am</i> here, may I come in?” - Without waiting for her answer, he unlatched the gate and came striding - across the velvet greenness of the lawn. - </p> - <p> - His visits to Staple had grown of late so much a matter of daily - occurrence that they were no longer hedged about by any ceremony, and Jean - had come to accept his appearance at any odd moment without surprise. - </p> - <p> - Since the day when she had lunched at Willow Eerry, and learned, as she - believed, to understand and make allowances for the bitterness which had - so warped Judith’s nature, her acquaintance with both brother and - sister had ripened rapidly into a friendly intimacy. But the fact that - Burke’s feeling towards her was something other, and much warmer - than mere friendship, had failed to penetrate her consciousness. - </p> - <p> - It was patent enough to the lookers on, and probably Jean was the only one - amongst the little coterie of intimate friends who had not realised what - was impending. - </p> - <p> - It is not very often that a woman remains entirely oblivious of the small, - unmistakable signs which go to indicate a man’s attitude towards - her. In Jean’s case, however, her thoughts were so engrossed with - the one man that, at the moment, all other men occupied but a very shadowy - relationship towards the realities of life as far as she was concerned. - </p> - <p> - So that she scarcely troubled to look up as Burke halted beside her, but - went on cutting her roses unconcernedly, merely observing: - </p> - <p> - “Idlers not allowed. You can make yourself useful by paring the - thorns off the stems.” She gestured towards a basket which stood on - the ground at her side, already overflowing with its scented burden of - pink and white and crimson roses. - </p> - <p> - He glanced at the russet head bent studiously above a bush rose and there - was a gleam, half angry, half amused, in his eyes. His fingers went - uncertainly to his pocket, where reposed a serviceable knife, then - suddenly he drew his hand sharply away, empty. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said. “I didn’t come over to be useful - this morning. I came over”—he spoke slowly, as though - endeavouring to gain her attention—“on a quite different - errand.” There was a vibration in his voice that might have warned - her had she been less intent upon her task of wrestling with a refractory - branch. As it was, she merely questioned absently: - </p> - <p> - “And what was the ‘quite different’ errand?” - </p> - <p> - The next moment she felt his hand close over both hers, gardening scissors - and wash-leather gloves notwithstanding. - </p> - <p> - “Stop cutting those confounded flowers, and I’ll tell you,” - he said roughly. - </p> - <p> - She looked up in astonishment, and, at last, a glimmering of what was - coming dawned upon her. Even the blindest of women, the most preoccupied, - must have read the expression of his eyes at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no—no,” she began hastily. “I must finish - cutting the roses—really, Geoffrey.” - </p> - <p> - She tried to release her hands, but he held them firmly. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said coolly. “You won’t finish cutting - your flowers—at least, not now. You’re going to listen to me.” - He drew the scissors from her grasp, and they flashed like a fish in the - sunshine as he tossed them down on to the rose-basket. Then, quite - deliberately, he pulled off the loose gloves she was wearing and his big - hands gripped themselves suddenly, closely, about her slight, bared ones. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey——” - </p> - <p> - Her voice wavered uncertainly. The realisation of his intent had come upon - her so unexpectedly, rousing her from her placid unconsciousness, that she - felt stunned—nervously unready to deal with the situation. She - struggled a little, instinctively, but he only laughed down at her, a ring - of masterful triumph in his voice, holding her effortlessly, with all the - ease of his immense strength. - </p> - <p> - “It’s no good, Jean. You’ve got to hear me out. I’ve - waited long enough.” He paused, then drew a deep breath. “I - love you!” he said slowly. “My God, how I love you!” - There was an element of wonder in his tones, and she felt the strong hands - gripping hers tremble a little. Then their clasp tightened and he drew her - towards him. - </p> - <p> - “Say you love me,” he demanded. “Say it!” - </p> - <p> - It was then Jean found her voice. The imperious demand, infringing on that - secret, inner claim of which she alone knew, stung her into quick denial. - </p> - <p> - “But I don’t! I don’t love you!” Then, as she saw - the blank look in his eyes, she went on hastily: “Oh, Geoffrey, I am - so sorry. I never guessed—I never thought of your caring.” - </p> - <p> - “You never guessed! Good God!”—with a harsh laugh—“I - should have thought I’d made it plain enough. Why, even that first - day, on the river—I wanted you then. What do you suppose has brought - me to Staple every day? Affection for Blaise Tormarin?”—cynically. - </p> - <p> - “I thought—I thought——” She cast about in - her mind for an answer, then presented him with the simple truth. “I’m - afraid I never thought about it at all. I just took your coming over for - granted. I knew you and Judith were old friends and neighbours, so it - seemed quite natural for you to be here often—just as Claire Latimer - is.” - </p> - <p> - Burke searched her face for a moment. He was thinking of the other women - he had known—women who would never have remained blind to his - meaning, who had, indeed, shown their willingness to come half-way—more - than half-way—to meet him. - </p> - <p> - “I really believe that’s true,” he said at last, - grudgingly. “But if it is, you’re the most unselfconscious - woman I’ve ever come across.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it’s true,” she replied simply. “I’m—I’m - so sorry, Geoffrey. I like you far too much to have wished to hurt you.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want liking. I want your love. And I mean to have it. - You may not have understood before, Jean, but you do now.” - </p> - <p> - She drew herself away from him a little. - </p> - <p> - “That doesn’t make any difference, Geoffrey. I have no love to - give you,” she said quietly. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I won’t take no,” he said doggedly. “You’re - the woman I want. And I mean to have you.... Don’t you understand? - It’s no use fighting against me. You may say no, now; you may say no - fifty times. But one day you’ll say—yes.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s slight frame tautened. - </p> - <p> - “You are mistaken,” she said, in a chill, clear voice - calculated to set immeasurable spaces between them. “I’m not a - cave woman to be forced into marriage. Oh!”—the ludicrous side - of this imperious kind of wooing striking her suddenly—“don’t - be so absurd, Geoffrey! You can’t seize me by the hair and carry me - off to your own particular hole in the rocks, you know.” She began - to laugh a little. “Let’s just go on being good friends—and - forget that this has ever happened.” - </p> - <p> - She held out her hand, but he took no notice of the little friendly - gesture. There was a red gleam in his eyes, a smouldering glow that needed - but a breath to fan it into flame. - </p> - <p> - “You speak as if it were something that was over and done with,” - he said in a low, tense voice. “But it isn’t; it never will - be. I love you and want you, and I shall go on loving you and wanting you - as long as I live. Jean—sweetest”—his voice suddenly - softened incredibly—“I’ll try to be more gentle. But - when a man loves as I do, he doesn’t stop to choose his words.” - He stepped closer to her. “Oh! You little, little thing! Why, I - could pick you up and carry you off to my cave with two fingers. Jean, - when will you marry me?” - </p> - <p> - His big frame towered beside her. He paid no more attention to her - dismissal of him than if she had not spoken, and she was conscious of an - odd feeling of impotence. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t seem to have understood me,” she said forcing - herself to speak composedly. “If I loved you, you’d have no - need to ‘carry me off’ to your cave. I’d come—gladly. - But I don’t love you, Geoffrey. And I shall never marry a man I don’t - love.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll marry me,” he returned stubbornly. “Do you - think I’m going to give you up so easily? If you do, you mistaken. I - love you, and I’ll teach you to love me—when you’re my - wife.” - </p> - <p> - The two pairs of eyes met, a challenging defiance flashing between them. - Jean shrugged her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “I think you must be mad,” she said contemptuously, and turned - to leave him. - </p> - <p> - In the same instant his hands gripped her shoulders and he swung her round - facing him again. - </p> - <p> - “Mad!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Yes, I am mad—mad - for you. You little cold thing! Do you know what love is—man’s - love?” - </p> - <p> - She felt his arms close round her like a vice of steel, lifting her off - her feet, so that she hung helpless in his embrace. For a moment his eyes - burned down into hers—the hot flame of desire that blazed in them - seeming almost to scorch her—the next, he had hidden his face - against the warm white curve of her throat, where a little affrighted - pulse throbbed tempestuously. Then, as though the touch of her snapped the - last link of his self-control, his mouth sought hers, and he was kissing - her savagely, crushing her soft, wincing lips beneath his own. Her slender - body swayed helpless as a reed in his strong grip, while the tide of his - passion, like some fierce, untamable flood, swept over her resistlessly. - </p> - <p> - When at last he released her, she stood back from him, staggering a - little. Instinctively he stretched out his hand to steady her. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t... touch me!” she panted. - </p> - <p> - The words came driven between clenched teeth, chokingly. Her face was - milk-white and her eyes blazed at him out of its pallor. She felt as if - her heart were beating in her throat, stifling her, and for a little space - sheer physical stress held her silent But she fought it back, asserting - her will against her weakness. - </p> - <p> - “How dare you?” There was bitter anger in her still tones. - “How dare you touch me—like that?” - </p> - <p> - With a swift movement she passed her handkerchief across her lips and then - let it fall on the ground as though it were something unclean. He winced - at the gesture; for a moment the passion died out of his face and a rueful - look, almost of schoolboy shame, took its place. - </p> - <p> - “Do you—feel like that about it?” he said, nodding - towards the handkerchief. - </p> - <p> - “Just like that,” she returned. “Do you think—if I - had known—I would ever have risked being alone with you? But I - thought we were friends—I never dreamed I couldn’t trust you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you can’t,” he said unsteadily. The sight of her - slender, defiant figure and lovely, tilted face, with the scornful lips he - had just kissed showing like a scarlet stain against its whiteness, sent - the blood rioting through his veins once more. “You’ll... you’ll - never be able to trust any man who loves you, Jean.” - </p> - <p> - Her thoughts flew to Blaise. She would trust herself with him—now, - at any time, always. But then, perhaps—the after thought came like a - knife-thrust—perhaps he did not care! - </p> - <p> - “A man who—loved me,” she said dully, “would not - do what you’ve just done.” - </p> - <p> - “He would—sooner or later. Unless his veins ran milk and - water!” He drew a step nearer and stood staring down at her - sombrely. “Do you know what you’re like, I wonder? With your - great golden eyes and your maddening mouth and that little cleft in your - white chin.... You’re angry because I kissed you. I wonder I didn’t - do it before! I’ve wanted to, dozens of times. But I wanted your - love more than a passing kiss. I’ve waited for that—waited all - these weeks. And now you refuse it—you’ve not even <i>understood</i> - that you’re all earth and heaven to me. God! How blind you must have - been!” - </p> - <p> - She was silent. Her anger was waning, giving place to a certain - distressful comprehension of the mighty force which had suddenly broken - bondage in the man beside her. Dimly, from her own knowledge of the - yearning bred of the loved one’s nearness, she envisaged what these - last weeks must have meant to a man of Burke’s temperament. Was it - any wonder, when suddenly made to realise that the woman he loved not only - did not love him in return, but had failed even to sense his love for her, - that his stormy spirit had rebelled—flung off its shackles? An - element of self-reproach tinctured her thoughts. In a measure the fault - had been hers; her self-absorption was to blame. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she acknowledged. “I’m afraid I have been - blind, Geoffrey. Indeed—indeed I would have prevented all this if I - had known, if I had guessed. But, honestly, I just thought of you—you - and Judith—as friends.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe you really did,” he said slowly, almost - incredulously. Then, as though in swift corollary: “Jean, is there - anyone else?” - </p> - <p> - The question drove at her with its sudden grasp of the truth. Her face - grew slowly drawn and pinched-looking beneath his merciless gaze and her - lips moved speechlessly. - </p> - <p> - “So it <i>is</i> that, is it? And does he—has he——” - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey, you are insufferable!” The words came wrung from - her in quick, low protest. “You have no right—no right——” - </p> - <p> - “No, I suppose I haven’t,” he admitted, touched by the - stricken look in her eyes. “I’d no business to ask that. For - the moment, it’s enough that you don’t love me.... But I shall - never give you up, Jean. You’re mine—my woman!” The - light of possession flared up once more in his eyes. “Do you - remember I told you once that, if a man makes up his mind, he can get his - own way over most things? Well, it’s true.” - </p> - <p> - He paused a moment, then abruptly swung round on his heel and without a - word of farwell, strode away across the garden towards the gate by which - he had entered. - </p> - <p> - As the latch clicked into its place behind him, Jean was conscious of a - sudden tremor, of a curious, uncontrollable fear, as though his words held - something of prophecy. The man’s dominating personality seemed to - swamp her, overwhelming her by its sheer physical force. - </p> - <p> - The remembrance of her sinister dream, and of the dream Burke’s - threat: “<i>It’s too late to try and run away. If you don’t - come into my parlour, you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast - forever</i>,” returned to her with a disagreeable sense of menace. - She shivered a little and, picking up her basket, almost ran back to the - house, as though seeking safety. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII—CROSS-PURPOSES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the task of - arranging her roses in the various bowls and vases Baines had set in - readiness for her, Jean found a certain relief from the feeling of terror - which had invaded her. Something in the homely everydayness of the - occupation served to relax the tension of her mind, keyed up and - overwrought by the stress of her interview with Burke, and it was with - almost her usual composure of manner that she greeted Blaise when - presently he joined her. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve raided the rose garden to-day,” she said, - smilingly indicating the mass of scented blossom that lay heaped up on the - table. “I expect when Johns finds out he will proceed to meditate - upon something for my benefit with boiling oil in it.” - </p> - <p> - Johns was one of the gardeners to whom Jean’s joyous and wholesale - robbery of his first-fruits was a daily cross and affliction. Only - chloroform would ever have reconciled him to the cutting off of a solitary - bloom while still in its prime. - </p> - <p> - Blaise regarded the tangle of roses consideringly. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder you found time to gather so many. When I passed by the - rose garden, you were—otherwise occupied.” The quietly uttered - comment sent the blood rushing up into Jean’s face. When had he - passed? What had he seen? - </p> - <p> - She kept her eyes lowered, seemingly intent upon the disposition of some - exquisite La France roses in a black Wedge-wood bowl. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” she asked negligently. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin was silent a moment. - </p> - <p> - Had she looked at him she would have surprised a restless pain in the keen - eyes he bent upon her. - </p> - <p> - “Jean”—he spoke very gently—“have I—to - congratulate you?” - </p> - <p> - It was difficult to preserve her poise of indifference when the man she - loved put this question to her, but she contrived it somehow. Women become - adepts in the art of hiding their feelings. The conventions demand it of - them. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s answer fluttered out with the airy lightness of a butterfly - in the sunshine. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure I can’t say, unless you tell me upon what grounds?” - </p> - <p> - “You know of none, then”—swiftly. - </p> - <p> - “None.” - </p> - <p> - She nibbled the end of a stalk and surveyed the Wedge-wood bowl - critically. Tormarin felt like shaking her. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” he said gruffly, “let me suggest you revise your - methods. The woman who plays with Geoffrey Burke might as safely play with - an unexploded bomb.” - </p> - <p> - His voice betrayed him, revealing the personal element behind the - proffered counsel. - </p> - <p> - Jean glanced at him between her lashes. So that was it! He was jealous—jealous - of Burke! At last something had happened to pierce the joints of his - armour of assumed indifference! Her heart sang a little pæan of - thanksgiving, and all that was woman in her rose bubbling to meet the - situation. In an instant she had recaptured her aplomb. - </p> - <p> - “I think I rather enjoy playing with unexploded bombs,” she - returned meditatively. “There are always—possibilities—about - them.” - </p> - <p> - “There are”—grimly. “And it is precisely against - those possibilities that I am warning you.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you think it’s rather bad taste on your part to - warn me against a man who is admittedly on terms of friendship with you - all?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I don’t”—steadily. “Nor should I care - if it were. When it’s a matter of you and your safety, the question - of taste doesn’t enter into the thing at all.” - </p> - <p> - “My safety?” jeered Jean softly. (It was barely half an hour - since Burke had inspired her with that sudden fear of him and of his - compelling personality!) - </p> - <p> - “Well, if not your safety, at least your happiness,” amended - Blaise. - </p> - <p> - “It’s very kind of you to interest yourself, but really my - happiness has nothing whatever to do with Geoffrey Burke.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that true?” - </p> - <p> - He flashed the question at her, and there was that in his tone which set - her pulses athrill, quenching the light-hearted spirit of banter that had - led her to torment him. It was the note of restrained passion which she - had heard before in his voice, and which had always power to move her to - the depths of her being. - </p> - <p> - “Perfectly true.” She faltered a little. “But”—forcing - herself to a defiance that was in reality a species of self-defence—“I - fail to see that it concerns you, Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - “It concerns me in so far as Burke is not the sort of man that a - woman can make a friend of. It’s all or nothing with him. And if you - don’t intend to give him all, you’d better give him—nothing.” - </p> - <p> - His glance, grave and steady, met hers, and she knew then, of a certainty, - that he had witnessed the scene which had taken place in the rose garden, - when Burke had held her in his arms and the flood of his passion had risen - and overwhelmed her. He had witnessed that—and had misunderstood it. - </p> - <p> - She was conscious of a fierce resentment against him. It mattered nothing - to her that, in the light of her nonchalant answers to his questions, he - was fully justified in the obvious conclusion he had drawn. She did not - stop to think whether her anger was reasonable or unreasonable. She was - simply furious with him for suspecting her of flirting—odious word!—with - Geoffrey Burke. Well, if he chose to think thus of her, let him do so! She - would not trouble to explain—to exculpate herself. - </p> - <p> - She regarded him with stormy eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Please understand, Blaise, that I want neither your advice nor your - criticism. If I choose to make a friend of Geoffrey Burke—or of any - other man—I shall do so without asking your permission or approval. - What I do, or don’t do, is no business of yours.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment they faced each other, his eyes, stormy as her own, dark with - anger. His hands clenched themselves. - </p> - <p> - “If I could,” he said hoarsely, “I would <i>make</i> it - my business.” - </p> - <p> - He wheeled round and left the room without another word. Jean stood - staring dazedly at the blank panels of the door which had closed behind - him. She wanted to laugh... or to cry. To laugh, because with every sullen - word he revealed the thing he was so sedulously intent on keeping from - her. To cry, because he had taken her pretended indifference at its face - value, and so another film of misunderstanding had risen to thicken the - veil between them—the veil which he would not, and she, being a - woman, could not, draw aside. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX—THE SPIDER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ROBABLY masculine - obtuseness and the feminine faculty for dissimulation are together - responsible for more than half the broken hearts with which the highways - of life are littered. - </p> - <p> - The Recalcitrant Parent, the Other Woman—be she never so guileful—or - the Other Man, as the case may be, are none of them as potent a menace to - the ultimate happy issue of events as the mountain of small - misunderstandings which a man and a maid in love are capable of piling up - for themselves. - </p> - <p> - The man is prone to see only that which the woman intends he shall—and - no self-respecting feminine thing is going to unveil the mysteries of her - heart until she is very definitely assured that that is precisely what the - man in the case is aching for her to do. - </p> - <p> - So she dissimulates with all the skill which Nature and a few odd thousand - years or so of tradition have taught her and pretends that the Only Man in - the World means rather less to her than her second-best shoe buckles. With - the result that he probably goes silently and sadly away, convinced that - he hasn’t an outside chance, while all the time she is simply - quivering to pour out at his feet the whole treasure of her love. - </p> - <p> - In this respect Blaise and Jean blundered as egregiously as any other - love-befogged pair. - </p> - <p> - Following upon their quarrel over the matter of Jean’s attitude - towards Geoffrey Burke, Tormarin retreated once again into those - fastnesses of aloof reserve which seemed to deny the whole memory of that - “magic moment” at Montavan. And Jean, just because she was - unhappy, flirted outrageously with the origin of the quarrel, finding a - certain reckless enjoyment in the flavour of excitement lent to the - proceedings by the fact that Burke was in deadly earnest. - </p> - <p> - Playing with an “unexploded bomb” at least sufficed to take - her thoughts off other matters, and enabled her momentarily to forget - everything for which forgetting seemed the only possible and sensible - prescription. - </p> - <p> - But you can’t forget things by yourself. Solitude is memory’s - closest friend. So Jean, heedless of consequences, encouraged Burke to - help her. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne sometimes sighed a little, as she watched the two go off - together for a long morning on the river, or down to the tennis-court, - accompanied, on occasion, by Claire Latimer and Nick to make up the set. - But she held her peace. She was no believer in direct outside interference - as a means towards the unravelment of a love tangle, and all that it was - possible to do, indirectly, she had attempted when she revealed to Jean - the history of Blaise’s marriage. - </p> - <p> - She did, however, make a proposal which would have the effect of breaking - through the present trend of affairs and of throwing Blaise and Jean more - or less continuously into each other’s company. She was worldly wise - enough to give its due value to the power of propinquity, and her - innocently proffered suggestion that she and her two sons and Jean should - all run up to London for a week, before the season closed, was based on - the knowledge of how much can be accomplished by the skilful handling of a - <i>partie carrée</i>. - </p> - <p> - The suggestion was variously received. By Blaise, indifferently; by Jean, - with her natural desire to know more of the great city she had glimpsed en - route augmented by the knowledge that a constant round of sight-seeing and - entertainment would be a further aid towards the process of forgetting; by - Nick, the sun of whose existence rose and set at Charnwood, with open - rebellion. - </p> - <p> - “Why go to be baked in London, madonna, when we might remain here in - the comparative coolth of the country?” he murmured plaintively to - his mother. - </p> - <p> - They were alone at the moment, and Lady Anne regarded him with twinkling - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Frankly, Nick, because I want Jean for my daughter-inlaw. No other - reason in the world. Personally, as you know, I simply detest town during - the season.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed and kissed her. - </p> - <p> - “What a Machiavelli in petticoats! I’d never have believed it - of you, madonna. S’elp me, I wouldn’t!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you may. And you’ve got to back me up, Nick. No - philandering with Jean, mind! You’ll leave her severely alone and - content yourself with the company of your aged parent.” - </p> - <p> - “Aged fiddlestick!” he jeered. “If it weren’t for - that white hair of yours, I’d tote you round as my youngest sister. - ‘And I don’t believe”—severely—“that - it <i>is</i> white, really. I believe your maid powders it for you every - morning, just because you were born in sin and know that it’s - becoming.” - </p> - <p> - So it was settled that the first week of July should witness a general - exodus from Staple, and meanwhile the June days slipped away, and Tormarin - sedulously occupied himself in adding fresh stones to the wall which he - thought fit to interpose between himself and the woman he loved. While - Jean grew restless and afraid, and flung herself into every kind of - amusement that offered, wearing a little fine under the combined mental - and physical strain. - </p> - <p> - Claire, perceiving the nervous tension at which the girl was living, was - wistfully troubled on her friend’s behalf, and confided her anxious - bewilderment to Nick. - </p> - <p> - “I think Blaise must be crazy,” she declared one day. “I’m - perfectly convinced that he’s in love with Jean, and yet he appears - prepared to stand by while Geoffrey Burke completely monopolises her.” - </p> - <p> - Nick nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I own I can’t understand the fellow. He’ll wake up - one day to find that she’s Burke’s wife.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hope not!” cried Claire hastily. - </p> - <p> - They were pacing up and down one of the gravelled alleys that intersected - the famous rhododendron shrubbery at Charnwood, and, as she spoke, Claire - cast a half-frightened glance in the direction of the house. She knew that - Sir Adrian was closeted with his lawyer, and that he was, therefore, not - in the least likely to emerge from the obscurity of his study for some - time to come. But as long as he was anywhere on the place, she was totally - unable to rid herself of the hateful consciousness of his presence. - </p> - <p> - He reminded her of some horrible and loathsome species of spider, at times - remote and motionless in the centre of his web—that web in which, - body and soul, she had been inextricably caught—but always liable to - wake into sudden activity, and then pounce mercilessly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hope not!” she repeated, shivering a little. “If - she only knew what marriage to the wrong man means!... And I’m - certain Geoffrey is the wrong man. Why on earth does Blaise behave like - this?”—impatiently. “Anyone might think—Jean - herself might think—he didn’t care! And I’m positive he - does.” - </p> - <p> - “If he does, he’s a fool. Good Lord!”—moodily - kicking a pebble out of his path—“imagine any sane man, with a - clear road before him, <i>not taking it!!</i>” He swung round - towards her suddenly. “Claire, if there were only a clear road—for - us! If only I could take you away from all this!” his glance - embracing the grey old house, so beautiful and yet so much a prison, which - just showed above the tops of the tall-growing rhododendrons. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hush! Hush!” - </p> - <p> - Claire glanced round her affrightedly, as though the very leaves and - blossoms had ears to hear and tongues to repeat. - </p> - <p> - “One never knows”—she whispered the words barely above - her breath—“where he is. He might easily be hidden in one of - the alleys that run parallel with this.” - </p> - <p> - “The skunk!” muttered Nick wrathfully. - </p> - <p> - “<i>What’s that?</i>” - </p> - <p> - Claire drew suddenly closer to him, her face blanching. A sound—the - light crunching of gravel beneath a footstep—had come to her - strained ears. - </p> - <p> - “Nick! Did you hear?” she breathed. - </p> - <p> - A look of keen anxiety overspread his face. For himself, he did not care; - Adrian Latimer could not hurt him. But Claire—his “golden - narcissus”—what might he not inflict on her as punishment if - he discovered them together? - </p> - <p> - The next moment it was all he could do to repress a shout of relief. The - steps had quickened, rounded the corner of the alley, and revealed—Jean. - </p> - <p> - “We’re mighty glad to see you,” remarked Nick, as she - joined them. “We thought you were—the devil himself”—with - a grin. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he’s safe for half an hour yet,” Jean reassured - them, “I asked Tucker”—the Latimer’s butler, who - worshipped the ground Claire walked on—“and his solicitor is - still with him. Otherwise I wouldn’t have risked looking for you”—smiling. - “I knew Nick was over here, and Sir Adrian might have followed me.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re sure he hasn’t?” asked Claire nervously. - “He is so cunning—so stealthy.” - </p> - <p> - “Even if he had, you’re doing nothing wrong,” maintained - Jean stoutly. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Everything</i> I do is wrong—in his eyes,” returned - Claire bitterly. “That’s what makes the misery of it. If I - were really wicked, really unfaithful, I should feel I deserved anything I - got. But it’s enough if I’m just happy for a few minutes with - a friend for him to want to punish me, to—to suspect me of any evil. - Sometimes I feel as if I couldn’t bear it any longer!” - </p> - <p> - She flung out her arms in a piteous gesture of abandonment. There was - something infinitely touching and forlorn about her as she stood there, as - though appealing against the hideous injustice of it all, and, with a - little cry Jean caught her outstretched hands and drew her into her - embrace, folding her closely in her warm young arms. - </p> - <p> - Nick had turned aside abruptly, his face rather white, his mouth working. - His powerlessness to help the woman he loved half maddened him. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Jean was crooning little, inarticulate, caressing sounds above - Claire’s bowed head, until at last the latter raised a rather white - face from her shoulder and smiled the small, plucky smile with which she - usually managed to confront outrageous fortune. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you so much,” she said with a glint of humour in her - tones. “You’ve been dears, both of you. It’s awfully - nice to—to let go, sometimes. But I’m quite all right again, - now.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, if you are,” replied Jean cheerfully, “perhaps - you can bear up against the shock of too much joy. We want you to have - ‘a day out.’” - </p> - <p> - “‘A day out’?” repeated Claire. “What do you - mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean we’re organising a picnic to Dartmoor, and we want to - fix it so that you can come too. Didn’t you tell me that Sir Adrian - was going to be away one day this week? Going away, and not returning till - the next day?” - </p> - <p> - Claire nodded, her eyes dancing with excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—oh, yes! He has to go up to London on business.” - </p> - <p> - “Then that’s the day we’ll choose. Heaven send it be - fine!”—piously. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, how I’d love it!” exclaimed Claire. “I haven’t - been on the Moor for such a long time.” - </p> - <p> - “And I’ve never been there at all,” supplemented Jean. - </p> - <p> - “Nick! Nick!” Claire turned to him excitedly. “Did you - know of this plan? And why didn’t you tell me about it before?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips. - </p> - <p> - “Why, I never thought of it,” he admitted. “You see”—explanatorily—“when - I’m with you, I can’t think of anything else.” - </p> - <p> - “Nick, I won’t have you making barefaced love to a married - woman under my very nose,” protested Jean equably. And the shadow of - tragedy that had lowered above them a few minutes earlier broke into a - spray of cheery fun and banter. - </p> - <p> - “You seem very gay to-day.” - </p> - <p> - The cold, sneering tones fell suddenly across the gay exchange of jokes - and laughter that ensued, and the trio looked up to see the tall, lean, - black-clad figure of Sir Adrian standing at the end of the path, awaiting - their approach. - </p> - <p> - To Jean, as to Claire, occurred the analogy of a malevolent spider on the - watch. Even the man’s physical appearance seemed in some way to - convey an unpleasant suggestion of resemblance—his long, thin, - sharply-jointed arms and legs, his putty-coloured face, a livid mask lit - only by a pair of snapping, venomous black eyes, half hidden between - pouched lids that were hardly more than hanging folds of wrinkled skin, - his long-lipped, predatory mouth with its slow, malicious smile. Jean - repressed a little shudder of disgust as she responded to his sneering - comment: - </p> - <p> - “We are—quite gay, Sir Adrian. It’s a fine day, for one - thing, and the sun’s shining, and we’re young. What more do we - want?” - </p> - <p> - “What more, indeed? Except”—bowing mockingly—“the - beauty with which a good Providence has already endowed you. You are a - lucky woman, Miss Peterson; your cup is full. My wife is not, perhaps”—regarding - her appraisingly—“quite so beneficently dowered by Providence, - so it remains for me to fill her cup up to the brim.” - </p> - <p> - He paused, and as the black, pin-point eyes beneath the flabby lids - detected the slight stiffening of Claire’s slender figure, his long, - thin lips widened into a sardonic smile. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to the brim,” he repeated with satisfaction. “That’s - a husband’s duty, isn’t it, Mr. Brennan?”—addressing - Nick with startling suddenness. - </p> - <p> - “You should know better than I, Sir Adrian,” retorted Nick, - “seeing that you have experience of matrimony, while I have none.” - </p> - <p> - “But you have hopes—aspirations, isn’t it so?” - pursued Latimer suavely. There was an undercurrent of disagreeable - suggestion in his tones. - </p> - <p> - Nick was acutely conscious that his keenest aspiration at the moment was - to knock the creature down and jump on him. - </p> - <p> - “We must find you a wife, eh, Claire? Eh, Miss Peterson?” - continued Sir Adrian, rubbing the palm of one bony hand slowly up and down - over the back of the other. “I’m sure, Claire, you would like - to see so—intimate—a friend as Mr. Brennan happily married, - wouldn’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to see him happy,” answered Claire with tight - lips. - </p> - <p> - “Just so—just so,” agreed her husband in a queer - cackling tone as though inwardly amused. “Well, get him a wife, my - dear. You are such friends that you should know precisely the type of - woman which appeals to him.” - </p> - <p> - He nodded and turned to go, gliding away with an odd shuffling gait, and - muttering to himself as he went: “Precisely the type—precisely.” - </p> - <p> - As he disappeared from view down one of the branching paths of the - shrubbery, an odious little laugh, half chuckle, half snigger, came to the - ears of the three listeners. - </p> - <p> - Claire’s face set itself in lines that made her look years older - than her age. - </p> - <p> - “You’d better go,” she whispered unevenly. “We - shan’t be able to talk any more now that he knows you are here. He’ll - be hovering round—<i>somewhere</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we’d better be going. Come along, Nick. And let us know, - Claire”—dropping her voice—“as soon as you have - found out for certain what day he goes away. You can telephone down to us, - can’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I’ll ring up when he’s out of the house some time,” - she answered “Or send a message. Anyway, I’ll manage to let - you know somehow. Oh!”—stretching out her arms ecstatically—“imagine - a day, of utter freedom! A whole day!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX—THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>OLD of gorse and - purple of heather, a shimmering haze of heat quivering above the - undulating green of the moor, and somewhere, high up in the cloud-flecked - blue above, the exultant, piercingly sweet carol of a lark. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! How utterly perfect this is!” sighed Jean. - </p> - <p> - She was lying at full length on the springy turf, her chin cupped in her - hands, her elbows denting little cosy hollows of darkness in the close - mesh of green moss. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin, equally prone, was beside her, his eyes absorbing, not the open - vista of rolling moor, hummocked with jagged tors of brown-grey stone, but - the sun as it rioted through a glory of red-brown hair and touched - changeful gleams of gold into topaz eyes. - </p> - <p> - There was a queer little throb in Jean’s voice, the low note of - almost passionate delight which sheer beauty never failed to draw from - her. It plucked at the chords of memory, and Tormarin’s thoughts - leaped back suddenly to that day they had spent together in the mountains, - when, as they emerged from the pinewood’s gloom to the revelation of - the great white-pinacled Alps, she had turned to him with the rapt cry: - “It’s so beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!” - </p> - <p> - “Do you remember——” he began involuntarily, then - checked himself. - </p> - <p> - “’M—m?” she queried. The little interrogative - murmur was tantalising in its soft note of intimacy. - </p> - <p> - The Jean of the last few days—the days immediately following their - quarrel—had temporarily vanished. The beauty of the Moor had taken - hold of her, and all the mockery and bitter-sweetness which she had - latterly reserved for Tomarin’s benefit was absent from her - manner. She was just her natural sweet and wholesome self. - </p> - <p> - “’M—m? Do I remember—what?” - </p> - <p> - “I was thinking what a pagan little beauty-lover you are! You - worshipped the Alps. Now you are worshipping Dartmoor.” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see why you should call it ‘pagan,’ - though. I should say it was equally Christian. I think we were <i>meant</i> - to love beauty. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been such a lot of it - about. God didn’t put it around just by accident.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite probably you’re right,” agreed Blaise. “In - which case you must be”—he smiled—“an excellent - Christian.” - </p> - <p> - “Positively I believe they’re talking theology!” - </p> - <p> - Claire’s voice, girlishly gay and free from the nervous restraint - which normally dulled its cadence of youth, broke suddenly on their ears, - as she and Nick, rounding the corner of a big granite boulder, discovered - the two recumbent forms. - </p> - <p> - “You disgustingly lazy people!” she pursued indignantly. - “Everybody’s dashing wildly to and fro unpacking the lunch - baskets, while you two are just lounging here in blissful idleness!” - </p> - <p> - “It’s chronic with me,” murmured Tormarin lazily. - “And anyway, Claire, neither you nor Nick appear to be precisely - overtaxing yourselves bearing nectar and ambrosia.” - </p> - <p> - “I carried some of the drinks up this confounded hill,” - submitted Nick. “And damned heavy they were, too! I can’t <i>think</i>”—plaintively—“why - people should be so thirsty at a picnic. I’m sure Baines has shoved - in enough liquid refreshment to float a ship.” - </p> - <p> - “Praise be!” interpolated Blaise piously. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we’ve done our share,” supplemented Claire. “And - now we’re going to the gipsy who lives here to have our fortunes - told.” - </p> - <p> - “Before lunch,” subjoined Nick, “so that in case they’re - depressingly bad you can stay us with flagons afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - Jean sat up suddenly, her face alight with interest “Do you mean - that there is a real gipsy who tells real fortunes?” she demanded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—quite real. She’s supposed to be extraordinarily - good,” replied Nick. “She is a lady of property, too, since - she has acquired a few square yards of the Moor from the Duchy and built - herself a little shanty there. She rejoices in the name of Keturah - Stanley.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to have my fortune told,” murmured Jean - meditatively. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take you,” volunteered Blaise. - </p> - <p> - There was a suddenly alert look in his face, as though he, too, would like - to hear Jean’s fortune told. - </p> - <p> - “We’ll all go, then,” said Claire. “You must let - Keturah tell yours as well, Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Thanks, no,” he answered briefly. “I know my fortune - quite as well as I have any wish to.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin’s curt refusal somewhat quenched the gaiety of the moment, - and rather soberly they all four made their way down the slope to where, - in a little sheltered hollow at the foot of the tor, the sunlight glinted - on the corrugated iron roofing of a tiny two-roomed hut, built of wood. - </p> - <p> - Outside, sitting on an inverted pail and composedly puffing away at a clay - pipe, they discovered a small, shrivelled old woman, sunning herself, like - a cat, in the midday warmth. - </p> - <p> - She lifted her head as they approached, revealing an immensely old, - delicately-featured face, which might have been carved out of yellow - ivory. It was a network of wrinkles, colourless save for the piercing - black eyes that sparkled beneath arched black brows, while the fine-cut - nostrils and beautifully moulded mouth spoke unmistakably of race—of - the old untainted blood which in some gipsy families has run clear, - unmixed and undiluted, through countless generations. - </p> - <p> - There was an odd dignity about the shrunken, still upright figure as she - rose from her seat—the freedom of one whose neck has never bowed to - the yoke of established custom, whose kingdom is the sun and sea and earth - and air as God gave them to Adam—and when the visitors had explained - their errand, and she proceeded to answer them in the soft, slurred - accents of the Devon dialect, the illiterate speech seemed to convey a - strange sense of unfitness. - </p> - <p> - Claire and Nick were the first to dare the oracle. The old woman beckoned - to them to follow her into the cottage, while Tormarin and Jean waited - outside, and when they emerged once more, both were laughing, their faces - eager and half excited like the faces of children promised some indefinite - treat. - </p> - <p> - “She’s given you luck, then?” asked Jean, smiling in - sympathy. - </p> - <p> - The gipsy interposed quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Tezn’t for me to give nor take away the luck. But I knaw - that, back o’ they gert black clouds the young lady’s so - mortal feared of, the zun’s shinin’ butivul. I tell ’ee, - me dear”—nodding encouragingly to Claire, while her keen old - eyes narrowed to mere pin-points of light—“you’ll zee - it, yourself—and afore another year’s crep’ by. ’Ess, - fay! You’ll knaw then as I tolled ’ee trew.” - </p> - <p> - Then, with a gesture that summoned Jean to follow her, she disappeared - once more into the interior of the hut. - </p> - <p> - Jean hesitated nervously in the doorway. For a moment she was conscious of - an acute feeling of distaste for the impending interview—a dread of - what this woman, whose eyes seemed the only live thing in her old, old - face, might have to tell her. - </p> - <p> - “Come with me,” she appealed to Blaise. And he nodded and - followed her across the threshold. - </p> - <p> - The scent of a peat fire came warm and fragrant to her nostrils as she - stepped out of the sunlight into the comparative dusk of the little - shanty, mingling curiously with an aroma of savoury stew which issued from - a black pot hung above the fire, bubbling and chuckling as it simmered. - </p> - <p> - The gipsy, as though by force of habit, gave a stir to its contents and - then, settling herself on a three-legged stool, she took Jean’s hand - in her wrinkled, claw-like fingers and peered at its palm in silence. - </p> - <p> - “Your way baint so plain tu zee as t’other young lady’s,” - she muttered at last, in an odd, sing-song tone. “There’s life - an’ death an’ fire an’ flame afore yu zee the sun shinin’ - clear.... And if so be yu take the wrong turnin’, you’ll niver - zee it. And there’ll be no postes to guide ’ee. Tez your awn - sawl must tell ’ee how to walk through the darkness. For there’s - darkness comin’... black darkness.” - </p> - <p> - She paused, and the liquid in the black pot over the fire seethed up - suddenly and filled the silence with its chuckling and gurgling, so that - to Jean it seemed like the sound of some hidden malevolence chortling - defiance at her. - </p> - <p> - The old woman clutched her hand a little tighter, turning the palm so that - the light from the tiny window fell more directly upon it. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a castle waitin’ for ’ee, me dear,” - she resumed in the same sing-song voice as before. “I can zee it so - plain as plain. But yu won’t never live there wi’ the one yu - luve, though you’m hopin’ tu. I see ruin and devastation all - around it, and the sky so red as blid above it.” - </p> - <p> - She released Jean’s hand slowly, and her curiously bright eyes - fastened upon Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I tell the gentleman’s hand?” she asked, - stretching out her withered claw to take it. - </p> - <p> - But he drew it away hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” he said, attempting to speak lightly. “This - lady’s fortune isn’t sufficiently encouraging for me to - venture.” - </p> - <p> - The gipsy’s eyes never left his face. She nodded slowly. - </p> - <p> - “That’s as may be. For tez the zaim luck and zaim ill-lack - will come to yu as comes to thikke maid. There’s no ring given or - taken, but you’m bound together so fast and firm as weddin’-ring - could bind ’ee.” - </p> - <p> - Jean felt her face flame scarlet in the dusk of the tiny room, and she - turned and made her way hastily out into the sunshine once more, thankful - for the eager queries of Nick and Claire, which served to bring back to - normal the rather strained atmosphere induced by the gipsy’s final - comment. - </p> - <p> - As they climbed the side of the tor once more, Jean relapsed into silence. - More than once, more than twice, since she had come to England, she had - been vaguely conscious of some hidden menace to her happiness, and now the - gipsy had suddenly given words to’ her own indefinite premonition of - evil. - </p> - <p> - “For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was a relief to join the rest of the picnic party, who were clamouring - loudly for their lunch, good-humouredly indignant with the wanderers for - keeping them waiting. - </p> - <p> - “Another five minutes,” announced Burke, “and we should - have begun without you. Not even Lady Anne could have kept us under - restraint a moment longer.” - </p> - <p> - The party was quite a large one, augmented by a good many friends from - round about the neighbourhood, and amid the riotous fun and ridiculous - mishaps which almost invariably accompany an alfresco meal, Jean contrived - to throw off the feeling of oppression generated by Keturah’s - prophecy. - </p> - <p> - Burke, having heaped her plate with lobster mayonnaise, established - himself beside her, and proceeded to catechise her about her recent - experience. - </p> - <p> - “Did the lady—what’s her name, Keturah?—tell you - when you were going to marry me?” he demanded in an undertone, his - dare-devil eyes laughing down at her impudently. - </p> - <p> - “No, she did not. She only foresees things that are really going to - happen,” retorted Jean. - </p> - <p> - “Well, that is”—composedly. “She can’t be - much good at her job if she missed seeing it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Jean affected to consider—“the nearest she - got to it was that she saw ‘darkness coming... black darkness.’” - </p> - <p> - Under cover of the general preoccupation in lunch and conversation, Burke’s - hand closed suddenly over hers. - </p> - <p> - “You little devil!” he said, half amused, half sulky. “I’ll - make you pay for that.” - </p> - <p> - But out here, in the wind-swept, open spaces of the Moor, Jean felt no - fear of him. - </p> - <p> - “First catch your hare——” she retaliated - defiantly. - </p> - <p> - He regarded her tensely for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take your advice,” he said briefly. Then he added: - “Did you know that I’m driving you back in my cart this - afternoon?” - </p> - <p> - Various cars and traps and saddle horses had brought the party together at - the appointed rendezvous—a little village on the outskirts of the - Moor, and Jean had driven up with Blaise in one of the Staple cars. She - looked at Burke now, in astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “You certainly are not,” she replied quickly. “I shall - go back as I came—in the car.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite impossible. It’s broken down. They rashly brought on - the lunch hampers in it, across that God-forsaken bit of moor road—with - disastrous consequences to the car’s internals. So that you and - Tormarin have got to be sorted into other conveyances. And I’ve - undertaken to get you home.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s face fell a little. Throughout the drive up to the Moor - Blaise had seemed less remote and more like his old self than at any time - since their quarrel, and she could guess that this arrangement of Burke’s - was hardly likely to conduce towards the continuance of the new peace. - </p> - <p> - “How will Blaise get home?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “They can squeeze him into her car, Judy says. It’ll be a - tight fit, but he can cling on by his eyelashes somehow.” - </p> - <p> - “I think it would be a better arrangement if you drove Blaise and I - went back in the car with your sister,” suggested Jean. - </p> - <p> - “There’s certainly not room for two extra in the car. There - isn’t really room for one.” - </p> - <p> - “There wouldn’t be two. You would drive Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - “Pardon me. I should do nothing of the sort.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean”—incredulously—“that you would - refuse?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I should invent an armour-plated reason. A broken spring in the - dog-cart or something. But I do mean that if I don’t drive you, I - drive no one.” - </p> - <p> - Jean looked at him vexedly. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” she said uncertainly, “we can’t have a - fuss at a picnic.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” agreed Burke. “So I’m afraid you’ll - have to give in.” - </p> - <p> - Jean rather thought so, too. There didn’t seem any way out of it. - She knew that Burke was perfectly capable, under cover of some supposed - mishap to his trap, of throwing the whole party into confusion and - difficulty, rather than relinquish his intention. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, very well,” she yielded at last, resignedly. “Have - your own way, you obstinate man.” - </p> - <p> - “I intend to,” he replied coolly. “Now—-and - always.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI—DIVERS HAPPENINGS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“I</span> DON’T - think I want any champagne,” said Claire smilingly, as Nick filled a - glass and handed it to her. “Being utterly free like this produces - much the same effect. I feel drunk, Nick—drunk with happiness. Oh, - why can’t I be always free——” - </p> - <p> - She broke off abruptly in her speech, her face whitening, and stared past - Nick with dilated eyes. Her lips remained parted, just as when she had - ceased speaking, and the breath came between them unevenly. - </p> - <p> - Nick followed the direction of her glance. But he could see nothing to - account for her suddenly stricken expression of dismay. A man in chauffeur’s - livery, vaguely familiar to him, was approaching, and it was upon him that - Claire’s eyes were fixed in a sick gaze of apprehension. It reminded - Nick of the look of a wounded bird, incapable of flight, as it watches the - approach of a hungry cat. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s the - matter? For God’s sake don’t look like that, Claire!” - </p> - <p> - Slowly, with difficulty, she wrenched her eyes away from that sleek, - conventional figure in the dark green livery. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you see who it is?” she asked in a harsh, dry - whisper. - </p> - <p> - Before Nick could answer, the man had made his way to Claire’s side - and paused respectfully. - </p> - <p> - “Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, touching his hat, “Sir - Adrian sent me to say that he’s waiting for you in the car just - along the road there.” He pointed to where, on the white ribbon of - road which crossed the Moor not far from the base of the tor, a stationary - car was visible. - </p> - <p> - Claire, her face ashen, turned to Nick in mute appeal. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Adrian? I thought he left for London this morning?” - </p> - <p> - Nick shot the question fiercely at the chauffeur, but the man’s face - remained respectfully blank. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir. Sir Adrian drove as far as Exeter and then returned. - Afterwards we drove on here, sir, and they told us in the village we - should find you at Shelston Tors.” - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile the other members of the party were becoming aware that some - contretemps had occurred. Claire’s white, stricken face was evidence - enough that something was amiss, and simultaneously Lady Anne and Jean - hurried forward, filled with apprehension. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, Claire?” asked Lady Anne, suspecting bad news of - some kind. “What has happened?” Recognising the Charnwood - livery, she turned to the chauffeur and continued quickly: “Has Sir - Adrian met with an accident?” She could conceive of no other cause - for the man’s unexpected appearance. - </p> - <p> - “No, my lady. Sir Adrian is waiting in the car for her ladyship.” - </p> - <p> - “Waiting in the car?” repeated Jean and Lady Anne in chorus. - </p> - <p> - The little group of friends drew closer together. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you see what it means?” broke out Claire in a low - voice of intense anger. “It’s been all a trick—a trick! - He never meant to go to London at all. He only <i>pretended</i> to me that - he was going, so that I should think that I was free and he could trap me.” - She looked at Nick and Jean significantly. “He must have overheard - us—that day in the shrubbery at Charnwood—you remember?” - They both nodded. “And then planned to humiliate me in front of half - the county.” - </p> - <p> - “But you won’t go back with him?” exclaimed Nick hotly. - He swung round and addressed the chauffeur stormily. “You can damn - well tell your master that her ladyship will return this evening with the - rest of the party.” The man’s face twitched. As far as it is - possible for a well-drilled servant’s face to express the human - emotion of compassion, his did so. - </p> - <p> - “It would be no good, sir,” he said in a low voice. “He - means her ladyship to come. ‘Go and fetch her away, Langton,’ - was his actual words to me. I didn’t want the job, sir, as you may - guess.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she’s not coming, that’s all,” declared - Nick determinedly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I must, Nick—I must go,” cried Claire in distress. - “I—I <i>daren’t</i> stay.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think she must go, Nick dear,” she said persuasively. - “It would he—-wiser.” - </p> - <p> - “But it’s damnable!” ejaculated Nick furiously. “It’s - only done to insult her—to humiliate her!” - </p> - <p> - Claire smiled a little wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “I ought to be used to that by now,” she said a trifle - shakily. “But Lady Anne is right—I must go.” She turned - to the chauffeur, dismissing him with a little air of dignity that, in the - circumstances, was not without its flavour of heroism. “You can go - on ahead, Langton, and tell Sir Adrian that I am coming.” - </p> - <p> - The man touched his hat and moved off obediently. - </p> - <p> - “Nick and I will walk down to the car with you,” said Lady - Anne. She was fully alive to the fact that her escort might contribute - towards ameliorating the kind of reception Claire would obtain from her - husband. “Jean dear, look after everybody for me for a few minutes, - will you? And,” raising her voice a little, “explain that - Claire has been called home suddenly, as Sir Adrian was not well enough to - make the journey to town, after all.” - </p> - <p> - But Lady Anne’s well-meant endeavour to throw dust in the eyes of - the rest of the party was of comparatively little use. Although to many of - them Claire was personally an entire stranger—since Sir Adrian - intervened whenever possible to prevent her from forming new friendships—the - story of her unhappy married life was practically public property in the - neighbourhood, and it was quite evident that to all intents and purposes - the detestable husband had actually insisted on her returning with him, - exactly as a naughty child might be swept off home by an irate parent in - the middle of a jolly party. - </p> - <p> - It was impossible to stem the flood of gossip, and though most of it was - kindly enough, and wholeheartedly sympathetic to Lady Latimer, Jean’s - cheeks burned with indignation that Claire’s dignity should be thus - outraged. - </p> - <p> - The remainder of the afternoon was spoilt for her, and Nick’s stormy - face when he, together with Lady Anne, rejoined the rest of the party did - not help to lighten her heart. - </p> - <p> - “I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whispered compassionately, - when presently the opportunity of a few words alone with him occurred. - </p> - <p> - He glared at her. - </p> - <p> - “Are you?” he said shortly. “I’m not. I think I’m - glad. This ends it. No woman can be expected to put up with public - humiliation of that sort.” - </p> - <p> - “Nick!” There was a sharp note of fear in Jean’s voice. - “Nick, what do you mean? What are you going to do?” - </p> - <p> - There was an ugly expression on the handsome boyish-looking face. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll know soon enough,” was all he vouchsafed. And - swung away from her. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt troubled. She had never seen Nick before with that set, still - look on his face—a kind of bitter concentration which reminded her - forcibly of his brother—and she rather dreaded what it might - portend. - </p> - <p> - Her thoughts were still preoccupied with the afternoon’s unpleasant - episode, and with the possible consequences which might accrue, as she - climbed into Burke’s high dog-cart. - </p> - <p> - She had had a fleeting notion of claiming Claire’s vacant seat for - the homeward run, but had dismissed it since actually Claire’s - absence merely served to provide comfortable room for Blaise in the Willow - Ferry car, which had held its full complement of passengers on the outward - journey. Moreover, she reflected that any change of plan, now that she had - agreed to drive back with Burke, might only lead to trouble. He was not in - a mood to brook being thwarted. - </p> - <p> - A big, raking chestnut, on wires to be off, danced between the shafts of - the dog-cart, irritably pawing the ground and jerking her handsome, - satin-skinned head up and down with a restless jingle of bit and - curb-chain. She showed considerable more of the white of a wicked-looking - eye than was altogether reassuring as she fought impatiently against the - compulsion of the steady hand which gripped the reins and kept her, - against her will, at a standstill. - </p> - <p> - The instant she felt Jean’s light foot on the step her excitement - rose to fever heat. Surely this <i>must</i> mean that at last a start was - imminent and that that firm, masterful pressure on the bit would be - released! - </p> - <p> - But Burke had leaned forward to tuck the light dust-rug round Jean’s - knees, and regarding this further delay as beyond bearing the chestnut - created a diversion by going straight up in the air and pirouetting gaily - on her hind legs. - </p> - <p> - “Steady now!” - </p> - <p> - Burke’s calm tones fell rebukingly on the quivering, sensitive ears, - and down came two shining hoofs in response, as the mare condescended to - resume a more normal pose. The next moment she was off at a swinging trot, - breaking every now and again, out of pure exuberance of spirits, into a - canter, sternly repressed by those dominating hands whose quiet mastery - seemed conveyed along the reins as an electric current is carried by a - wire. - </p> - <p> - “You needn’t be afraid,” remarked Burke. “She’ll - settle down in a few minutes. It’s only a ‘stable ahead’ - feeling she’s suffering from. There’s not an ounce of vice in - her composition.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not afraid,” replied Jean composedly. - </p> - <p> - She did not tell him why. But within herself she knew that no woman would - ever be afraid with Geoffrey Burke. Afraid of him, possibly, but never - afraid that he would not be entire master of any situation wherein - physical strength and courage were the paramount necessities. - </p> - <p> - She reflected a little grimly to herself that it was this very - forcefulness which gave the man his unquestionable power of attraction. - There is always a certain fascination in sheer, ruthless strength—a - savour of magnificence about it, something tentatively heroic, which - appeals irresistibly to that primitive instinct somewhere hidden in the - temperamental make-up of even the most ultra-twentieth-century feminine - product. - </p> - <p> - And Jean was quite aware that she herself was not altogether proof against - the attraction of Burke’s dynamic virility. - </p> - <p> - There was another kind of strength which appealed to her far more. She - knew this, too. The still, quiet force that was Tormarin’s—deep, - and unfathomable, and silent, of the spirit as well as of the body. - Contrasted with the savage power she recognised in Burke, it was like the - fine, tempered steel of a rapier compared with a heavy bludgeon. - </p> - <p> - “A penny for your thoughts!” - </p> - <p> - Jean came out of her reverie with a start. She smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t get conceited. I was thinking about you.” - </p> - <p> - “Nice thoughts, I hope, then?” suggested Burke. “It’s - better”—audaciously—“to think well of your future - husband.” - </p> - <p> - The old gipsy’s words flashed into Jean’s mind: “<i>You’m - bound together so fast and firm as weddin-ring could bind </i>’<i>ee,</i>” - and her face flamed scarlet. - </p> - <p> - It was true—at least as far as she was concerned—that no - wedding-ring could bind her more firmly to Blaise than her own heart had - already bound her. - </p> - <p> - The instinct to flirt with Burke was in abeyance. It was an instinct only - born of heartache and unhappiness, and now that Blaise’s mood was so - much less cool and distant than, it had been, the temptation to play with - unexploded bombs had correspondingly lost much of its charm. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t be tiresome, Geoffrey,” she said vexedly. “If - only you would make up your mind to be—just pals, I should think - much better of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to think worse,” he - retorted. - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment they encountered a flock of sheep, ambling leisurely - along towards them and blocking up the narrow roadway, and Jean was spared - the necessity of replying by the fact that Burke immediately found his - hands full, manoeuvring a path for the mare between the broad, curly backs - of the bleating multitude. - </p> - <p> - The drover of the flock was, of course, a hundred yards or more behind his - charges, negligently occupied in relighting his pipe, so that no - assistance was to be looked for in that direction, and as the sheep bumped - against the mare’s legs and crowded up against the wheels of the - trap in their characteristically maddening fashion, it required all Burke’s - skill and dexterity to make a way through the four-footed crowd. - </p> - <p> - The chestnut’s own idea of dealing with the difficulty was to charge - full speed ahead, an idea which by no means facilitated matters, and she - fought her bit and fairly danced with fury as Burke checked her at almost - every yard. - </p> - <p> - They had nearly reached the open road again, and Jean, looking down on the - sea of woolly backs, with the hovering cloud of hoof-driven dust above - them, thought she could fully appreciate the probable feelings of the - Israelites as they approached the further shore of the Red Sea. And it was - just at this inauspicious moment that the drover, having lit his pipe to - his satisfaction, looked up and grasped the situation. - </p> - <p> - Guilty conscience not only makes cowards, but is also prolific in the - creation of fools, and the drover, stung into belated action by the - consciousness of previous remissness, promptly did the most foolish thing - he could. - </p> - <p> - He let off a yell that tore its way through every quivering nerve in the - mare’s body, and with a shout of, “Round ’em, lad!” - sent his dog—a half-trained youngster—barking like a creature - possessed, full tilt in pursuit of the sheep. - </p> - <p> - That settled it as far as the chestnut was concerned. With a bound she - leapt forward, scattering the two or three remaining sheep that still - blocked her path, and the next moment the light, high cart was rocking - like a cockle-shell in a choppy sea, as she tore along, utterly out of - hand. - </p> - <p> - Luckily, for a couple of miles the road ran straight as a dart, and after - the first gasp of alarm Jean found herself curiously collected and able to - calculate chances. At the end of the two miles, she know, there came a - steep declivity—a typical Devonshire hill, like the side of a house, - which the British workman had repaired in his usual crude and inefficient - manner, so that loose stones and inequalities of surface added to the - dangers of negotiation. At the foot of this descent was a sharp double - turn—a veritable death-trap. Could Burke possibly got the mare in - hand before they reached the brow of the hill? Jean doubted it. - </p> - <p> - There was no sound now in all the world except the battering of the mare’s - hoofs upon the road and the screaming rush of the wind in their ears. The - hedges flew past, a green, distorted blur. The strip of road fled away - beneath them as though coiled up by some swift revolving cylinder; ahead, - it ended sheer against a sky blue as a periwinkle, and into that blue they - were rushing at thirty miles an hour. When they reached it, it would be - the end. Jean could almost hear the crash that must follow, sense the - sickening feeling of being flung headlong, hurled into space.... hurtling - down into black nothingness.,.. - </p> - <p> - Her glance sought Burke’s face. His jaw was out-thrust, and she - could guess at the clenched teeth behind the lips that shut like a - rat-trap. His eyes gleamed beneath the penthouse brows, drawn together so - that they almost met above his fighting beak of a nose. - </p> - <p> - In an oddly detached manner she found herself reflecting on the dogged - brute strength of his set face. If anyone could check that flying, - foam-flecked form, rocketing along between the shafts like a red-brown - streak, he could. - </p> - <p> - She wondered how long he would be able to hold the beast—to hang on? - She remembered having heard that, after a time, the strain of pulling - against a runaway becomes too much for human nerves and muscles, and that - a man’s hands grow numb—and helpless! While the dead pull on - the bit equally numbs the mouth of the horse, so that he, too, has no more - any feeling to be played upon by the pressure of the hit. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes dropped to Burke’s hands. With a little inward start of - astonishment she realised that he was not attempting to pull against the - chestnut. He was just holding... holding... steadying her, ever so little, - in her mad gallop. Jean felt the mare swerve, then swing level again, - still answering faintly to the reins. - </p> - <p> - Burke’s hands were very still. She wondered vaguely why—now—he - didn’t pit his strength against that of the runaway. They must have - covered a mile or more. A bare half-mile was all that still lay between - them and disaster. - </p> - <p> - And then, as she watched Burke’s hands, she saw them move, first one - and then the other, sawing the bit against the tender corners of the mare’s - mouth. Jean was conscious of a faint difference in the mad pace of her. - Not enough to be accounted a check—but still <i>something</i>, some - appreciable slackening of the whirlwind rush towards that blue blur of sky - ahead. - </p> - <p> - It seemed as though Burke, too, sensed that infinitesimal yielding to the - saw of the bit. For the first time, he gave a definite pull at the reins. - Then he relaxed the pressure, and again there followed the same sawing - motion and the fret of the steel bar against sensitive, velvet lips. Then - another pull—the man’s sheer strength against the mare’s.... - Jean watched, fascinated. - </p> - <p> - And gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the frenzied beat of the - iron-shod hoofs became more measured as the chestnut shortened her stride. - It was no longer merely the thrashing, thunderous devil’s tattoo of - sheer, panic-driven speed. - </p> - <p> - Now and again Jean could hear Burke’s voice, speaking to the - frightened beast, chiding and reassuring in even, unhurried tones. - </p> - <p> - She was conscious of no fear, only of an absorbing interest and excitement - as to whether Burke would be able to impose his will upon the animal - before they reached that precipitous hill the descent of which must - infallibly spell ‘destruction’. - </p> - <p> - She sat very still, her hands locked together, watching... watching.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII—“WILLING OR UNWILLING!” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was over. A bare - twenty yards from the brow of the bill the man had won, and now the mare - was standing swaying between the shafts, shaking in every limb, her flanks - heaving and the sweat streaming off her sodden coat in little rivulets. - </p> - <p> - Burke was beside her, patting her down and talking to her in a little - intimate fashion much as though he were soothing a frightened child. - </p> - <p> - “You’re all in, aren’t you, old thing?” he - murmured sympathetically. Then he glanced up at Jean, who was still - sitting in the cart, feeling rather as though the end of the world had - occurred and, in some surprising fashion, left her still cumbering the - earth. - </p> - <p> - “She’s pretty well run herself out,” he remarked. - “We shan’t have any more trouble going home”—smiling - briefly. “I hope not,” answered Jean a trifle flatly. - </p> - <p> - “You all right?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, thank you. You must be an excellent whip,” she added. - “I thought the mare would never stop.” - </p> - <p> - Probably even Jean hardly realised the fineness of the horsemanship of - which she had just been a witness—the judgment and coolness Burke - had evinced in letting the mare spend the first freshness of her strength - before he essayed to check her mad pace; the dexterity with which he had - somehow contrived to keep her straight; and finally, the consummate skill - with which, that last half-mile, he had played her mouth, rejecting the - dead pull on the reins—the instinctive error of the mediocre driver—which - so quickly numbs sensation and neutralises every effort to bring a runaway - to a standstill. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I rather thought our number was up,” agreed Burke - absently. He was passing his hands feelingly over the mare to see if she - were all right, and suddenly, with a sharp exclamation, he lifted one of - her feet from the ground and examined it. - </p> - <p> - “Cast a shoe and torn her foot rather badly,” he announced. - “I’m afraid we shall have to stop at the next village and get - her shod. It’s not a mile further on. You and I can have tea at the - inn while she’s at the blacksmith’s.” - </p> - <p> - With a final caress of the steaming chestnut neck, he came back to the - side of the cart, reins in hand. - </p> - <p> - “Can you drive her with a torn foot?” queried Jean. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes. We’ll have to go carefully down this hill, though. - There are such a confounded lot of loose stones about.” - </p> - <p> - He climbed into the dog-cart and very soon they had reached the village, - where the chestnut, tired and subdued, was turned over to the blacksmith’s - ministrations while Burke and Jean made their way to the inn. - </p> - <p> - Tea was brought to them upstairs in a quaint, old-fashioned parlour - fragrant of bygone times. Oaken beams, black with age, supported the - ceiling, and on the high chimneypiece pewter dishes gleamed like silver, - while at either end an amazingly hideous spotted dog, in genuine old - Staffordshire, surveyed the scene with a satisfied smirk. Through the - leaded diamond panes of the window was visible a glimpse of the Moor. - </p> - <p> - “What an enchanting place!” commented Jean, as, tea over, she - made a tour of inspection, pausing at last in front of the window. - </p> - <p> - Burke had been watching her as she wandered about the room, his expression - moody and dissatisfied. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a famous resort for honeymooners,” he answered. - “Do you think”—enquiringly—“it would be a - good place in which to spend a honeymoon?” - </p> - <p> - “That depends,” replied Jean cautiously. “If the people - were fond of the country, and the Moor, and so on—yes. But they - might prefer something less remote from the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you?” - </p> - <p> - “I?”—with detachment. “I’m not contemplating - a honeymoon.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Burke crossed the room to her side. - </p> - <p> - “We might as well settle that point now,” he said quietly. - “Jean, when will you marry me?” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve answered that question before. It isn’t fair of - you to reopen the matter here—and now.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he agreed. “It isn’t fair. In fact, I’m - not sure that it isn’t rather a caddish thing for me to do, seeing - that you can’t get away from me just now. But all’s fair in - love and war. And it’s both love and war between us two”—grimly. - </p> - <p> - “The two things don’t sound very compatible,” fenced - Jean. - </p> - <p> - “It’s only war till you give in—till you promise to - marry me. Then”—a smouldering light glowed in his eyes—“then - I’ll show you what loves means.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid,” she said, attempting to speak coolly, - “that it means war indefinitely then, Geoffrey. I can give you no - different answer.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall!” he exclaimed violently. “I tell you, Jean, - it’s useless your refusing me. I won’t <i>take</i> no. I want - you for my wife—and, by God, I’m going to have you!” - </p> - <p> - She drew away from him a little, backing into the embrasure of the window. - The look in his eyes frightened her. - </p> - <p> - “Whether I will or no?” she asked, still endeavouring to speak - lightly. “<i>My</i> feelings in the matter don’t appear to - concern you at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I’d rather you came willingly—but, if you won’t, - I swear I’ll marry you, willing or unwilling!” - </p> - <p> - He was standing close to her now, staring down at her with sombre, - passion-lit eyes, and instinctively she made a movement as though to elude - him and slip back again into the room. In the same instant his arms went - round her and she was prisoned in a grip from which she was powerless to - escape. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t struggle,” he said, as she strove impotently to - release herself. “I could hold you from now till doomsday without an - effort.” - </p> - <p> - There was a curious thrill in his voice, the triumphant, arrogant leap of - possession. He held her pressed against him, and she could feel his chest - heave with his labouring breath. - </p> - <p> - “You’re mine—mine! My woman—meant for me from the - beginning of the world—and do you think I’ll give you up?... - Give you up? I tell you, if you were another man’s wife I’d - take you away from him! You’re mine—every inch of you, body - and soul. And I want you. Oh, my God, how I want you!” - </p> - <p> - “Let me go... Geoffrey...” - </p> - <p> - The words struggled from her lips. For answer his arms tightened round - her, crushing her savagely, and she felt his kisses burning, scorching her - face, his mouth on hers till it seemed as though he were draining her very - soul. - </p> - <p> - When at last he released her, she leant helplessly against the woodwork of - the window, panting and shaken. Her face was white as a magnolia petal and - her eyes dark-rimmed with purple shadow. - </p> - <p> - A faint expression of compunction crossed Burke’s face. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose—I shall never be forgiven now,” he muttered - roughly. - </p> - <p> - With an effort Jean forced her tongue to answer him. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said in a voice out of which every particle of - feeling seemed to have departed. “You will never be forgiven.” - </p> - <p> - A look of deviltry came into his eyes. He crossed the room and, locking - the door, dropped the key into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “I think,” he remarked coolly, “in that case, I’d - better keep you a prisoner here till you have promised to marry me. It’s - you I want. Your forgiveness can come after. I’ll see to that.” - </p> - <p> - The result of his action was unexpected. Jean turned to the window, - unlatched it, and flung open the casement. - </p> - <p> - “If you don’t unlock that door at once, Geoffrey,” she - said quietly, “I shall leave the room—this way”—with - a gesture that sufficiently explained her meaning. - </p> - <p> - Her voice was very steady. Burke looked at her curiously. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean—you’d jump out?” he asked, openly - incredulous. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes answered him. They were feverishly bright, with an almost - fanatical light in them, and suddenly Burke realised that she was at the - end of her tether, that the emotional stress of the last quarter of an - hour had taken its toll of her high-strung temperament and that she might - even do what she had threatened. He had no conception of the motive behind - the threat—of the imperative determination which had leaped to life - within her to endure or suffer anything rather than stay locked in this - room with Burke, rather than give Blaise, the man who held her heart - between his two hands, ground for misunderstanding or mistrusting her - anew. - </p> - <p> - Burke fitted the key into the lock of the door and turned it sulkily. - </p> - <p> - “You prim little thing! I was only teasing you,” he said. - “Do you mean you’re really as frightened as all that of—<i>what - people may say?</i> I thought you were above minding the gossip of - ill-natured scandal-mongers.” - </p> - <p> - Jean grasped eagerly at the excuse. It would serve to hide the real motive - of her impulsive action. - </p> - <p> - “No woman can afford to ignore scandal,” she answered quickly. - “After all, a woman’s happiness depends mostly on her - reputation.” - </p> - <p> - Burke’s eyes narrowed suddenly. He looked at her speculatively, as - though her words had suggested a new train of thought, but he made no - comment. Somewhat abstractedly he opened the door and allowed her to pass - out and down the stairs. Outside the door of the inn they found the mare - and dog-cart in charge of an ostler. - </p> - <p> - “The mare’s foot’s rather badly torn, sir,” - volunteered the man, “but the blacksmith thinks she’ll travel - all right. Far to go, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Nine or ten miles,” responded Burke laconically. - </p> - <p> - He was curiously silent on the way home. It was as though the chain of - reasoning started by Jean’s comment on the relation scandal bears to - a woman’s happiness still absorbed him. His brows were knit together - morosely. - </p> - <p> - Jean supposed he was probably reproaching himself for his conduct that - afternoon. After all, she reflected, he was normally a man of decent - instincts, and though the flood-tide of his passion had swept him into - taking advantage of the circumstances which had flung them together in the - solitude of the little inn, he would be the first to agree, when in a less - lawless frame of mind, that his conduct had been unpardonable. Although, - even from that, one could not promise that he would not be equally - culpable another time! - </p> - <p> - Blaise had proved painfully correct in his estimate of the dangers - attaching to unexploded bombs. Jean admitted it to herself ruefully. And - she was honest enough also to admit that, with his warning ringing in her - ears and with the memory of what had happened in the rose garden to - illumine it, she herself was not altogether clear of blame for the - incidents of the afternoon. - </p> - <p> - She <i>had</i> played with Burke, even encouraged him to a certain extent, - allowing him to be in her company far more frequently than was altogether - wise, considering the circumstance of his hot-headed love for her. - </p> - <p> - It was with somewhat of a mental start of surprise that she found herself - seeking for excuses for his behaviour—actually trying to supply - adequate reasons why she should overlook it! - </p> - <p> - His brooding, sulky silence as he drove along, mile after mile, was not - without its appeal to the inherent femininity of her. He did not try to - excuse or palliate his conduct, made no attempt to sue for forgiveness. He - loved her and he had let her see it; manlike, he had taken what the - opportunity offered. And she didn’t suppose he regretted it. - </p> - <p> - The faintest smile twitched the comers of her lips. Burke was not the type - of man to regret an unlawful kiss or two! - </p> - <p> - She was conscious that—as usual, where he was concerned—her - virtuous indignation was oozing away in the most discreditable and - hopeless fashion. There was an audacious charm about the man, an - attractiveness that would not be denied in the hot-headed way he went, all - out, for what he wanted. - </p> - <p> - Other women, besides Jean had found it equally difficult to resist. His - sheer virility, with its splendid disregard for other people’s - claims and its conscienceless belief that the battle should assuredly be - to the strong, earned him forgiveness where, for misdeeds not half so - flagrant, a less imperious sinner would have been promptly shown the door. - </p> - <p> - But no woman—not even the women to whom he had made love without the - excuse of loving—had ever shown Burke the door or given him the kind - of treatment which he had thoroughly well merited twenty times over. And - Jean was no exception to the rule. - </p> - <p> - At least he had some genuine claim on her forgiveness—the claim of a - love which had swept through his very bung like a flame, the fierce - passion of a man to whom love means adoration, worship—above all, - possession. - </p> - <p> - And what woman can ever long remain righteously angry with a man who loves - her—and whose very offence is the outcome of the overmastering - quality of that love? Very few, and certainly none who was so very much a - woman, so essentially feminine as Jean. - </p> - <p> - It was in a very small voice, which she endeavoured to make airily - detached, that she at last broke the silence which had reigned for the - last six miles or so. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I shall have to forgive you—more or less. One can’t - exactly quarrel with one’s next door neighbour.” Burke smiled - grimly. - </p> - <p> - “Can’t one?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, there’s Judith to be considered.” - </p> - <p> - “A rather curious expression came into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he agreed. “There’s Judith to be - considered.” There was a hint of irony in the dry tones. - </p> - <p> - “It would complicate matters if I were not on speaking terms with - her brother,” pursued Jean. - </p> - <p> - She waited for his answer, but none came. The threatened possibility - contained in her speech appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, and the - silence seemed likely to continue indefinitely. - </p> - <p> - Jean prompted him gently. - </p> - <p> - “You might, at least, say you are sorry for—for——” - </p> - <p> - “For kissing you?”—swiftly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—flushing a little. - </p> - <p> - “But I’m not. Kissing you”—with deliberation—“is - One of the things I shall never regret. When I come to make my peace with - Heaven and repent in sackcloth and ashes for my sins of omission and - commission, I shan’t include this afternoon in the list, I assure - you. It was worth it—if I pay for it afterwards in hell.” - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a moment. Then: - </p> - <p> - “But I’ll promise you one thing. I’ll never kiss you - again till you give me your lips yourself.” - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled at the characteristic speech. She supposed this was as near an - apology as Burke would ever get. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right, then,” she replied composedly. - “Because I shall never do that.” - </p> - <p> - He flicked the chestnut lightly with the whip. - </p> - <p> - “I think you will,” he said. “I think”—he - looked at her somewhat enigmatically—“that you will give me - everything I want—some day.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII—ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HROUGHOUT the day - following that of the expedition to Dartmoor, Nick seemed determined to - keep out of Jean’s way. It was as though he feared she might force - some confidence from him that he was loth to give, and, in consequence, - deliberately avoided being alone with her. - </p> - <p> - On the second day, however, as luck would have it, she encountered him in - the corridor just outside her own sitting-room. He was striding blindly - along, obviously not heeding where he was going, and had almost collided - with her before he realised that she was there. - </p> - <p> - He jerked himself backwards. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” he muttered, still without looking at - her, and made as though to pass on. - </p> - <p> - Jean checked him with a hand on his sleeve. She had not watched the dogged - sullenness of his face throughout yesterday to no purpose, and now, as her - swift gaze searched it anew, she felt convinced that something fresh had - occurred to stir him. It was impossible for Jean to see a friend in - trouble without wanting to “stand by.” - </p> - <p> - “Nick, old thing, what’s wrong?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - He stared at her unseeingly. “Wrong?” he muttered. “Wrong?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Come in here and let’s talk it out—whatever it is.” - With gentle insistence she drew him into her sitting-room. “How,” - she said, when she had established him in an easy-chair by the open window - and herself in another, “what’s gone wrong? Are you still - boiling over about that trick Sir Adrian played on Claire the day of the - picnic?” - </p> - <p> - She spoke lightly—more lightly than the occasion warranted—of - set purpose, hoping to reduce the tension under which Nick was obviously - labouring. His face hurt her. The familiar lazy insouciance which was half - its charm was blotted out of it by some heavy cloud of tragic - significance. He looked as though he had not slept for days, and his eyes, - the gaiety burnt out of them by pain, seemed sunken in his head. - </p> - <p> - He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he seemed to awaken to the - meaning of her question. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said slowly. “No. The boiling over part is done - with—finished.... I’m going to take her away from him.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke with a curious precision. It frightened Jean far more than any - impetuous outburst of anger could have done. She made no answer for a - moment, but her mind worked rapidly. She did not doubt the absolute - sincerity of his intention. This was no mere reckless boast of an angry - lover, but the sane, considered aim and object of a man who has come, by - way of some long agony of thwarting, to a set determination. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that, Nick?” she asked at last, to gain time. - </p> - <p> - “Do I mean it?” he laughed. Then his hands gripped the arms of - the chair and he leaned forward. “I saw her—last evening after - dinner.... Her shoulder was black.” - </p> - <p> - A sharp cry broke from Jean’s lips. - </p> - <p> - “Not—not—he hadn’t——” - </p> - <p> - Nick nodded. - </p> - <p> - “He had struck her. There was one of the usual scenes when they got - back from the Moor—and he struck her.... It’s the first time - he has ever actually laid hands on her. It’s going to be the last”—grimly. - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent. Her whole soul was in revolt against the half-mad, - drug-ridden creature who was making of Claire’s life a devil - martyrdom; the instinct to protect her, to succour her in some way, - asserting itself with almost passionate force. And yet—— She - knew that Nick’s way was not the right way. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it must be the last time,” she agreed. “But—but, - Nick, your plan won’t do, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Nick stiffened. - </p> - <p> - “Think not?” he said curtly. “Can you suggest a better?” - Then, as Jean remained miserably silent: “Nor can I. And one thing I - swear—I won’t leave the woman I love in the hands of a man who - is practically a maniac, to be tortured day after day, mentally and - physically, just whenever he feels like it.” - </p> - <p> - It struck Jean as curious that Nick had been able, more or less, to keep - himself in hand whilst Sir Adrian inflicted upon Claire whatever of mental - and spiritual torture seemed good in his distorted vision. It was the fact - that he had hurt her physically, laid his hand upon her in actual - violence, which had scattered Nick’s self-control to the four winds - of heaven. To Jean herself, it seemed conceivable that the mental anguish - of Claire’s married life had probably far outstripped any mere - bodily pain. Half tentatively she gave expression to her thoughts. - </p> - <p> - Nick sprang to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” he exclaimed. “If you were a man, you’d - understand! I see red when I think of that damned brute striking the woman - I love. It—it was sacrilege!” - </p> - <p> - “And won’t it be—another kind of sacrilege—if you - take her away with you, Nick?” asked Jean very quietly. - </p> - <p> - He flushed dully. - </p> - <p> - “He’ll divorce her, and then we shall marry,” he - answered. - </p> - <p> - “Even so”—steadily—“it would be doing evil - that good may come.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we’ll do it”—savagely. “It’s - easy enough for you to sit there moralising, perfectly placid and - comfortable. Claire and I have borne all we can. It has been bad enough to - care as we care for each other, and to live apart But when it means that - Claire is to suffer unspeakable misery and humiliation while I stand by - and look on—why, it’s beyond human endurance. You’re not - tempted. You’ve no conception what you’re talking about.” - </p> - <p> - Jean sat very still and silent while Nick stormed out the bitterness of - soul, recognising the truth of every word he littered—even of the - gibes which, in the heedlessness of his own pain, he flung at herself. - </p> - <p> - Presently she got up and moved rather slowly across to his side. - </p> - <p> - “Nick,” she said, and her eyes, looking into his, were very - bright and clear and steady. Somehow for Nick they held the semblance of - two flames, torches of pure light, burning unflickeringly in the darkness. - “Nick, every word you say is true. I’m not tempted as you and - Claire have been, and so it seems sheer cheek my interfering. But I’m - only asking you to do what I pray I’d be strong enough to do myself - in like circumstances. I don’t believe any true happiness can ever - come of running away from duty. And if ever I’m up against such a - thing—a choice like this—I hope to God I’d be able to - hang on... to run straight, even if it half killed me to do it.” - </p> - <p> - The quick, impassioned utterance ceased, and half shrinkingly Jean - realised that she had spoken out of the very depths of her soul, - crystallising in so many words the uttermost ideal and <i>credo</i> of her - being. In some strange, indefinable fashion it was borne in on her that - she had reached an epoch of her life. It was as when a musician, arrived - at the end of a musical period, strikes a chord which holds the keynote of - the ensuing passage. - </p> - <p> - She faltered and looked at Nick beseechingly, suddenly self-conscious, as - we most of us are when we find we have laid bare a bit of our inmost soul - to the possibly mocking eyes of a fellow human being. - </p> - <p> - But Nick’s eyes were not in the least mocking. - </p> - <p> - Instead of that, some of the hardness seemed to have gone out of them, and - his voice was very gentle, as, taking Jean’s two hands in his, he - answered: - </p> - <p> - “I believe <i>you</i> would run straight, little Jean—even if - it meant tearing your heart out of your body to do it. But, you know, you’re - always on the side of the angels—instinctively. I’m only a man—just - an average earthy man”—smiling ruefully—“and my - ideals all tumble down and sit on the ground in a heap when I think of - what my girl’s enduring as Latimer’s wife. I believe I might - stick my part of the business—but I can’t stick it for her.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet,” urged Jean, “if you go away together, Nick, - it’s she who’ll pay, you know. The woman always does. - Supposing—supposing Sir Adrian <i>doesn’t</i> divorce her—refuses - to? It would be just like him to punish her that way. What about Claire—then?” - </p> - <p> - “He <i>would</i> divorce her,” protested Nick harshly. - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so. Honestly, I believe he would get undiluted - satisfaction out of the fact that, as long as he lived, he could stand - between Claire and everything that a normal woman wants—home, and a - sheltered life, and the knowledge that no one can ‘say things’ - about her. Oh, Nick, Nick! Between you—you and Sir Adrian—you’d - make an outcast of Claire, make her life a worse hell with you than it is - without you.” She paused, then went on more quietly: “Have you - said anything to her about this—told her what you want her to do?” - </p> - <p> - “No, not yet—not definitely.” - </p> - <p> - Jean breathed a quick sigh of relief. - </p> - <p> - “Then don’t! Promise me you won’t, Nick?” - </p> - <p> - “She might refuse, after all,” he suggested, evading a direct - answer. - </p> - <p> - “Refuse! You know her better than that. If you wanted Claire to make - a burnt-offering of herself for your benefit to-morrow, you know she’d - do it! And—and”—laughing a little hysterically—“pretend, - too, that she enjoyed the process of being grilled! No, Nick, it’s - up to you to—to just go on helping to make her life bearable, as you - have done for the last two years.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s asking too much of me, Jean.” - </p> - <p> - Nick spoke a little thickly. He was up against one of man’s most - primitive instincts—the instinct to protect and comfort and cherish - the woman he loved. - </p> - <p> - “I know. It’s asking everything of you.” - </p> - <p> - Jean waited. She felt that she had gained a certain amount of ground—that - Nick’s resolution had weakened a little in response to her pleading, - but she feared to drive him too far. She fancied she could hear steps - crossing the hall below. If someone should come upstairs and disturb them - now, while things were still trembling in the balance—— - </p> - <p> - “See, Nick,” she began to speak again hurriedly. “You - believe I’m your pal—yours and Claire’s?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it,” he replied quietly. - </p> - <p> - “And—and you do care a bit about me?”—smiling a - little. - </p> - <p> - “You’re the third woman in my world, Jean. After Claire and my - mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, to please me—for nothing else in the world, if you - like, but because I ask it—will you let things stay as they are for - a few weeks longer? Just that little while, Nick? We’re going to - London next week. That’ll make a break—bring us all back to a - calmer, more everyday outlook on things. Will you wait? Sir Adrian may - never strike Claire again. And it wouldn’t be fair—just now, - at a time when she is feeling horribly bitter and humiliated from that—that - insult—to ask her to go away with you. Give her a fair chance to - decide a big question like that when things are at their normal level—not - when they are worse than usual. To ask her now would be to take advantage - of the feeling she must have, just at this moment, that her life is - unbearable. It wouldn’t be playing the game.” - </p> - <p> - He made no answer, and Jean waited with increasing trepidation. She was - sure now that she could hear footsteps. Someone had mounted the stairs and - was coming along the corridor towards her room. - </p> - <p> - “Nick!” The low, agitated whisper burst from her as the steps - halted outside the door. “Promise me!” - </p> - <p> - It seemed an eternity before he answered. - </p> - <p> - “Very well. I promise. You’ve won for the moment—‘Saint - Jean’!” - </p> - <p> - He smiled at her, rather sadly. Before she could reply, Blaise’s - voice sounded outside the door, asking if he might come in, and with a - feeling of intense relief that the battle was won for the moment, Jean - gave the required permission. As his brother entered the room, Nick - quitted it, brushing past him abruptly. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin’s eyes questioned Jean’s; - </p> - <p> - “We have been discussing Sir Adrian,” she explained, as the - door closed behind Nick. “And—and Claire.” - </p> - <p> - He nodded comprehendingly. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Nick!” he said. “It’s damned rough on - him. Latimer ought to be carefully and quickly chloroformed out of the - way. He’s as much a menace to society as a mad dog.” - </p> - <p> - Jean sighed. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid they’re very unhappy—Nick and Claire.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder Claire doesn’t chuck her husband,” said - Blaise. “And take whatever of happiness she can get out of the - world.” - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “You know you don’t mean that. You don’t really believe - in snatching happiness—at all costs.” - </p> - <p> - “I’d let precious little stand in the way. If I were Nick I - think I should do it.” - </p> - <p> - “But being you?” - </p> - <p> - Jean did not know what unaccountable impulse induced her to give a - personal and individual twist to what had been developing almost into an - academic discussion. Perhaps it was the familiar, unsatisfied longing to - hear Blaise himself define the thing which kept them apart—even - though, since Lady Anne’s disclosure, she could guess only too well - what it was. Or perhaps it was the faint, tormenting hope that one day his - determination would weaken and his love sweep away all barriers. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her contemplatively. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes the past makes claims upon a man which forbid him to - snatch at happiness. I don’t believe in any man’s shirking his - just punishment for the evil he has done. What he has brought on himself, - that he must bear. But Nick and Claire have had no part in bringing about - their own tragedy. They are just the sport of chance—of an ill fate. - They are morally free to take their happiness in a way in which I shall - never be free to take mine, as long as I live.” He regarded her - steadily. “There are certain things for which I have proved myself - unfitted—with which it is evident I am not to be trusted. And one of - those is the safeguarding of any woman’s happiness.” - </p> - <p> - Jean felt her throat contract. It would always be the same, then! The long - tentacles of the past would reach out eternally into the future. The woman - who had been his wife—the woman who had destroyed herself, and, in - so doing, hanged a millstone of remorse about his neck—would stand - forever at the gateway of the garden of happiness, her dead lips silently - denying him—and, with him, the woman who loved him—the right - to enter. - </p> - <p> - With an effort Jean answered that part of his speech which had reference - only to Claire and Nick. - </p> - <p> - “There are other ways, though, in which they have no moral right. I - grant that Claire was persuaded, almost driven into marrying Sir Adrian by - her parents, but, after all, we each have our individual free will. She <i>could</i> - have refused to obey them. Or, if she felt there were reasons why she must - marry him—the material advantage to her parents, and so on, why, she - ought to have reckoned the cost I don’t mean to be hard, Blaise————-” - She broke off wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “You—hard!” He laughed a little, as though amused. - </p> - <p> - “Only—only one must try to be fair all round—to look at - things <i>straight</i>.” - </p> - <p> - She leaned her chin on her palm and her eyes grew thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know, but it seems to me that we weren’t meant - to run away from things—hard things. If a man and a woman marry, - they must accept their responsibilities—not evade them.” - </p> - <p> - So absorbed was she in her trend of thought that she never realised how - directly this speech must strike at Blaise himself. His face changed - slightly. - </p> - <p> - “You’re right, of course,” he said abruptly. “You—generally - are. And if all women were like you, it would be easy enough.” - </p> - <p> - His eyes dwelt with a curious intentness on the pure outline of her face; - on the parted, tenderly curved lips, and the golden eyes with their - momentary touch of the idealist and the dreamer. - </p> - <p> - It seemed as if the quiet intensity of his regard drew her, for slowly she - turned her head and met his gaze, flushing suddenly and faltering under - it. The consciousness of him, of his nearness, swept her from head to - foot, and it seemed to her as though now, in this moment, they were in - closer touch, nearer understanding, than they had ever been. - </p> - <p> - The dreamer and idealist vanished and it was all at once just sheer woman, - passionate and wistful and tremulous, and infinitely alluring, that looked - at him out of the golden eyes. - </p> - <p> - With a stifled exclamation he caught her hands in his. - </p> - <p> - “Beloved——” - </p> - <p> - And the whole of a man’s forbidden, thwarted love vibrated in the - word as he spoke it. - </p> - <p> - Then he bent his head, and for a moment his lips were against her soft - palms.... - </p> - <p> - She stood very still and quiet when he had gone, realising in every - quivering nerve of her that whatsoever the future might bring—even - though Blaise might choose to shut himself away from her again as in the - past and the dividing wall between them rise as high as heaven—she - knew now, without any shadow of doubt or questioning, that he loved her. - </p> - <p> - In the burning utterance of a single word, in the pressure of passionate, - renouncing lips, the assurance had been given, and nothing could ever take - it away again. - </p> - <p> - She spread out her hands, palms upward, and looked at them curiously. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“H</span> AVE you - been <i>very</i> bored, Nick?” - </p> - <p> - The week in London had nearly run its course, and Lady Anne’s eyes - begged charmingly for a negative. Nick accorded it with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “I’m never bored with you, madonna; you know that,” he - said. “And hotel life is always more or less amusing. One comes - across such queer types. There’s one here this evening has been - intriguing me enormously. At a little table by herself—do you see - her? A tall, rather gorgeous-looking being—kind of cross between the - Queen of Sheba and Lucretia Borgia.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne threw a veiled glance in the direction indicated. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she’s a very handsome woman, obviously not English.” - Her eyes travelled onwards towards the door. “I wish Blaise and Jean - would hurry up,” she added impatiently. “They’re taking - an unconscionable time to dress.” - </p> - <p> - The two latter had come in late from a sight-seeing expedition undertaken - on Jean’s behalf, and had only returned to the hotel just as Lady - Anne and Nick were preparing to make their way in to dinner. - </p> - <p> - “For such a deliberate matchmaker, you’re a lot too impatient, - madonna,” commented Nick teasingly. “That they should have - stayed out together until the very last moment ought to have pleased you - immensely.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne made a small grimace. - </p> - <p> - “So it does—theoretically. Only from a practical and purely - material point of view, everything else sinks into insignificance beside - the fact that I am literally starving. Oh!”—joyfully catching - sight of Jean and Tormarin making their way up the room—“Here - they are at last! Collect our waiter, Nick, and let’s begin.” - </p> - <p> - Neither of the late-comers appeared in the least embarrassed by the - tardiness of their arrival, said they responded to tentative enquiries - concerning their afternoon’s amusement with a disappointing lack of - self-consciousness. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne experienced an inward qualm of misgiving. There seemed too calm - and tranquil a camaraderie between the two to please her altogether. It - was as though the last few days had brought about a silent understanding - between them—a wordless compact. - </p> - <p> - She picked up the menu and assumed an absorption in its contents which she - was far from feeling. - </p> - <p> - “What are we all going to eat?” she asked. “I think we - must hurry a little, or we shall be late for the play. Then I shall lose - the exquisite thrill of seeing the curtain go up.” Tormarin looked - entertained. - </p> - <p> - “Does it still thrill you, you absurdly youthful person?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it does. I always consider that the quality of the thrill - produced by the rise of the curtain is the measure of one’s capacity - for enjoyment. When it no longer thrills me, I shall know that I am - getting old and bored, and that I only go to the theatre to kill time and - because everyone else goes.” - </p> - <p> - Dinner proceeded leisurely in spite of Lady Anne’s admonition that - they should hurry, and presently Nick, who had glanced across the room - once or twice as though secretly amused, remarked confidentially: - </p> - <p> - “My Lucretia Borgia lady is taking a quite uncommon interest in - someone of our party. I’m afraid I can’t flatter myself that - she’s lost her heart to me, as I’ve only observed this - development since Jean and Blaise joined us. Blaise, I believe it’s - you who have won her devoted—if, probably, somewhat violent—affections.” - </p> - <p> - “Your Lucretia Borgia lady? Which is she?” enquired Jean. - </p> - <p> - “You can’t see her, because you are sitting with your back to - her,” replied Nick importantly. “And it isn’t manners to - screw your head round in a public restaurant—even although the - modern reincarnation of an unpleasantly vengeful lady may be sitting just - behind you. But if you’ll look into that glass opposite you—a - little to the right side of it—you’ll see who I mean. She’s - quite unmistakable.” - </p> - <p> - Jean tilted her head a little and peered slantwise into the mirror which - faced her. It was precisely at the same moment that Nick’s “Lucretia - Borgia lady” looked up for the second time from her <i>pêche</i> - Melba, and Jean found herself gazing straight into the dense darkness of - the eyes of Madame de Varigny. - </p> - <p> - “Why—why————” she stammered in - astonishment. “It is the Comtesse de Varigny!” She turned to - Lady Anne, adding explanatorily: “You remember, madonna, I told you - about her? She chaperoned me at Montavan, after Glyn had departed.” - </p> - <p> - The recognition had been mutual. Madame de Varigny had half-risen from her - seat and was poised in an attitude of expectancy, smiling and gesturing - with expressive hands an invitation to Jean to join her. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go across and speak to her,” said Jean. “I - can’t imagine what she is doing in London.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you, too, met this rather splendid-looking personage at - Montavan?” enquired Nick of his brother, as Jean quitted the table. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I never spoke to her. I saw her once, on the night of a fancy-dress - ball at the hotel, arrayed as Cleopatra.” - </p> - <p> - “She’d look the part all right,” commented Nick. “She - gives me the impression of being one of those angel-and-devil-mixed kind - of women—the latter flavour preponderating. I should rather feel the - desirability of emulating Agag in any dealings I had with her. Good Lord!”—with - a lively accession of interest—“Jean’s bringing her over - here. By Jove! She really is a beautiful person, isn’t she. Like a - sort of Eastern empress.” - </p> - <p> - “Madame de Varigny wishes to be presented to you, Lady Anne,” - said Jean, and proceeded to effect introductions all round. - </p> - <p> - “I remember seeing you with Mees Peterson at Montavan,” - remarked the Countess, as she shook hands with Blaise, her dark eyes - resting on him curiously. - </p> - <p> - “Join us and finish your dinner at our table,” suggested Lady - Anne hospitably. - </p> - <p> - But Madame de Varigny protested volubly that she had already finished her - meal, though she would sit and talk with them a little if it was - agreeable? It was—quite agreeable. She herself saw to that. No one - could be more charming than she when she chose, and on this occasion she - elected to make herself about as altogether charming as it is possible for - a woman to be, entirely conquering the hearts of Lady Anne and Nick. Her - simple, childlike warm-heartedness of manner was in such almost ludicrous - contrast to her majestic, dark-browed type of beauty that it took them - completely by storm. - </p> - <p> - “This is only just a flying visit that I pay to England,” she - explained artlessly. “It is a great good fortune that I should have - chanced to encounter <i>ma chère Mees Peterson</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s certainly an odd chance brought you to the same hotel,” - agreed Nick. - </p> - <p> - “Is it not?”—delightedly. - </p> - <p> - And, from the frank wonder and satisfaction she evinced at the - coincidence, no one could possibly have surmised that the sole cause and - origin of her “flying visit” was a short paragraph contained - in the <i>Morning Post</i>, a copy of which, by her express order, had - been delivered daily at Chateau Varigny ever since her return thither from - the Swiss Alps. The paragraph referred simply to the arrival at Claridge’s - of Lady Anne Brennan, accompanied by her two sons and Miss Jean Peterson. - </p> - <p> - “And are you making a long stay in London?” enquired Madame de - Varigny. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No. We go back to Staple to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - The other’s face fell. - </p> - <p> - “But how unfortunate! I shall then see nothing of my dear Mees - Peterson.” - </p> - <p> - She seemed so distressed that Lady Anne’s kind heart melted within - her, albeit it accorded ill with her plans to increase the number of her - party. - </p> - <p> - “We are going on to the theatre,” she said impulsively. - “If you have no other engagement, why not come with us? There will - be plenty of room in our box.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny professed herself enchanted. Curiously enough, she - seemed to have no particular wish to draw Jean into anything in the nature - of a private talk, but appeared quite content just to take part in the - general conversation, while her eyes rested speculatively now upon Jean, - now upon Tormarin, as though they afforded her an abstract interest of - some kind. - </p> - <p> - Even at the theatre, where from her corner seat she was able to envisage - the other occupants of the box, she seemed almost as much interested in - them as in the play that was being performed on the stage. Once, as - Tormarin leaned forward and made some comment to Jean, their two pairs of - eyes meeting in a look of mutual understanding of some small joke or - other, the quiet watcher smiled contentedly, as though the little byplay - satisfied some inner questioning. - </p> - <p> - With the fall of the curtain at the end of the first act, she turned to - Lady Anne, politely enthusiastic. - </p> - <p> - “But it is a charming play,” she said. “It is no wonder - the house is so full.” - </p> - <p> - Her glance strayed carelessly over the body of the auditorium, then was - suddenly caught and held. A minute later she touched Jean’s arm. - </p> - <p> - “I think there is someone in the stalls trying to attract your - attention,” she observed quietly. - </p> - <p> - Even as she spoke, Nick, too, became aware of the same fact. - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” he exclaimed. “There’s Geoffrey Burke - down below. I didn’t know he was in town.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny found the effect upon her companions of this apparently - innocent announcement distinctly interesting. It was as though a thrill of - disconcerting consciousness ran through the other occupants of the box. - Jean flushed suddenly and uncomfortably, and the dark, keen eyes that were - watching from behind the fringe of dusky lashes noted an almost - imperceptible change of expression flit across the faces of both Lady Anne - and Tormarin. In neither case was the change altogether indicative of - pleasure. Then, following quickly upon a bow of mutual recognition, the - music of the orchestra suddenly ceased and the curtain went up for the - second act. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Once more the curtain had fallen, and, to the hum of conversation suddenly - released, the lights flashed up into being again over the auditorium. - Simultaneously the door of Lady Anne’s box was opened from the - corridor outside. - </p> - <p> - “May I come in?” said a voice—a pleasant voice with a - gay inflection of laughter running through it as though its owner were - quite sure of his welcome—and Burke, big and striking-looking in his - immaculate evening kit, his ruddy hair flaming wickedly under the electric - lights, strolled into the box. - </p> - <p> - He shook hands all round, his glance slightly quizzical as it met Jean’s, - and then Lady Anne presented him to the Comtesse de Varigny. - </p> - <p> - It almost seemed as though something, some mutual recognition of a kindred - spirit, flashed from the warm southern-dark eyes to the fiery red-brown - ones, and when, a minute or two later, Burke established himself in the - seat next Jean, vacated by Nick, he murmured in a low tone: - </p> - <p> - “Where did you find that Eastern-looking charmer? I feel convinced I - could lose my heart to her without any effort.” - </p> - <p> - Jean could hardly refrain from smiling. This was her first meeting with - Burke since the occasion of the scene which had occurred between them in - the little parlour at the “honeymooners’ inn,” and now - he met her with as much composure and arrogant assurance as though nothing - in the world, other than of a mutually pleasing and amicable nature, had - taken place. It was so exactly like Burke, she reflected helplessly. - </p> - <p> - “Then you had better go and make love to her,” she suggested. - “There happens to be a husband in the background—a little - hypochondriac with quite charming manners—but I don’t suppose - you would consider that any obstacle.” - </p> - <p> - “None,” retorted Burke placidly. “I’m quite - certain she can’t be in love with him. Her taste would be more—robust, - I should say. Where is she stopping?” - </p> - <p> - “At Claridge’s. We met her there this evening. I knew her in - Switzerland.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you shall all come out to supper with me to-morrow:—-the - Countess included.” - </p> - <p> - Jean shook her head demurely. - </p> - <p> - “We shall all be back at Staple to-morrow—the Countess - excepted. You can take her.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the supper must be to-night,” replied Burke serenely. - </p> - <p> - “What are you doing in town, anyway?” asked Jean. “Is - Judith with you?” - </p> - <p> - “No. Came up to see my tailor”—laconically. - </p> - <p> - He crossed the box to arrange matters with Lady Anne, and before the - curtain rose on the last act it was settled that they should all have - supper together after the play. - </p> - <p> - Later, when Burke had once more resumed his seat next to - Jean, Madame de Varigny, whose hearing, like her other senses, was - preternaturally acute, caught a whispered plaint breathed into Nick’s - ear by Lady Anne. - </p> - <p> - “Now <i>isn’t</i> that provoking, Nick, darling? Why on earth - need Geoffrey Burke have turned up in town on our last evening? I was - hoping, later on—if you and I were very discreet and effaced - ourselves—that Blaise and Jean might settle things.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny’s eyes remained fixed upon the stage. There was no - change in their expression to indicate that Lady Anne’s plaintive - murmur had at that moment supplied her with the key of the whole situation - as it lay between Jean and the two men who were sitting one each side of - her. - </p> - <p> - But the following evening, when, the Staple party having left town, she - and Burke were dining alone together at a little restaurant in Soho, the - knowledge she had gleaned bore fruit. - </p> - <p> - Burke never quite knew what impulse it was that had prompted him, as he - made his farewells after the supper-party, to murmur in Madame de Varigny’s - ear, “Dine with me to-morrow night.” It was as though the - dark, mysterious eyes had spoken to him, compelling him to some sort of - friendly overture which the shortness of his acquaintance with their owner - would not normally have inspired. - </p> - <p> - It was not until the coffee and cigarette stage of the little dinner had - been reached that Madame de Varigny suddenly shot her dart. - </p> - <p> - “So you come all the way up from this place, Coombe—Coombe - Eavie?—to see Mees Peterson, and hey, presto! She vanish the next - morning!” - </p> - <p> - Burke stared at her almost rudely. The woman’s perspicacity annoyed - him. - </p> - <p> - “I came up to see my tailor,” he replied curtly. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mais parfaitement!</i>” she laughed—low, melodious - laughter, tinged with a frank friendliness of amusement which somehow - smoothed away Burke’s annoyance at her shrewd summing up of the - situation. “To see your tailor. <i>Naturellement!</i> But you were - not sorry to encounter Mees Peterson also, <i>hein?</i> You enjoyed that?” - </p> - <p> - Burke’s eyes gleamed at her. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think a dog enjoys looking at the bone that’s out of - reach?” he said bluntly. - </p> - <p> - “And is Mees Peterson, then, out of your reach? Me, I do not think - so.” - </p> - <p> - Burke was moved to sudden candour. - </p> - <p> - “She might not be, if it were not that there is another man——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ce Monsieur Tor-ma-rin?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, confound him!” - </p> - <p> - “We-ell”—with a long-drawn inflection compact of gentle - irony. “You should be able to win against this Monsieur Tor-ma-rin. - I think”—regarding him intently—“I think you <i>will</i> - win.” - </p> - <p> - Burke shook his head gloomily. - </p> - <p> - “He had first innings. He met her abroad somewhere—rescued her - in the snow or something. That rescuing stunt always pays with a woman. - All <i>I</i> did”—with a short, harsh laugh—“was - nearly to break her neck for her out driving one day recently!” - </p> - <p> - “Is she engaged to Monsieur Tormarin?” asked Madame do Varigny - quickly. - </p> - <p> - “No. Luckily, there’s some old affair in the past holds him - back.” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. - </p> - <p> - “You shall marry her,” she declared with conviction. “See, - Monsieur Bewrke—<i>aïe, aïe, quel nom!</i> I am <i>clairvoyante, - prophétesse</i>, and I tell you that you weel marry zis leetle brown Jean.” - </p> - <p> - Her foreign accent strengthened with her increasing emphasis. - </p> - <p> - Burke looked dubious. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid your clairvoyance will fail this journey madame. - She’ll probably marry Tormarin—unless”—his eyes - glinting—“I carry her off by force.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny shook her head emphatically. - </p> - <p> - “But <i>no!</i> I do not see it like that. <i>Eh bien!</i> If she - become <i>fiancée</i>—engaged to him—you shall come to me, and - I will tell you how to make sure that she shall not marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me now!” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Non, non!</i> Win her your own way. Only, if you do not succeed, - if Monsieur Tormarin wins her—why, then, come to visit me at Château - Varigny.” - </p> - <p> - That night a letter written in the Comtesse de Varigny’s flowing - foreign handwriting sped on its way to France. - </p> - <p> - “Matters work towards completion,” it ran. “My visit - here has chanced <i>bien à propos</i>. There is another would-be-lover - besides Blaise Tormarin. I have urged him on to win her if he can, for if - I have not wrongly estimated Monsieur Tormarin—and I do not think I - have—he is of the type to become more deeply in love and less able - to master his feelings if he realises that he has a rival. At present he - refrains from declaring himself. The opposition of a rival will probably - drive him into a declaration very speedily. When the dog sees the bone - about to be taken from him—he snaps! So I encourage this red-headed - lion of a man, Monsieur Burke, to pursue his <i>affaire du cour</i> with - vigour. For if Blaise Tormarin becomes actually betrothed to Mademoiselle - Peterson, it will make his punishment the more complete. I pray the God of - Justice that it may not now be long delayed!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV—ARRANGED BY TELEPHONE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE visit to - London, if it had not been prolific in the results which Lady Anne had - hoped for, had at least accomplished certain things. - </p> - <p> - It had acted as a brake upon the swiftly turning wheels of two lives - precariously poised at the top of that steep hill of which no traveller - can see the end, but which very surely leads to heartbreak and disaster, - and had sufficed, as Jean had suggested that it might, to restore Nick to - a more normal and temperate state of mind. - </p> - <p> - He and Claire had passed a long hour alone together the day after his - return to Staple, and now that the first violent reaction, the first - instinctive impulse of unbearable revolt from Sir Adrian’s spying - and brutality had spent itself they had agreed to shoulder once more the - burden fate had laid upon them, to fight on again, just holding fast to - the simple knowledge of their love for one another and leaving the - ultimate issue to that great, unfathomable Player who “hither and - thither moves, and mates, and slays,” not with the shadowed vision - of our finite eyes but with the insight of eternity. - </p> - <p> - Jean had seen them coming hand in hand through the cool green glades of - the wood where the great decision had been taken, and something in the two - young, stern-set faces brought a sudden lump into her throat. She turned - swiftly aside, avoiding a meeting, feeling as though here was holy ground - upon which not even so close a friend as she could tread without - violation. - </p> - <p> - To Jean herself the week in London had brought a certain, new tranquillity - of spirit. Quite ordinarily and without effort—thanks to Lady Anne’s - skilful stage-management—she and Blaise had been constantly in each - other’s company, and, with the word “Beloved” murmuring - in her heart like some tender undertone of melody, the hours they had - shared together were no longer a mingled ecstacy and pain, marred by - torturing doubts and fears, but held once more the old magic of that - wonder-day at Montavan. - </p> - <p> - Somehow, the dividing line did not seem to matter very much, now that she - was sure that Blaise, on his side of it, was loving her just as she, on - hers, loved him. Indeed, at this stage Jean made no very great demands on - life. After the agony of uncertainty of the last few months, the calm - surety that Blaise loved her seemed happiness enough. - </p> - <p> - Other sharp edges of existence, too, had smoothed themselves down—as - sharp edges have a knack of doing if you wait long enough. Burke seemed to - have accepted her last answer as final, and now spared her the effort of - contending further with his tempestuous love-making, so that she felt able - to continue her friendship with Judith, and her consequent visits to - Willow Ferry, with as little <i>gêne</i> as though the episode at the - “honeymooners’ inn” had never taken place. She even - began to believe that Burke was genuinely slightly remorseful for his - behaviour on that particular occasion. - </p> - <p> - Apparently he had not made a confidant of his sister over the matter, for - it was without the least indication of a back thought of any kind that she - approached Jean on the subject of spending a few days with herself and - Geoffrey at their bungalow on the Moor. - </p> - <p> - “Geoff and I are going for a week’s blow on Dartmoor, just by - way of a ‘pick-me-up.’ Come with us, Jean; it will do you good - after stuffy old London—blow the cobwebs away!” - </p> - <p> - But here, at least, Jean felt that discretion was the better part of - valour. It was true that Burke appeared fairly amenable to reason just at - present, but in the informal companionship of daily life in a moorland - bungalow it was more than probable that he would become less manageable. - And she had no desire for a repetition of that scene in the inn parlour. - </p> - <p> - Therefore, although the Moor, with its great stretches of gold and purple, - its fragrant, heatherly breath and its enfolding silences, appealed to her - in a way in which nothing else on earth seemed quite to appeal, pulling at - her heartstrings almost as the nostalgia for home and country pulls at the - heartstrings of a wanderer, she returned a regretful negative to Judith’s - invitation. So Burke and Mrs. Craig packed up and departed to Three Fir - Bungalow without her, and life at Staple resumed the even tenor of its - way. - </p> - <p> - The weather was glorious, the long, hot summer days melting into balmy - nights when the hills and dales amid which the old house was set were - bathed in moonlight mystery—transmuted into a wonderland of - phantasy, cavernous with shadow where undreamed-of dragons lurked, lambent - with opalescent fields of splendour whence uprose the glimmer of - half-visioned palaces or the battlemented walls of some ethereal fairy - castle. - </p> - <p> - More than once Jean’s thoughts turned wistfully towards the Moor - which she had so longed to see by moonlight—Judith’s “holy - of holies that God must have made for His spirits”—and she - felt disposed to blame herself for the robust attack of caution which had - impelled her to refuse the invitation to the bungalow. - </p> - <p> - “One loses half the best things in life by being afraid,” she - told herself petulantly. “And a second chance to take them doesn’t - come!” - </p> - <p> - She felt almost tempted to write to Judith and propose that she should - join her at the bungalow for a few days after all if she still had room - for her. And then, as is often the way of things just when we are - contemplating taking the management of affairs into our own hands, the - second chance offered itself without any directing impulse on Jean’s - part. - </p> - <p> - The telephone bell rang, and Jean, who was expecting an answer to an - important message she had ’phoned through on Lady Anne’s - behalf, hastened to answer it. Very much to her surprise she found that it - was Burke who was speaking at the other end of the wire. - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Geoffrey?” she exclaimed in astonishment. - “I didn’t know your bungalow was on the telephone. I thought - you were miles from anywhere!” - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t. And we are,” came back Burke’s voice. - From a certain quality in it she knew that he was smiling. “I’m - in Okehampton, ’phoning from a pal’s house. I’ve a - message for you from Judy.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye-es?” intoned Jean enquiringly. - </p> - <p> - “She wants you to come up to-morrow, just for one night. It’ll - be a full moon and she says you have a hankering to see the Moor by - moonlight. Have you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, oh yes!”—with enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - “Thought so. It certainly does look topping. Quite worth seeing. - Well, look here, Judy’s got a party of friends, down from town, who - are coming over to us from the South Devon side—going to drive up - and stay the night, and the idea is to do a moonlight scramble up on to - the top of one of the tors after supper. Are you game?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! How heavenly!” This, ecstatically, from Jean. - </p> - <p> - “How what?” - </p> - <p> - “Heavenly! <i>Heavenly!</i>”—with increasing emphasis. - </p> - <p> - “Can’t you hear?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ‘heavenly’—yes, I hear. Yes, it would be - rather—if you came.” - </p> - <p> - Even through the’phone Burke’s voice conveyed something of - that upsettingly fiery ardour of his. - </p> - <p> - “I won’t come—unless you promise to behave,” said - Jean warningly. - </p> - <p> - Bubbling over with pleasure at the prospect unfolded by the invitation, - she found it a little difficult to infuse a befitting sternness into her - tones. - </p> - <p> - “Do I need to take fresh vows?” came back Burke’s - answer, spoken rather gravely. “I made you a promise that day—when - we drove back from Dartmoor. I’ll keep that.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>I’ll never hiss you again till you give me your lips - yourself.</i>” - </p> - <p> - The words of the promise rushed vividly into Jean’s mind, and now - that steady voice through the ’phone, uttering its quiet endorsement - of the assurance given, made her feel suddenly ashamed of her suspicions. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, I’ll come then,” she said hastily. “How - shall I get to you?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s all planned, because we thought—at least we hoped—you’d - come. If you’ll come down to Okehampton by the three o’clock - train from Coombe Eavie, I’ll meet you there with the car and drive - you up to the bungalow. Judy is going to drive into Newton Abbot early, to - do some marketing, and afterwards she’ll lunch with her London - people—the Holfords. Then they’ll all come up together in the - afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “I see. Very well. I’ll come to Okehampton by the three train - to-morrow afternoon”—repeating his instructions carefully. - </p> - <p> - “Right. That’s all fixed, then.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite. <i>Mind</i> you also fix a fine day—or night, rather! - Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - A murmured farewell came back along the wire, and then Jean, replacing the - receiver in its clip, ran off to apprise Lady Anne of the arrangements - made. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne looked up from some village charity accounts which were - puckering her smooth brow to smile approval. - </p> - <p> - “How nice, dear! Quite a charming plan—you’ll enjoy it. - Especially as there will be nothing to amuse you here to-morrow. I have - two village committees to attend—I’m in the chair, so I must - go. And Blaise, I know, is booked for a busy day with the estate agent, - while Nick is going down to South Devon somewhere for a day’s - fishing. I think he goes down to-night. Really, it’s quite unusually - lucky that Judith should have fixed on to-morrow for her moonlight party.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI—MOONLIGHT ON THE MOOR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moorland air, - warm with its subtle fragrance of gorse—like the scent of peaches - when the sun is shining on them—tonic with the faint tang of salt - borne by clean winds that had swept across the Atlantic, came to Jean’s - nostrils crisp and sparkling as a draught of golden wine. - </p> - <p> - Before her, mile after mile, lay the white road—a sword of - civilisation cleaving its way remorselessly across the green wilderness of - mossy turf, and on either side rose the swelling hills and jagged peaks of - the great tors, melting in the far distance into a vague, formless blur of - purple that might be either cloud or tor as it merged at last into the dim - haze of the horizon. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, blessed, blessed Moor!” exclaimed Jean. “How I love - it! You know, half the people in the world haven’t the least idea - what Dartmoor is like. I was enthusing to a woman about it only the other - day and she actually said, ‘Oh, yes—Dartmoor. It’s quite - flat, I suppose, isn’t it?’ <i>Flat!</i>” with sweeping - disgust. - </p> - <p> - Burke, his hand on the wheel of the big car which was eating up the miles - with the facility of a boa-constrictor swallowing rabbits, smiled at the - indignant little sniff with which the speech concluded. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t like dead levels, then?” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No, I like hills—something to look up to—to climb.” - </p> - <p> - “Spiritual as well as temporal?” - </p> - <p> - She was silent a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes, I think I do.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled sardonically. - </p> - <p> - “It’s just that terrible angelic tendency of yours I complain - of. It’s too much for any mere material man to live up to. I wish - you’d step down to my low level occasionally. You don’t seem - to be afflicted with human passions like the rest of us”—he - added, a note of irritation in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I am!” - </p> - <p> - Jean spoke impulsively, out of the depths of that inner, almost - unconscious self-knowledge which lies within each one of us, dormant until - some lance-like question pricks it into spontaneous affirmation. She had - hardly heeded whither the conversation was tending, and she regretted her - frank confession the instant it had left her lips. - </p> - <p> - Burke turned and looked at her with a curious speculation in his glance. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if that’s true?” he said consideringly. - “If so, they’re still asleep. I’d give something to be - the one to rouse them.” - </p> - <p> - There was the familiar, half-turbulent quality in his voice—the - sound as of something held in leash. Jean sensed the danger in the - atmosphere. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll house one of them—the quite ordinary, - commonplace one of bad temper, if you talk like that,” she replied - prosaically. “You’ve got to play fair, Geoffrey—keep the - spirit of the law as well as the letter.” - </p> - <p> - “All’s fair in love and war—as I told you before,” - he retorted. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey”—indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “Jean!”—mimicking her. “Well, we won’t - quarrel about it now. Here we are at our journey’s end. Behold the - carriage drive!” - </p> - <p> - The car swung round a sharp bend and then bumped its way up a roughly-made - track which served to link a species of cobbled yard, constructed at one - side of the bungalow, to the road along which they had come. - </p> - <p> - The track cleaved its way, rather on the principle of a railway cutting, - clean through the abrupt acclivity which flanked the road that side, and - rising steeply between crumbling, overhanging banks, fringed with coarse - grass and tufted with straggling patches of gorse and heather, debouched - on to a broad plateau. Here the road below was completely hidden from - view; on all sides there stretched only a limitless vista of wild - moorland, devoid of any sign of habitation save for the bare, creeperless - walls of the bungalow itself. - </p> - <p> - As the scene unfolded, Jean became suddenly conscious of a strange sense - of familiarity. An inexplicable impress sion of having seen the place on - some previous occasion, of familiarity with every detail of it—even - to a recognition of its peculiar atmosphere of loneliness—took - possession of her. For a moment she could not place the memory. Only she - knew that it was associated in her mind with something disagreeable. Even - now, as, at Burke’s dictation, she waited in the car while he - entered the bungalow from the back, passing through in order to admit his - guest by way of the front door, which had been secured upon the inside, - she was aware of a feeling of intense repugnance. - </p> - <p> - And then, in a flash, recollection returned to her. This was the house of - her dream—of the nightmare vision which had obsessed her during the - hours of darkness following her first meeting with Geoffrey Burke. - </p> - <p> - There stood the solitary dwelling, set amid a wild and desolate country, - and to one side of it grew three wretched-looking, scrubby little fir - trees, all of them bent in the same direction by the keen winds as they - came sweeping across the Moor from the wide Atlantic. Three Fir Bungalow! - Why, the very name itself might have prewarned her! - </p> - <p> - Her eyes fixed themselves on the green-painted door. She knew quite well - what must happen next. The door would open and reveal Burke standing on - the threshold. She watched it with fascinated eyes. - </p> - <p> - Presently came the sound of steps, then the grating noise of a key turning - stiffly in the lock. The door was flung open and Burke strode across the - threshold and came to the side of the car to help her out. Jean waited, - half terrified, for his first words. Would they be the words of her dream? - She felt that if he chanced to say jokingly, “Will you come into my - parlour?” she should scream. - </p> - <p> - “Go straight in, will you?” said Burke. “I’ll just - run the car round to the garage and then we might as well get tea ready - before the others come. I’m starving, aren’t you?” - </p> - <p> - The spell was broken. The everyday, commonplace words brought with them a - rush of overpowering relief, sweeping away the dreamlike sense of - unreality and terror, and as Jean nodded and responded gaily, “Absolutely - famished!” she could have laughed aloud at the ridiculous fears - which had assailed her. - </p> - <p> - The inside of the bungalow was in charming contrast to its somewhat - forbidding exterior. Its living-rooms, furnished very simply but with a - shrewd eye to comfort, communicated one with the other by means of double - doors which, usually left open, obviated the cramped feeling that the - comparatively small size of the rooms might otherwise have produced, while - the two lattice windows which each boasted were augmented by French - windows opening out on to a verandah which ran the whole length of the - building. - </p> - <p> - Jean, having delightedly explored the front portion of the bungalow, - joined Burke in the kitchen, guided thither by the clinking of crockery - and the cheerful crackle of a hearth fire wakened into fresh life by the - scientific application of a pair of bellows. - </p> - <p> - “I had no idea you were such a domesticated individual,” she - remarked, as she watched him carefully warming the brown earthenware - teapot as a preliminary to brewing the tea while she busied herself making - hot buttered toast. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Judy and I are quite independent up here, I assure you,” - he answered with pardonable pride. “We never bring any of the - servants from Willow Ferry, but cook for ourselves. A woman comes over - every morning to do the ‘chores’—clean the place, and - wash up the dishes from the day before, and so on. But beyond that we are - self-sufficing.” - </p> - <p> - “Where does your woman come from? I didn’t see a house for - miles round.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you can’t see the place, but there’s a little - farmstead, tucked away in a hollow about three miles from here, which - provides us with cream and butter and eggs—-and with our char-lady.” - </p> - <p> - Jean surveyed with satisfaction a rapidly mounting pile of delicately - browned toast, creaming with golden butter. - </p> - <p> - “There, that’s ready,” she announced at last. “I - do hope Judy and Co. will arrive soon. Hot buttered toast spoils with - keeping; it gets all sodden and tastes like underdone shoe leather. Do you - think they’ll be long?” - </p> - <p> - Burke threw a glance at the grandfather’s clock ticking solemnly - away in a corner of the kitchen. - </p> - <p> - “It’s half-past four,” he said dubiously. “I don’t - think we’ll risk that luscious-looking toast of yours by waiting for - them. I’m going to brew the tea; the kettle’s boiling.” - </p> - <p> - “Won’t Judith think it rather horrid of us not to wait?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Lord, no! Judy and I never stand on any ceremony with each - other. Any old thing might happen to delay them a bit.” - </p> - <p> - Jean, frankly hungry after her spin in the car through the invigorating - moorland air, yielded without further protest, and tea resolved itself - into a jolly little <i>tête-à-tète</i> affair, partaken of in the shelter - of the verandah, with the glorious vista of the Moor spread out before her - delighted eyes. - </p> - <p> - Burke was in one of those rare moods of his which never failed to inspire - her with a genuine liking for him—when the unruly, turbulent devil - within him, so hardly held in check, was temporarily replaced by a certain - spontaneous boyishness of a distinctly endearing quality—that - “little boy” quality which, in a grown man, always appeals so - irresistibly to any woman. - </p> - <p> - The time slipped away quickly, and it was with a shock of astonishment - that Jean realised, on glancing down at the watch on her wrist, that over - an hour and a half had gone by while they had been sitting chatting on the - verandah. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey! Do you know it’s nearly six o’clock! I’m - certain something must have happened. Judy and the Holfords would surely - be here by now if they hadn’t had an accident of some sort.” - </p> - <p> - Burke looked at his own watch. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he acquiesced slowly. “It is—getting late.” - A look of concern spread itself over Jean’s face. - </p> - <p> - “I think we ought to get the car out again and go and see if - anything has happened,” she said decisively. “They may have - had a spill. Were they coming by motor?” - </p> - <p> - “No. Judy drove down to Newton Abbot in the dog-cart, and the - Holfords proposed hiring some sort of conveyance from a livery stable.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I expect they’ve had a smash of some kind. I’m - sure we ought to go and find out! Was Judy driving that excitable chestnut - of yours?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No—a perfectly well-conducted pony, as meek as Moses. We’ll - give them a quarter of an hour more. If they don’t turn up by then, - I’ll run the car out and we’ll investigate.” - </p> - <p> - The minutes crawled by on leaden feet. Jean felt restless and uneasy and - more than a trifle astonished that Burke should manifest so little anxiety - concerning his sister’s whereabouts. Then, just before the quarter - of an hour was up, there came the shrill tinkle of a bicycle bell, and a - boy cycled up to the gate and, springing off his machine, advanced up the - cobbled path with a telegram in his hand. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s face blanched, and she waited in taut suspense while Burke - ripped open the ominous orange-coloured envelope. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” she asked nervously. “Have they—is - it bad news?” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause before Burke answered. Then, he handed the flimsy sheet - to her, remarking shortly: - </p> - <p> - “They’re not coming.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s eyes flew along the brief message. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “<i>Returning to-morrow. Am staying the night with Holfords. - Judy</i>.” - </pre> - <p> - Her face fell. - </p> - <p> - “How horribly disappointing!” Her glance fluttered, - regretfully to the faint disc of the moon showing like a pallid ghost of - itself in a sky still luminous with the afternoon sunlight. - </p> - <p> - “I shan’t see my moonlit Moor to-night after all!” she - continued. “I wonder what has happened to make them change their - plans?” - </p> - <p> - Burke volunteered no suggestion but stood staring moodily at the swiftly - receding figure of the telegraph boy. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” Jean braced herself to meet the disappointment, - “there’s nothing for it but for you to run me back home, - Geoffrey. We ought to start at once.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. I’ll go and get the car out,” he answered. - “I suppose it’s the only thing to be done.” - </p> - <p> - He moved off in the direction of the garage, Jean walking rather - disconsolately beside him. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>am</i> disappointed!” she declared. “I just hate - the sight of a telegraph boy! They always spoil things. I rather wonder - you get your telegrams delivered at this outlandish spot,” she added - musingly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course we have to pay mileage. There’s no free - delivery to the ‘back o’ beyond’!” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke, Burke vanished into the semi-dusk of the garage, and - presently Jean heard sounds suggestive of ineffectual attempts to start - the engine, accompanied by a muttered curse or two. A few minutes later - Burke reappeared, looking Rather hot and dusty and with a black smear of - oil across his cheek. - </p> - <p> - “You’d better go back to the bungalow,” he said gruffly. - </p> - <p> - “There’s something gone wrong with the works, and it will take - me a few minutes to put matters right.” - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded sympathetically and retreated towards the house, leaving him - to tinker with the car’s internals. It was growing chilly—the - “cool of the evening” manifests itself early up on Dartmoor—and - she was not at all sorry to find herself indoors. The wind had dropped, - but a curious, still sort of coldness seemed to be permeating the - atmosphere, faintly moist, and, as Jean stood at the window, gazing out - half absently, she suddenly noticed a delicate blur of mist veiling the - low-lying ground towards the right of the bungalow. Her eyes hurriedly - swept the wide expanse in front of her. The valleys between the distant - tors were hardly visible. They had become mere basins cupping wan lakes of - wraithlike vapour which, even as she watched them, crept higher, inch by - inch, as though responding to some impulse of a rising tide. - </p> - <p> - Jean had lived long enough in Devonshire by this time to know the risks of - being caught in a mist on Dartmoor, and she sped out of the room, - intending to go to the garage and warn Burke that he must hurry. He met - her on the threshold of the bungalow, and she turned back with him into - the room she had just quitted. - </p> - <p> - “Are you ready?” she asked eagerly. “There’s a - regular moor mist coming on. The sooner we start the better.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her oddly. He was rather pale and his eyes were curiously - bright. - </p> - <p> - “The car won’t budge,” he said. “I’ve been - tinkering at her all this time to no purpose.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at him, a vague apprehension of disagreeable possibilities - presenting itself to her mind. Their predicament would be an extremely - awkward one if the car remained recalcitrant! - </p> - <p> - “Won’t budge?” she repeated. “But you must make it - budge, Geoffrey. We can’t—we can’t <i>stay</i> here! - What’s gone wrong with it?” - </p> - <p> - Burke launched out into a string of technicalities which left Jean with a - confused feeling that the mechanism of a motor must be an invention of the - devil designed expressly for the chastening of human nature, but from - which she succeeded in gathering the bare skeleton fact that something had - gone radically wrong with the car’s running powers. - </p> - <p> - Her apprehensions quickened. - </p> - <p> - “What are we to do?” she asked blankly. - </p> - <p> - “Make the best of a bad job—and console each other,” he - suggested lightly. - </p> - <p> - She frowned a little. It did not seem to her quite the moment for jesting. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey,” she said sharply. - “We’ve got to get back <i>somehow</i>. What can you do?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t do anything more than I’ve done. Here we are - and here we’ve got to stay.” - </p> - <p> - “You know that’s impossible,” she said, in a quick, low - voice. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her with a sudden devil-may-care glint in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You never can tell beforehand whether things are impossible or not. - I know I used to think that heaven on earth was—impossible,” - he said slowly. “I’m not so sure now.” He drew a step - nearer her. “Would you mind so dreadfully if we had to stay here, - little Miss Prunes-and-Prisms?” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at him in amazement—in amazement which slowly turned to - incredulous horror as a sudden almost unbelievable idea flashed into her - mind, kindled into being by the leaping, half-exultant note in his tones. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey———” Her lips moved stiffly, even - to herself, her voice sounded strange and hoarse. “Geoffrey, I don’t - believe there is anything wrong with the car at all!... Or if there is, - you’ve tampered with it on purpose.... You’re not being - straight with me——” - </p> - <p> - She broke off, her startled gaze searching his face as though she would - wring the truth from him. Her eyes were very wide and dilated, but back of - the anger that blazed in them lurked fear—stark fear. - </p> - <p> - For a moment Burke was silent. Then he spoke, with a quiet deliberateness - that held something ominous, inexorable, in its very calm. - </p> - <p> - “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’ve not - been straight with you. But I’ll be frank with you now. The whole - thing—asking you to come here to-day, the moonlight expedition for - to-night—everything—was all fixed up, planned solely to get - you here. The car won’t run for the simple reason that I’ve - put it out of action. I wasn’t quite sure whether or no you could - drive a car, you see!” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t,” said Jean. Her voice was quite - expressionless. - </p> - <p> - “No? So much the better, then. But I wasn’t going to leave any - weak link in the chain by which I hold you.” - </p> - <p> - “By which you hold me?” she repeated dully. She felt stunned, - incapable of protest, only able to repeat, parrotlike, the words he had - just used. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Don’t you understand the position? It’s clear - enough, I should think!” He laughed a little recklessly. “Either - you promise to marry me, in which case I’ll take you home at once—the - car’s not damaged beyond repair—or you stay here, here at the - bungalow with me, until tomorrow morning.” - </p> - <p> - With a sharp cry she retreated from him, her face ash-white. - </p> - <p> - “No—no! Not that!” The poignancy of that caught-back cry - wrenched the words from his lips in hurrying, vehement disclaimer. “You’ll - be perfectly safe—as safe as though you were my sister. Don’t - look like that.... Jean! Jean! Could you imagine that I would hurt you—you - when I worship—my little white love?” The words rushed out in - a torrent, hoarse and shaken and passionately tender. “Before God, - no! You’ll be utterly safe, Jean, sweetest, beloved—I swear - it!” His voice steadied and deepened. “Sacred as the purest - love in the whole world could hold you.” He was silent a moment; - then, as the tension in her face gradually relaxed, he went on: “But - the world won’t know that!” The note of tenderness was gone - now, swept away by the resurgence of a fierce relentlessness—triumphant, - implacable—that meant winning at all costs. “The world won’t - know that,” he repeated. “After tonight, for your own sake—because - a woman’s reputation cannot stand the breath of scandal, you’ll - be <i>compelled</i> to marry me. You’ll have no choice.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stood quite still, staring in front of her. Once her lips moved, but - no sound came from them. Slowly, laboriously almost, she was realising - exactly what had happened, her mind adjusting itself to the recognition of - the trap in which she had been caught. - </p> - <p> - Her dream had come true, after all—horribly, inconceivably true. - </p> - <p> - The heavy silence which had fallen seemed suddenly filled with the - dream-Burke’s voice—mocking and exultant: - </p> - <p> - “... you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast for ever. It’s - too late to try and run away.... It’s too late.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII—INTO THE MIST - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“T</span> HEN that - telegram—that telegram from Judy—I suppose that was all part - of the plan?” - </p> - <p> - Jean felt the futility of the question even while she asked it. The answer - was so inevitable. - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—briefly. “I knew that Judy meant staying the - night with her friends before she went away. She sent the wire—because - I asked her to.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Judy did that?</i>” - </p> - <p> - There was such an immeasurable anguish of reproach in the low, - quick-spoken whisper that Burke felt glad Judith was not there to hear it. - Had it been otherwise, she might have regretted the share she had taken in - the proceedings, small as it had been. She was not a man, half-crazed by - love, in whose passion-blurred vision nothing counted save the winning of - the one woman, nor had she known Burke’s plan in its entirety. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Judy sent the wire,” he said.. “But give her so - much credit, she didn’t know that I intended—this. She only - knew that I wanted another chance of seeing you alone—of asking you - to be my wife, and I told her that you wouldn’t come up to the - bungalow unless you believed that she would be there too. I didn’t - think you’d trust yourself alone with me again—after that - afternoon at the inn”—with blunt candour. - </p> - <p> - “No. I shouldn’t have done.” - </p> - <p> - “So you see I had to think of something—some way. And it was - you yourself who suggested this method.” - </p> - <p> - “I?”—incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Don’t you remember what you told me that day I drove you - back from Dartmoor ‘<i>A woman’s happiness depends upon her - reputation</i>.’” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him quickly, recalling the scattered details of that - afternoon—Burke’s gibes at what he believed to be her fear of - gossiping tongues and her own answer to his taunts: “No woman can - afford to ignore scandal.” And then, following upon that, his - sudden, curious absorption in his own thoughts. - </p> - <p> - The remembrance of it all was like a torchlight flashed into a dark place, - illuminating what had been hidden and inscrutable. She spoke swiftly. - </p> - <p> - “And it was then—that afternoon—you thought of this?” - </p> - <p> - He bent his head. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he acknowledged. - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent. It was all clear now—penetratingly so. - </p> - <p> - “And the Holfords? Are there any such people?” she asked - drearily. - </p> - <p> - She scarcely knew what prompted her to put so purposeless and unimportant - a question. Actually, she felt no interest at all in the answer. It could - not make the least difference to her present circumstances. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was a little the feeling that this trumpery process of question - and answer served to postpone the inevitable moment when she must face the - situation in which she found herself—face it in its simple - crudeness, denuded of unessential whys and wherefores. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, the Holfords are quite real,” answered Burke. - “And so is the plan for an expedition to one of the tors by - moonlight. Only it will be carried out to-morrow night instead of - to-night. To-night is for the settlement between you and me.” - </p> - <p> - The strained expression of utter, shocked incredulity was gradually - leaving Jean’s face. The unreal was becoming real, and she knew now - what she was up against; the hard, reckless quality of Burke’s voice - left her no illusions. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey,” she said quietly, “you won’t really do - this thing?” - </p> - <p> - If she had hoped to move him by a simple, straightforward appeal to the - best that might be in him, she failed completely. For the moment, all that - was good in him, anything chivalrous which the helplessness of her - womanhood might have invoked, was in abeyance. He was mere primitive man, - who had succeeded in carrying off the woman he meant to mate and was - prepared to hold her at all costs. - </p> - <p> - “I told you I would compel you,” he said doggedly. “That - I would let nothing in the world stand between you and me. And I meant - every word I said. You’ve no way out now—except marriage with - me.” - </p> - <p> - The imperious decision of his tone roused her fighting spirit. - </p> - <p> - “Do you imagine,” she broke out scornfully, “that—after - this—I would ever marry you?... I wouldn’t marry you if you - were the last man on earth! I’d die sooner!” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay you would,” he returned composedly. “You’ve - too much grit to be afraid of death. Only, you see, that doesn’t - happen to be the alternative. The alternative is a smirched reputation. - Tarnished a little—after to-night—even if you marry me; - dragged utterly in the mire if you refuse. I’m putting it before you - with brutal frankness, I know. But I want you to realise just what it - means and to promise that you’ll be my wife before it’s too - late—while I can still get you back to Staple during the hours of - propriety”—smiling grimly. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him with a slow, measured glance of bitter contempt. - </p> - <p> - “Even a tarnished reputation might be preferable to marriage with - you—more endurable,” she added, with the sudden tormented - impulse of a trapped thing to hurt back. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t really believe that”—impetuously—“I - know <i>I know</i> I could make you happy! You’d be the one woman in - the world to me. And I don’t think”—more quietly—“that - you could endure a slurred name, Jean.” - </p> - <p> - She made no answer. Every word he spoke only made it more saliently clear - to her that she was caught—bound hand and foot in a web from which - there was no escape. Yet, little as Burke guessed it, the actual question - of “what people might say” did not trouble her to any great - extent. She was too much her father’s own daughter to permit a mere - matter of reputation to force her into a distasteful marriage. - </p> - <p> - Not that she minimised the value of good repute. She was perfectly aware - that if she refused to marry Burke, and he carried out his threat of - detaining her at the bungalow until the following morning, she would have - a heavy penalty to pay—the utmost penalty which a suspicious world - exacts from a woman, even though she may be essentially innocent, in whose - past there lurks a questionable episode. - </p> - <p> - But she had courage enough to face the consequences of that refusal, to - stand up to the clatter of poisonous tongues that must ensue; and trust - enough to bank on the loyalty of her real friends, knowing it would be the - same splendid loyalty that she herself would have given to any one of them - in like circumstances. For Jean was a woman who won more than mere - lip-service from those who called themselves her friends. - </p> - <p> - Burke had never been more mistaken in his calculations than when he - counted upon forcing her hand by the mere fear of scandal. But none the - less he held her—and held her in the meshes of a far stronger and - more binding net, had he but realised it. - </p> - <p> - Looking back upon the episode from which her present predicament had - actually sprung, Jean could almost have found it in her heart to smile at - the relative importance which, at the time, that same incident had assumed - in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - It had seemed to her, then, that for Blaise ever to hear that she had been - locked in a room with Burke, had spent an uncounted, hour or so with him - at the “honeymooners’ inn” would be the uttermost - calamity that could befall her. - </p> - <p> - He would never believe that it had been by no will of hers—so she - had thought at the time—and that fierce lover’s jealousy which - had been the origin of their quarrel, and of all the subsequent mutual - misunderstandings and aloofness, would be roused to fresh life, and his - distrust of her become something infinitely more difficult to combat. - </p> - <p> - But compared with the present situation which confronted her, the - happenings of that past day faded into insignificance. She stood, now, - face to face with a choice such as surely few women had been forced to - make. - </p> - <p> - Whichever way she decided, whichever of the two alternatives she accepted, - her happiness must pay the price. Nothing she could ever say or do, - afterwards, would set her right in the eyes of the man whose belief in her - meant everything. Whether she agreed to marry Burke, returning home in the - odour of sanctity within the next hour or two, or whether she refused and - returned the next morning—free, but with the incontrovertible fact - of a night spent at Burke’s bungalow, alone with him, behind her, - Blaise would never trust or believe in her love for him again. - </p> - <p> - And if she promised to marry Burke and so save her reputation, it must - automatically mean the end of everything between herself and the man she - loved—the dropping of an iron curtain compared with which the wall - built up out of their frequent misunderstandings in the past seemed - something as trifling and as easily demolished as a card house. - </p> - <p> - On the other hand, if she risked her good name and kept her freedom, she - would be equally as cut off from him. Not that she feared Blaise would - take the blackest view of the affair—she was sure that he believed - in her enough not to misjudge her as the world might do—but he would - inevitably think that she had deliberately chosen to spend an afternoon on - the Moor alone with Burke—“playing with fire” exactly as - he had warned her not to, and getting her fingers burnt in consequence—and - he would accept it as a sheer denial of the silent pledge of love - understood which bound them together. - </p> - <p> - He would never trust her again—nor forgive her. No man could. Love’s - loyalty, rocked by the swift currents of jealousy and passion, is not of - the same quality as the steady loyalty of friendship—that calm, - unshakable confidence which may exist between man and man or woman and - woman. - </p> - <p> - Moreover—and here alone was where the fear of gossip troubled her—even - if the inconceivable happened and Blaise forgave and trusted her again, - she could not go to him with a slurred name, give him herself—when - the gift was outwardly tarnished. The Tormarin pride was unyielding as a - rock—and Tormarin women had always been above suspicion. She could - not break the tradition of an old name—do that disservice to the man - she loved! No, if she could find no way out of the web in which she had - been caught she was set as far apart from Blaise as though they had never - met. Only the agony of meeting and remembrance would be with her for the - rest of life! - </p> - <p> - Jean envisaged very clearly the possibilities that lay ahead—envisaged - them with a breathless, torturing perception of their imminence. It was to - be a fight—here and now—for the whole happiness that life - might hold. - </p> - <p> - She turned to Burke, breaking at last the long silence which had descended - between them. - </p> - <p> - “And what do you suppose I feel towards you, Geoffrey? Will you be - content to have your wife think of you—as I must think?” - </p> - <p> - A faint shadow flitted across his face. The quiet scorn of her words—their - underlying significance—flicked him on the raw. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll be content to have you as my wife—at any price,” - he said stubbornly. “Jean”—a sudden urgency in his tones—“try - to believe I hate all this as much as you do. When you’re my wife, I’ll - spend my life in teaching you to forget it—in—wiping the very - memory of to-day out of your mind.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall never forgot it,” she said slowly. Then, bitterly: - “I wonder why you even offer me a choice—when you know; that - it is really no choice.” - </p> - <p> - “Why? Because I swore to you that you should give me what I want—that - I wouldn’t take even a kiss from you again by force. But”—unevenly—“I - didn’t know what it meant—the waiting!” - </p> - <p> - Outside, the mist had thickened into fog, curtaining the windows. The - light had dimmed to a queer, glimmering dusk, changing the values of - things, and out of the shifting shadows her white face, with its scarlet - line of scornful mouth, gleamed at him—elusive, tantalising as a - flower that sways out of reach. In the uncertain half-light which - struggled in through the dulled window-panes there was something - provocative, maddening—a kind of etherealised lure of the senses in - the wavering, shadowed loveliness of her. The man’s pulses leaped; - something within him slipped its leash. - </p> - <p> - “Kiss me!” he demanded hoarsely. “Don’t keep me - waiting any longer. Give me your lips... now... now...” - </p> - <p> - She sprang aside from him, warding him off. Her eyes stormed at him out of - her white face. - </p> - <p> - “You promised!” she cried, her voice sharp with fear. “You - promised!” - </p> - <p> - The tension of the next moment strained her nerves to breaking-point. - </p> - <p> - Then he fell back. Slowly his arms dropped to his sides without touching - her, his hands clenching with the effort that it cost him. - </p> - <p> - “You’re right,” he said, breathing quickly. “I - promised. I’ll keep my promise.” Then, vehemently: “Jean, - why won’t you let me take you home? I could put the car right in ten - minutes. Come home!” - </p> - <p> - There was unmistakable appeal in his tones. It was obvious he hated the - task to which he had set himself, although he had no intention of - yielding. - </p> - <p> - She stared at him doubtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Will you? Will you take me home, Geoffrey?... Or”—bitterly—“is - this only another trap?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll take you home—at once, <i>now</i>—if you’ll - promise to be my wife. Jean, it’s better than waiting till to-morrow—till - circumstances <i>force</i> you into it!” he urged. - </p> - <p> - She was silent, thinking rapidly. That sudden break in Burke’s - control, when for a moment she had feared his promise would not hold him, - had warned her to put an end to the scene—if only temporarily—as - quickly as possible. - </p> - <p> - “You are very trusting,” she said, forcing herself to speak - lightly. “How do you know that I shall not give you the pledge you - ask merely in order to get home—and then decline to keep it? I think”—reflectively—“I - should be quite justified in the circumstances.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled a little and shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not afraid of that. If - you give me your word, I know you’ll keep it. You wouldn’t be—you—if - you could do otherwise.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment, Jean was tempted, fiercely tempted to take his blind belief - in her and use it to extricate herself from the position into which he had - thrust her. As she herself had said, the circumstances were such as almost - to justify her. Yet something within her, something that was an integral - part of her whole nature, rebelled against the idea of giving a promise - which, from the moment that she made it, she would have no smallest - intention of keeping. It would be like the breaking of a prisoner’s - given parole—equally mean and dishonourable. - </p> - <p> - With a little mental shrug she dismissed the idea and the brief - temptation. She must find some other way, some other road to safety. If - only he would leave her alone, leave her just long enough for her to make - a rush for it—out of the house into that wide wilderness of - mist-wrapped moor! - </p> - <p> - It would be a virtually hopeless task to find her way to any village or to - the farmstead, three miles away, of which Burke had spoken. She knew that. - Even moorwise folk not infrequently entirely lost their bearings in a - Dartmoor mist, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she had not the - remotest idea in which direction the nearest habitation lay. It would be a - hazardous experiment—fraught with danger. But danger was preferable - to the dreadful safety of the bungalow. - </p> - <p> - In a brief space, stung to swift decision by that tense moment when Burke’s - self-mastery had given way, she had made up her mind to risk the open - moor. But, for that she must somehow contrive to be left alone. She must - gain time—time to allay Burke’s suspicions by pretending to - make the best of the matter, and then, on some pretext or other, get him - out of the room. It was the sole way of escape she could devise. - </p> - <p> - “Well, which is it to be?” Burke’s voice broke in - harshly upon the wild turmoil of her thoughts. “Your promise—and - Staple within an hour and a half? Or—the other alternative?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it can be either—yet,” she said - quietly. “What you’re asking—it’s too big a - question for a woman to decide all in a minute. Don’t you see”—with - a rather shaky little laugh—“it means my whole life? I—I - must have time, Geoffrey. I can’t decide now. What time is it?” - </p> - <p> - He struck a match, holding the flame close to the dial of his watch. - </p> - <p> - “Seven o’clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Only that?” The words escaped her involuntarily. It seemed - hours, an eternity, since she had read those few brief words contained in - Judith’s telegram. And it was barely an hour ago! - </p> - <p> - “Then—then I can have a little time to think it over,” - she said after a moment. “We could get back to Staple by ten if we - left here at eight-thirty?” - </p> - <p> - “There or thereabouts. We should have to go slow through this - infernal mist Jean”—his voice took on a note of passionate - entreaty—“sweetest, won’t you give me your promise and - let me take you home? You shall never regret it. I——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hush!” she checked him quickly. “I can’t - answer you now, Geoffrey. I must have time—time. Don’t press - me now.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well.” There was an unaccustomed gentleness in his - manner. Perhaps something in the intense weariness of her tones appealed - to him. “Are you very tired, Jean?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know”—she spoke with some surprise, as though - the idea had only just presented itself to her—“do you know, I - believe I’m rather hungry! It sounds very material of me”—laughing - a little. “A woman in my predicament ought to be quite above—or - beyond—mere pangs of hunger.” - </p> - <p> - “Hungry! By Jove, and well you might be by this hour of the day!” - he exclaimed remorsefully. “Look here, we’ll have supper. - There are some chops in the larder. We’ll cook them together—and - then you’ll see what a really domesticated husband I shall make.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke with a new gaiety, as though he felt very sure of her ultimate - decision and glad that the strain of the struggle of opposing wills was - past. - </p> - <p> - “Chops! How heavenly! I’m afraid”—apologetically—“it’s - very unromantic of me, Geoffrey!” - </p> - <p> - He laughed and, striking a match, lit the lamp. “Disgustingly so! - But there are moments for romance and moments for chops. And this is - distinctly the moment for chops. Come along and help me cook ’em.” - </p> - <p> - He flashed a keen glance at her face as the sudden lamplight dispelled the - shadows of the room. But there was nothing in it to contradict the - insouciance of her speech. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes - very bright, but her smile was quite natural and unforced. Burke reflected - that women were queer, unfathomable creatures. They would fight you to the - last ditch—and then suddenly surrender, probably liking you in - secret all the better for having mastered them. - </p> - <p> - He had forgotten that he was dealing with a daughter of Jacqueline Mavory. - All the actress that was Jean’s mother came out in her now, called - up from some hidden fount of inherited knowledge to meet the imperative - need of the moment. - </p> - <p> - No one, watching Jean as she accompanied Burke to the kitchen premises and - assisted him in the preparation of their supper, would have imagined that - she was acting her part in any other capacity than that of willing - playmate. She was wise enough not to exhibit any desire to leave him alone - during the process of carrying the requisites for the meal from the - kitchen into the living-room. She had noticed the sudden mistrust in his - watchful eyes and the way in which he had instantly followed her when, at - the commencement of the proceedings, she had unthinkingly started off down - the passage from the kitchen, carrying a small tray of table silver in her - hand, and thereafter she refrained from giving him the slightest ground - for suspicion. Together they cooked the chops, together laid the table, - and finally sat down to share the appetising results of their united - efforts. - </p> - <p> - Throughout the little meal Jean preserved an attitude of detached - friendliness, laughing at any small joke that cropped up in the course of - conversation and responding gaily enough to Burke’s efforts to - entertain her. Now and again, as though unconsciously, she would fall into - a brief reverie, apparently preoccupied with the choice that lay before - her, and at these moments Burke would refrain from distracting her - attention, but would watch intently, with those burning eyes of his, the - charming face and sensitive mouth touched to a sudden new seriousness that - appealed. - </p> - <p> - By the time the meal had drawn to an end, his earlier suspicions had been - lulled into tranquillity, and over the making of the coffee he became once - more the big, overgrown schoolboy and jolly comrade of his less - tempestuous moments. It almost seemed as though, to please her, to atone - in a measure for the mental suffering he had thrust on her, he was - endeavouring to keep the vehement lover in the background and show her - only that side of himself which would serve to reassure her. - </p> - <p> - “I rather fancy myself at coffee-making,” he told her, as he - dexterously manipulated the little coffee machine. “There!”—pouring - out two brimming cups—“taste that, and then tell me if it isn’t - the best cup of coffee you ever met.” - </p> - <p> - Jean sipped it obediently, then made a wry face. - </p> - <p> - “Ough!” she ejaculated in disgust. “You’ve - forgotten the sugar!” - </p> - <p> - As she had herself slipped the sugar basin out of sight when he was - collecting the necessary coffee paraphernalia on to a tray, the oversight - was not surprising. - </p> - <p> - It was a simple little ruse, its very simplicity it’s passport to - success. The naturalness of it—Jean’s small, screwed-up face - of disgust and the hasty way in which she set her cup down after tasting - its contents—might have thrown the most suspicious of mortals - momentarily off his guard. - </p> - <p> - “By Jove, so I have!” Instinctively Burke sprang up to rectify - the omission. “I never take it myself, so I forgot all about it. I’ll - get you some in a second.” - </p> - <p> - He was gone, and before he was half-way down the passage leading to the - kitchen, Jean, moving silently and swiftly as a shadow, was at the doors - of the long French window, her fingers fumbling for the catch. - </p> - <p> - A draught of cold, mist-laden air rushed into the room, while a slender - form stood poised for a brief instant on the threshold, silhouetted - against the white curtain of the fog. Then followed a hurried rush of - flying footsteps, a flitting shadow cleaving the thick pall of vapour, and - a moment later the wreaths of pearly mist came filtering unhindered, into - an empty room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Blindly Jean plunged through the dense mist that hung outside, her feet - sinking into the sodden earth as she fled across the wet grass. She had no - idea where the gate might be, but sped desperately onwards till she rushed - full tilt into the bank of mud and stones which fenced the bungalow - against the moor. The sudden impact nearly knocked all the breath out of - her body, but she dared not pause. She trusted that his search for the - hidden sugar basin might delay Burke long enough to give her a few minutes’ - start, but she knew very well that he might chance upon it at any moment, - and then, discovering her flight, come in pursuit. - </p> - <p> - Clawing wildly at the bank with hands and feet, slipping, sliding, bruised - by sharp-angled stones and pricked by some unseen bushy growth of gorse, - she scrambled over the bank and came sliding down upon her hands and knees - into the hedge-trough dug upon its further side. And even as she picked - herself up, shaken and gasping for breath, she heard a cry from the - bungalow, and then the sound of running steps and Burke’s voice - calling her by name. - </p> - <p> - “Jean! Jean! You little fool!... Come back! Come back!” She - heard him pause to listen for her whereabouts. Then he shouted again. - “Come back! You’ll kill yourself! Jean! Jean!....” - </p> - <p> - But she made no answer. Distraught by fear lest he should overtake her, - she raced recklessly ahead into the fog, heedless of the fact that she - could not see a yard in front of her—even glad of it, knowing that - the mist hung like a shielding curtain betwixt her and her pursuer. - </p> - <p> - The strange silence of the mist-laden atmosphere hemmed her round like the - silence of a tomb, broken only by the sucking sound of the oozy turf as it - pulled at her feet, clogging her steps. Lance-sharp spikes of gorse - stabbed at her ankles as she trod it underfoot, and the permeating - moisture in the air soaked swiftly through her thin summer frock till it - clung about her like a winding-sheet. - </p> - <p> - Her breath was coming in sobbing gasps of stress and terror; her heart - pounded in her breast; her limbs, impeded by her clinging skirts, felt as - though they were weighted down with lead. - </p> - <p> - Then, all at once, seeming close at hand in the misleading fog which plays - odd tricks with sound as well as sight, she heard Burke’s voice, - cursing as he ran. - </p> - <p> - With the instinct of a hunted thing she swerved sharply, stumbled, and - lurched forward in a vain effort to regain her balance. Then it seemed as - though the ground wore suddenly cut from under her feet, and she fell... - down, down through the mist, with a scattering of crumbling earth and - rubble, and lay, at last, a crumpled, unconscious heap in the deep-cut - track that linked the moor road to the bungalow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII—THEY WHO WAITED - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY ANNE sat - gazing absently into the heart of the fire, watching the restless leap of - the flames and the little scattered handfuls of sparks, like golden star - dust, tossed upward into the dark hollow of the chimney by the blazing - logs. The “warm and sunny south”—at least, that part of - it within a twelve-mile radius of Dartmoor—is quite capable, on - occasion, of belying its guide-book designation, particularly towards the - latter end of summer, and there was a raw dampness in the atmosphere this - evening which made welcome company of a fire. - </p> - <p> - It seemed a little lonely without Jean’s cheery presence, and Lady - Anne, conscious of a craving for human companionship, glanced impatiently - at the clock. Blaise should surely have returned by now from his all-day - conference with the estate agent. - </p> - <p> - She had not much longer to wait. The quick hoof-beats of a trotting horse - sounded on the drive outside, and a few minutes later the door of the room - was thrown open and Blaise himself strode in. - </p> - <p> - “Well, madonna?” He stooped and kissed her. “Been a - lonely lady to-day without all your children?” - </p> - <p> - She smiled up at him. - </p> - <p> - “Just a little,” she acknowledged. “When I came back - from those stupid committees, which are merely an occasion for half the - old tabbies in the village to indulge in a squabble with the other half, I - couldn’t help feeling it would have been nice to find Jean here to - laugh over them with me. Jean’s sense of humour is refreshing; it - never lets one down. However, I suppose she’s enjoying her beloved - Moor by moonlight, so I mustn’t grumble.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Much moonlight they’ll see!” he observed. “I rode - through a thick mist coming back from Hedge Barton. It’ll he a - blanket fog on Dartmoor to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, poor Jean! She’ll he so disappointed.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin sat down on the opposite side of the hearth and lit a cigarette. - The dancing firelight flickered across his face. He was thinner of late, - his mother thought with a quick pang. The lines of the well-beloved face - had deepened; it had a worn—almost ascetic—look, like that of - a man who is constantly contending against something. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne looked across at him almost beseechingly. - </p> - <p> - “Son,” she said, “have you quite made up your mind to - let happiness pass you by?” - </p> - <p> - He started, roused out of the reverie into which he had fallen. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I’ve got any say in the matter,” he - replied quietly. “I’ve forfeited my rights in that respect. - You know that.” - </p> - <p> - “And Jean? Are you going to make her forfeit her rights, too?” - </p> - <p> - “She’ll find happiness—somehow—elsewhere. It would - be a very short-lived affair with me”—bitterly. “After - what has happened, it’s evident I’m not to be trusted with a - woman’s happiness.” - </p> - <p> - There were sounds of arrival in the hall. Nick’s voice could be - heard issuing instructions about the bestowal of his fishing tackle. Lady - Anne spoke quickly. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so, Blaise. Not with the happiness of the woman - you love.” She laid her hand on his shoulder as she passed him on - her way into the hall to welcome the wanderer returned. “Tell Jean,” - she advised, “and see what she says. I think you’ll find she’d - be willing to risk it.” - </p> - <p> - When she had left the room Blaise remained staring impassively into the - fire. His expression gave no indication as to whether or not Lady Anne’s - advice had stirred him to any fresh impulse of decision, and when, - presently, his mother and Nick entered the room together, he addressed the - latter as casually as though no emotional depths had been stirred by the - recent conversation. - </p> - <p> - “Hullo, Nick! Had good sport?” - </p> - <p> - “Only so-so. We had a jolly time, though—out at Het-worthy - Bridge. But I had the deuce of a business getting back from Exeter this - evening. It was so misty in places we could hardly see to drive the car.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know. I found the same. It’s a surprising change in - the weather.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Jean will have had a disappointing trip to Dartmoor,” - put in Lady Anne. “The mist is certain to be bad up there.” - </p> - <p> - “Dartmoor? But she didn’t go—surely?” And Nick - glanced from one to the other questioningly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, she did. It was quite clear in the afternoon when she - started—looked like being a lovely night.” - </p> - <p> - “But—but——” - </p> - <p> - Nick stammered and came to a halt. There was a look of bewilderment in his - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “But who’s she gone with?” he demanded at last. “I - thought she said she intended stopping the night with Judith and Burke at - their bungalow?” - </p> - <p> - “So she did,” replied Blaise. “Why? Have you any - objection?”—smiling. - </p> - <p> - “No. Only”—Nick frowned—“I don’t quite - understand it Judith isn’t <i>on</i> the Moor.” - </p> - <p> - “Not on the Moor?” broke simultaneously from Lady Anne and - Blaise. - </p> - <p> - “How do you know, Nick?” added the latter gravely. - </p> - <p> - “Why, because”—Nick’s face wore an expression of - puzzled concern—“because I saw Judith in Newton Abbot late - this evening.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise leaned forward, a sudden look of concentration on his face. - </p> - <p> - “You saw Judith?” he repeated. “What time?” - </p> - <p> - “It must have been nearly eight o’clock. I was buzzing along - in Jim Cresswell’s car to catch the seven forty-five up train, and I - saw Judith with one of the Holfords—you know, those people from - London—turning into the gateway of a house. I expect it was the - place the Holfords are stopping at. They didn’t see me.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re quite certain? You’ve made no mistake?” - said Blaise sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I’ve made no mistake. Think I don’t know Judy - when I see her? But what’s the meaning of it, Blaise?” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin rose to his feet, tossing the stump of his cigarette into the - fire. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m - going to find out. Madonna”—turning to his mother—“did - Jean tell you just exactly what Judith said when she rang her up on the’phone - about this moonlight plan?” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn’t Judith who rang up,” replied Lady Anne, a - faint misgiving showing itself in her face. “It was Geoffrey who - gave the message.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin looked at her with a sudden awakened expression in his eyes. - There was dread in them, too—keen dread. The expression of a man - who, all at once, sees the thing he values more than anything in the whole - world being torn from him—dragged forcibly away from the shelter he - could give into some unspeakable darkness of disaster. - </p> - <p> - “That settles it.” He pressed his finger against the bell-push - and held it there, and when Baines came hurrying in response to the - imperative summons, he said curtly: “Order me a fresh horse round at - once—<i>at once</i>, mind—tell Harding to saddle Orion, and to - look sharp about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Blaise”—Lady Anne’s obvious uneasiness had - deepened to a sharp anxiety—“Blaise, what are you going to do? - What—what are you afraid of?” - </p> - <p> - He looked her straight in the eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid of just what you are afraid of, madonna—of - the devil let loose in Geoffrey Burke.” - </p> - <p> - “And—and you’re going to look for her—for Jean?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m going to find her,” he corrected quietly. - </p> - <p> - Gravity had set its seal on all three faces. Each was conscious of the - same fear—the fear they could not put into words. - </p> - <p> - “But why do you take Orion?” asked Nick. “The little - thoroughbred mare—Redwing—would do the journey quicker and he - lighter of foot over any marshy ground on the Moor.” - </p> - <p> - “Orion can go where he chooses,” returned Tormarin. “And - he’ll choose to-night. Redwing is a little bit of a thing, though - she’s game as a pebble. But she couldn’t carry—two.” - </p> - <p> - The significance of Tormarin’s choice of his big roan hunter, - three-parts thoroughbred and standing sixteen hands, came home to Nick. He - nodded without comment. - </p> - <p> - Silently he and Lady Anne accompanied Blaise into the hall. From the - gravelled drive outside came the impatient stamping of Orion’s - iron-shod hoofs. Just at the last Lady Anne clung to her son’s arm. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll bring her back, Blaise?” she urged, a quiver in - her voice. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll bring her back, madonna,” he answered quietly. - “Don’t worry.” - </p> - <p> - A minute later he and the great roan horse were lost to sight in the mirk - of the night. Only the beat of galloping hoofs was flung back to the two - who were left to watch and wait, muffled and vague through the shrouding - mist like the sound of a distant drum. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX—THE GOLDEN HOUR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>RION had fully - justified Blaise’s opinion of his capabilities. As though the great - horse had gathered that there was trouble abroad to which he must not add, - he had needed neither whip nor spur as he carried his master with long, - sweeping strides over the miles that lay betwixt Staple and the Moor. He - was as fresh as paint, and the rush through the cool night, under a rider - with hands as light as a woman’s and who sat him with a flexible - ease, akin to that of a Cossack, had not distressed him in the very least. - </p> - <p> - Now they were climbing the last long slope of the white road that - approached the bungalow, the reins lying loosely on Orion’s neck. - </p> - <p> - The mist had lifted a little in places, and a watery-looking moon peered - through the clouds now and again, throwing a vague, uncertain light over - the blurred and sombre moorland. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin had no very definite plan of campaign in his mind. He felt - convinced that he should find Jean at the bungalow. If, contrary to his - expectation, she were not there, nor anyone else to whom he could apply - for information as to her whereabouts, he would have to consider what his - next move must be. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, his thoughts were preoccupied with the main fact that she had - failed to return home. If she had accepted Burke’s invitation to the - bungalow, believing that Judith and the Holfords would be of the party, - how was it that she had not at once returned when she discovered that for - some reason they were not there? - </p> - <p> - Some weeks ago—during the period when she was defiantly - investigating the possibilities of an “unexploded bomb”—it - was quite possible that the queer recklessness which sometimes tempts a - woman to experiment in order to see just how far she may go—the - mysterious delight that the feminine temperament appears to derive from - dancing on the edge of a precipice—might have induced her to remain - and have tea with Burke, chaperon or no chaperon. And then it was quite on - the cards that Burke’s lawless disregard of anything in the world - except the fulfilment of his own desires might have engineered the rest, - and he might have detained her at the bungalow against her will. - </p> - <p> - But Blaise could not believe that a <i>tête-à-tête</i> tea with Burke - would hold any attraction for Jean now—not since that day, just - before the visit to London, when he and she had been discussing the - affairs of Nick and Claire and had found, quite suddenly, that their own - hearts were open to each other and that with the spoken word, “Beloved,” - the misunderstandings of the past had faded away, to be replaced by a - wordless trust and belief. - </p> - <p> - But if it <i>had</i> attracted her, if—knowing precisely how much - the man she loved would condemn—she had still deliberately chosen to - spend an afternoon with Burke, why, then, Blaise realised with a swift - pang that she was no longer his Jean at all but some other, lesser woman. - Never again the “little comrade” whose crystalline honesty of - soul and sensitive response to all that was sweet and wholesome and true - had come into his scarred life to jewel its arid places with a new - blossoming of the rose of love. - </p> - <p> - He tried to thrust the thought away from him. It was just the kind of - thing that Nesta would have done, playing off one man against the other - with the innate instinct of the born coquette. But not Jean—not Jean - of the candid eyes. - </p> - <p> - Presently, through the thinning mist, Tormarin discerned the sharp turn of - the track which branched off from the road towards the bungalow, and - quickening Orion’s pace, he was soon riding up the steep ascent, the - moonlight throwing strange, confusing lights and shadows on the mist-wet - surface of the ground. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the roan snorted and wheeled - around, shying violently away from the off-side bank. A less good horseman - might have been unseated, but as the big horse swerved Tormarin’s - knees gripped against the saddle like a vice, and with a steadying word he - faced him up the track again, then glanced keenly at the overhanging side - of the roadway to discover what had frightened him. - </p> - <p> - A moment later he had jerked Orion to a sudden standstill, leapt to the - ground and, with the reins over his arm, crossed the road swiftly to - where, clad in some light-stuff that glimmered strangely in the moonlight, - lay a slender figure, propped against the bank. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise!” Jean’s voice came weakly to his ears, but with - a glad note in it of immense relief that bore witness to some previous - strain. - </p> - <p> - In an instant Tormarin was kneeling beside her, one arm behind her - shoulders. He helped her to her feet and she leaned against him, - shivering. Feeling in his pockets, he produced a brandy flask and held it - to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Drink some of that!” he said. “Don’t try to tell - me anything yet.” - </p> - <p> - The raw spirit sent the chilled blood racing through her veins, putting - new life into her. A faint tinge of colour crept into her face. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Blaise! I’m so glad you’ve come—so glad!” - she said shakily. - </p> - <p> - “So am I,” he returned grimly. “See, drink a little more - brandy. Then you shall tell me all about it.” - </p> - <p> - At last, bit by bit, she managed to give him a somewhat disjointed account - of what had occurred. - </p> - <p> - “I think I must have been stunned for a little when I fell,” - she said. “I can’t remember anything after stepping right off - into space, it seemed, till—oh, ages afterwards—- I found - myself lying here. And when I tried to stand, I found I’d hurt my - ankle and that I couldn’t put my foot to the ground. So”—with - a weak little attempt at laughter—“I—I just sat down - again.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise gave vent to a quick exclamation of concern. “Oh, it’s - nothing, really,” she reassured him hastily. “Only a strain. - But I can’t walk on it.” Then, suddenly clinging to him with a - nervous dread: “Oh, take me away, Blaise—take me home!” - </p> - <p> - “I will. Don’t be frightened—there’s no need to be - frightened any more, my Jean.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I know. I’m not afraid—now.” - </p> - <p> - But he could hear the sob of utter nerve stress and exhaustion back of the - brave words. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ll take you home at once,” he said cheerfully. - “But, look here, you’ve no coat on and you’re wet with - mist.” - </p> - <p> - “I know. My coat’s at the bungalow. I left in a hurry, you see”—whimsically. - The irrepressible Peterson element, game to the core, was reasserting - itself. - </p> - <p> - “Well, we must fetch it———” - </p> - <p> - “No! No!” Her voice rose in hasty protest. “I won’t—I - can’t go back!” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll go.” - </p> - <p> - “No—don’t! Geoffrey might be there——” - </p> - <p> - “So much the better”—grimly. “I’d like five - minutes with him.” Tormarin’s hand tightened fiercely on the - hunting-crop he carried. “But he’s more likely lost his way in - the mist and fetched up far enough away. Probably”—with a - short laugh—“he’s still searching Dartmoor for! you. You’d - be on his mind a bit, you know! Wait here a minute while I ride up to the - bungalow——” - </p> - <p> - But she clung to his arm. - </p> - <p> - “No, no! Don’t go! I—I can’t be left alone—again.” - The fear was coming back to her voice and Blaise, detecting it, abandoned - the idea at once. - </p> - <p> - “All right, little Jean,” he said reassuringly. “I won’t - leave you. Put my coat round you”—stripping it off. “There—like - that.” He helped her into it and fastened it with deft fingers. - “And now I’m going to get you up on to Orion and we’ll - go home.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall never get up there,” she observed, with a glance at - the roan’s great shoulders looming through the mist. “I shan’t - be able to spring—I can only stand on one foot, remember.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise laughed cheerily. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t worry. Just remain quite still—standing on your - one foot, you poor little lame duck!—and I’ll do the rest.” - </p> - <p> - She felt his arm release its clasp of her, and a moment later he had swung - his leg across the horse and was back in the saddle again. With a word to - the big beast he dropped the reins on to his neck and, turning towards - Jean, where she stood like a slim, pale ghost in the moonlight, he leaned - down to her from the saddle. - </p> - <p> - “Can you manage to come a step nearer?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - She hobbled forward painfully. - </p> - <p> - “Now!” he said. - </p> - <p> - Lower, lower still he stooped, his arms outheld, and at last she felt them - close round her, lifting her with that same strength of steel which she - remembered on the mountain-side at Montavan. Orion stood like a statue—motionless - as if he knew and understood all about it, his head slewed round a bit as - though watching until the little business should be satisfactorily - accomplished, and blowing gently through his velvety nostrils meanwhile. - </p> - <p> - And then Jean found herself resting against the curve of Blaise’s - arm, with the roan’s powerful shoulders, firm and solid as a rock, - beneath her. - </p> - <p> - “All right?” queried Blaise, gathering up the reins in his - left hand. “Lean well back against my shoulder. There, how’s - that?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s like an arm-chair.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you won’t say the same by the end of the journey,” - he commented ruefully. - </p> - <p> - But by the end of the journey Jean was fast asleep. She had “leant - well back” as directed, conscious, as she felt the firm clasp of - Blaise’s arm, of a supreme sense of security and well-being. The - reaction from the strain of the afternoon, the exhaustion consequent upon - her flight through the mist and the fall which had so suddenly ended it, - and the rhythmic beat of Orion’s hoofs all combined to lull her into - a state of delicious drowsiness. It was so good to feel that she need - fight and scheme and plan no longer, to feel utterly safe... to know that - Blaise was holding her... - </p> - <p> - Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes closed, and the next - thing of which she was conscious was of being lifted down by a pair of - strong arms and of a confused murmur of voices from amongst which she - hazily distinguished Lady Anne’s heartfelt: “Thank God you’ve - found her!” And then, characteristically practical, “I’ll - have her in bed in five minutes. Blankets and hot-water bottles are all in - readiness.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was the evening of the following day. Jean, tucked up on a couch and - with her strained ankle comfortably bandaged, had been reluctantly - furnishing Blaise with the particulars of her experience at the bungalow. - She had been very unwilling to confide the whole story to him, fearing the - consequences of the Tormarin temper as applied to Burke. A violent quarrel - between the two men could do no good, she reflected, and would only be - fraught with unpleasant results to all concerned—probably, in the - end, securing a painful publicity for the whole affair. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately Blaise had been out when Judith had rung up earlier in the day - to inquire if Jean had returned to Staple, or he might have fired off a - few candid expressions of opinion through the telephone. But now there was - no evading his searching questions, and he had quietly but determinedly - insisted upon hearing the entire story. Once or twice an ejaculation of - intense anger broke from him as he listened, but, beyond that, he made - little comment. - </p> - <p> - “And—and that was all,” wound up Jean. “And, - anyway, Blaise”—a little anxiously—“it’s - over now, and I’m none the worse except for the acquisition of a - little more worldly wisdom and a strained ankle.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s over now,” he said, standing looking down at - her with a curious gleam in his eyes. “But that sort of thing shan’t - happen twice. You’ll have to marry me—do you hear?”—imperiously. - “You shall never run such a risk again. We’ll get married at - once!” - </p> - <p> - And Jean, with a quiver of amusement at the corners of her mouth, - responded meekly: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - The next minute his arms were round her and their lips met in the first - supreme kiss of love at last acknowledged—of love given and - returned. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - There is no gauge by which those first moments when two who love confess - that they are lovers may be measured. It is the golden, timeless span when - “unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday” cease to hem us round - about and only love, and love’s ecstasy, remain. - </p> - <p> - To Blaise and Jean it might have been an hour—a commonplace period - ticked off by the little silver clock upon the chimneypiece—or half - eternity before they came back to the recollection of things mundane. When - they did, it was across the kindly bridge of humour. - </p> - <p> - Blaise laughed out suddenly and boyishly. - </p> - <p> - “It’s preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I quite forgot - to propose.” - </p> - <p> - “So you did! Suppose”—smiling up at him impertinently—“suppose - you do it now?” - </p> - <p> - “Not I! I won’t waste my breath when I might put it to so much - better use in calling you belovedest.” - </p> - <p> - Jean was silent, but her eyes answered him. She had made room for him - beside her, and now he was seated upon the edge of the Chesterfield, - holding her in his arms. She did not want to talk much. That still, serene - happiness which lies deep within the heart is not provocative of - garrulity. - </p> - <p> - At last a question—the question that had tormented her through all - the long months since she had first realised whither love was leading her, - found its way to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t you tell me before, Blaise?” - </p> - <p> - His face clouded. - </p> - <p> - “Because of all that had happened in the past. You know—you - have been told about Nesta——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes! Don’t talk about it, Blaise,” she broke in - hastily, sensing his distasteful recoil from the topic. - </p> - <p> - “I think we must a little, dear,” he responded gravely. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Nesta was not all to blame—nor even very much, as I’m - sure”—with a little half-tender smile—“my mother - tried hard to make you believe.” - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded vigorously. - </p> - <p> - “She did. And I expect she was perfectly right” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he answered. “The fault was really mine. My - initial mistake was in confusing the false fire with the true. It—was - not love I had for Nesta. And I found it out when it was too late. We were - poles apart in everything, and instead of trying to make it easier for - her, trying to understand her and to lead her into our ways of looking at - things. I only stormed at her. It roused all that was worst in me to see - her trailing our name in the dust, throwing her dignity to the winds, - craving for nothing other than amusement and excitement. I’m not - trying to excuse myself. There <i>was</i> no excuse for me. In my way, I - was as culpable and foolish as she. And when the crash came—when I - found her deliberately entertaining in my house, against my express - orders, a man who ought to have been kicked out of any decent society, - why, I let go. The Tormarin temper had its way with me. I shall never - forgive myself for that. I frightened her, terrified her. I think I must - have been half mad. And then—well, you know what followed. She - rushed away and, before anyone could find her or help her, she had killed - herself—thrown herself into the Seine. Quite what happened between - leaving here and her death we were never able to find out. Apparently - since her marriage with me, her sister had gone to Paris, unknown to her, - and had taken a situation as <i>dame de compagnie</i> to some Frenchwoman, - and Nesta, though she followed from Italy to Paris, failed to find her - there. At least that is what Margherita Valdi told me in the letter - announcing Nesta’s death. Then she must have lost heart. So you see, - morally I am responsible for that poor, reckless child’s death.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, no, Blaise! I don’t see that”—pitifully. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you? I do—very clearly. And that was why, when I - found myself growing to care for you, I tried to keep away.” - </p> - <p> - He felt in his pocket and produced a plain gold wedding ring. On the - inside were engraved the initials “B.T. and N.E.,” and a date. - </p> - <p> - “That was my talisman. Alargherita sent it back to me when she wrote - telling me of Nesta’s death. Whenever I felt my resolution - weakening, I used to take it out and have a look at it. It was always - quite effective in thrusting me back into my proper place in the scheme of - things—that is, outside any other woman’s life.” There - was an inexpressible bitterness in his tones, and Jean drew a little - nearer to him, her heart overflowing with compassion. He looked down at - her, and smiled a thought ironically. “But now—you’ve - beaten me.” His lips brushed her hair. “I’m glad to be - beaten, belovedest... I knew, that day at Montavan, what you might come to - mean to me. And I intended never to see you again, but just to take that - one day for remembrance. I felt that, having made such an utter hash of - things, having spoiled one woman’s life and been, indirectly, the - cause of her death, I was not fit to hold another woman’s happiness - in my hands.” - </p> - <p> - Jean rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad you thought better of it? she observed. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know, even now, that I’m right in letting you - love me——” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t stop me,” she objected. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I would if I could—now.” - </p> - <p> - Jean leaned up and, with a slender, dictatorial finger on the side of his - face, turned his head towards her. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Quite</i> sure?” she demanded saucily. Then, without - waiting for his answer: “Blaise, I do love your chin—it’s - such a nice, square, your-money-or-your-life sort of chin.” - </p> - <p> - Something light as a butterfly, warm as a woman’s lips, just brushed - the feature in question. - </p> - <p> - He drew her into his arms, folding them closely about her. - </p> - <p> - “And I—I love every bit of you,” he said hoarsely. - “Body and soul, I love you! Oh! Heart’s beloved! Nothing—no - one in the whole world shall come between us two ever again!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX—THE GATEWAY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>UGUST seemed - determined to justify her claim to be numbered amongst the summer months - before making her exit. Apparently she had repented her of having recently - veiled the country in a mist that might have been regarded as a very - creditable effort even on the part of November, for to-day the sun was - blazing down out of a cloudless sky and scarcely a breath of wind swayed - the nodding cornstalks, heavy with golden grain. - </p> - <p> - Jean, her strained ankle now practically recovered, was tramping along the - narrow footpath through the cornfield, following in Blaise’s - footsteps, while Nick brought up the rear of the procession. She had not - seen Claire since her engagement had become an actual fact, though a - characteristically warm-hearted little note from the latter had found its - way to Staple, and this morning Jean had declared her inability to exist - another day “without a ‘heart-to-heart’ talk with - Claire.” - </p> - <p> - Hence the afternoon’s pilgrimage across the cornfield which formed - part of a short cut between Staple and Charnwood. - </p> - <p> - At first Jean had feared lest her new-found happiness might raise a - barrier of sorts betwixt herself and Claire. The contrast between the - respective hands that fate had dealt them was so glaring, and the rose and - gold with which love had suddenly decked Jean’s own life seemed to - make the bleak tragedy which enveloped Claire’s appear ever darker - than before. - </p> - <p> - But Claire’s letter, full of a quiet, unselfish rejoicing in the - happiness which had fallen to the lot of her friend, had somehow smoothed - away the little uncomfortable feeling which, to anyone as sensitive as - Jean, had been a very real embarrassment. Nick’s felicitations, too, - had been tendered with frank cordiality and affection, and with a delicate - perception that had successfully concealed the sting of individual pain - which the contrast could hardly fail to have induced. - </p> - <p> - So that it was with a considerably lightened heart that Jean, with her - escort of two, passed between the great gates of Charnwood and, avoiding - the lengthy walk entailed by following the windings of the drive, struck - off across the velvety lawns—smooth stretches of close-cropped sward - which, broken only by branching trees and shrubbery, and undefaced by the - dreadful formality of symmetrical flower-beds, swept right up to the - gravelled terrace fronting the windows of the house itself. - </p> - <p> - The two men loitered to discuss the points of a couple of young spaniels - rollicking together on the grass, but Jean, eager to see Claire, smilingly - declined to wait for them, and, speeding on ahead, she mounted the short - flight of steps leading to the terrace from the lower level of the lawns. - </p> - <p> - Facing her, as she reached the topmost step was a glass door, giving - entrance to Claire’s own particular sanctum, which usually, in - summer, stood wide open to admit the soft, warm air and the fragrant - scents breathed out from a border of old-fashioned flowers, sweet and prim - and quaint, which encircled the base of the house. - </p> - <p> - But to-day the door was shut and forbidding-looking, and Jean experienced - a sudden sense of misgiving. Supposing Claire chanced to be out just when - she had arrived brimming over with the hundred little feminine confidences - that were to have formed part of the “heart-to-heart” talk! It - would be too aggravating! - </p> - <p> - Her eager glance flew ahead, searching the room’s interior, clearly - visible through the wide glass panel of the door. Then, with a startled - cry, she halted, her hand clapped against her lips to stifle the - involuntary exclamation of dismay and terror that had leapt to them. - </p> - <p> - The afternoon sunshine slanted in upon a picture of grotesque horror—-a - nightmare conception that could only have sprung from the macabre - imagination of a madman. - </p> - <p> - In the middle of the room Claire sat bound to a high-backed chair, secured - by cords which cut cruelly across her slender body. Her face had assumed a - curious ashen shade, and her eyes were fixed in a numbed look of - fascinated terror upon the tall, angular figure of her husband, which - pranced in front of her jerkily, like a marionette, while he threatened - her with a revolver, his thin lips, smiling cruelly, drawn back from his - teeth like those of a snarling animal. - </p> - <p> - He was addressing her in queer, high-pitched tones that had something - inhuman about them—the echoing, empty sound of a voice no longer controlled - by a reasoning brain. - </p> - <p> - “And you needn’t worry that Mr. Brennan will be overwhelmed - with grief at your early demise. He won’t—te-he-he!”—he - gave a foolish, cackling laugh—“he won’t have time to - miss you much! I’ll attend to that—I’ll attend to that! - There’ll be a second bullet for your dear friend, Mr. Brennan.” - ... Crack! The sharp report of a revolver shattered the summer silence as - Jean sprang forward and wrenched at the handle of the door. But it refused - to yield. It had been locked upon the inside! - </p> - <p> - Then, as the smoke cleared away, she saw that Claire was Unhurt. Sir - Adrian had deliberately fired above her head and was now rocking his long, - lean body to and fro in a paroxysm of horrible, noiseless mirth. Evidently - he purposed to amuse himself by inflicting the torture of suspense upon - his victim before he actually murdered her, for Latimer had been at one - time an expert revolver shot, and, even drug-ridden as he had since - become, he could not well have missed his helpless target by accident. - </p> - <p> - Claire’s head had fallen back, but no merciful oblivion of - unconsciousness had come to her relief. Her mouth was a little open and - the breath came in short, quick gasps between her grey lips. Her face - looked like a mask, set in a blank stupor of horror. - </p> - <p> - The sound of the shot brought Blaise and Nick racing to Jean’s side. - One glance through the glass door sufficed them. - </p> - <p> - “God in heaven! He’s gone mad!” Nick’s voice was - quick with fear for the woman he loved. - </p> - <p> - “Get Tucker here at once!” - </p> - <p> - Blaise’s swift command, flung at her as he and Nick leaped forward, - sent Jean flying along the terrace as fast as feet winged with unutterable - terror could carry her. As she ran, she heard the crash of splintering - glass as the two men she had left behind smashed in the panel of the - locked door, and, almost simultaneously, Sir Adrian’s pistol barked - again—another shot, and then a third in quick succession. - </p> - <p> - The sound seemed to wring every nerve in her body... had that madman shot - him? - </p> - <p> - With sobbing breath she rushed blindly on into the house and met the - butler, running too, white faced and horror-stricken. - </p> - <p> - “My God, miss! Sir Adrian’s murdering her ladyship—and - the room door’s locked!” - </p> - <p> - The man almost babbled out the words in his extremity of fear. - </p> - <p> - “The terrace door... Quick, Tucker!”—Jean gasped out the - order. “Mr. Brennan’s there they’ve broken in the - glass...” - </p> - <p> - Not waiting to hear the end of the sentence, Tucker bolted out of the hall - and along the terrace, while Jean leaned up against the doorway drawing - long, shuddering breaths that seemed actually to tear their way through - her throat and yet brought no relief to the agonised thudding of her - heart. For the moment she was physically unable to run another yard. - </p> - <p> - But her mind was working with abnormal clarity and swiftness. This was her - doing—hers! If she had not dissuaded Nick that day when he had - proposed taking Claire away with him, all this would never have - happened.... Claire would have been safe—safe! But she had - interfered, clinging to her belief that no real good ever came by doing - wrong, and now her creed had failed her utterly. Nick’s resistance - of temptation was culminating in a ghastly tragedy that might have been - avoided. To Jean it seemed in that moment as if her world were falling in - ruins about her. - </p> - <p> - Sick with apprehension, she almost reeled out again into the mocking - summer sunlight, and, running as fast as the convulsive throbbing of her - heart would let her, regained the far end of the terrace and peered - through the door that led into Claire’s room. - </p> - <p> - Its great panes were shattered. Jagged teeth and spites of glass stuck out - from the wooden framework, while here and there, dependent from them, were - bits of cloth tom from the men’s coats as they had scrambled - through. - </p> - <p> - Within the room Jean could discern a confused hurly-burly of swaying, - writhing figures—Blaise and Nick and the butler struggling to - overpower Sir Adrian, who was fighting them with all the cunning and the - amazing strength of madness. From beyond came the clamour of people - battering uselessly at the door, the shrill, excited voices of the - frightened servants who had collected in the hall outside the room. - </p> - <p> - For a few breathless seconds Jean was in doubt—wondered wildly - whether Sir Adrian would succeed in breaking away from his captors. Then - she saw Nick’s foot shoot out suddenly like the piston-rod of an - engine, and Sir Adrian staggered and came crashing down on to his knees. - The other two closed in upon him swiftly, and a minute later he was lying - prone on his back with the three men holding him down by main force. - </p> - <p> - With difficulty avoiding the protruding pieces of glass, Jean stepped into - the room. Her first thought was for Claire, who now hung helpless and - unconscious against the bonds that held her. But Blaise very speedily - directed her attention to something of more urgent importance for the - moment. - </p> - <p> - “Unlock that door,” he called to her. “Quick!” He - was still panting from the exertion of the recent struggle. “Get a - rope of some sort!” - </p> - <p> - Jean turned the key and tore open the door leading into the hall. The - little flock of servants gathered outside it overflowed into the room, - frightened and excitedly inquisitive. - </p> - <p> - “Get some cord, one of you,” commanded Jean authoratively. - “Anything will do if it’s strong.” - </p> - <p> - Two or three of the servants broke away from the main body and ran - frantically in search of the required cord, glad to be of use, and very - soon Sir Adrian, bound as humanely as his struggles rendered possible, was - borne to his own room and laid upon his bed. - </p> - <p> - “Ring up the doctor,” ordered Blaise, as he assisted in the - rather difficult process of conveying Sir Adrian upstairs. “Tell him - to come to Charnwood as quickly as he can get here.” And another - eager little detachment of domestics flew off to carry out his bidding. - The under-footman won the race for the telephone by a good half-yard, and, - in a voice which fairly twittered with the agitating and amazing news he - had to impart, transmitted the message to the doctor’s parlour-maid - at the other end of the wire, adding a few picturesque and stimulating - details concerning the struggle which had just taken place—and - which, apparently, he had perceived with the eye of faith through the - wooden panels of the locked door. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Nick and Jean had turned their attention towards releasing - Claire, who, as the last of her bonds was cut, toppled forward in a dead - faint into the former’s arms. - </p> - <p> - A second procession wended its way upstairs, Nick bearing the slight, - unconscious figure in his arms while Jean and a kindly-faced housemaid - followed. - </p> - <p> - “Her ladyship’s maid is out, miss,” volunteered the - girl. “But perhaps I can help?” - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled at her, the frank, friendly smile that always won for her the - eager, willing service of man and maid alike. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure you can,” she said gently. “As soon as - we can bring her ladyship round, you shall help me undress her and put her - to bed.” - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes Claire recovered consciousness, but she was horribly - shaken and distraught, crying and clinging to Jean or to the housemaid—who - was almost crying, too, out of sympathy—like a child frightened by - the dark. - </p> - <p> - Jean, understanding just what was needed, shepherded Nick to the door of - the room, where he lingered unhappily, his anxious gaze still fixed on the - slender, shrinking figure upon the couch. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t worry, Nick,” she said reassuringly. “She’ll - he all right; it’s only reaction. But I know what she wants—she - wants a real mother-person. Go down and ring up Lady Anne, will you, and - ask her to come over in the car as quickly as she can.” - </p> - <p> - Nick nodded; the idea commended itself to him. His “pale golden - narcissus,” so nearly broken, would be safe indeed with the kind, - comforting arms of his mother about her. - </p> - <p> - It was an intense relief to Jean when Lady Anne arrived and quietly and - efficiently took command of affairs. And there was sore need for her - unruffled poise and capability throughout the night that followed. - </p> - <p> - Claire, nervous and utterly unstrung, slept but little, waking constantly - with a cry of terror as in imagination she relived the ordeal of the - afternoon, while in the big bedroom across the landing, where her husband - lay, the grim shadow of death itself was drawing momentarily closer. - </p> - <p> - By the time the doctor had arrived in answer to the summons sent, there - seemed small need for the strong cords with which Sir Adrian’s limbs - were bound. The wild fury of the afternoon’s struggle had thoroughly - exhausted him, and he lay, propped up with pillows, apparently in a state - of stupor, breathing very feebly. - </p> - <p> - “Heart,” the doctor told Tormarin after he had made a swift - examination. “I’ve known for months that Sir Adrian might go - out at any moment. His heart was already impaired, and, of course, he’s - drugged for years. He may recover a little, but if, as I think is highly - probable, there’s any recurrence of the brain disturbance—why, - he’ll not live out a second paroxysm. The heart won’t stand - it.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin endeavoured to look appropriately shocked. But the doctor was a - man and an honest one, and not even professional etiquette prevented his - adding, with a jerk of his head in the direction of Claire’s - bedroom: - </p> - <p> - “It would be a merciful deliverance for that poor little woman. - There’s a strain of madness in the Latimer’s you know. And”—with - a shrug—“naturally Sir Adrian’s habits have accentuated - it in his own case.” - </p> - <p> - But the doctor was mistaken in his calculations. Sir Adrian’s - constitution was stronger than he estimated. As Nick had once bitterly - commented to Jean, the man was like a piece of steel wire, and two - dreadful outbreaks of maniacal fury had to be endured before the wire - began to weaken. - </p> - <p> - During the course of the first paroxysm it was all the four men could do - to restrain him from leaping from the bed and rushing out of the room, - since, during the period of quiescence which had preceded the doctor’s - arrival, a mistaken feeling of humanity had dictated the loosening of the - cords which bound him. - </p> - <p> - He fought and screamed, uttering the most horrible imprecations, and his - evil intent towards the woman who was his wife was unmistakable. With her - husband free to work his will, Claire’s life would not have been - worth a moment’s purchase. - </p> - <p> - In the period of coma that succeeded this outbreak Sir Adrian, was again - secured, as mercifully as possible, from any possibility of doing his wife - a mischief, and the second paroxysm which convulsed the bound and shackled - madman was very terrible to witness. - </p> - <p> - Like its predecessor, this attack was followed by a stupor, during which - Sir Adrian appeared more dead than alive. - </p> - <p> - He was palpably weaker, restoratives failing to produce any appreciable - effect, and towards morning, in those chill, small hours when the powers - of the body languish and fail, the crazed and self-tormented spirit of - Adrian Latimer quitted a world in which he had been able to perceive none - of those things that are just and pure and lovely and of good report, but - only distrust and malice and, finally, black hatred. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - A fortnight had come and gone. Sir Adrian’s body had been laid to - rest in Coombe Eavie churchyard, and Claire, in the simplest of widow’s - weeds, went about once more, looking rather frail and worn-out but with a - fugitive light of happiness on her face that was a source of rejoicing to - those who loved her. - </p> - <p> - She made no pretence at mourning the man who had turned her life into a - living hell for nearly three years and who stood like a gaoler betwixt her - and the happiness which might have been hers had she been free. But the - conventions, as well as her own feelings, dictated that a decent interval - must elapse before she and Nick could be married, and this would be for - her a quiet period dedicated to the readjustment of her whole attitude - towards life. - </p> - <p> - The length of that period was the subject of considerable discussion. Nick - protested that six months was amply long enough to wait—too long - indeed!—but Claire herself seemed disposed to prolong her widowhood - into a year. - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t in the least because I feel I owe it to Adrian,” - she said in answer to Nick’s protest. “I don’t consider - that I owe him anything at all. But I feel so battered, Nick, so utterly - tired and weary after the perpetual struggle of the last three years that - I don’t want to plunge suddenly into the new duties of a new life—not - even into new happiness. It’s difficult to make you understand, but - I feel just like a sponge which has soaked up all it can and simply can’t - absorb any more of <i>anything</i>. You must let me have time for the past - to evaporate a bit.” - </p> - <p> - But it required the addition of a few common-sense observations on the - part of Lady Anne to drive the nail home. - </p> - <p> - “Claire is quite right, Nick,” she told him. “She is - temporarily worn out—mentally, physically and spiritually spent. Her - nerves have been kept at their utmost stretch off and on for years, and - now that release has come they’ve collapsed like a fiddle-string - when the peg that holds it taut is loosened. You must give her time to - recover, to key herself up to normal pitch again. At present she isn’t - fit to face even the demands that big happiness brings in its train.” - </p> - <p> - So Nick had perforce to bow to Claire’s decision, and it was settled - that for the first month of two, at least, of her widowhood Jean should - remove herself and her belongings from Staple and bear her company at - Charnwood. And meanwhile Nick and Claire would spend many peaceful hours - together of quiet happiness and companionship, while Claire, as she - herself expressed it, “rebuilt her soul.” - </p> - <p> - To Jean the issue of events had brought nothing but pure joy. Her belief - had been justified, and the grim gateway of death had become for these two - friends of hers the gateway to happiness. - </p> - <p> - She had neither seen nor heard anything from Burke since the day she had - fled from him on the Moor, although indirectly she had discovered that he - had quitted the bungalow the day following that of her flight from it and - had gone to London. - </p> - <p> - Judith sent her a brief, rather formal letter of congratulation upon her - engagement, but in it she made no reference to him nor did she endeavour - to explain away or palliate her own share in his scheme to force Jean’s - hand. Probably an odd kind of loyalty to her brother prevented her from - clearing herself at his expense, added to a certain dogged pride which - refused to let her extenuate any action of hers; to the daughter of Glyn - Peterson. - </p> - <p> - But none of these things had any power to hurt Jean now. In her new-born - happiness she felt that she could find it in her heart to forgive anybody - anything! She was even conscious of a certain tentative understanding and - indulgence for Burke himself. He had only used the “primitive man” - methods his temperament dictated in his effort to win the woman he wanted - for his wife. And he had failed. Just now, Jean could not help - sympathising with anybody who had failed to find the happiness that love - bestows. - </p> - <p> - She reflected that the old gipsy on the Moor had been wonderfully correct - in her prophecy concerning Nick and Claire. The sun was “shin’ - butivul” for them at last, just as she had assured them that it - would. - </p> - <p> - And, with the same, came a sudden little clutch of fear at Jean’s - heart, like the touch of a strange hand. The gipsy had had other words for - her—harsher, less sweet-sounding. - </p> - <p> - “For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.” - </p> - <p> - She shivered a little. She felt as though a breath of cold air had passed - over her, chilling the warm blood that ran so joyously in her veins. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXI—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>LAISE was seated - at his study table, regarding somewhat dubiously a letter which lay open - in front of him. - </p> - <p> - It was written in a flowing, foreign hand and expressed with a quaintly - stilted, un-English turn of phrase. The heading of the notepaper upon - which it was inscribed was that of a hotel in Exeter. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - “Dear Mr. Tormarin,” it ran. “You will, without doubt, be - surprised to receive a letter from me, since we have met - only once. But I have something of the most great importance - to confide in you, and I therefore beg that you will accord - me an interview. When I add to this that the matter - approaches very closely the future of your fiancée, Miss - Peterson, I do not doubt to myself that you will appoint a - time when I may call to see you.” - </pre> - <p> - The letter was signed <i>M. de Varigny</i>. - </p> - <p> - Blaise had received this thought-provoking epistle two days previously, - and had been impressed by an uncomfortable consciousness that it foreboded - something unpleasant. He could not imagine in what manner the affairs of - Madame de Varigny impinged upon his own, or rather, as she seemed to - imply, upon those of his future wife, and this very uncertainty had - impelled him to fix the interview the Countess had demanded at as early a - moment as possible. Disagreeables were best met and faced without delay. - So now he was momentarily awaiting her arrival, still unable to rid - himself of the impression that something of an unpleasant nature impended. - </p> - <p> - He glanced through the open window, facing him. Afterwards, he was always - able to recall every little detail of the picture upon which his eyes - rested; it was etched upon his mind as ineffaceably as though cut upon - steel with a graver’s tool. - </p> - <p> - Although the mellow sunlight of September flooded the lawns and terraces, - that indescribable change which heralds autumn had already begun to - manifest itself. Not that any hint of chill as yet edged the balmy - atmosphere or tint of russet reddened the gently waving foliage of the - trees. It was something less definite—a suggestion of maturity, of - completed ripening, conveyed by the deep, rich green of the grass, the - strong, woody growth of the trees, the full-blown glory of the roses - nodding on their stems. - </p> - <p> - To the left, in the shade of a stately cedar, Lady Anne and Jean were - encamped with their sewing and writing materials at hand, and the rays of - sunshine, filtering between the widespread branches above them, woke - fugitive gold and silver lights in the down-bent auburn and white-crowned - heads. Further away, in the valley below, the brown smudge of a - wide-bottomed boat broke the smooth expanse of the lake whence the mingled - laughter of Nick and Claire came floating up on the breeze. - </p> - <p> - It was a peaceful scene, full of intimate happiness and tender promises, - and Blaise watched it with contented eyes. The voice of Baines, formal and - urbane, roused him from a pleasant reverie. - </p> - <p> - “Madame de Varigny,” announced that functionary, throwing open - the door and standing aside for the visitor to enter. - </p> - <p> - Blaise rose courteously to greet her, holding out his hand. But the - Countess shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No, I will not shake hands,” she said abruptly. “When - you know why I am come, you will not want to shake hands with me.” - </p> - <p> - There was something not unattractive about the outspoken refusal to sail - under false colours, more especially softened, as it was, by the charm of - the faintly foreign accent and intonation. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny had paused a moment in the middle of the room and was - regarding her host with curiously appraising eyes, and as Blaise returned - her gaze he was conscious, as once before at the fancy-dress ball at - Montavan, of the strange sense of familiarity this woman had for him. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry for that,” he said, answering her refusal to shake - hands. “Won’t you, at least, sit down?” pulling forward - a chair. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will sit.” - </p> - <p> - She sank into the chair with the quick, graceful motion of the South, and - continued to regard Blaise watchfully between the thick fringes of her - lashes. Had Jean been present, she would have been struck anew by the - expression of implacability which hardened the dark-brown eyes. By that, - and by something else as well—a look of unmistakable triumph. - </p> - <p> - “I have much—much to say to you, Monsieur Tor-ma-rin,” - she began at last. “I will commence by telling you a little about - myself. I am”—here she looked away for an instant, then shot a - swift, penetrating glance at him—“an Italian by birth.” - </p> - <p> - A brief silence followed this announcement. Blaise was thinking - concentratedly. So Madame de Varigny, despite her French name and her - French mannerisms, was an Italian! He might have guessed it had the - possibility ever definitely presented itself to him—guessed it from - those broad, high cheek bones, those liquid, southern-dark eyes, and the - coarse, blue-black hair. Yet, except for one fleeting moment at Montavan, - the idea had never occurred to him, and it had then been swiftly - dissipated by Jean’s explanation that the impressive-looking - Cleopatra was the Comtesse de Varigny and her chaperon for the time being. - </p> - <p> - Italian! Blaise felt more convinced than ever now that Madame de Varigny’s - visit portended unpleasant developments. Something, a voice from the past, - was about to break stridently on the peaceful present. He braced himself - to meet and counter whatever might be coming. Vaguely he foresaw some kind - of blackmail, and he thanked Heaven for Jean’s absolute - understanding and complete knowledge of the past and of all that - appertained to his first unhappy marriage. There would be little foothold - here for an attempt at blackmail, however skilfully worked, he reflected - grimly. - </p> - <p> - He therefore responded civilly to Madame de Varigny’s statement, - apparently accepting it at its mere face value. - </p> - <p> - “I am surprised,” he told her. “You have altogether the - air of a Parisian.” - </p> - <p> - The Countess smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I had a French grandmother,” she returned carelessly. - “Also, I have lived much in Paris.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! that explains it,” replied Tormarin, leaning back in his - chair as though satisfied. “It’s the influence of environment - and heredity, I expect.” - </p> - <p> - He was fencing carefully, waiting for the woman to show her hand. - </p> - <p> - “I have also Corsican blood in my veins,” pursued Madame de - Varigny. Then, as Tormarin made no answer, she leaned forward and said - intently: “Do you know the characteristic of the Corsicans, Monsieur - Tor-ma-rin? They never forget—<i>nevaire</i>”—her - foreign accent increasing, as usual, with emotion of any kind. “The - Corsican always repays.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes? And you have something to repay? Is that it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I have something to repay.” - </p> - <p> - “A revenge, in fact?” - </p> - <p> - “She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No. I do not call it revenge. It is punishment—the just - punishment earned by the man who married Nesta Freyne and brought her in - return nothing but misery.” Tormarin rose abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “What have the affairs of Nesta Freyne to do with you?” he - asked sternly. “As you are obviously aware, she was my wife. And I - do not propose to discuss private personal matters with an entire - stranger.” He moved towards the door. “I think our interview - can very well terminate at that. I do not wish to forget that I am your - host.” - </p> - <p> - “You are more than that,” said Madame de Varigny suavely. - “You are my brother-in-law.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>What?</i>” Tormarin swung ’round and faced her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” The suavity was gone now, replaced by a curious deadly - precision of utterance, enhanced by the foreign rendering of syllabic - values. “I am—or was, until my marriage—Margherita - Valdi. I am Nesta’s sister.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin regarded her steadily. - </p> - <p> - “In that case,” he said, “I will hear what you have to - say. Though I don’t think,” he added, “that any good can - come of raking up the past. It is better—forgotten.” - </p> - <p> - “Forgotten?” Madame de Varigny seized upon the unlucky word. - “Yes—it may be easy enough for you to forget—you who - took Nesta’s young, beautiful life and crushed it; you who came like - a thief and stole from me the one creature in the whole world whom I loved—my - <i>bambina</i>, my little sister. Oh, yes”—her voice rose - passionately—“easy enough when there is another woman—a - new love—with whom you think to start your life all over again! But - I tell you, you <i>shall not!</i> There shall be no new beginning for you—no - marriage with this Jean Peterson to whom you are now <i>fiancé</i>. I - forbid it—I——” - </p> - <p> - Blaise stemmed the torrent of her speech with an authoritative gesture. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask how the news of my engagement reached you?” he - asked, his cool, dispassionate question falling like a hailstone dropped - into some molten stream of lava. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I have kept watch. I have the means of knowing. There is very - little that has happened to you since—since I wrote to you of Nesta’s - death”—she stumbled a little over the words, and Blaise, - despite his anger, was conscious of a sudden flash of sympathy for her—“very - little that I have not known. And this—your engagement, I knew of - that when it was barely a week old.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m really curious to know why my affairs should be of such - surpassing interest to you. My engagement, for instance—how did you - hear of it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that was easy”—contemptuously. “There was - another man who loved your Mees Peterson—this Monsieur Burke. I used - him. I knew he was afraid that you might win her, and I told him that if - ever you became engaged he must come and tell me, and I would show him how - to make sure that you should never marry her. Oh! That was <i>vairy</i> - simple!” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid you promised him more than you can hope to - perform. I grant that you have every reason to dislike me—hate me, - if you will. I acknowledge, too, that I was to blame, miserably to blame, - for Nesta’s unhappiness—as much in fault as she herself. But - there is nothing gained at this late hour by apportioning the blame. We - each made bad mistakes—and we have each had to pay the price.” - </p> - <p> - “Yours has been a very light price—comparatively,” she - commented with intense bitterness. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” - </p> - <p> - Something in the quiet, still utterance of the brief question brought her - glance swiftly, curiously, back to his face. It was as though, behind - those four short words, she could feel the intolerable pressure of years - of endurance. For a moment she seemed to waver, then, as though she had - deliberately pushed the impression aside, she laughed disagreeably. - </p> - <p> - “Too light to satisfy her sister, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin froze. - </p> - <p> - “It is fortunate, then, that my ultimate fate does not lie in your - hands,” he observed. - </p> - <p> - “But that is just where it does lie—in the palm of my hand—there!” - </p> - <p> - She flung out one shapely hand, palm, upward, and pointed to it with the - other. - </p> - <p> - “And now—see—I close my hand—so!... And this - beautiful marriage of which you have dreamed, your marriage with Mees - Peterson—<i>it does not take place!</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Are you mad?” asked Blaise contemptuously, experiencing all - an Englishman’s distaste for this display of unforced drama. - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said quietly. “I am not mad.” - </p> - <p> - The air of theatricality seemed to fall suddenly away from her, leaving - her a stern and sombre figure, invested with an intrinsic atmosphere of - tragedy, filled with one sentiment only—the thirst for vengeance. - </p> - <p> - “No. I am not mad. I am telling you the truth. You can never marry - Jean Peterson, because Nesta—your wife—still lives.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin fell back a pace. For one moment he believed the woman had gone - genuinely mad—that by dint of long brooding upon how she might most - hurt and punish the Englishman whom she had never forgiven for marrying - her sister, she had evolved from a half-crazed mind the belief that Nesta - still lived and that thus she would be able to prevent his marriage with - any other woman. - </p> - <p> - And then, looking into those seeming soft brown eyes with the granite - hardness in their depths, he could see the light of reason burning - steadily within them. - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny was quite sane, as sane as he was himself. And if so... - </p> - <p> - A great fear came upon him—the fear of a man who dimly senses the - approach of some appalling danger and knows that it will find him utterly - defenceless. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what you are saying?” he demanded, his voice - roughened and uneven. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know. Nesta is alive,” she repeated simply. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Alive?</i>” - </p> - <p> - The word was wrung from him, hardly more than a hoarse whisper of sound. - He swung round upon her violently. - </p> - <p> - “But you yourself wrote and told me of her death?” She nodded - placidly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I wrote a lie.” - </p> - <p> - “But the official information? We had that, too, later, from the - French police, confirming your account. You had better be careful about - what you are telling me,” he added sternly. “Lies won’t - answer, now.” - </p> - <p> - “The need for lying is past,” she answered with the most - absolute candour. “The French police wrote quite truthfully all they - knew. They had found the body of a suicide, whom I identified as my - sister. To strengthen matters I bribed someone I knew also to identify the - dead girl as Nesta. She was a married woman, too, the poor little dead, - one! So it was quite simple. And I took Nesta home—home to Château - Varigny. I had married by then. But she had heard of my marriage through - friends in Italy and wrote to me from there, telling me of her misery with - you and begging me to succour her. So I went to Italy and brought her back - with me to Varigny. Then I planned that you should believe her dead. It - was all very simple,” she repeated complacently. - </p> - <p> - “But what was your object in all this? Why did you scheme to keep me - in ignorance? What was your purpose?” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” Her voice deepened suddenly, the placid satisfaction - with which she had narrated the carrying out of her plan disappearing from - it completely. “Why? I did it to punish you—first for stealing - my Nesta from me and then because, after you had stolen her, you brought - her nothing but misery and heart-break. She was so young—so young! - And you, with your hideous temper and cold, formal English ways—you - broke her heart, cowed her, crushed her!” - </p> - <p> - “She was old enough to coquette with every man she met,” came - grimly between Tormarin’s teeth. “No husband—English or - Italian, least of all Italian—would have endured her conduct.” - </p> - <p> - “She would not have played with other men if you had loved her. She - was all fire. And you—you were like a wet log that will not burn!” - She gestured fiercely. “You <i>never</i> loved her! It was in a - moment of passion—of desire that you married her!... But you were - sure, eventually, to meet some other woman and learn what love—real - love—is. So I waited. And when I saw you at Montavan with Jean—I - knew that the day I had waited for so long would come at last. I knew that - your punishment was ready to my hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean”—Blaise spoke in curiously measured accents—“do - you mean that you deliberately concealed the fact that Nesta still lived - so that——” - </p> - <p> - “So that you should not marry the woman that you loved when the time - came! Yes, I planned it all! I kept Nesta safely hidden at Varigny, and I - made little changes in her appearance—a woman can, you know”—mockingly—“the - colour of her hair, the way of dressing it. Oh, just little changes, so - that if by chance she was seen in the street by anyone who had known her - as your wife she would not easily be recognised.” Oh once more with - that exasperating complacence at her own skill in deception—“I - thought of every little detail.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin stood listening to her silently, like a man in a trance. His face - had grown drawn and haggard, and his eyes burned in their sockets. Once, - as she poured out her story of trickery and deception, she heard him - mutter dazedly: “Jean... Jean,” and the anguish in his voice - might have moved any woman to pity save only one who was utterly and - entirely obsessed with the desire for vengeance. - </p> - <p> - But the intolerable suffering which had suddenly lined his face and rimmed - his mouth with tiny beads of sweat was meat and drink to her. She gloried - in it. This was her hour of triumph after long years of waiting. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him blandly. - </p> - <p> - “I think I have behaved very well,” she pursued. “I - might have waited till you were actually married. But I have no wish to - punish the little Jean. She, at least, is ‘on the square,’ as - you say—though it would have revenged my Nesta well had I waited. - You ruined Nesta’s life; I could have ruined the life of the woman - you love. I did think of it. Ah! You would have suffered then, knowing - that the Jean you worshipped was neither wife, nor maid, but a——” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Be silent, woman!</i>” - </p> - <p> - Tortured beyond bearing, this final taunt, levelled at the woman he held - more dear than anything in life, snapped his last thread of self-control. - </p> - <p> - He flung himself forward and his hands were gripping, gripping at the soft - ivory throat from which the taunt had sprung. He felt the woman writhe, - struggling to pull his hands from her neck. But it meant nothing to him. - He did not think of her any longer as a woman. She was something vile—leprous - to the very core of her being—a thing to be destroyed. The thing - which had made of all Jean’s promised happiness a black and bitter - mockery. - </p> - <p> - The mad Tormarin rage surged through his veins like a consuming fire. He - would break her—break her and utterly destroy her just as one - destroyed a deadly snake. - </p> - <p> - And then across the thunderous roar that beat in his ears came the beloved - voice, the voice that would have power to call him out of the depths of - hell itself—Jean’s voice. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise! Blaise! What are you doing? Stop!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXII—THE DIVIDING SWORD - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>LOWLY, - reluctantly, Tormarin’s hands loosened their clasp of Madame de - Varigny’s throat, and with a swift, flexible twist of the body she - slipped aside and stood a few paces away from him. - </p> - <p> - Jean looked from one to the other with horrified eyes. “Madame de - Varigny?—Blaise?” she stammered. “What is it?... Why, - you—you might have killed her, Blaise!” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her blankly. His release of the Italian woman had been in - mere blind response to Jean’s first imperative appeal that he should - desist But the mists of ungovernable anger had hardly yet cleared from his - brain; the blood still drummed in his ears like the roar of the sea. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise”—Jean spoke imploringly. “What were you - doing? Tell me———” - </p> - <p> - With an effort he seemed to recover himself. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a pity you didn’t let me finish it, Jean,” - he said harshly. “Such women are better dead.” - </p> - <p> - Madame de Varigny was fingering her neck delicately where the pressure of - Blaise’s grip had scored red marks on the cream-like flesh. She - seemed quite composed. Her smile still held its quiet triumph and her long - dark eyes gleamed with the same mockery that had brought her within - measureable distance of quick death. - </p> - <p> - “As Monsieur Tor-ma-rin seems to find a difficulty in explaining—permit - me,” she said at last “He was angry with me because I bring - him the good news that his wife is still alive, that he need mourn no - longer.” - </p> - <p> - While she spoke her eyes, resting on Blaise’s mask-like face, held - an expression of malicious satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “His wife... alive?” repeated Jean dazedly. “Blaise, is - she mad? Nesta has been dead years—years.” Then, as he made no - answer, she continued rapidly, a faint note of fear vibrating in her - voice: “Isn’t it so? Blaise—speak! Quickly, tell her—Nesta - has been dead some years!” - </p> - <p> - “He cannot tell me anything about her which I do not know already, - Mees Peterson, seeing that she is my sister and has been living with me - ever since her husband’s cruelty drove her from his home.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it true, Blaise?” whispered Jean. - </p> - <p> - Belief that some substance of terrible truth lay behind the Italian’s - coolly uttered statements was beginning to lay hold of her. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise, Blaise”—her voice rising a little—“say - it isn’t true—tell her it isn’t true.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her speechlessly, but the measureless pain in his eyes - answered her more fully, more convincingly than any words. - </p> - <p> - “You see?” broke in Madame de Varigny triumphantly. “He - cannot deny it! It was I who told him of her death and I who now tell him - that she still lives. Listen to me, mademoiselle, and I will recount you - how——” - </p> - <p> - “No!” interrupted Jean proudly. “Whatever there may be - for me to hear, I will hear it from Blaise—not from you.” - </p> - <p> - She turned again to Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me everything, Blaise,” she said simply. - </p> - <p> - He took her outstretched hands and drew her slowly towards him. No one, - reading now the calm sadness, the stern imprint of endurance on his face, - could have imagined it was that of the same man who, a few moments - earlier, had been swept by such a tempest of uncontrollable anger. - </p> - <p> - “Jean,” he said very gently and pitifully. “I’m - afraid that what Madame de Varigny says may be true. I have no proof that - it is not——” - </p> - <p> - “Nor have you any proof that it is,” broke in Jean swiftly. - She swung round on Madame de Varigny. “Where is your proof—where - is your proof?” - </p> - <p> - The Italian smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur Tor-ma-rin will find his wife in my car. I bade the - chauffeur wait with it at the lodge gate.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean you have brought Nesta—<i>here?</i>” cried - Blaise. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” replied Madame do Varigny, with a return to the - same exasperating complacency with which she had originally described her - whole scheme of revenge. “And—<i>here?</i> Surely her husband’s - house is the proper place to which to bring his wife?” - </p> - <p> - “She cannot remain here,” said Blaise with decision. - </p> - <p> - “No? For the moment that was not my idea. I brought her with me - because I thought there could be no more convincing proof.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise looked at her searchingly. He fancied he detected a false note in - her voluble speech, and a new idea presented itself to him. Was the woman - simply putting up a gigantic bluff? Or was it really Nesta, his wife, - waiting in the car at the lodge gates? It occurred to him as perfectly - feasible that it might be merely some woman whose remarkable resemblance - to the dead girl had suggested to the Countess’s fertile brain the - scheme that she should impersonate her. - </p> - <p> - His mind seized eagerly upon the idea, bolstering it up with Madame de - Varigny’s own admissions. “<i>I made little changes in her - appearance</i>,” she had said. “<i>The colour of her hair, the - way of dressing it</i>.” Probably she was relying on those “little - changes,” and on the blurred recollection resulting from the length - of time which had elapsed since Nesta’s death, to aid her in her - plan of introducing as his wife a woman who closely resembled her. He felt - morally sure of it, and the light of hope suddenly shone bravely. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you are deceiving me,” he said quietly. “Lying—as - you have lied all through the piece. I’ll come and see this ‘wife’ - you have waiting in the car for me”—grimly. He turned to Jean. - “Keep up your courage, sweetheart” he said in a low voice full - of infinite solicitude. “I believe the whole thing is a put-up job - to separate us.” - </p> - <p> - Jean smiled at him radiantly. She felt all at once very confident. In a - few minutes this nightmarish story of a Nesta still alive and claiming her - rights as Blaise’s wife would be proved a lie. - </p> - <p> - Tormarin crossed the room and opened the door. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Madame de Varigny—will you come with me?” - </p> - <p> - The woman hesitated a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Come,” insisted Blaise firmly. “Or—are you - afraid, after all, to bring me face to face with my wife?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said. “I am not afraid. It is only that I am - so sorry—so sorry for the little Jean.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes, soft and dark and liquid as the eyes of a deer, sought Jean’s - beseechingly. - </p> - <p> - “I am so sorry,” she repeated. And passed, slowly,—almost - unwillingly, it seemed, out of the room, followed by Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Jean raised her head from Blaise’s shoulder and pushed back her - hair, damp with perspiration, from her forehead. It seemed to her as - though she had been down, down into some awful, limitless abyss of - darkness from which she was now feebly struggling back to a painful - consciousness of material things. A great sea had surged over her head, - blotting out everything, and remained poised above her like a huge black - arch, imprisoning her in the vast, deserted chaos in which she found - herself wandering. Then—after a long time, it seemed—it had - surged away again and she could distinguish Blaise’s face bent above - her. - </p> - <p> - “Then—then it’s true?” she said stupidly. Her - voice sounded tiny, even to herself—a mere thread of sound. - </p> - <p> - Blaise made no answer. He only held her a little closer in his arms. She - supposed he hadn’t heard that thin little thread of voice. She must - try again. - </p> - <p> - “Is it true, Blaise? Is Nesta——” But somehow the - last word wouldn’t come. - </p> - <p> - She felt his arm jerk against her side. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said baldly. “It’s true. Nesta is alive. - I’ve seen her.” - </p> - <p> - Jean said nothing. She knew it—had known it all the time the arched - wall of sea had kept her down in that awful black waste where there had - been neither warmth nor sunshine but only bitter, freezing cold and - lightless space. She clung a little closer to Blaise, like a frightened, - exhausted child. - </p> - <p> - “Heart’s beloved... little <i>dearest</i> Jean...” She - heard the wrung murmur of his voice above her head. Then suddenly, his - arms tightening round her: “<i>My soul!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The sunlight still slanted in through the windows, mellow and golden. A - gay shout of laughter came up from the boat on the lake. The clock on the - chimney-piece struck the hour—twelve slow, maddening strokes. - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at its blank, foolish face. The hands had pointed to half-past - eleven when the door of the room had closed behind Blaise and Madame de - Varigny. It had taken just a brief half-hour to smash up her whole world—to - rob her of everything that mattered. - </p> - <p> - “I must think—I must think,” she muttered. - </p> - <p> - “Belovedest”—Blaise’s voice was wonderfully tender—not - with the passionate tenderness of a lover but with a solicitude that was - almost maternal. “Belovedest, don’t try to think now. Try to - rest a little, won’t you?” - </p> - <p> - And at that Jean came right back to an understanding of all that had - happened, as the needle of a compass swings back to the frozen north. - </p> - <p> - “Rest?” she said. “<i>Rest?</i> Do you realise that I - shall have all the remainder of life to—rest in? There’ll he - nothing else to do.” - </p> - <p> - She released herself very gently from Tormarin’s arms and, crossing - the room to the window, stood looking out. - </p> - <p> - “How funny!” she said in a rather high-pitched, uncertain - voice. “It all looks just the same—although everything in the - world is changed.” - </p> - <p> - He came and stood beside her. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is changed, dear. Our - love is the same as it was before. Always remember that.” - </p> - <p> - “But we can’t every marry now.” - </p> - <p> - “No. We can’t marry—now. You’ll never have the - Tormarin temper to bear with, after all!” - </p> - <p> - She laid her hand swiftly across his lips. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it was dreadful!” she said, recalling the terrible scene - which she had interrupted. “It—it hardly seemed—<i>you</i>, - Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - “For the moment it wasn’t. It was the Tormarin devil—the - curse of every generation. But I think that Varigny woman could turn a - saint into a devil if she tried! She said something about you—and I - couldn’t stand it.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that it? Then I suppose I shall have to forgive you”—with - a pale little attempt at a smile. - </p> - <p> - But the half-hearted smile faded again almost instantly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Blaise, what would your temper matter if we could still be - together?” she cried passionately. “Nothing in the wide world - would matter then!” - </p> - <p> - Presently she spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “But it’s worse for you than for me. I wish it were more - equal.” - </p> - <p> - “How worse for me? I don’t understand. Unless”—with - a brief, sad smile—“you love me less?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you know I don’t mean that! But I’ve only the - separation to face. I’m not tied to somebody I don’t love. You’ve - got Nesta to consider.” - </p> - <p> - “Nesta?” He gave a short, grim laugh. “Nesta can go back - to where she came from.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. At last Jean broke it. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise, you can’t do that—you can’t send her away - again,” she said in quick, low tones. “She’s your wife.” - </p> - <p> - “My wife! She seems to have been oblivious of the fact—and to - have wished me to be equally oblivious of it—for the last few years.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, of course she’s been wrong, wickedly wrong. But that - doesn’t alter the fact that she’s your responsibility, Blaise. - You must take her back.” - </p> - <p> - “Take her back?”—violently. “I’ll be shot if - I do! She’s chosen to live her life without me for the last few - years—she can continue to do so.” - </p> - <p> - Jean laid her hand on his arm. She was smiling wistfully. “Dear, you’ll - have to take her back,” she persisted gently. “Don’t you - see—she’s not wholly to blame? You’ve admitted that. You’ve - blamed yourself in a large measure for her running away. It’s up to - you now to put things straight, to—to give her the chance she didn’t - have before.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re discounting these last few years,” he returned - gravely. “These years in which she has lived a lie, allowing me to - believe her dead—-cheating and deceiving me as no man was ever - cheated before. She’s cheated me out of my happiness”—heavily—“taken - <i>you</i> from me!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know.” Jean’s voice quivered, but she steadied - it again. “But even in that, she was not solely to blame. You’ve - told me how—how weak she is and easily led astray. And she’s - very young. What chance would Nesta have of asserting her will against her - sister’s, even had she wished to return to you? She ran away from - Staple in a fit of temper and because you had frightened her. After that—you - can see for yourself—Madame de Varigny is responsible for everything - that has happened since.” - </p> - <p> - Tormarin remained silent. The quiet justice of Jean’s summing up of - the situation struck at him hard. - </p> - <p> - She waited a moment, then added quietly: - </p> - <p> - “You must take her back, Blaise.” - </p> - <p> - He wheeled round on her violently. - </p> - <p> - “And you?” he exclaimed. “You? Did you ever love me, - Jean, that you can talk so coolly about turning me over to another woman?” - </p> - <p> - She whitened at the bitter accusation in his tones, but she did not - flinch. - </p> - <p> - “It’s just <i>because</i> I love you, Blaise, that I want you - to do this thing—to do the only thing that is worthy of you. Oh, my - dear, my dear”—her hands went out to him in sudden, helpless - pleading—“do you think it’s <i>easy</i> for me to ask - it?” The desolate cry pierced him. He caught her in his arms, - kissing her fiercely, adoringly. - </p> - <p> - “Sweetheart!... Forgive me! I’m half mad, I think. Beloved, - say that you forgive me!” - </p> - <p> - She leaned against him, glad to feel the straining clasp of his arms about - her—to rest once more in her place against his heart. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest of all,” she said tremulously, “there is no - question of forgiveness between us two. There never will be. We’re - just—both of us—struggling in the dark, and there’s only - duty”—brokenly—“only duty to hold to.” - </p> - <p> - They stood together in silence, comforted just a little by the mere human - touch of each other in this communion of sorrow which had so suddenly come - upon them, yet knowing in their hearts that this was the very comfort that - must for ever be denied them in the lonely future. - </p> - <p> - At last Jean raised her head from its resting-place and her eyes searched - Blaise’s face, asking the question she could no longer bring herself - to put in words. He met their gaze. “Jean, is it your wish I do this - thing—take Nesta back?” He felt a shudder run through her - frame. Twice she tried ineffectually to answer. At last she forced her dry - lips to utter an affirmative. - </p> - <p> - “So be it.” - </p> - <p> - His answer sounded in her ears like the knell to the whole meaning of - life. The future was settled. Henceforth their lives must lie apart. - </p> - <p> - “So be it,” said Blaise. “She shall come back and take - her place again at Staple.” - </p> - <p> - Jean clung to him a little closer. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise, beloved—I know the harder part will be yours. But - mine won’t be easy, dear. I shall go to Charnwood to be with Claire - at once—to-morrow—and it won’t be easy, when I see in an - evening the lights twinkle up at Staple, to know that you two are within, - shut in from the world together, while I’m outside—always - outside your life and your love.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll never be outside my love,” he said swiftly. - “That’s yours, now and forever. And no other woman shall rob - you of one jot or tittle of it, were she my wife twenty times over. I will - bring Nesta back to Staple, and she shall bear my name and live as my wife - in the eyes of the world. But my love—that is yours, utterly and - entirely. Yours and no other’s.” - </p> - <p> - She lifted her face to his, and their lips met in a kiss that was the seal - of love and all love’s faithfulness. - </p> - <p> - “So is mine yours,” she said. “How and forever, in this - world and the next. Oh, Blaise—beloved!”—she clung to - him in a passion of love and anguish and straining belief—“Some - day, surely, in that other world, God will give us freedom to take our - happiness!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIII—THE RETURNING TIDE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>WO months had - elapsed since Fate’s dividing sword had fallen, forever separating - Jean from the man she loved, and the subsequent march of events, with the - many changes involved and the bitter loneliness of soul entailed, had made - the two months seem to her more like two years. - </p> - <p> - She had left Staple for Charnwood on the day following that of Madame de - Varigny’s visit. It was no longer possible for her to remain under - the same roof with Blaise, where the enforced strain of meeting each other - daily, and of endeavouring to behave as though nothing more than mere - commonplace friendship linked them together, would have been too great for - either of them to endure even for the few remaining days which still - intervened before the date originally planned for her departure. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne, with her usual sympathetic insight, had made no effort to - dissuade her, reluctant though she had been to part with her. For herself, - the fact that Nesta was alive had come upon her in the light of an almost - overwhelming blow. She had never liked the girl, whereas she had grown to - look upon Jean as a beloved daughter, and no one had rejoiced more - sincerely than his mother when Blaise had confided to her the news of his - engagement. At last she would see that grey page in his life turned down - for ever and the beginning of a newer, fairer page, illuminated with - happiness! And instead, like a tide that has receded far out and then - rushes in again with redoubled energy, the whole misery and sorrow of the - past had returned upon him, a thousand times accentuated by reason of his - love for Jean. - </p> - <p> - It was with a heavy heart, therefore, that Lady Anne, together with Nick, - quitted Staple and established herself for the second time at the Dower - House, retiring thither in favour of Nesta who was now installed once more - at the Manor. And the thought of how gladly she would have effected the - same change, had it been Jean whom Blaise was bringing home as his bride, - added but a keener pang to her sorrow. - </p> - <p> - She watched with anxious eyes the progress of events at Staple. At the - commencement of the new régime Nesta had appeared genuinely repentant and - ashamed of her conduct in the past, and there was something disarming in - the little, half-apologetic air with which she had at first reassumed her - position of châtelaine of Staple, deferring eagerly to Blaise on every - point and trying her utmost to please him and conform to his wishes. It - held something of the appeal of a forgiven child who tries to atone for - former naughtiness by an almost alarming access of virtue. - </p> - <p> - She accepted with meek docility Blaise’s decision regarding the - purely formal relations upon which their married life was henceforth to be - based, apparently humbly thankful to be reinstated as his wife on any - terms whatsoever that he chose to dictate.. - </p> - <p> - “I know I have been bad—<i>bad</i>,” she declared, - “to run away and leave you like that. I can’t”—forlornly—“hope - for you to love me again——” - </p> - <p> - And Tormarin had replied with unmistakable decision: - </p> - <p> - “No, you can’t hope for that. And I’m glad you - understand and recognise the fact. Still, we can try to be good friends, - Nesta, at least.” - </p> - <p> - But this tranquil state of things only lasted for a comparatively short - time. Very soon, as the novelty and satisfaction of her reinstatement - began to wear off, Nesta became more self-assured and, apparently, - considerably less frequently visited by spasms of repentance and remorse. - </p> - <p> - Her butterfly nature could retain no very deep impression for any length - of time, and gradually the characteristics of the old Nesta—the - pettish, self-willed, pleasure-loving woman of former times—began to - reassert themselves. - </p> - <p> - Blaise tried hard to exercise forbearance with her and to treat her, at - least with justice and with a certain meed of kindliness. But she did not - second his efforts. Instead, she became more exigeant and difficult as - time passed on. - </p> - <p> - She was no longer satisfied by the fact that she was once more installed - as the mistress of Staple. She demanded a husband who would surround her - with all the little observances that only love itself can dictate, whom - she could alternately scold and cajole as the fancy took her, but who - would always come back to her, after a tiff, ready anew to play the - adoring lover. - </p> - <p> - She found Blaise’s cool, measured, elder-brotherly kindness - unendurable, and she exhausted herself beating continually against the - rock of his determination, without producing any effect other than to make - his manner even more austere, less friendly than it had been before. - </p> - <p> - Then when she recognised her total inability to move him to any sort of - responsive emotion, and that her beauty—which was undeniable—made - no more impression upon him than if he had been blind, she resorted to the - old, painfully, familiar weapons of tears and fits of temper, in the - course of which she would upbraid him bitterly, pouring forth streams of - reproaches which more often than not culminated in an attack of hysterics. - </p> - <p> - All of which Blaise bore with a curious, stoical self-control. It seemed - as though the Tormarin temper had been exorcised, as if that fierce storm - of anger provoked by Madame de Varigny’s taunts, and which had so - nearly resulted in a tragedy, had shocked Blaise into realisation of the - terrible latent possibilities of the family failing and the absolute - necessity for an iron self-government. - </p> - <p> - For weeks he supported Nesta’s petty gibes and ebullitions of temper - with illimitable patience, and it was only when, trading on his - unaccustomed forbearance, she ventured too far, that she was brought very - suddenly to understand that there was a limit beyond which she might not - go. - </p> - <p> - “I know why you no longer love me,” she told him at last, on - an occasion when she had been vainly endeavouring, by every feminine - blandishment and wile of which she was mistress, to evoke from him some - sign of an awakening <i>tendresse</i>. “I know!” - </p> - <p> - She nodded her dark head significantly, while pin-points of jealous anger - flickered in her long, narrow eyes, black as midnight. - </p> - <p> - “Then, if you know,” replied Tormarin patiently, “it is - surely most foolish of you to keep asking why I do not. Why can’t - you content yourself with things as they are, Nesta? We can only try to - make the best of a bad job. You don’t help me much in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want to help you,” she retorted viciously. - “I want you to love me. And you won’t, because of that - washed-out-looking, carroty-haired woman who is living with Lady Latimer. - And she’s in love with you, too!... No! I <i>won’t</i> be - quiet! Oh!”—her voice rising hysterically—“you - think I don’t notice things, but I do. I do, I tell you!” - </p> - <p> - She sprang up from the couch, where she had been lolling indolently amid a - heap of cushions, and crossed the room to his side. - </p> - <p> - “Do you hear me?” she cried violently, shaking him by the arm. - “You think I’m a blind fool! But I’m not! I’m not! - I’ve seen that Peterson woman looking at you like a cat looking - through the larder window——” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she felt Blaise’s hand clapped against her lips, stemming - the torrent of vulgar recrimination and abuse that poured from them. He - held it there quite gently, so as not to hurt her, but immovably, and she - had perforce to hear what he wished to say in rebellious silence. - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me,” he said gently. “It is quite true what - you say—that I love Jean Peterson and that she loves me. But we have - given up our love, and with it our hope of happiness in this world, for - you. In return, you will give up something for us. You will give up the - infinite pleasure you appear to derive from vilifying and belittling a - woman who is as much above you as the heavens are above the earth, whose - conception of love is as fine and pure as yours is mean and commonplace - and jealous. You will never again speak to Miss Peterson with anything but - respect, nor will you ever again refer to the love which you now know for - a fact exists between us. Your lips soil such love as ours. If you do, if - you disobey my commands in either of these respects, you go out of my - house that same day. <i>And you don’t return.</i>” - </p> - <p> - He released her and had the satisfaction, for once, of perceiving that she - believed he meant what he said. Presumably she came to the conclusion - that, in the circumstances, discretion was the better part of valour, for - she made no attempt to challenge his determination in the matter. - </p> - <p> - At the same time, unknown to him, she compelled Jean to pay for the - silence enforced upon her at home. With a species of venom, absurdly - childish in its manifestation, she essayed to excite Jean’s envy by - constantly enlarging to her upon the subject of Blaise’s perfections - as a husband, drawing entirely imaginary descriptions of the attention he - paid her and of his constant solicitude for her welfare, and vaunting her - happiness at being his wife. - </p> - <p> - “I am so proud to have won so fine and splendid a husband,” - she would declare fervently. “Would you not feel the same, Miss - Peterson, if you were me?” - </p> - <p> - And Jean would make answer, outwardly unmoved: - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I should. You ought to be a happy woman, Mrs. Tormarin.” - </p> - <p> - The quiet composure which Jean invariably opposed to these knat-like - attacks annoyed Nesta intensely. Endowed with all the petty jealousy of a - small nature, she herself, had the situation been reversed, would have - found this pinprick kind of warfare insupportable, and it made her furious - that her best thought-out and most spiteful efforts failed to goad Jean - into any expression of either anger or distress. The “cold - Englishwoman’s” armour of indifference and reserve seemed - impervious to no matter what poison-tipped dart she loosed against her. - </p> - <p> - Nesta felt that, as the woman in possession, she was missing half the - satisfaction in life by reason of her inability to triumph openly over the - other woman—the woman without the gate. Finally, at the end of her - resources of innuendo and allusion, she tried the effect of open warfare. - </p> - <p> - She had driven over to Charnwood to call and, as Claire was away, spending - the afternoon with friends, Jean had perforce to entertain her undesired - visitor alone. It was just as she was preparing to take her departure that - Nesta launched her attack. - </p> - <p> - “You look so ill, Miss Peterson,” she remarked - commiseratingly. “So pale and worn! It does not suit you, I am sure, - for of course you must have been very pretty at one time for my husband to - have wished to marry you.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at her without reply. The outrageous speech almost took her - breath away, by its sheer, impudent bravado. - </p> - <p> - “There!” Nesta feigned dismay. “Now I have offended you! - And I so want us to be good friends. But of course”—quickly—“it - is difficult for you to feel friendly towards the wife of Blaise. I can - understand that. I suppose”—her head a little tilted to one - side like that of an enquiring robin and her eyes fastened on the other’s - white face with a merciless, gimlet gaze that filled Jean with helpless - rage—“I suppose you loved him <i>very</i> much?” - </p> - <p> - Jean felt the blood rush into her cheeks and caught a responsive gleam of - satisfaction in the other’s half-closed eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I think that is hardly a subject which can be discussed between us,” - she said, with a supreme effort at self-control. - </p> - <p> - And then, to her unbounded thankfulness, Tucker threw open the door and - announced that Mrs. Tormarin’s car was waiting. - </p> - <p> - This open declaration of hostility on Nesta’s part gave Jean food - for reflection. Briefly she recounted the incident to Claire, adding: - </p> - <p> - “It means I must not go to Staple again. If she intends to adopt - that attitude, it would make a situation which is already quite difficult - enough hopelessly impossible.” - </p> - <p> - The two girls were pacing up and down the terrace at Charnwood together - when Jean indicated the consequences of Nesta’s visit, and Claire, - sensing the pain in her friend’s voice, pressed her arm - sympathetically. But she said nothing. What was there to say? Within - herself, she felt that Jean’s determination to eschew the Tormarin - menage altogether was the only wise one. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Blaise!” pursued Jean, a slight tremor in her voice. - “He has the hardest part to bear. She must make life hideously - difficult for him.” - </p> - <p> - Claire nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He is looking very fagged and strained. Horrid little beast!” - she added with unusual vehemence. “Why on earth couldn’t she - have <i>stayed</i> dead?” - </p> - <p> - Jean laughed joylessly. - </p> - <p> - “Why indeed?—Only she never really died, you see.” - </p> - <p> - “Jean”—Claire’s hand crept further along the other’s - arm and the kind little fingers sought and clasped Jean’s own—“if - you knew how miserable I am about you! It makes me feel wicked—disgustingly - selfish and wicked!—to be so happy myself when you have so much to - bear.” - </p> - <p> - There were tears in her voice, and Jean squeezed her hand reassuringly. - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” she said earnestly, “you had your black years - if anyone ever had! If a woman ever deserved her happiness at last, you - do.... I suppose we all get our share of trouble in this world,” she - went on thoughtfully. “I remember the first time I ever met Blaise—that - day at Montavan, you know—he said that Destiny, with her snuffers, - came to most of us sooner or later and snuffed out our light of happiness. - Well”—rather drearily—“I suppose it’s my - turn now and she’s come to me. That’s all.” - </p> - <p> - A little wind blew up from the valley, chill and complaining. Autumn had - the world at her mercy now, and a grey mist was rising from the sodden - fields, soaked by the continual rains of the preceding fortnight. - </p> - <p> - Claire shivered. - </p> - <p> - “Let’s go in,” she said. “It’s growing too - cold to stay out any longer. Besides, it’s depressing. Grey skies, - bare branches—Oh! How I detest the autumn!” They turned and - retraced their steps to the house. As they entered by way of the front - door, they caught a glimpse of the postman making his way briskly down the - drive. A solitary letter lay upon the hall table, addressed to Jean in a - rather flourishy copper-plate style of writing. - </p> - <p> - “A bill, I suppose!” she commented indifferently. - </p> - <p> - She picked it up carelessly, carrying it unopened to her room. Nor did she - open it immediately upon arriving there, stopping first to remove her hat - and coat. - </p> - <p> - When at last she slit the envelope she found that it was no tradesman’s - bill, as she had imagined, but a letter from Glyn Peterson’s family - solicitor, announcing, in the stiff phraseology without which no lawyer - seems able to express himself, the sudden death of her father. - </p> - <p> - Jean sat down abruptly, her legs seeming all at once to give way under - her. She could not grasp it—could not realise that the witty, - charming personality which, after all, in spite of Peterson’s lack - of the more conventional paternal attributes, had meant a great deal to - her, had been swept without warning out of her life for ever. - </p> - <p> - Glyn Peterson had, it seemed, died very suddenly, in a remote corner of - Africa whither his restless wanderings had led him, and it had been some - weeks before the news of his death had reached his lawyer, who had - immediately communicated it to Jean. - </p> - <p> - By his will, everything he possessed, except for a certain sum set aside - to cover a few legacies to old and valued servants, was left to Jean, and - with the quaint whimsicality which was characteristic of him he had - particularly mentioned: “<i>Beirnfels, the House of Dreams-Come-True</i>.” - </p> - <p> - The little phrase, with its suggestion of joyous consummation, stabbed her - with a sharp thrill of pain. Greeting her, as it did, at the moment when - all her hopes of happiness were lying trampled beneath the iron heel of - hostile destiny, it seemed to add a last touch of irony to the bitterness - of the burden she had to bear. - </p> - <p> - The House of Dreams-Come-True! In the solicitude and silence of her room - Jean laughed out loud at the mockery of it! But her breath caught in her - throat, sobbingly, and then quite suddenly the merciful, healing tears - began to fall, and, laying her head down on her arms, she cried - unrestrainedly. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIV—THE TEST - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>EW YEAR’S - EYE found Jean sitting alone in Claire’s special sanctum—the - room which had witnessed that frightful scene when Sir Adrian had suddenly - gone mad. - </p> - <p> - It was a cosy enough little room in winter-time. A cheery fire crackled in - the open grate, while a heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the door - that gave egress to the terrace, effectually screening out the ubiquitous - draught which invariably seeks entry through crack and hinge-space. - </p> - <p> - Claire was at the Dower House this evening, where a New Year’s - dinner-party was in progress, but Jean had no heart for festivities of any - kind even had she not been precluded from taking part in them by reason of - her father’s death. - </p> - <p> - The grief and strain of the last four months had set their mark upon her. - She was much thinner than formerly—her extreme slenderness - accentuated by the clinging black of the dress she was wearing—while - faint purple shadows lay beneath her eyes, giving her a look of frailty - and fatigue. - </p> - <p> - She and Claire led a very sober and uneventful existence at Charnwood, the - one absorbed in her quiet happiness, the other in her quiet grief. But the - bond of their friendship had held true throughout the differing fortunes - which had fallen to the lot of each, and although for Jean there was - inevitable additional pain involved in still remaining within the - neighbourhood of Staple, it was counterbalanced by the comfort she drew - from Clare’s companionship. - </p> - <p> - Besides, as she reflected dispiritedly, where else had she to go? The - Dower House would have been open to her, of course, at any time, but there - she would be certain to encounter Blaise more frequently, and of late her - principal preoccupation had been to avoid such meeting whenever possible. - And she could not face Beirnfels yet—alone! Some day, when Claire - was married, she knew that she must brace herself to return there—to - a house of dreams that would never come true now. But at present she - shrank intolerably from the idea. She craved companionship—above - all, the consoling, tender understanding which Claire, who had herself - suffered, was so well able to give her. - </p> - <p> - The book that she had been reading earlier in the evening lay open on her - knee, and her thoughts were with Claire now. She pictured her sitting next - to Nick at dinner, her flower-like face radiant with unclouded happiness, - and Jean was thankful to the very bottom of her heart that she was able to - feel glad—glad of that happiness. At least her own sorrow had not - yet taught her the grudging envy which cannot endure another’s joy. - </p> - <p> - With a quickly repressed sigh, she turned again to her book. Its pages - fluttered faintly, as though stirred by some passing current of air, and - Jean, coming suddenly out of her reverie, was conscious of a cool draught - wafting towards her from the direction of the terrace door. - </p> - <p> - Vaguely surprised, she glanced up, and a startled cry broke from her lips. - The door was open, the folds of the curtain had been drawn aside, and in - the aperture stood Blaise Tormarin. - </p> - <p> - Jean sprang up from her chair and stood staring at him with dilated eyes, - one hand gripping the edge of the chimney-piece. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise!... You!” The words issued stammeringly from her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he returned shortly. “May I come in?” - </p> - <p> - Without waiting for an answer he closed the door behind him, letting the - curtain fall back into its place, and crossed the room to her side. - </p> - <p> - Jean felt her heart contract as her eyes marked the changes wrought in him - by the few weeks which had elapsed since she had seen him. His face was - haggard as though from lack of sleep, and the lines on either side the - mouth were scored deep into the flesh. The mouth itself closed in a tense - line of savage misery and the stark bitterness of his eyes filled her with - grief and pity, knowing how utterly powerless she was to help or comfort - him. - </p> - <p> - Distrusting her self-control, she snatched at the first conventional - remark that suggested itself. - </p> - <p> - “I thought—I thought you and Nesta were both dining at the - Dower House,” she said confusedly. - </p> - <p> - “Nesta is there. I made an excuse. I came here instead.” - </p> - <p> - Something in the curt, clipped sentences sounded a note of warning in her - ears. - </p> - <p> - “But you ought not to have come here,” she replied quickly—defensively - almost. “Why have you come, Blaise?” - </p> - <p> - “I came,” he said slowly, “because I can’t bear my - life without you a day longer. Because—— Oh, Jean! Jean!... <i>Beloved!</i> - Do you need to ask me why I came?” - </p> - <p> - With a swift, irresistible movement he swept her up into his arms, holding - her crushed against his breast, his mouth on hers, kissing her as a man - kisses when love that has been long thwarted and denied at last bursts - asunder the shackles which constrained it. - </p> - <p> - And Jean, starved for four long months of the touch of the beloved arms, - the pressure of the beloved lips upon her own, had yielded to him almost - before she was aware of her surrender. - </p> - <p> - Then the remembrance of the woman who stood between them rushed across her - and she tore herself free from his embrace, white and trembling in every - limb. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise!... Blaise!... What are you thinking of? Oh! We’re mad—mad!” - </p> - <p> - She covered her face with her shaking hands but he drew them away, gazing - down at her with eyes that worshipped. - </p> - <p> - “No, beloved, we’re not mad,” lie cried triumphantly. - “We’re sane—sane at last. We were mad to think we could - live apart, mad to dream we could starve love like ours. That was when we - were mad! But we’ll never be parted again; sweet——” - </p> - <p> - “Blaise,” she whispered, staring at him with horrified, - dilated eyes. “You don’t know what you are saying! You’re - forgetting Nesta—your wife. Oh, go—go quickly! You must not - stay here and talk like this to me!” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he returned. “I won’t go, Jean. I’ve - come to take you away with me.” Once more his arms went round her. - “Belovedest, I can’t live without you any longer. I’ve - tried—and I can’t do it. Jean, you’ll come? You love me - enough—enough to come away with me to the ends of the earth where we’ll - find happiness at last?” - </p> - <p> - She sought to free herself from his, clasp, pressing with straining hands - against his chest. - </p> - <p> - “No! No!” she cried breathlessly. “I can’t go with - you... you know I can’t! Ah! Don’t ask me, Blaise!” - There was an agony of supplication in her voice. - </p> - <p> - “But I do ask you. And if you love me”—his eyes holding - hers—“you’ll come, Jean.” - </p> - <p> - “I do love you,” she answered earnestly. “But it isn’t - the you I love asking me this, Blaise. It’s some other man—a - stranger——” - </p> - <p> - “If you love me, you’ll come,” he reiterated doggedly. - “I can’t live without you, Jean. I want you—oh, heart’s - beloved, if you knew—” And the burning, passionate words, the - pent-up love and longing of months of separation and despair, came pouring - from his lips—beseeching and demanding, wringing her heart, pulling - at the love within her that ached to give him the answer which he craved. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Blaise, dearest of all—hush! Hush!” She checked him - brokenly, with quivering lips. “I can’t go with you. It wouldn’t - bring us happiness. Ah, listen to me, dear!” She came close to him - and laid her hands imploringly on his arm, lifting her white, stricken - face to his. “It would only spoil our love—to take it like - that when we have no right to. It would smirch and soil it, make it - something different. I think—I think, in the end, Blaise, it would - kill it.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing would ever kill my love for you,” he exclaimed - passionately. “Jean, little Jean, think of what our life together - might be—the glory and beauty of it—just you and I in our - House of Dreams!” - </p> - <p> - She caught her breath. Oh! Why did he make it so hard for her? With every - fibre of her being yearning towards him she must refuse, deny him, drive - him away from her. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” she cried tremulously. “We could never reach - our House of Dreams that way—Oh, I know it! At least, not the sort - of House of Dreams that would be worth anything to you or me, Blaise. It - would only be a sham, a make-believe. You can’t build true on a - rotten foundation.... Don’t ask me any more, dear. It’s so - hard—so hard to keep on saying no when everything in me wants to say - yes. But I must say it. And you... you must go back to Nesta.” - </p> - <p> - Her voice almost failed her. She could feel her strength ebbing with every - moment that he stayed beside her. She knew that she would not be able to - resist his pleading much longer. Her own heart was fighting against her—fighting - on his side! - </p> - <p> - He saw her weakness and caught at it eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded hoarsely. - “Do you know what you are sending me back to? Our life together—Nesta’s - and mine—has been simple hell upon earth. I obeyed you—and I - took her back. But I have done no good by it. She is as weak and worthless - as she ever was. Our days are one continual round of bickering and - quarrels.” His face darkened. “And she is not satisfied! Her - nominal position as my wife does not con tent her. Do you understand what - that must mean—if I go back?” He paused, his eyes bent - steadily upon her. “Jean”—very low—“now that - you know—will you still send me back to Nesta? Or will you come with - me and let us find our happiness together?” - </p> - <p> - He watched the scarlet flood surge into her face and then retreat, leaving - it a pallid white. - </p> - <p> - “Answer me!” he persisted, as she remained silent. - </p> - <p> - “Wait... wait a little...” she muttered helplessly. - </p> - <p> - She turned away from him and, leaning her elbows on the chimney-piece, - buried her face in her hands. - </p> - <p> - The supreme test had come at last. She realised, now, that her - renunciation—that renunciation which had cost her so much pain and - bitterness—had been, after all, only something superficial and - incomplete. She had not made the full sacrifice that duty and honour - demanded of her. Though she had outwardly renounced her lover—bade - him return to Nesta—she still held him hers by the utter - faithfulness of his love for her. Nesta had had but the husk, the shell—a - husband in name only, every hour of their life together an insult to her - pride and womanhood. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s thoughts lashed her. Her shoulders bent and cowered a little - as though beneath a physical blow. - </p> - <p> - There had been a time—oh! very long ago, it seemed, before Destiny - had come with her snuffers and quenched the twin flames and love and - happiness—a time when dimly, as in some exquisite dream, she had - heard the sound of little voices, felt the helpless touch of tiny hands. - Perhaps Nesta, too, had heard those voices, felt those clinging hands, - while her soul quickened to the vision of a future which might hold some - deeper meaning, some more sacred trust and purpose, than her empty, - wayward past. - </p> - <p> - And she, Jean, had stood between Nesta and the fulfilment of that dream, - forever forbidding her entrance to her woman’s kingdom. - </p> - <p> - She saw it all now with a terrible clarity of vision, understood to the - full the two alternatives which faced her—to go with Blaise, as he - implored, or to send him—her man, the man she loved—back to - Nesta. There was no longer any middle course. - </p> - <p> - A voice sounded in her ears. - </p> - <p> - “<i>No true happiness ever came of running away from duty. And if - ever I’m up against such a thing—a choice like this—I - hope to God I’d be able to hang on, to run straight, even if it - half-killed me to do it!</i>” - </p> - <p> - The words sounded so clear and distinct that Jean half raised her head to - see who spoke them. And then, in an overwhelming rush of memory, she - recognised that it was no actual voice she heard but the mental echo of - her own words to Nick—to Nick at the time when he had been passing - through a like fire of fierce temptation. - </p> - <p> - How easily, in her young, untried ignorance, the words had fallen from her - lips as she had urged Nick to renounce his fixed resolve! Such eminently - wise and excellent counsel! And how little—how crassly little had - she realised at the time the huge demand that she was making! - </p> - <p> - She had spoken as though it were comparatively easy to reject the wrong - and choose the right—to follow the stern and narrow path of Duty, - through the mists and utter darkness that enshrouded it, up to those - shining heights which lie beyond human sight—the outposts of Eternal - Heaven itself. - </p> - <p> - <i>Easy!</i>.... Oh, God!.... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - When at last Jean uncovered her face and lifted it to meet the set gaze of - the man beside her, it was wan and ravaged “the face of one who has - come through some fierce purgatory of torment.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he demanded, his voice roughened because he found - himself unable to steady it with that strained and altered face upturned - to his. “Well? Are you going to send me back to Nesta?” - </p> - <p> - She did not answer his question. Instead, she put another. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think she—loves you?” - </p> - <p> - He stared. - </p> - <p> - “Nesta? Yes. As far as her sort can love, I believe she does.” - </p> - <p> - Jean nodded, as though it were the answer she had expected. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise... I’m going to send you back to her. I’m sure - now. I <i>know</i>. It’s the only thing we can do... We must say - good-bye—altogether—never see each other again.” - </p> - <p> - “Never?” The word came draggingly. - </p> - <p> - “Never. It—it would be too hard for us, Blaise, to see each - other.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he answered slowly. “It would be too hard.” - </p> - <p> - They were both silent. The minutes ticked away unregarded. Time had ceased - to count. This farewell was till the end of time. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise—” All the resonance had gone out of her voice. - It sounded flat and tired. “You—you will go back to her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will go back.” - </p> - <p> - She stretched out her hands flutteringly. - </p> - <p> - “Then go.... go soon, Blaise! I—I can’t bear very much - more.” - </p> - <p> - He opened his arms, then, and she went to him, and for a space they clung - together in silence. For the last time he set his lips to hers, held her - once more against his heart. Then slowly they drew apart, stricken eyes - gazing lingeringly into other eyes as stricken, and presently the closing - of the terrace door told her that he had gone, and that she must turn her - feet to the solitary path of those who have said farewell to love. - </p> - <p> - Henceforth, she would be alone—living or dying, quite alone. - </p> - <p> - It was long past midnight when Claire returned from the Dower House. - </p> - <p> - She found Jean sitting beside the grey embers of a burnt-out fire, her - hands lying folded upon her knee, her eyes staring stonily in front of her - in a fixed, unseeing gaze. - </p> - <p> - Claire called to her softly, as when one wakes a sleeper. - </p> - <p> - “Jean!” - </p> - <p> - Jean turned her head. - </p> - <p> - “So you have got back?” she said dully. She stood up stiffly, - as though her limbs were cramped. “Claire, I am going away—right - away from here—to Beirnfels.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” asked Claire. - </p> - <p> - She waited tensely for the answer. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise has been here. He asked me to go away with him. I’ve - sent him back to Nesta.” - </p> - <p> - The short, stilted sentences fell mechanically from her lips. She spoke - exactly like a child repeating a lesson learned by rote. - </p> - <p> - Claire’s eyes grew very pitiful. - </p> - <p> - “And must you go to Beirnfels alone?” she asked quietly. - “Won’t you take me with you?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Will you come?</i>”—incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I’ll come. I shouldn’t dream of letting you - go by yourself.” - </p> - <p> - And then, all at once, Jean’s tired body, exhausted by the soul’s - long conflict, gave way, and she slipped to the ground in a dead faint. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXV—THE EVE OF DEPARTURE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> WEEK later Jean - sat at the foot of the stairs and surveyed with faint amusement the motley - collection of trunks and suit-cases which thronged the hall. - </p> - <p> - She was still looking pale and worn, strung up to face her self-imposed - exile from the country which now held everything that was dear to her, but - no enormity of sorrow, would ever blind Jean for long to the whimsical - aspect that attends so many of the little things of daily life. - </p> - <p> - “What a lot of useless lumber we women carry about with us wherever - we go!” she commented. “Five—six—<i>seven</i> - packages to supply the needs of two solitary females—and Heaven only - knows how many brown paper parcels will be required at the last moment for - all the things we shall find we have forgotten when the time actually - comes to start.” Claire, standing on the flight of stairs above and - viewing the assemblage in the hall from over the top of the banister rail, - giggled helplessly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they do look a lot,” she admitted. “However”—hopefully—“there’ll - be plenty of room for them all when we actually get to Beirnfels.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, plenty,” agreed Jean. “But we’ve got to - convey them half across Europe first—two lone women and one - miserable maid who will probably combine train-sickness and home-sickness - to an extent that will totally incapacitate her for the performance of her - duties.” - </p> - <p> - At this moment the front-door bell clanged violently through the house, as - though pulled by someone in a tremendous hurry. Claire hastily withdrew - her head from over the banister rail and disappeared upstairs, while Jean - relinquished the accommodation offered by the bottommost step and sought - refuge in the nearest of the sitting-rooms, closing the door stealthily - behind her. - </p> - <p> - A moment later Tucker, who had caught sight of her hurriedly retreating - figure, reopened it and announced imperturbably: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Burke.” - </p> - <p> - Jean greeted him with surprise, but without any feeling of embarrassment. - So much had happened since the day she had eluded him on the Moor, events - of such intimate and tragic import had swept her path, that the unexpected - meeting failed to rouse any feeling either of anger or dismay. Burke, and - everything connected with him, belonged to another period of her existence - altogether—to that glorious care-free time when it had seemed as - though life were a deep, inexhaustible well bubbling over with wonderful - possibilities. Burke was merely a ghost—a <i>revenant</i> from that - far distant epoch. - </p> - <p> - “I’m in time, then?” he said, when he had shaken hands. - “In time? In time for what?” - </p> - <p> - “In time to see you before you go.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes.” Jean spoke lightly. “You’re in time for - that. But who told you I was going away? I didn’t know you were in - England, even.” - </p> - <p> - “I came back a fortnight ago—to London. Judith wired me from - home that you were leaving Coombe Eavie.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see the necessity for her wiring you,” remarked - Jean a little coldly. “There was no need for you to see me.” - </p> - <p> - “There was—every need.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced at him keenly, detecting a new note in his voice, an - unexpected gravity and restraint. - </p> - <p> - “Every need,” he repeated. He paused, then went on quickly, - with a nervousness that was foreign to him. “Jean, I know everything - that has happened—that your engagement to Tormarin is at an end—and - I have come to ask you if you will be my wife. No—hear me out!”—as - she would have interrupted him. “I’m not asking you now as—as - I did before. If you will marry me, I swear I will ask for nothing that - you are not willing to give. I’m making no demands. I’ve - learned now”—with a faint weary smile—“that you - cannot force love. It can only be given. And I want nothing but just the - right to take care of you, to shield you—to keep the sharp corners - of life away from you.” Then, as he read her incredulous face, he - went on gravely: “If I had wanted more than that, Jean, if I had not - learned something—just from loving you, I should not have waited - until now. I should have come at once—as soon as I learned from - Madame de Varigny that Tormarin’s wife was still alive.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him curiously. - </p> - <p> - “Why didn’t you come then, Geoffrey? I sometimes wondered—you - being you!”—with a faint smile. “Because, of course, I - knew why you had rushed off to France. Madame de Varigny explained that.” - </p> - <p> - A dull flush mounted to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Did she? I expect she told you merely what was the truth. I went to - see her because she had assured me that she could stop your marriage with - Tormarin—could interfere in some way to prevent it. That was why I - went to France.... But when she told me her blackguardly scheme—how - she had planned and plotted to conceal the fact that Tormarin’s wife - was alive—<i>and why</i> she had done it, I would have no hand in - anything that followed. I’m no saint”—a brief, ironical - smile flitted across his face—“but there are some methods at - which even I draw the line.” - </p> - <p> - “So—that was why you stayed away?” - </p> - <p> - “That was why. I wanted you, Jean—God only knows how I wanted - you!—but I couldn’t try to force your hand at such a time. I - couldn’t profit by a damnable scheme like that.” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s eyes grew soft as she realised that beneath all the impetuous - arrogance and dominant demands of the man’s temperament there yet - lay something fine and clean and straight—difficult to get at, - perhaps, but which could yet rise, in answer to a sense of honour and - fairness with which she had not credited him, and take command of his - whole nature. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad—glad you didn’t come, Geoffrey,” - she said gently. “Glad you—couldn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know that I’m glad about it,” he returned - with a grim candour. “I simply couldn’t do it, and that’s - all there is to it. But I’ve come now, Jean. I’ve come because - I want you to give me just the right to look after you. I’m not - asking for anything. I only want to serve you—if you’ll let me—just - to be near you. If Tormarin were free, I would not have come to you again. - I know I should have no chance. But he’s not free. Does that give me - a chance, Jean? If it doesn’t, I’ll take myself off—I’ll - never bother you again. I’ll try Africa—big game shooting”—with - a short laugh. “But if it does——” - </p> - <p> - He paused and waited for her answer. The intensity of longing in his eyes - was the sole indication of the emotion that stirred within him—an - emotion held in check by a stern self-control that seemed to Jean to be - part of this new, changed lover of hers. Surely, in the months which had - elapsed since she had fled from him on Dartmoor, he had fought with his - devils and cast them out! - </p> - <p> - She held out her hands to him. - </p> - <p> - “Geoffrey, I’m so sorry—but I’m afraid it doesn’t. - I wish—I wish I could give you any other answer. But, you see, it - isn’t marrying—it’s love that matters. And all my love - is given.” - </p> - <p> - He took her hands in his and held them gently with that strange, new - restraint he seemed to have learned. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” he said slowly. Then for a moment his calm wavered. - The underlying passion, so strongly held in leash, shook the even tones of - his voice. “Tormarin is a lucky man—in spite of everything! I’d - give my soul to have what he has—your love, Jean.” - </p> - <p> - His big hands closed round her slight ones and he lifted them to his lips. - Then, without another word, he went away, and Jean was left wondering - sorrowfully why the love that she did not want was offered her in such - full measure, hers to take at will, while the love for which she craved, - the love which would have meant the glory and fulfilment of life itself, - was denied her—shut away by all the laws of God and Man. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVI—REUNION - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN leaned idly - against the ancient wall which bounded the stone-paved court at Beirnfels - and looked down towards the valley below. - </p> - <p> - Spring was in the air—late comer to this eastern corner of Europe—but, - at last, even here the fragrance of fresh growing things was permeating - the atmosphere, strips of vivid blue rent the grey skies, and splashes of - golden sunshine lay dappled over the shining roofs of the village that - nestled in the valley. - </p> - <p> - But no responsive light had lit itself in Jean’s wistful eyes. She - was out of tune with the season. Spring and hope go hand in hand, the one - symbolical of the other, and the promise of spring-time, the blossom of - hope, was dead within her heart—withered almost before it had had - time to bud. - </p> - <p> - The months since she had quitted England had sufficed to blunt the keen - edge of her pain, but always she was conscious of a dull, unending ache—a - corroding sense of the uselessness and emptiness of life. - </p> - <p> - Yet she had learned to be thankful for even this much respite from the - piercing agony of the first few weeks which she had spent at Beirnfels. - Whatever the coming years might bring her of relief from pain, or even of - some modicum of joy, those weeks when she had suffered the torments of the - damned would remain stamped indelibly upon her memory. - </p> - <p> - During the last days at Charnwood she had been keyed up to a high pitch of - endurance by the very magnitude of the renunciation she had made. It seems - as though, when the soul strains upwards to the accomplishment of some - deed that is almost beyond the power of weak human nature to achieve, - there is vouchsafed, for the time being, a merciful oblivion to the - immensity of pain involved. A transport of spiritual fervour lifts the - martyr beyond any ordinary recognition of the physical fire that burns and - chars his flesh, and some such ecstasy of sacrifice had supported Jean - through the act of abnegation by which she had surrendered her love, and - with it her life’s happiness, at the foot of the stern altar of - Duty. - </p> - <p> - Afterwards had followed the preparations and bustle of departure, the - necessary arrangements to be made and telegraphed to Beirnfels, and - finally the long journey across Europe and the hundred and one small - details that required settlement before she and Claire were fully - installed at Beirnfels and the wheels of the household machinery running - smoothly. - </p> - <p> - But when all this was accomplished, when the need to arrange and plan and - make decisions had gone by and her mind was free to concern itself again - with her own affairs, then Jean realised the full price of her - renunciation. - </p> - <p> - And she paid it. In days that were an endless procession of anguished - hours; in sleepless nights that were a mental and physical torment of - unbearable longing such as she had never dreamed of; in tears and in dumb, - helpless silences, she paid it. And at last, out of those racked and - tortured weeks she emerged into a numbed, listless capacity to pick up - once more the torn and mutilated threads of life. - </p> - <p> - Looking backward, she marvelled at the wonderful patience with which - Claire had borne with her, at the selfless way in which she had devoted - all her energies to ministering to one who was suffering from - heart-sickness—that most wearying of all complaints to the sufferer’s - friends because so difficult of comprehension by those not similarly - afflicted. - </p> - <p> - Nick’s “pale golden narcissus!” To Jean, who had clung - to her, helped inexpressibly by her tranquil, steadfast, unswerving faith - and loving-kindness, it seemed as though the staunch and sturdy oak were a - more appropriate metaphor in which to express the soul of Claire. - </p> - <p> - She heard her now, coming with light steps across the court. She rarely - left Jean brooding long alone these days, exercising all her tact and - ingenuity to devise some means by which she might distract her thoughts - when she could see they had slipped back into the past. - </p> - <p> - Jean turned to greet her with a faint smile. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my good angel? Come to rout me out? I suppose”—teasingly—“you - want me to ride down to the village and bring back two lemons urgently - demanded by the cook?” - </p> - <p> - Claire laughed a little. Many had been the transparent little devices she - had employed to beguile Jean into the saddle, knowing well that once she - was on the back of her favourite mare the errand which was the ostensible - purpose of the occasion would quite probably be entirely forgotten. But - Jean would return from a long ride over the beloved hills and valleys that - had been familiar to her from childhood with a faint colour in her pale - cheeks, and with the shadow in her eyes a little lightened. There is no - cure for sickness of the soul like the big, open spaces of the earth and - God’s clean winds and sunlight. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Claire, “it’s not lemons this time.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what is it?” demanded Jean. “You didn’t come - out here just to look at the view. There’s an air of importance - about you.” - </p> - <p> - It was true. Claire wore a little fluttering aspect of excitement. The - colour came and went swiftly in her cheeks, and her eyes had a bright, - almost dazzled look, while a small anxious frown kept appearing between - her pretty brows. She regarded Jean uncertainly. - </p> - <p> - “Well—yes, it is something,” she acknowledged. “I - had a letter from Lady Anne this morning.” - </p> - <p> - Both girls had their <i>premiers déjeuners</i> served to them in their - rooms, so that each one’s morning mail was an unknown quantity to - the other until they met downstairs. - </p> - <p> - “From Lady Anne?” Jean looked interested. “What does she - say?” - </p> - <p> - “She says—she writes———” Here Claire - floundered and came to a stop as though uncertain how to proceed, the - little puzzled frown deepening between her brows. “Oh, Jean, she had - a special reason for writing—some news——” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s arm, hanging slackly at her side, jerked suddenly. Something - in Claire’s half-frightened, deprecating air sent a thrill of - foreboding through her. Her heart turned to ice within her. - </p> - <p> - “News?” she said in a harsh, strangled voice. “Tell me - quick—what is it?... Blaise? He’s not—dead?” Her - face, drained of every drop of colour, her suddenly pinched nostrils and - eyes stricken with quick fear drew a swift cry from Claire. - </p> - <p> - “<i>No—no!</i>” she exclaimed in hasty reassurance. - “It’s <i>good</i> news! Good—-not bad!” - </p> - <p> - Jean’s taut muscles relaxed and she leaned against the wall as - though seeking support. - </p> - <p> - “You frightened me,” she said dully. “Good news? Then it - can’t be for me. What is it, Claire? Is Nick”—forcing a - smile—“coming out here to see you?” - </p> - <p> - Claire nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Nick—and Blaise with him.” - </p> - <p> - Jean stared at her. - </p> - <p> - “Blaise—coming here? Oh, but he must not—he mustn’t - come!”—in sudden panic. “I couldn’t go through it - all again! I couldn’t!” - </p> - <p> - Claire slipped an arm round her. - </p> - <p> - “You won’t have to,” she answered. “Because, - Jean-Jean! Blaise has the right to come now. He’s free!” - </p> - <p> - “Free? <i>Free?</i>” repeated Jean. “What do you mean! - How can he be free?” - </p> - <p> - “Nesta is dead,” said Claire simply. - </p> - <p> - “Dead?” Jean began to laugh a trifle hysterically. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, she’s been ‘dead’ before. But——” - </p> - <p> - “She is really dead this time,” said Claire. “That is - why Lady Anne has written—to tell us.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t believe it!” muttered Jean. “I can’t - believe it.” - </p> - <p> - “You <i>must</i> believe it,” insisted Claire quietly. “It - is all quite true. She was buried last week in the little churchyard at - Coombe Eavie, and Lady Anne writes that Nick and Blaise will be here - almost as soon as her letter. They’re on their way now—<i>now</i>, - Jean! Do you understand?” Her eyes filling with tears, Claire - watched the gradual realisation of the amazing truth dawn in Jean’s - face. That face so tragically worn, so fined and spiritualised by - suffering, glowed with a new light; a glory of unimaginable hope lit - itself in the tired golden eyes, and on the half-parted lips there seemed - to quiver those kisses which still waited to be claimed. - </p> - <p> - Jean passed her hand across her eyes like one who has seen some bright - light of surpassing radiance. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me, Claire,” she said at last, tremulously. “Tell - me...” She broke off, unable to manage her voice. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll read you what Lady Anne says,” replied Claire - quickly. “After writing that Nesta is dead and Nick and Blaise are - coming here, she goes on: ‘Poor Nesta! One cannot help feeling sorry - for her—killed so suddenly and so tragically. And yet such a death - seems quite in the picture with her lawless, wayward nature! She was shot, - Claire, shot in the Boundary Woods by a Frenchman who had apparently - followed her to England for the express purpose. It appears he met her at - Château Varigny, in the days when she was posing as Madame de Varigny’s - niece, and fell violently in love with her. Of course Nesta could not - marry him, and equally of course the Frenchman—he was the Vicomte de - Chassaigne—did not know that she had a husband already. So, - naturally, he hoped eventually to win her, and Nesta, (who, as you know, - would flirt with the butcher’s boy if there were no one else handy) - encouraged him and allowed him to make love to her to his heart’s - content. Then, after her return to Staple, he learned of her marriage, - and, furious at having been so utterly deceived, he followed. He must have - watched her very carefully for some days, as he apparently knew her - favourite walks, and waylaid her one afternoon in the woods. What passed - between them we shall never know, for Chassaigne killed her and then - immediately turned the revolver on himself. Blaise and Nick heard the - shots and rushed down to the Boundary Woods where the shots had sounded—you’ll - know where I mean, the woods that lie along the border between Willow - Ferry and Staple. There they found them. Nesta was dead, and de Chassaigne - dying. He had just strength enough to confide in Blaise all that I have - written. I am writing to you, because I think it might come as too great a - shock to Jean as you say she is still so far from strong. You must tell - her——” - </p> - <p> - Jean interrupted the reading with a shout of laughter. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Claire! Claire! You blessed infant! I suppose all those - preliminary remarks of yours about ‘a letter from Lady Anne’ - and the ‘news’ it contained were by way of preparing me for - the shock—‘breaking the news’ in fact?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” admitted Claire, flushing a little. - </p> - <p> - Jean rocked with laughter—gay, spontaneous laughter such as Claire - had not heard issue from her lips since the day when Madame de Varigny had - come to Staple. - </p> - <p> - “And you just about succeeded in frightening me to death!” - continued Jean. “Oh, Claire, Claire, you adorable little goose, didn’t - you know that good news never kills?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t feel at all sure,” returned Claire, laughing a - little, too, in spite of herself. “You’ve looked lately as - though it wouldn’t take very much of anything—good or bad—to - kill you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it would now,” Jean assured her solemnly. “Not - all the powers of darkness would prevail against me, I verily believe.” - She paused, frowning a little. “How beastly it is though, to feel - outrageously happy because someone is dead! It’s indecent. Poor - little Nesta! Oh, Claire! Is it hateful of me to feel like this? Do say it - isn’t, because—because I can’t help it!” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it isn’t,” protested Claire. “It’s - only natural.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it is. And I really <i>am</i> sorry for Nesta—though - I’m so happy myself that it sort of swamps it. Oh, Claire darling”—the - shadow passing and sheer gladness of soul bubbling up again into her voice—“I’m - bound to kiss someone—at once. It’ll have to be you! And look! - Those two may be here any moment—Lady Anne said so. I’m going - to make myself beautiful—if I can. I wish I hadn’t grown so - thin! The most ravishing frock in the world would look a failure draped on - a clothes-horse. Still, I’ll do what I can to conceal from Blaise - the hideous ravages of time. And I’m not going to wear black—I - won’t welcome him back in sackcloth and ashes! I won’t! I won’t! - I’ve got the darlingest frock upstairs—a filmy grey thing like - moonlight. I’m going to wear that. I know—I know”—-softly—“that - Glyn would understand.” - </p> - <p> - And if he knew anything at all about it—and one would like to think - he did—it is quite certain Peterson would have approved his daughter’s - decision. For to his incurably romantic spirit, the idea of a woman going - to meet the lover of whom a malign fate had so nearly robbed her - altogether, clad in the sable habiliments with which she had paid filial - tribute to her father’s death, would have appeared of all things the - most incongruous and irreconcilable. - </p> - <p> - So that when at last a prehistoric vehicle, chartered from the inn of the - Green Dragon in the village below, toiled slowly up the hill to Peirnfels - and Blaise and Nick climbed down from its musty interior, a slender, - moon-grey figure, which might have been observed standing within the - shadow of a tall stone pillar and following with straining eyes the - snail-like progress of the old-fashioned carriage up the steep white road, - flitted swiftly back into the shelter of the house. Claire, dimpling and - smiling at the great gateway of the castle, alone received the travellers. - </p> - <p> - “Go along that corridor,” she said to Blaise, when they had - exchanged greetings. “To the end door of all. That’s the - sun-parlour. You’ll find Jean there. She thought it appropriate”—smiling - at him. - </p> - <p> - Then, as Blaise strode down the corridor indicated, she turned to Nick and - asked him with an adorable coquetry why he, too, had come to Beirnfels? - </p> - <p> - “I’ve heard it is the House of Dreams-Come-True,” - replied Nick promptly. “It seemed a likely place in which to find - you, most beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - Claire beamed at him. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, am I that—<i>really</i>, Nick?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course you are. The most beautiful in all the world. Claire”—tucking - his arm into hers—“tell me, how is the ‘soul-rebuilding’ - process getting on? That’s why I came, really, you know, to find out - if you had completely finished redecorating your interior?—I can - vouch for the outer woman myself”—with an adoring glance at - the fluffy ash-blonde hair and pure little Greuze profile. - </p> - <p> - Claire rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. To a woman who has been for - four months limited almost exclusively to the society of one other woman—even - though that other woman be her chosen friend—the rough ‘feel’ - of a man’s coat-sleeve (more particularly if he should happen to be - <i>the</i> man) and the faint fragrance of tobacco which pervades it form - an almost delirious combination. - </p> - <p> - Claire hauled down her flag precipitately. - </p> - <p> - “I’m ready to go back to England any time now, Nick,” - she murmured. - </p> - <p> - “Are you? Darling! How soon can you be ready? In a week? To-morrow? - Next day?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite soon. And meanwhile, mightn’t you—you and Blaise—stay - for a bit at the Green Dragon?” - </p> - <p> - “We might,” replied Nick solemnly, quite omitting to mention - that something of the sort had been precisely their intention when leaving - England. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Blaise had made his way to the door at the end of the corridor. - Outside it he paused, overwhelmed by the sudden realisation that beyond - that wooden barrier lay holy ground—Paradise! And the Angel with the - Flaming Sword stood at the gate no longer.... - </p> - <p> - She was waiting for him over by the window, straight and slim and tall in - her moon-grey, her hands hanging in front of her tight-clasped like those - of a child. But her eyes were woman’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - With a little inarticulate cry she ran to him—to the place that was - hers, now and for all time, against his heart—and his arms, that had - been so long empty, held her as though he would never let her go. - </p> - <p> - “Beloved of my heart!” he murmured. “Oh, my sweet—my - sweet!” - </p> - <p> - They spoke but little. Only those foolish, tender words that seem so - meaningless to those who are not lovers, but which are pearls strung on a - thread of gold to those who love—a rosary of memory which will be - theirs to keep and tell again when the beloved voice that uttered them - shall sound no more. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVII—“AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS” - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE landlord of the - inn of the Green Dragon watched his two English visitors ride away up the - steep road that led to Beirnfels with unquestionable regret. - </p> - <p> - They had been lodging at the Green Dragon for the past fortnight, and he - had discovered that English milords, whatever else they might be, were not - niggardly with their money. They required a good deal of attention, it is - true, and had a strange, outlandish predilection for innumerable baths, - demanding a quite unheard-of quantity of water for the same. And at all - unlikely hours of the day, too—when returning from a ride or before - going up to the castle to dine, mark you! - </p> - <p> - Still, they made no difficulty about paying—and paying handsomely—for - all they wanted, and if a man chooses to spend his money upon the - superfluous scrubbing of his epidermis, it is, after all, his own affair! - </p> - <p> - And now the two English milords were taking their departure from the Green - Dragon and, so the landlord understood, proposed to stay at the castle - itself until their return to England. - </p> - <p> - It appeared that their lady-mother—who, it was rumoured in the - village, was the daughter of an English archduke, no less!—was - coming to Beirnfels and there was much talk amongst the village girls of - weddings and the like. Apparently the Green Dragon’s two eccentric - visitors, not withstanding their altogether abnormal liking for soap and - water, were much as most men in other respects and had lost their hearts - to the two pretty English ladies living at the castle. - </p> - <p> - So, no doubt, the “daughter of an English archduke, no less” - was coming from England post haste to enquire into the suitability of the - brides-elect—and also into the important point of the amount of the - dowry each might be expected to bring her future husband. - </p> - <p> - There was no question that Lady Anne was certainly coming post haste—in - reply to a series of joyful and imperative telegrams demanding that she - should pack up and come to Beirnfels immediately—“for we are - all enjoying ourselves far too much to return to England at present,” - as Nick wired her with an iniquitous disregard for the cost per word of - foreign telegrams. And Lady Anne, who always considered money well-spent - if it purchased happiness, proceeded to wire back with equal extravagance - that she was delighted to hear it and that she and her maid would start at - once. - </p> - <p> - It was a very happy party that gathered round the table in the great - dining-hall at Beirnfels on the night of Lady Anne’s arrival, and - beneath all the surface laughter and gaiety lay the deep, quiet - thanksgiving that only comes to those who have emerged out of the night of - darkness and sorrow into a glorious sunlight of happiness and hope. - </p> - <p> - After dinner, in the soft, candle-lit dusk—for Peterson had never - introduced the garish anomaly of electric light into the ancient castle—Jean - sang to them in that quaintly appealing, husky voice of hers, simple - tender folk-songs of the country-side, and finally, at a murmured request - from Blaise, she gave them <i>The House of Dreams</i>. <br /><br /><span - class="indent15">"It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams, - <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span - class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, <br /><span - class="indent15">And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span - class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><br /><span - class="indent15">"But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams, - <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span - class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, <br /><span - class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, <br /><span - class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you.” </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - As the last words died away into silence, she looked up and met Blaise’s - eyes. He was leaning against the piano, looking down at her with a - tranquil happiness in his gaze. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Our</i> House of Dreams-Come-True, Jean, at last,” he said - softly. - </p> - <p> - She met his glance with one of utter trust. - </p> - <p> - “And we needn’t ever fear, now, that it will tumble down. But - oh! Blaise, if we had built on a rotten foundation, we should never have - felt safe—not safe like this!” - </p> - <p> - “No. You were right, belovedest—as you always have been, - always will be.” Then, very low, so that none but she should hear: - “Thank God for you, my sweet!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was ultimately settled that the whole party should remain at Beirnfels - until the latter end of June, when they would all return to England - together and the two weddings should take place as soon as possible - afterwards. - </p> - <p> - “But we won’t have a double wedding,” declared Jean. - “It’s always supposed to be unlucky.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you believe in good and bad luck, then?” asked Lady Anne, - smiling. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know,” Jean answered seriously. “But it’s - always just as well to be on the safe side. Anyway, we won’t tempt - Fate by running unnecessary risks!” - </p> - <p> - “Besides, madonna,” added Nick, “in the excitement of - the moment we might get mixed and the parson hitch us up to the wrong - people. The average nerve-strain attendant upon the rôle of bridegroom - will be quite sufficient for me, thank you, without the added uncertainty - as to whether I’m getting tied up to the right woman or not.” - </p> - <p> - So spring lengthened out into summer, and, as the heat increased, boating - and swimming on the big lake that nestled in a basin of the hills were - added to the long rides and excursions with which they whiled away the - pleasant, sunshiny days. - </p> - <p> - Ever afterwards, the memory of those tranquil months at Beirnfels would - linger in the minds of those who shared them as something rare and - precious. It was as though for this little span of time, passed so far - away from the noise and bustle of the big world, they had pulled their - barque out of the busy fairway of the river and moored it in some quiet, - shady backwater. Then, when they were rested and refreshed, they would be - ready to face anew, with fresh strength and courage, the difficulties and - dangers of midstream. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry it’s so nearly over—this long, long - holiday of ours,” said Jean regretfully. “The only thing that - reconciles me to the fact is that after we’re married Blaise and I - propose to spend at least six months out of every year at Beirnfels.” - </p> - <p> - She was lying on her back in the shady wood whither they had ridden out to - lunch that day, staring up at the bits of blue sky overhead which showed - between the interlacing branches of the trees. The remainder of the party - were grouped around her, reclining in various attitudes of a <i>dolce far - niente</i> nature, while from a little distance away, where the horses - were picketed in charge of a groom, came the drowsy, rhythmic sound of the - munching of corn, punctuated by an occasional stamp of an impatient hoof. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s been good,” agreed Lady Anne. “I shall - never settle down again properly as a dowager at the Dower House!” - And she laughed gleefully. - </p> - <p> - To her, it had been almost like a return to the days of her youth, for - “her four children”—as she called them—had - insisted on her sharing in all their active pursuits, and Lady Anne, who - in her girlhood and early married life had been a first-class horsewoman - and a magnificent swimmer, had consented <i>con amore</i>. - </p> - <p> - Blaise pulled himself lazily up into a sitting posture and glanced toward - the crimson glow of westering sun where it struck athwart the tall trunks - of the trees. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll none of you live to go back to England. Instead, you’ll - be dying of pneumonia and a few other complaints—if we don’t - get a move on soon,” he observed. “It’s almost sunset, - and after that it grows abominably chilly in this eastern paradise of Jean’s. - Besides, I fancy it’s going to blow great guns before long.” - </p> - <p> - It was true. Already a little chill whisper of wind was shaking the tops - of the trees, and before the party was fairly mounted and away, the - whisper had changed to a shrill whistling, heralding the big gale which - drove along behind the innocent seeming breeze which at first had barely - rocked the topmost branches. - </p> - <p> - It was a longish ride back to Beirnfels, and the sun had dipped below the - horizon in a sullen splendour of purple and red before the shoulder of the - hill, upon the further side of which the castle stood, came into sight. - </p> - <p> - Now and again the moon peered out between the racing, wind-driven clouds, - clearly limning the bold, black curve of the hill against a background of - lowering sky. - </p> - <p> - Jean and Blaise were riding abreast, a little in advance of the rest, - engrossed by the difficulties of carrying on an animated conversation in a - high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the hill’s - great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at the sky - above it with a puzzled frown on her face. - </p> - <p> - “Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly - half an hour ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in - the sky. Look, Blaise—just above where Beirnfels stands.” - </p> - <p> - Blaise glanced up casually in the direction indicated, then suddenly - reigned in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red - glow deepening in the sky ahead. - </p> - <p> - “That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s—Great - heavens, Jean! Beirnfels is <i>on fire!</i>” - </p> - <p> - Even as he spoke a tongue of flame, mocking the dull glow with its - gleaming blaze, shot up like a thin red knife into the sky and sank again. - </p> - <p> - A shout came from behind. The others had seen it, also, and recognised its - deadly import. The next moment the clatter of galloping hoofs echoed along - the road as the whole party urged their horses on towards home as fast as - they could cover the ground. - </p> - <p> - Soon they struck off from the road, taking a bridle-path which slanted - through the woods clothing the base of the hill, and as they emerged on to - the broad plateau where Beirnfels had stood sentinel through wind and - weather for so many years, the whole extent of the catastrophe was - revealed. - </p> - <p> - By this time the angry glow in the sky had turned dusk into day, while - from the doors and windows of the castle fire vomited forth as from a - furnace—upward in long, sinuous tongues of flame, licking the - blackened walls, downward in spangled showers of sparks that drifted - towards the earth like flights of golden butterflies. - </p> - <p> - Little groups of men and women, helpless as ants to stay the fire, rushed - futilely hither and thither with hosepipe and engine, while on the smooth - sward which fronted the castle lay piled enormous quantities of household - stuff a medley of fine old furniture, torn tapestry wrenched from its place - against the walls, pictures, mirrors—anything and everything that - could be dragged out into the open by eager hands and willing arms. - </p> - <p> - The major-domo, an elderly, grey-haired man who had been born and reared - upon the estate and who had taken service with Glyn Peterson on the day - when he had first brought Jacqueline, a bride, to Beirnfels, caught sight - of the riding-party returned and came hurrying to Jean’s side. - </p> - <p> - The tears were running down his wrinkled face as he recounted the - discovery of the fire, which must have started either just before or - during the servants’ dinner-hour, when few people, of course, were - about the castle, and which had obtained a firm hold before it was - detected. - </p> - <p> - The household staff, practised to a limited extent,—a fire drill had - been held once a month in Peterson’s time—had done their hest - to cope with the flames, but vainly. The high wind which had arisen had - thwarted their utmost efforts, and finally giving up all hope of saving - the interior from being gutted, they had confined themselves to rescuing - such valuables as could be easily removed. - </p> - <p> - There was the usual mystery as to how the fire had originated, and several - stories circulated amongst the chattering throng which hurried hither and - thither, momentarily augmented by the peasants who, at sight of the castle - in flames, had come trooping up the hill from the village below. - </p> - <p> - The most likely story, and the one to which Blaise inclined to give most - credence, was that the child of a woman who worked daily at the castle, - escaping from its mother’s care and launched on an independent - voyage of discovery through the rooms, had knocked over a burning lamp. - Then, terrified at the immediate consequences—the sudden flaring of - some ancient tapestry, dry as tinder with the summer heat, near which the - lamp had fallen—he had bolted away, out of the castle and so home, - too scared to tell anyone of the accident. - </p> - <p> - But, as Jean commented mournfully, what did it matter how it happened? - Except from the prosaic viewpoint of the fire insurance company, who would - probably desire to know: all kinds of details that it was impossible to - supply! - </p> - <p> - For her, nothing mattered except that Beirnfels, her home from childhood - and the place where she and Blaise had proposed to spend a great part of - their married life, was a furnace of flames. - </p> - <p> - It was a splendid but very terrible sight The great, grim walls of the - castle stood four-square against the sky, charred and blackened but - defiantly impervious to the flames that were licking covetously against - the solid stone which fashioned them. Sentinel to the very end, they - reared themselves unvanquished, guardians still, though all that they had - sheltered through their centuries of watch and ward lay consumed within - their very heart. - </p> - <p> - Jean, standing beside Blaise and watching the upward tossing flames and - the crimson banner of the lowering heavens, spoke suddenly: - </p> - <p> - “‘And the sky as red as blood above it.’ Blaise, the - last of Keturah Stanley’s prophecies has come true!” - </p> - <p> - An hour later help was forthcoming from the distant town to which a - messenger had been despatched post haste as soon as it was realised that - the household staff, even with assistance from the village, was hopelessly - inadequate to cope with a fire of such magnitude. But it was already too - late to accomplish very much in the way of salvage. All that remained - possible was to quench that inferno of fire as soon as might be and so, - perhaps, save some of the outbuildings. - </p> - <p> - Hour after hour through the night, human endeavour fought with the flames—subduing - them again and again only to find them kindling into fresh life at the - gusty bidding of the wind, leaping redly from the lambent heart of the - conflagration, which glowed and pulsed and heaved like some living monster - intent upon destruction. - </p> - <p> - It was not until dawn was breaking that, with the dying down of the wind, - the flickering crimson light faded finally from the sky; and half an hour - later, when the fire had been at last extinguished, the village folk, - gathered about the scene of the catastrophe, had dispersed to their homes. - </p> - <p> - Lady Anne, accompanied by Nick and Claire, started for the inn of the - Green Dragon, whither the landlord had hurried on ahead to prepare - temporary quarters for the now homeless little company from the castle. - But Jean and Blaise still lingered by the deserted ruins, loth to say - farewell to the place that had meant so much to them. - </p> - <p> - Beneath the misty azure of the summer morning sky, fanned by little - vagrant zephyrs—rearguard of the hurricane which had passed—stood - all that remained of Beirnfels—blackened, naked walls, stark against - that tender blue, brooding above a mass of cooling wreckage. - </p> - <p> - Jean’s mouth quivered a little as her glance took in the scene of - utter desolation. - </p> - <p> - “My House of Dreams,” she whispered brokenly. - </p> - <p> - She was silent for a few moments, her eyes embracing all that had once - been Beirnfels in a gaze which held both farewell and retrospect. And - something more—some vision of the future. In the dawn-light pearling - the sky above she recognised the eternal promise of Him Who “commanded - the light to shine out of darkness.” - </p> - <p> - Her House of Dreams! The inner meaning of the song had grown suddenly - clear to her. - </p> - <p> - When she turned again to Blaise, her expression was serene and tranquil. - Touched with regret perhaps, but bravely confident. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it matters, Blaise,” she said simply. - “Beirnfels was only a symbol, after all. My House of - Dreams-Come-True isn’t built of stones and mortar. No one’s - is. It’s just—where love is.” - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The House Of Dreams-Come-True, by Margaret Pedler - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE *** - -***** This file should be named 55928-h.htm or 55928-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/9/2/55928/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-Project Gutenberg's The House Of Dreams-Come-True, by Margaret Pedler
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The House Of Dreams-Come-True
-
-Author: Margaret Pedler
-
-Release Date: November 10, 2017 [EBook #55928]
-Last Updated: February 24, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
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-
-</pre>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE HOUSE OF <br />DREAMS-COME-TRUE
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Margaret Pedler
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Grosset & Dunlap Publishers,New York
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1919
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <p>
- <span class="indent15"> It’s a strange road leads to the House of
- Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True,
- <br /><span class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its valleys deep,
- <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span
- class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><br /><span
- class="indent15">But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams,
- <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span
- class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, <br /><span
- class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, <br /><span
- class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><span class="indent30">Margaret
- Pedler. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
- </span>
- </p>
- <p>
- Note:—Musical setting by Harold Pincott. Published by Edward
- Schubert & Co., 11 East Sand Street, New York.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE
- HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE</b> </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—THE WANDER-FEVER </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—MADAME DE VARIGNY
- </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—THE
- STRANGER ON THE ICE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0004">
- CHAPTER IV—THE STOLEN DAY </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—AMONG THE SNOWS </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—THE MAGIC MOMENT
- </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—WHICH
- DEALS WITH REFLECTIONS </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0008">
- CHAPTER VIII—THE MAN FROM MONTAVAN </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE MASTER OF STAPLE </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—OTHER PEOPLE’S
- TROUBLES </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—“THE
- SINS OF THE FATHERS” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—A SENSE OF DUTY </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—“WILL YOU
- WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV.—A COMPACT </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—LADY ANNE’S
- DISCLOSURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI—THE
- GIFT OF LOVE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER
- XVII—IN THE ROSE GARDEN </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII—CROSS-PURPOSES </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX—THE SPIDER </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX—THE SHADOW OF THE
- FUTURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI—DIVERS
- HAPPENINGS </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER
- XXII—“WILLING OR UNWILLING!” </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII—ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED
- MEETING </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV—ARRANGED
- BY TELEPHONE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER
- XXVI—MOONLIGHT ON THE MOOR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII—INTO THE MIST </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII—THEY WHO WAITED
- </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX—THE
- GOLDEN HOUR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER
- XXX—THE GATEWAY </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0031">
- CHAPTER XXXI—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII—THE DIVIDING SWORD </a><br /><span
- class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII—THE RETURNING
- TIDE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV—THE
- TEST </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV—THE
- EVE OF DEPARTURE </a><br /><span class="toc"><a href="#link2HCH0036">
- CHAPTER XXXVI—REUNION </a><br /><span class="toc"><a
- href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII—“AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH
- HANDS” </a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /> <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE HOUSE OF <br />DREAMS-COME-TRUE
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I—THE WANDER-FEVER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE great spaces of
- the hall seemed to slope away into impenetrable gloom; velvet darkness
- deepening imperceptibly into sable density of panelled wall; huge,
- smoke-blackened beams, stretching wide arms across the roof, showing only
- as a dim lattice-work of ebony, fretting the shadowy twilight overhead.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the furthermost end, like a giant golden eye winking sleepily through
- the dark, smouldered a fire of logs, and near this, in the luminous circle
- of its warmth, a man and woman were seated at a table lit by tall wax
- candles in branched candlesticks. With its twinkling points of light, and
- the fire’s red glow quivering across its shining surface, the table
- gleamed out like a jewel in a sombre setting—a vivid splash of light
- in the grey immensity of dusk-enfolded hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dinner was evidently just over, for the candlelight shone softly on
- satin-skinned fruit, while wonderful gold-veined glass flecked the dark
- pool of polished mahogany with delicate lines and ripples of opalescent
- colour.
- </p>
- <p>
- A silence had fallen on the two who had been dining. They had been gay
- enough together throughout the course of the meal, but, now that the
- servants had brought coffee and withdrawn, it seemed as though the
- stillness—that queer, ghostly, memory-haunted stillness which lurks
- in the dim, disused recesses of a place—had crept out from the four
- corners of the hall and were stealing upon them, little by little, as the
- tide encroaches on the shore, till it had lapped them round in a curious
- atmosphere of oppression.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman acknowledged it by a restless twist of her slim shoulders. She
- was quite young—not more than twenty—and as she glanced
- half-enquiringly at the man seated opposite her there was sufficiency of
- likeness between the two to warrant the assumption that they were father
- and daughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- In each there was the same intelligent, wide brow, the same straight nose
- with sensitively cut nostrils—though a smaller and daintier affair
- in the feminine edition, and barred across the top by a little string of
- golden freckles—and, above all, the same determined, pointed chin
- with the contradictory cleft in it that charmed away its obstinacy.
- </p>
- <p>
- But here the likeness ended. It was from someone other than the
- dark-browed man with his dreaming, poet’s eyes—which were
- neither purple nor grey, but a mixture of the two—that Jean Peterson
- had inherited her beech-leaf brown hair, tinged with warm red where the
- light glinted on it, and her vivid hazel eyes—eyes that were
- sometimes golden like the heart of a topaz and sometimes clear and still
- and brown like the waters of some quiet pool cradled among the rocks of a
- moorland stream.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were like that now—clear and wide-open, with a certain pensive,
- half-humorous questioning in them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” she said, at last breaking the long silence. “What
- is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man looked across at her, smiling a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be—anything?” he demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed amusedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Glyn dear”—she never made use of the conventional
- address of “father.” Glyn Peterson would have disliked it
- intensely if she had—“Oh, Glyn dear, I haven’t been your
- daughter for the last twenty years without learning to divine when you are
- cudgelling your brains as to the prettiest method of introducing a
- disagreeable topic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Peterson grinned a little. He tossed the end of his cigarette into the
- fire and lit a fresh one before replying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On this occasion,” he observed at last, slowly, “the
- topic is not necessarily a disagreeable one. Jean”—his
- quizzical glance raked her face suddenly—“how would you like
- to go to England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her tone held the same incredulous excitement that anyone unexpectedly
- invited to week-end at El Dorado might be expected to evince.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>England!</i> Glyn, do you really mean to take me there at last?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d like to go then?” A keen observer might have
- noticed a shade of relief pass over Peterson’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like it? It’s the one thing above all others that I’ve
- longed for. It seems so ridiculous to be an Englishwoman and yet never
- once to have set foot in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man’s eyes clouded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not—entirely—English,” he said in a
- low voice. Jean knew from what memory the quick correction sprang. Her
- mother, the beautiful opera singer who had been the one romance of Glyn
- Peterson’s life, had been of French extraction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” she returned soberly. “Yet I think I’m
- mostly conscious of being English. I believe it’s just the very fact
- that I know Paris—Rome—Vienna—so well, and nothing at
- all about England, that makes me feel more absolutely English than
- anything else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A spark of amusement lit itself in Peterson’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How truly feminine!” he commented drily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid it’s rather illogical of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her father blew a thin stream of smoke into the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God for it!” he replied lightly. “It’s the
- cussed contradictoriness of your sex that makes it so enchanting. If women
- were logical they would be as obvious and boring as the average man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He relapsed into a dreaming silence. Jean broke it rather hesitatingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve never suggested taking me to England before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face darkened suddenly. It was an extraordinarily expressive face—expressive
- as a child’s, reflecting every shade of his constant changes of
- mood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no sense of adventure about England,” he said
- shortly. “It’s a dull corner of the world—bristling with
- the proprieties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean realised how very completely, from his own point of view, he had
- answered her. Romance, beauty, the sheer delight of utter freedom from the
- conventions were as the breath of his nostrils to Glyn Peterson.
- </p>
- <p>
- Born to the purple, as it were, of an old English county family, he had
- stifled in the conventional atmosphere of his upbringing. There had been
- moments of wild rebellion, bitter outbursts against the established order
- of things, but these had been sedulously checked and discouraged by his
- father, a man of iron will, who took himself and his position intensely
- seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ultimately, Glyn had come to accept with more or less philosophy the fact
- of his heirship to old estates and old traditions, with their inevitable
- responsibilities and claims, and he was just preparing to fulfill his
- parents’ wishes by marrying, suitably and conventionally, when
- Jacqueline Mavory, the beautiful half-French opera singer, had flashed
- into his horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a moment the world was transformed. Artist soul called to artist soul;
- the romantic vein in the man, so long checked and thwarted, suddenly
- asserted itself irresistibly, and the very day before that appointed for
- his wedding, he and Jacqueline ran away together in search of happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- And they had found it. The “County” had been shocked; Glyn’s
- father, unbending descendant of the old Scottish Covenanters, his whole
- creed outraged, had broken under the blow; but the runaway lovers had
- found what they sought.
- </p>
- <p>
- At Beirnfels, a beautiful old schloss on the eastern border of Austria,
- remote from the world and surrounded by forest-clad hills, Glyn Peterson
- and Jacqueline had lived a romantically happy existence, roaming the world
- whenever the wander-fever seized them, but always returning to Schloss
- Beirnfels, where Peterson had contrived a background of almost exotic
- richness for the adored woman who had flung her career to the winds in
- order to become his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- The birth of Jean, two years after their marriage, had been frankly
- regarded by both of them as an inconvenience. It interrupted their idyll.
- They were so essentially lovers that no third—not even a third born
- of love’s consummation—could be other than superfluous.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had proceeded to shift the new responsibility with characteristic
- lightheartedness. A small army of nursemaids and governesses was engaged,
- and later, when Jean was old enough, she was despatched to one of the best
- Continental schools, whilst her parents continued their customary
- happy-go-lucky existence uninterruptedly. During the holidays she shared
- their wanderings, and Egypt and the southern coast of Europe became
- familiar places to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the age of seventeen, Jean came home to live at Beirnfels,
- thenceforward regarding her unpractical parents with a species of kindly
- tolerance and amusement. The three of them had lived quite happily
- together, though Jean had remained always the odd man out; but she had
- accepted the fact with a certain humorous philosophy which robbed it of
- half its sting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, two years later, Jacqueline had developed rapid consumption, and
- though Glyn hurried her away to Montavan, in the Swiss Alps, there had
- been no combating the disease, and the romance of a great love had closed
- down suddenly into the grey shadows of death.
- </p>
- <p>
- Peterson had been like a man demented. For a time he had disappeared, and
- no one ever knew, either then or later, how he had first faced the grim
- tragedy which had overtaken him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had patiently awaited his return to Beirnfels. When at last he came,
- he told her that it was the most beautiful thing which could have happened—that
- Jacqueline should, have died in the zenith of their love.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We never knew the downward swing of the pendulum,” he
- explained. “And when we meet again it will be as young lovers who
- have never grown tired. I shall always remember Jacqueline as still
- perfectly beautiful—never insulted by old age. And when she thinks
- of me—well, I’m still a ‘personable’ fellow, as
- they say——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Glyn, you’re still a boy! You’ve never grown
- up,” Jean made answer. To her he seemed a sort of Peter Pan among
- men.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had been amazed—although in a sense relieved—to find how
- swiftly he had rallied. It seemed almost as though his intense loathing of
- the onset of old age and decay, of that slow cooling of passion and
- gradual decline of faculties which age inevitably brings, had served to
- reconcile him to the loss of the woman he had worshipped whilst yet there
- had been no dimming of her physical perfection, no blunting of the fine
- edge of their love.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was easily comprehensible that to two such temperamental, joy-loving
- beings as Glyn and Jacqueline, England, with her neutral-tinted skies and
- strictness of convention, had made little appeal, and Jean could with
- difficulty harmonise the suddenly projected visit to England with her
- knowledge of her father’s idiosyncrasies.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just possible of course, since all which had meant happiness to him
- lay buried in a little mountain cemetery in Switzerland, that it no longer
- mattered to Peterson where he sojourned. One place might be as good—or
- as bad—as another.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rather diffidently Jean voiced her doubts, recalling him from the reverie
- into which he had fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>I</i> go to England?” he exclaimed. “God forbid! No,
- you would go without me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Without you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Peterson sprang up and began pacing restlessly to and fro.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, without me. I’m going away. I—I can’t stay
- here any longer. I’ve tried, Jean, for your sake”—he
- looked across at her with a kind of appeal in his eyes—“but I
- can’t stand it. I must move on—get away somewhere by myself.
- Beirnfels—without her——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He broke off abruptly and stood still, staring down into the heart of the
- fire. Then he added in a wrung voice:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be a year ago... to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent. Never before had he let her see the raw wound in his
- soul. Latterly she had divined a growing restlessness in him, sensed the
- return of the wander-fever which sometimes obsessed him, but she had not
- realised that it was pain—sheer, intolerable pain—which was
- this time driving him forth from the place that had held his happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had appeared so little changed after Jacqueline’s death, so much
- the wayward, essentially lovable and unpractical creature of former times,
- still able to find supreme delight in a sunset, or an exquisite picture,
- or a wild ride across the purple hills, that Jean had sometimes marvelled,
- how easily he seemed able to forget.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, after all, he had not forgotten—had never been able to forget!
- </p>
- <p>
- The gay, debonair side which he had shown the world—that same rather
- selfish, beauty-loving, charming personality she had always known—had
- been only a shell, a husk hiding a hurt that had never healed—that
- never would find healing in this world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt herself submerged beneath a wave of self-reproach that she could
- have thus crudely accepted Glyn’s attitude at its face value. But it
- was useless to give expression to her penitence. She could find no words
- which might not wound, and while she was still dully trying to readjust
- her mind to this new aspect of things, her father’s voice broke
- across her thoughts—smooth, polished, with just its usual inflection
- of whimsical amusement, rather as though the world were a good sort of
- joke in which he found himself constrained to take part.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve made the most paternal arrangements for your welfare in
- my absence, Jean. I want to discuss them with you. You see, I couldn’t
- take you with me—I don’t know in the least where I’m
- going or where I shall fetch up. That’s the charm of it”—his
- face kindling. “And it wouldn’t be right or proper for me to
- drag a young woman of your age—and attractions—half over the
- world with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By which Jean, not in the least deceived by his air of conscious
- rectitude, comprehended that he didn’t want to be bothered with her.
- He was bidding for freedom, untrammelled by any petticoats.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I’ve written to my old pal, Lady Anne Brennan,”
- pursued Peterson, “asking if you may stay with her for a little. You
- would have a delightful time. She was quite the most charming woman I knew
- in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That must be rather more than twenty years ago,” observed
- Jean drily. “She may have altered a good deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Peterson frowned. He hated to have objections raised to any plan that
- particularly appealed to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rubbish! Why should she change? Anne was not the sort of woman to
- change.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was perfectly aware that her father hadn’t the least wish to
- “discuss” his proposals with her, as he had said. What he
- really wanted was to tell her about them and for her to approve and
- endorse them with enthusiasm—which is more or less what a man
- usually wants when he suggests discussing plans with his womankind.
- </p>
- <p>
- So, recognising that he had all his arrangements cut and dried, Jean
- philosophically accepted the fact and prepared to fall in with them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And has Lady Anne signified her readiness to take me in for an
- indefinite period?” she enquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t had her answer yet. But I have no doubt at all what
- form it will take. It will be a splendid opportunity for you, altogether.
- You know, Jean”—pictorially—“you ought really to
- see the ‘stately homes of England.’ Why, they’re—they’re
- your birthright!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean reflected humorously that this point of view had only occurred to him
- now that it chanced to coincide so admirably with his own wishes. Hitherto
- the “stately homes of England” had been relegated to a quite
- unimportant position in the background and Jean’s attention focussed
- more directly upon the unpleasing vagaries of the British climate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to go to England,” was all she said. Peterson
- smiled at her radiantly—the smile of a child who has got its own way
- with much less difficulty than it had anticipated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall go,” he promised her. “You’ll adore
- Staple. It’s quite a typical old English manor—lawns and
- terraces all complete, even down to the last detail of a yew hedge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Staple? Is that the Brennans’ place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless my soul, no! The Tormarins acquired it when they came
- pushing over to England with the Conqueror, I imagine. Anne married twice,
- you know. Her first husband, Tormarin, led her a dog’s life, and
- after his death she married Claude Brennan—son of a junior branch of
- the Brennans. Now she is a widow for the second time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And are there any children?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Two sons. The elder is the son of the first marriage and is the
- owner of Staple, of course. The younger one is the child of the second
- marriage. I believe that since Brennan’s death they all three live
- very comfortably together at Staple—at least, they did ten years ago
- when I last heard from Anne. That was not long after Brennan died.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean wrinkled her brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather a confusing household to be suddenly pitchforked into,”
- she commented.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But not dull!” submitted Peterson triumphantly. “And
- dullness is, after all, the biggest bugbear of existence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As if suddenly stabbed by the palpable pose of his own remark, the light
- died out of his face and he looked round the great dim ball with a
- restless, eager glance, as though trying to impress the picture of it on
- his memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beirnfels—my ‘House of Dreams-Come-True,’”
- he muttered to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had named it thus in those first glowing days when love had
- transfigured the grim old border castle, turning it into a place of magic
- visions and consummated hopes. The whimsical name took its origin from a
- little song which Jacqueline had been wont to sing to him, her glorious
- voice investing the simple words with a passionate belief and triumph.
- <br /><br /><span class="indent15">It’s a strange road leads to the
- House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of
- Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its
- valleys deep, <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with tears the
- Wayfarers weep, <br /><span class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you.
- <br /><br /><span class="indent15">But there’s sure a way to the House
- of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True.
- <br /><span class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set.
- <br /><span class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,
- <br /><span class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Peterson’s eyes rested curiously on his daughter’s face. There
- was something mystic, almost visionary, in their quiet, absent gaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One day, Jean,” he said, “when you meet the only man
- who matters, Beirnfels shall be yours—the house where <i>your</i>
- dreams shall come true. It’s a house of ghosts now—a dead
- house. But some day you and the man you love will make it live again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II—MADAME DE VARIGNY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN was standing
- looking out from the window of her room in the hotel at Montavan. In the
- distance, the great white peaks of the Alps strained upwards, piercing the
- mass of drifting cloud, whilst below lay a world sheeted in snow, the long
- reach of dazzling purity broken only where the pine-woods etched black
- trunks against the whiteness and the steely gleam of a frozen lake showed
- like a broad blade drawn from a white velvet scabbard.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had been part of Peterson’s expressed programme that, before
- going their separate ways, he and Jean should make a brief stay at
- Montavan, there to await Lady Anne Brennan’s answer to his letter.
- Jean had divined in this determination an excuse, covering his need to
- take farewell of that grave on the lonely mountain-side before he set out
- upon the solitary journey which could not fail to hold poignant memories
- of other, former wanderings—wanderings invested with the exquisite
- joy of sharing each adventure with a beloved fellow-wayfarer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Instinctively though Jean had recognised the desire at the back of Glyn’s
- decision to stop at Montavan, she was scrupulously careful not to let him
- guess her recognition. She took her cue from his own demeanour, which was
- outwardly that of a man merely travelling for pleasure, and she listened
- with a grim sense of amusement when poor Monsieur Vautrinot, the <i>maître
- d’hôtel</i>, recognising Peterson as a former client,
- sympathetically recalled the sad circumstances of his previous visit and
- was roundly snubbed for his pains.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean the loss of her mother had meant far less than it would have done
- to a girl in more commonplace circumstances. It was true that Jacqueline
- had shown herself all that was kindhearted and generous in her genuine
- wish to compass the girl’s happiness, and that Jean had been frankly
- fond of her and attracted by her, but in no sense of the words had there
- been any interpretation of a maternal or filial relationship. As Jean
- herself, to the huge entertainment of her parents, had on one occasion
- summed up the situation: “Of course I know I’m a quite
- superfluous third at Beirnfels, but, all the same, you two really do make
- the most perfect host and hostess, and you try awfully hard not to let me
- feel <i>de trop</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But, despite the fact that Jacqueline had represented little more to her
- daughter than a brilliant and delightful personality with whom
- circumstances happened to have brought her into contact, Jean was
- conscious of a sudden thrill of pain as her glance travelled across the
- wide stretches of snow and came at last to rest on the little burial
- ground which lay half hidden beneath the shoulder of a hill. She was moved
- by an immense consciousness of loss—not just the mere sense of
- bereavement which the circumstances would naturally have engendered, but
- something more absolute—a sense of all the exquisite maternal
- element which she had missed in the woman who was dead.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then came recognition of the uselessness of such regret. Nothing could
- have made Jacqueline other than she was—one of the world’s
- great lovers. Mated to the man she loved, she asked nothing more of
- Nature, nor had she herself anything more to give. And the same reasoning,
- though perhaps in a less degree, could be applied to Peterson’s own
- attitude of detachment towards his daughter; although Jean was intuitively
- aware that she had come to mean much more to him since her mother’s
- death, even though it might be, perhaps, only because she represented a
- tangible link with his past happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thrusting aside the oppression of thought conjured up by her glimpse of
- that quiet God’s Acre, set high up among the hills, she turned
- abruptly from the window and made her way downstairs to the hotel
- vestibule.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here she discovered that Peterson had been claimed by some acquaintances.
- The encounter was obviously not of his own choosing, for, to Jean’s
- experienced eye, his face bore the slightly restive expression common to
- it when circumstances had momentarily got the better of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- His companions were a somewhat elaborate little Frenchman of fifty or
- thereabouts, with an unmistakable air of breeding about him, and a
- stately-looking woman some fifteen years younger, whose warm brunette
- colouring and swift, mobile gesture proclaimed her of Latin blood. All
- three were conversing in French.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Ah! La voici qui vient!</i>,” Peterson turned as Jean
- approached, his quick exclamation tinctured with relief. Still in French,
- which both he and Jean spoke as fluently and with as little accent as
- English, he continued rapidly: “Jean, let me present you to Madame
- la Comtesse de Varigny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl found herself looking straight into a pair of eyes of that
- peculiarly opaque, dense brown common to Southern races. They were heavily
- fringed with long black lashes, giving them a fictitiously soft and
- disarming expression, yet Jean was vaguely conscious that their real
- expression held something secret and implacable, almost repellant, an
- impression strengthened by the virile, strongly-marked black brows that
- lay so close above them.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the rest, Madame de Varigny was undeniably a beautiful woman, her
- blue-black, rather coarse hair framing an oval face, extraordinarily
- attractive in contour, with somewhat high cheek bones and a clever,
- flexible mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s first instinctive feeling was one of distaste. In spite of
- her knowledge that Varigny was one of the oldest names in France, the
- Countess struck her as partaking a little of the adventuress—of the
- type of woman of no particular birth who has climbed by her wits—and
- she wondered what position she had occupied prior to her marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sharply recalled from her thoughts to find that Madame de Varigny
- was introducing the little middle-aged Frenchman to her as her husband,
- and immediately she spoke Jean felt her suspicions melting away beneath
- the warm, caressing cadences of an unusually beautiful voice. Such a voice
- was a straight passport to the heart. It seemed to clothe even the prosaic
- little Count in an almost romantic atmosphere of tender charm, an effect
- which he speedily dispelled by giving Jean a full, true, and particular
- account of the various pulmonary symptoms which annually induced him to
- seek the high, dry air of Montavan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is as an insurance of good health that I come,” he
- informed Jean gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, we are not here merely for pleasure—<i>comme ces
- autres</i>”—-Madame de Varigny gestured smilingly towards a
- merry party of men and girls who had just come in from luging and were
- stamping the snow from off their feet amid gay little outbursts of chaff
- and laughter. “We are here just as last year, when we first made the
- acquaintance of Monsieur Peterson”—the suddenly muted quality
- of her voice implied just the right amount of sympathetic recollection—“so
- that <i>mon pauvre mari</i> may assure himself of yet another year of
- health.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The faintly ironical gleam in her eyes convinced Jean that, as she had
- shrewdly begun to suspect, the little Count was a <i>malade imaginaire</i>,
- and once she found herself wondering what could be the circumstances
- responsible for the union of two such dissimilar personalities as the
- high-bred, hypochondriacal little Count and the rather splendid-looking
- but almost certainly plebeian-born woman who was his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- She intended, later on, to ask her father if he could supply the key to
- the riddle, but he had contrived to drift off during the course of her
- conversation with the Varignys, and, when at last she found herself free
- to join him, he had disappeared altogether.
- </p>
- <p>
- She thought it very probable that he had gone out to watch the progress of
- a ski-ing match to which he had referred with some enthusiasm earlier in
- the day, and she smiled a little at the characteristic way in which he had
- extricated himself, at her expense, from the inconvenience of his
- unexpected recontre with the Varignys.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, two hours later, she realised that once again his superficial air of
- animation had deceived her. From her window she saw him coming along the
- frozen track that led from the hillside cemetery, and for a moment she
- hardly recognised her father in that suddenly shrank, huddled figure of a
- man, stumbling down the path, his head thrust forward and sunken on his
- breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her first imperative instinct was to go and meet him. Her whole being
- ached with the longing to let him feel the warm rush of her sympathy, to
- assure him that he was not utterly alone. But she checked the impulse,
- recognising that he had no use for any sympathy or love which she could
- give.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had never really been anything other than exterior to his life,
- outside his happiness, and now she felt intuitively that he would wish her
- to remain equally outside the temple of his grief.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was the type of man who would bitterly resent the knowledge that any
- eyes had seen him at a moment of such utter, pitiable self-revelation, and
- it was the measure of her understanding that Jean waited quietly till he
- should choose to come to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When he came, he had more or less regained his customary poise,
- though he still looked strained and shaken. He addressed her abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve decided to go straight on to Marseilles and sail by the
- next boat, Jean. There’s one I can catch if I start at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At once?” she exclaimed, taken aback. “You don’t
- mean—to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, this very evening. I find I can get down to Montreux in time
- for the night mail.” Then, answering her unspoken thought: “You’ll
- be quite all right. You will be certain to hear from Lady Anne in a day or
- two, and, meanwhile, I’ll ask Madame de Varigny to play chaperon.
- She’ll be delighted”—with a flash of the ironical humour
- that was never long absent from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was she before she married the Count?” queried Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t tell you. She is very reticent about her antecedents—probably
- with good reason”—smiling grimly. “But she is a big and
- beautiful person, and our little Count is obviously quite happy in his
- choice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is rather a fascinating woman,” commented Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—but preferable as a friend rather than an enemy. I don’t
- know anything about her, but I wouldn’t mind wagering that she has a
- dash of Corsican blood in her. Anyway, she will look after you all right
- till Anne Brennan writes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if no letter comes?” suggested Jean. “Or supposing
- Lady Anne can’t have me? We’re rather taking things for
- granted, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face clouded, but cleared again almost instantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She <i>will</i> have you. Anne would never refuse a request of
- mine. If not, you must come on to me, and I’ll make other
- arrangements,”—vaguely. “I’ll let the next boat
- go, and stay in Paris till I hear from you. But I can’t wait here
- any longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused, then broke out hurriedly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ought never to have come to this place. It’s haunted. I
- know you’ll understand—you always do understand, I think, you
- quiet child—why I must go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Jean, looking with the clear eyes of unhurt youth into the handsome,
- grief-ravaged face, was suddenly conscious of a shrinking fear of that
- mysterious force called love, which can make, and so swiftly, terribly
- unmake the lives of men and women.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III—THE STRANGER ON THE ICE
- </h2>
- <p>
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“A</span> ND this
- friend of your father’s? You have not heard from her yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean and Madame de Varigny were breakfasting together the morning after
- Peterson’s departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I hoped a letter might have come for me by this morning’s
- post. But I’m afraid I shall be on your hands a day or two longer”—smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is a pleasure!” Madame de Varigny reassured her
- warmly. “My husband and I are here for another week yet. After that
- we go on to St. Moritz. He is suddenly discontented with Montavan. If, by
- any chance, you have not then heard from Lady—Lady—I forget
- the name——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lady Anne Brennan,” supplied Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- A curiously concentrated expression seemed to flit for an instant across
- Madame de Varigny’s face, but she continued smoothly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mais, oui</i>—Lady Brennan. <i>Eh bien</i>, if you have
- not heard from her by the time we leave for St. Moritz, you must come with
- us. It would add greatly to our pleasure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very good of you,” replied Jean. She felt frankly
- grateful for the suggestion, realising that if, by any mischance, the
- letter should be delayed till then, Madame de Varigny’s offer would
- considerably smooth her path. In spite of Glyn’s decision that she
- must join him in Paris, should Lady Anne’s invitation fail to
- materialise, she was well aware that he would not greet her appearance on
- the scene with any enthusiasm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose”—the Countess was speaking again—“I
- suppose Brennan is a very frequent—a common name in England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The question was put quite casually, more as though for the sake of making
- conversation than anything else, yet Madame de Varigny seemed to await the
- answer with a curious anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” Jean replied readily enough, “I don’t
- think it is a common name. Lady Anne married into a junior branch of the
- family, I believe,” she added.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would not be considered a very good match for a peer’s
- daughter, surely?” hazarded the Countess. “A junior branch? I
- suppose there was a romantic love-affair of some kind behind it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Lady Anne’s second marriage. Her first husband was a
- Tormarin—one of the oldest families in England.” Jean spoke
- rather stiffly. There was something jarring about the pertinacious
- catechism.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny’s lips trembled as she put her next question, and
- not even the dusky fringe of lashes could quite soften the sudden tense
- gleam in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tor—ma—rin!” She pronounced the name with a
- French inflection, evidently finding the unusual English word a little
- beyond her powers. “What a curious name! That, I am sure, must be
- uncommon. And this Lady Anne—she has children—sons? No?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes. She has two sons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed?” Madame de Varigny looked interested. “And what
- are the sons called?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean regarded her with mild surprise. Apparently the subject of
- nomenclature had a peculiar fascination for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really forget. My father did once tell me, but I don’t
- recollect what he said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A perceptible shade of disappointment passed over the other’s face,
- then, as though realising that she had exhibited a rather uncalled-for
- curiosity, she said deprecatingly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fear I seem intrusive. But I am so interested in your future—I
- have taken a great fancy to you, mademoiselle. That must be my excuse.”
- She rose from the table, adding smilingly: “At least you will not
- find it dull, since Lady Anne has two sons. They will he companions for
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rose, too, and together they passed out of the <i>salle à manger</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what do you propose to do with yourself to-day?” asked
- the Countess, pausing in the hall. “My husband and I are going for a
- sleigh drive. Would you care to come with us? We should he delighted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very kind of you. But I should really like to try my
- luck on the ice. I haven’t skated for some years, and as I feel a
- trifle shaky about beginning again, Monsieur Griolet, who directs the
- sports, has promised to coach me up a bit some time this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Bon!</i>” Madame de Varigny nodded pleasantly. “You
- will be well occupied while we are away. Au revoir, then, till our return.
- Perhaps we shall walk down to the rink later to witness your progress
- under Monsieur Groilet’s instruction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled mischievously, the smile irradiating her face with a sudden
- charm. Jean felt as though, for a moment, she had glimpsed the woman the
- Countess might have been but for some happening in her life which had
- soured and embittered it, setting that strange implacability within the
- liquid depths of her soft, southern eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was still speculating on Madame de Varigny’s curious personality
- as she made her way along the beaten track that led towards the rink, and
- then, as a sudden turn of the way brought the sheet of ice suddenly into
- full view, all thoughts concerning the bunch of contradictions that goes
- to make up individual character were swept out of her mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the glory of the morning sunlight the stretch of frozen water gleamed
- like a shield of burnished silver, whilst on its further side rose great
- pine-woods, mysteriously dark and silent, climbing the steeply rising
- ground towards the mountains.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a number of people skating, and Jean discovered Monsieur
- Griolet in the distance, supervising the practice of a pretty American
- girl who was cutting figures with an ease and exquisite balance of lithe
- body that hardly seemed to stand in need of the instructions he poured
- forth so volubly. Probably, Jean decided, the American had entered for
- some match and was being coached up to concert pitch accordingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood for a little time watching with interest the varied performances
- of the skaters. Bands of light-hearted young folk, indulging in the sport
- just for the sheer enjoyment of it, sped gaily by, broken snatches of
- their talk and laughter drifting back to her as they passed, whilst groups
- of more accomplished skaters performed intricate evolutions with an
- earnestness and intensity of purpose almost worthy of a better cause.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt herself a little stranded and forlorn. She would have liked
- someone to share her enthusiasm for the marvels achieved by the
- figure-skaters—and to laugh with her a little at their deadly
- seriousness and at the scraps of heated argument anent the various schools
- of technique which came to her, borne on the still, clear air.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently her attention was attracted by the solitary figure of a man who
- swept past her in the course of making a complete circle of the rink. He
- skimmed the ice with the free assurance of an expert, and as he passed,
- Jean caught a fleeting glimpse of a supple, sinewy figure, and of a lean,
- dark face, down-bent, with a cap crammed low on to the somewhat scowling
- brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something curiously distinctive about the man. Brief as was her
- vision of him, it possessed an odd definiteness—a vividness of
- impression that was rather startling.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flashed by, his arms folded across his chest, moving with long,
- rhythmic strokes which soon carried him to the further side of the rink.
- Jean’s eyes followed him interestedly. He was unmistakably an
- Englishman, and he seemed to be as solitary as herself, but, unlike her,
- he appeared indifferent to the fact, absorbed in his own thoughts which,
- to judge by the sullen, brooding expression of his face, were not
- particularly pleasant ones.
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon she lost sight of him amid the scattered groups of smoothly gliding
- figures. The scene reminded her of a cinema show. People darted suddenly
- into the picture, materialising in full detail in the space of a moment,
- then rushed out of it again, dwindling into insignificant black dots which
- merged themselves into the continuously shifting throng beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last she bent her steps towards the lower end of the rink, by common
- consent reserved for beginners in the art of skating. She had not skated
- for several years, owing to a severe strain which had left her with a weak
- ankle, and she felt somewhat nervous about starting again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rather slowly she fastened on her skates and ventured tentatively on to
- the ice. For a few minutes she suffered from a devastating feeling that
- her legs didn’t belong to her, and wished heartily that she had
- never quitted the safe security of the bank, but before long her
- confidence returned, and with it that flexible ease of balance which, once
- acquired, is never really lost.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a short time she was thoroughly enjoying the rapid, effortless motion,
- and felt herself equal to steering a safe course beyond the narrow limits
- of the “Mugs’ Corner”—as that portion of the ice
- allotted to novices was unkindly dubbed.
- </p>
- <p>
- She struck out for the middle of the rink, gradually increasing her speed
- and revelling in the sting of the keen, cold air against her face. Then,
- all at once, it seemed as though the solid surface gave way beneath her
- foot. She lurched forward, flung violently off her balance, and in the
- same moment the sharp clink of metal upon ice betrayed the cause. One of
- her skates, insecurely fastened, had come off.
- </p>
- <p>
- She staggered wildly, and in another instant would have fallen had not
- someone, swift as a shadow, glided suddenly abreast of her and, slipping a
- supporting arm round her waist, skated smoothly beside her, little by
- little slackening their mutual pace until Jean, on one blade all this
- time, could stop without danger of falling.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they glided to a standstill, she turned to offer her thanks and found
- herself looking straight into the lean, dark face of the Englishman who
- had passed her when she had been watching the skaters.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his cap, and as he stood for a moment bare-headed beside her,
- she noticed with a curious little shock—half surprised, half
- appreciative—that on the left temple his dark brown hair was
- streaked with a single pure white lock, as though a finger had been laid
- upon the hair and bleached it where it lay. It conferred a certain air of
- distinction—an added value of contrast—just as the sharp black
- shadow in a neutral-tinted picture gives sudden significance to the whole
- conception.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stranger was regarding Jean with a flicker of amusement in his grey
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was a near thing!” he observed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evidently he judged her to be a Frenchwoman, for he spoke in French—very
- fluently, but with an unmistakable English accent. Instinctively Jean, who
- all her life had been as frequently called upon to converse in French as
- English, responded in the same language.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was breathing rather quickly, a little shaken by the suddenness of the
- incident, and his face took on a shade of concern.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not hurt, I hope? Did you twist your ankle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—oh, no,” she smiled up at him. “I can’t
- have fastened my skate on properly, and when it shot off like that I’m
- afraid I rather lost my head. You see,” she added explanatorily,
- “I haven’t skated for some years. And I was never very
- proficient.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see,” he said gravely. “It was a little rash of you
- to start again quite alone, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it was. However, as you luckily happened to be there to
- save me from the consequences, no harm is done. Thank you so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a note of dismissal in her voice, but apparently he failed to
- notice it, for he held out his hands to her crosswise, saying:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me help you to the bank, and then I’ll retrieve your
- errant skate for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He so evidently expected her to comply with his suggestion that, almost
- without her own volition, she found herself moving with him towards the
- edge of the rink, her hands grasped in a close, steady clasp, and a moment
- later she was scrambling up the bank. Once more on level ground, she made
- a movement to withdraw her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can manage quite well now,” she said rather nervously.
- There was something in that strong, firm grip of his which sent a curious
- tremor of consciousness through her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no answer, but released her instantly, and in her anxiety to show
- him how well she could manage she hurried on, struck the tip of the skate
- she was still wearing against a little hummock of frozen snow, and all but
- fell. He caught her as she stumbled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think.” he remarked drily, “you would do well to
- sacrifice your independence till your feet are on more equal terms with
- one another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean laughed ruefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I should,” she agreed meekly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He led her to where the prone trunk of a tree offered a seat of sorts,
- then went in search of the missing skate. Returning in a few moments, he
- knelt beside her and fastened it on—securely this time—to the
- slender foot she extended towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re much too incompetent to be out on the ice alone,”
- he remarked as he buckled the last strap.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint flush of annoyance rose in Jean’s cheeks at the
- uncompromising frankness of the observation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are your friends thinking of to let you do such a thing?”
- he pursued, blandly ignoring her mute indignation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no friends here. I am—my own mistress,” she
- replied rather tartly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was still kneeling in the snow in front of her. Now he sat back on his
- heels and subjected her face to a sharp, swift scrutiny. Almost, she
- thought, she detected a sudden veiled suspicion in the keen glance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not the sort of girl to be knocking about—alone—at
- a hotel,” he said at last, as though satisfied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know what I’m like?” she retorted quickly,
- “You are hardly qualified to judge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Pardon, mademoiselle</i>, I do not know what you are—but I
- do know very certainly what you are not. And”—smiling a little—“I
- think we have just had ocular demonstration of the fact that you’re
- not accustomed to fending for yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something singularly attractive about his smile. It lightened
- his whole face, contradicting the settled gravity that seemed habitual to
- it, and Jean found herself smiling back in response.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m not,” she admitted.
- “I came here with my father, and he was—was suddenly called
- away. I am going on to stay with friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is my last day here,” he remarked with sudden
- irrelevance. “I am off first thing to-morrow morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not stopping at the hotel, are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I’m staying at a friend’s chalet a little way
- beyond it. <i>Mais, voyons, mademoiselle</i>, you will catch cold sitting
- there. Are you too frightened to try the ice again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to assume that her next essay would be made in his company. Jean
- spoke a little hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, I was supposed to have a lesson with Monsieur Griolet this
- morning. He is an instructor,” she explained. “But he was
- engaged coaching someone else when I came out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And which is this Monsieur Griolet? Can you see him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s glance ranged over the scattered figures on the rink.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. There he is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes followed the direction indicated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He seems to be well occupied at the moment,” he commented.
- “Suppose—would you allow me to act as coach instead?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She hesitated. This stranger appeared to be uncompromisingly progressive
- in his tendencies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m perfectly capable,” he added curtly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure of that. But——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes twinkled. “But it would not be quite <i>comme il faut?</i>
- Is that it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it wouldn’t, would it?” she retaliated.
- </p>
- <p>
- His face grew suddenly grave, and she noticed that when in repose there
- were deep, straight lines on either side of his mouth—lines that are
- usually only furrowed by severe suffering, either mental or physical.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “To-day, it seems, we
- are two very lonely people. Couldn’t we forget what is <i>comme il
- faut</i> for once? We shall probably never meet again. We know nothing of
- each other—just ‘ships that pass in the night.’ Let us
- keep one another company—take this one day together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew a step nearer to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you?” he said. “Will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was looking down at her with eyes that were curiously bright and
- compelling. There was a tense note in his voice which once again sent that
- disconcerting tremor of consciousness tingling through her blood.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that his proposal was impertinent, unconventional, even regarded
- from the standpoint of the modern broad interpretation of the word
- convention, and that by every law of Mrs. Grundy she ought to snub him
- soundly for his presumption and retrace her steps to the hotel with all
- the dignity at her command.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she did none of these things. Instead, she stood hesitating,
- alternately flushing and paling beneath the oddly concentrated gaze he
- bent on her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I swear it shall bind you to nothing,” he pursued urgently.
- “Not even to recognising me in the street should our ways ever
- chance to cross again. Though that is hardly likely to occur”—with
- a shrug—“seeing that mademoiselle is French and that I am
- rarely out of England. It will be just one day that we shall have shared
- together out of the whole of life, and after that the ‘darkness
- again and a silence.’.... I can promise you the ‘silence’!”
- he added with a sudden harsh inflection.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was that bitter note which won the day. In some subtle, subconscious
- way Jean sensed the pain which lay at the back of it. She answered
- impulsively:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. It shall be as you wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A rarely sweet smile curved the man’s grave lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” he said simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV—THE STOLEN DAY
- </h2>
- <p>
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“E</span> NCORE <i>une
- fois!</i> Bravo! That went better!” Monsieur Griolet’s
- understudy had amply justified his claim to capability. After a morning’s
- tuition at his hands, Jean found her prowess in the art of skating
- considerably enhanced. She was even beginning to master the mysteries of
- “cross-cuts” and “rocking turns,” and a somewhat
- attenuated figure eight lay freshly scored on the ice to her credit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are really a wonderful instructor,” she acknowledged,
- surveying the graven witness to her progress with considerable
- satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her self-appointed teacher smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is something to be said for the pupil, also,” he
- replied. “But now”—glancing at his watch—“I
- vote we call a halt for lunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lunch!” Jean’s glance measured the distance to the
- hotel with some dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But not lunch at the hotel,” interposed her companion
- quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean regarded him with curiosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where then, monsieur?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Up there!” he pointed towards the pine-woods. “Above
- the woods there is a hut of sorts—erected as a shelter in case of
- sudden storms for people coming up from the lower valley to Montavan and
- beyond. It’s a rough little shanty, but it would serve very well as
- a temporary salle à manger. It isn’t a long climb,” he added
- persuasively. “Are you too tired to take it on after your recent
- exertion?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not in the least. But are you expecting a wayside refuge of that
- description to be miraculously endowed with a well-furnished larder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. But I think my knapsack can make good the deficiency.” he
- replied composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean looked at him with dancing eyes. Having once yielded to the day’s
- unconventional adventure, she had surrendered herself whole-heartedly to
- the enjoyment of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made one reservation, however. Some instinct of self-protection
- prevented her from enlightening her companion as to her partly English
- nationality. There was no real necessity for it, seeing that he spoke
- French with the utmost fluency, and his assumption that she was a
- Frenchwoman seemed in some way to limit the feeling of intimacy,
- conferring on her, as it were, a little of the freedom of an incognito.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>A la bonne heure!</i>” she exclaimed gaily. “So you
- invite me to share your lunch, <i>monsieur le professeur?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve invited you to share my day, haven’t I?” he
- replied, smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- They steered for the bank, and when he had helped off her skates and
- removed his own, slinging them over his arm, they started off along the
- steep white track which wound its way upwards through the pine-woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they left the bright sunlight that still glittered on the snowy slopes
- behind them, it seemed as though they plunged suddenly into another world—a
- still, mysterious, twilit place, where the snow underfoot muffled the
- sound of their steps and the long shadows of the pines barred their path
- with sinister, distorted shapes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, always sensitive to her surroundings, shivered a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s rather eerie, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s
- just as if someone had suddenly turned the lights out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite a nice bit of symbolism,” he returned enigmatically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How? I don’t think I understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How should you? You’re young. Fate doesn’t come along
- and snuff out the lights for you when you are—what shall we say?
- Eighteen?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re two years out,” replied Jean composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As much? Then let’s hope you’ll have so much the longer
- to wait before Madame Destiny comes round with her snuffers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke with a kind of bitter humour, the backwash, surely, of some storm
- through which he must have passed. Jean looked across at him with a vague
- trouble in her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, do you think”—she spoke uncertainly—“do
- you believe it is inevitable that she will come—sooner or later?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope not—to you,” he said gently. “But she
- comes to most of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She longed to put another question, but there was a note of finality in
- his voice—a kind of “thus far shalt thou come and no further”—that
- warned her to probe no deeper. Whatever it was of bitterness that lay in
- the Englishman’s past, he had no intention of sharing the knowledge
- with his chance companion of a day. He seemed to have become absorbed once
- more in his own thoughts, and for a time they tramped along together in
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ascent steepened perceptibly, and Jean, light and active as she was,
- found it hard work to keep pace with the man’s steady, swinging
- stride. Apparently his thoughts engrossed him to the exclusion of
- everything else, for he appeared to have utterly forgotten her existence.
- It was only when a slip of her foot on the beaten surface of the snow
- wrung a quick exclamation from her that he paused, wheeling round in
- consternation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon! I’m walking you off your legs! Why on
- earth didn’t you stop me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something irresistibly boyish about the quick apology. Jean
- laughed, a little breathless from the swift climb uphill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seemed so bent on getting to the top in the least possible
- time,” she replied demurely, “that I didn’t like to
- disappoint you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid I make a poor sort of guide,” he admitted.
- “I was thinking of something else. You must forgive me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They resumed their climb more leisurely. The trees were thinning a bit
- now, and ahead, between the tall, straight trunks winged with drooping,
- snow-laden branches, they could catch glimpses of the white world beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently they came out above the pine-wood on to the edge of a broad
- plateau and Jean uttered an exclamation of delight, gazing spell-bound at
- the scene thus suddenly unfolded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Behind them, in the pine-ringed valley, a frozen reach of water gleamed
- like a dull sheet of metal, whilst before them, far above, stretched the
- great chain of mountains, pinnacle after pinnacle, capped with snow,
- thrusting up into the cloud-swept sky. Through rifts in the cloud—almost,
- it seemed, torn in the breast of heaven by those towering peaks—the
- sunlight slanted in long shafts, chequering the snows with shimmering
- patches of pale gold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was worth the climb, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Englishman, his gaze on Jean’s rapt face, broke the silence
- abruptly. She turned to him, radiant-eyed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s so beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!”
- she exclaimed, laying her hand on her breast with the little foreign turn
- of gesture she derived from her French ancestry.
- </p>
- <p>
- She said no more, but remained very still, drinking in the sheer
- loveliness of the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man regarded her quietly as she stood there silhouetted against the
- skyline, her slim, brown-clad figure striking a warm note amid the chill
- Alpine whites and greys. Her face was slightly tilted, and as the sunshine
- glinted on her hair and eyes, waking the russet lights that slumbered in
- them, there was something vividly arresting about her—a splendour of
- ardent youth which brought a somewhat wistful expression into the rather
- weary eyes of the man watching her.
- </p>
- <p>
- His thought travelled hack to the brief snatch of conversation evoked by
- the sudden gloom of the pine-woods. Surely, for once, Fate would lay aside
- her snuffers and let this young, eager life pass by unshadowed!
- </p>
- <p>
- Even as the thought took shape in his mind, Jean turned to him again, her
- face still radiant, “Thank you for bringing me up here,” she
- said simply. “It has been perfect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stretched out her hand, and he took it and held it in his for a
- moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad you’ve liked it,” he answered quietly.
- “It will always be a part of our day together—the day we stole
- from <i>les convenances</i>”—he smiled whimsically. “And
- now, if you can bring yourself back to more prosaic matters, I suggest we
- have lunch. Scenery, however fine, isn’t exactly calculated to
- sustain life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Most material person!” She laughed up at him. “I
- suppose you think a ham sandwich worth all the scenery in the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll admit to a preference for the sandwich at the moment,”
- he acknowledged. “Come, now, confess! Aren’t you hungry, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Starving! This air makes me feel as if I’d never had anything
- to eat in my life before!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, come and inspect my <i>salle à manger</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The proposed refuge proved to be a roughly constructed little hut—hardly
- more than a shed provided with a door and thick-paned window, its only
- furniture a wooden bench and table. But that it had served its purpose as
- a kind of “travellers’ rest” was proved by the fragments
- of appreciation, both in prose and verse, that were to be found inscribed
- in a species of “Visitors’ Book” which lay on the table,
- carefully preserved from damp in a strong metal box. Jean amused herself
- by perusing the various contributions to its pages while the Englishman
- unpacked the contents of his knapsack.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lunch that followed was a merry little meal, the two conversing with a
- happy intimacy and freedom from reserve based on the reassuring knowledge
- that they would, in all probability, never meet again. Afterwards, they
- bent their energies to concerting a suitable inscription for insertion in
- the “Visitors’ Book,” squabbling like a couple of
- children over the particular form it should take.
- </p>
- <p>
- So absorbed were they in the discussion that they failed to notice the
- perceptible cooling of the temperature. The sun no longer warmed the
- roofing of the hut, and there was a desolate note in the sudden gusts of
- wind which shook the door at frequent intervals as though trying to
- attract the attention of those within. Presently a louder rattle than
- usual, coincident with a chance pause in the conversation, roused them
- effectually.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Englishman’s keen glance flashed to the little window, through
- which was visible a dancing, whirling blur of white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Scott!” he exclaimed in good round English. “It’s
- snowing like the very dickens!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In two strides he had reached the door, and, throwing it open, peered out.
- A draught of icy air rushed into the hut, accompanied by a flurry of fine
- snow driven on the wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he turned back, his face had assumed a sudden look of gravity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must go at once,” he said, speaking in French again and
- apparently unconscious of his momentary lapse into his native tongue.
- “If we don’t, we shan’t be able to get back at all. The
- snow drifts quickly in the valley. Half an hour more of this and we
- shouldn’t be able to get through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean thrust the Visitors’ Book back into its box, and began hastily
- repacking her companion’s, knapsack, but he stopped her almost
- roughly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind that. Fasten that fur thing closer round your throat and
- come on. There’s no taking chances in a blizzard like this. Don’t
- you understand?”—almost roughly. “If we waste time we
- may have to spend the night here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Impelled by the sudden urgency of his tones, Jean followed him swiftly out
- of the hut, and the wind, as though baulked by her haste, snatched the
- door from her grasp and drove it to with a menacing thud behind them.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V—AMONG THE SNOWS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>S Jean stepped
- outside the hut it seemed as though she had walked straight into the heart
- of the storm. The bitter, ice-laden blast that bore down from the
- mountains caught away her breath, the fine driving flakes, crystal-hard,
- whipped her face, almost blinding her with the fury of their onslaught,
- whilst her feet slipped and slid on the newly fallen snow as she trudged
- along beside the Englishman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is a good preparation for a dance!” she gasped
- breathlessly, forcing her chilled lips to a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For a dance? What dance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s a fancy dress ball at the hotel to-night. There won’t
- be—much of me—left to dance, will there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Englishman laughed suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My chief concern is to get you back to the hotel—alive,”
- he observed grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean looked at him quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it as bad as that?” she asked more soberly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. At least I hope not. I didn’t mean to frighten you”—hastily.
- “Only it seemed a trifle incongruous to be contemplating a dance
- when we may be struggling through several feet of snow in half an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fierce gusts of wind, lashing the snow about them in bewildering
- eddies, made conversation difficult, and they pushed on in a silence
- broken only by an occasional word of encouragement from the Englishman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right?” he queried once, as Jean paused, battered and
- spent with the fury of the storm.
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded speechlessly. She had no breath left to answer, but once again
- her lips curved in a plucky little smile. A fresh onslaught of the wind
- forced them onwards, and she staggered a little as it blustered by.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here,” he said quickly. “Take my arm. It will be better
- when we get into the pine-wood. The trees there will give us some
- protection.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They struggled forward again, arm in arm. The swirling snow had blotted
- out the distant mountains; lowering storm-filled clouds made a grey
- twilight of the day, through which they could just discern ahead the
- vague, formless darkness of the pine-wood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another ten minutes walking brought them to it, only to find that the
- blunted edge of the storm was almost counterbalanced by the added
- difficulties of the surrounding gloom. High up overhead they could hear
- the ominous creak and swing of great branches shaken like toys in the
- wind, and now and again the sharper crack of some limb wrenched violently
- from its parent trunk. Once there came the echoing crash of a tree torn up
- bodily and flung to earth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s worse here,” declared Jean, “I think”—with
- a nervous laugh—“I think I’d rather die in the open!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might be preferable. Only you’re not going to die at all,
- if I can help it,” the Englishman returned composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, cool though he appeared, he experienced a thrill of keen anxiety as
- they emerged from the pine-wood and his quick eyes scanned the dangerously
- rapid drifting of the snow.
- </p>
- <p>
- The wind was racing down the valley now, driving the snow before it and
- piling it up, inch by inch, foot by foot, against the steep ground which
- skirted the sheet of ice where they had been skating but a few hours
- before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the pitiless beating of the snow Jean strove to read her companion’s
- face. It was grim and set, the lean jaw thrust out a little and the grey
- eyes tense and concentrated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can we get through?” she asked, raising her voice so that it
- might carry against the wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If we can get through the drifted snow between here and the track
- on the left, we’re all right,” answered the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The wind’s slanting across the valley and there’ll be
- no drifts on the further side. I wish I’d got a bit of rope with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt in his pockets, finally producing the rolled-up strap of a
- suit-case.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all I have,” he said discontentedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s it for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s to go round your waist. I don’t want to lose you”—smiling
- briefly—“if you should stumble into deep snow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Deep snow? But it’s only been snowing an hour or so!”
- she objected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evidently you don’t know what a blizzard can accomplish in
- the way of drifting during the course of an ‘hour or so.’ I
- do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Deftly he fastened the strap round her waist, and, taking the loose end,
- gave it a double turn about his wrist before gripping it firmly in his
- hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, keep close behind me. Regard me”—laughing shortly—“as
- a snow-plough. And if I go down deep rather suddenly, throw your weight
- backward as much as you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved forward, advancing cautiously. He was badly handicapped by the
- lack of even a stick with which to gauge the depth of drifting snow in
- front of him, and he tested each step before trusting his full weight to
- the delusive, innocent-looking surface.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean went forward steadily beside him, a little to the rear. The snow was
- everywhere considerably more than ankle-deep, and at each step she could
- feel that the slope of the ground increased and with it the depth of the
- drift through which they toiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold was intense. The icy fingers of the snow about her feet seemed to
- creep upward and upward till her whole body felt numbed and dead, and as
- she stumbled along in the Englishman’s wake, buffeted and beaten by
- the storm, her feet ached as if leaden weights were attached to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she struggled on pluckily. The man in front of her was taking the
- brunt of the hardship, cutting a path for her, as it were, with his own
- body as he forged ahead, and she was determined not to add to his work by
- putting any weight on the strap which bound them together.
- </p>
- <p>
- All at once he gave a sharp exclamation and pulled up abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s getting much deeper,” he called out, turning back
- to her. “You’ll never get through, hampered with your skirts.
- I’m going to carry you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head, and shouted back:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>You</i> wouldn’t get through, handicapped like that. No,
- let’s push on as we are. I’ll manage somehow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A glint of something like admiration flickered in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Game little devil!” he muttered. But the wind caught up the
- words, and Jean did not hear them. He raised his voice again, releasing
- the strap from his wrist as he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll do what I tell you. It’s only a matter of
- getting through this bit of drift, and we’ll be out of the worst of
- it. Put your arms round my neck.” Then, as she hesitated: “Do
- you hear? Put your arms round my neck—<i>quick!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The dominant ring in his voice impelled her. Obediently she clasped her
- arms about his neck as he stooped, and the next moment she felt herself
- swung upward, almost as easily as a child, and firmly held in the embrace
- of arms like steel.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a few yards he made good progress, thrusting his way through the
- yielding snow. But the task of carrying a young woman of average height
- and weight is no light one, even to a strong man and without the added
- difficulty of plunging through snow that yields treacherously at every
- step, and Jean could guess the strain entailed upon him by the double
- burden.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, do put me down!” she urged him. “I’m sure I
- can walk it—really I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He halted for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look down!” he said. “Think you could travel in that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The snow was up to his knees, above them whenever the ground hollowed
- suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you?” she protested unhappily. “You’ll—you’ll
- simply kill yourself!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Small loss if I do! But as that would hardly help you out of your
- difficulties, I’ve no intention of giving up the ghost just at
- present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He started on again, pressing forward slowly and determinedly, but it was
- only with great difficulty and exertion that he was able to make headway.
- Jean, her cheek against the rough tweed of his coat, could hear the
- labouring beats of his heart as the depth of the snow increased.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How much further?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not far,” he answered briefly, husbanding his breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- A few more steps. They were both silent now. Jean’s eyes sought his
- face. It was ashen, and even in that bitter cold beads of sweat were
- running down it; he was nearing the end of his tether. She could bear it
- no longer. She stirred restlessly in his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put me down,” she cried imploringly. “<i>Please</i> put
- me down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But he shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep still, can’t you?” he muttered between his teeth.
- She felt his arms tighten round her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next moment he stumbled heavily against some surface root or boulder,
- concealed beneath the snow, and pitched forward, and in the same instant
- Jean felt herself sinking down, down into a soft bed of something that
- yielded resistlessly to her weight. Then came a violent jerk and jar, as
- though she had been seized suddenly round the waist, and the sensation of
- sinking ceased abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She lay quite still where she had fallen and, looking upwards, found
- herself staring straight into the eyes of the Englishman. He was lying
- flat on his face, on ground a little above the snow-filled hollow into
- which his fall had flung her, his hand grasping the strap which was
- fastened round her body. He had caught the flying end of it as they fell,
- and thus saved her from sinking into seven or eight feet of snow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you hurt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice came to her roughened with fierce anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I’m not hurt. Only don’t leave go of your end of
- the strap!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God!” she heard him mutter. Then, aloud, reassuringly:
- “I’ve got my end of it all right. How, can you catch hold of
- the strap and raise yourself a little so that I can reach you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean obeyed. A minute later she felt his arms about her shoulders,
- underneath her armpits, and then very slowly, but with a sure strength
- that took from her all sense of fear, he drew her safely up beside him on
- to the high ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- Eor a moment they both rested quietly, recovering their breath. The
- Englishman seemed glad of the respite, and Jean noticed with concern the
- rather drawn look of his face. She thought he must be more played out than
- he cared to acknowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- Across the silence of sheer fatigue their eyes met—Jean’s
- filled with a wistful solicitude as unconscious and candid as a child’s,
- the man’s curiously brilliant and inscrutable—and in a moment
- the silence had become something other, different, charged with emotional
- significance, the revealing silence which falls suddenly between a man and
- woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last:
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is what comes of stealing a day from Mrs. Grundy,”
- commented the man drily.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the tension was broken.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang up, as though, anxious to maintain the recovered atmosphere of
- the commonplace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come! Having shot her bolt and tried ineffectually to down you in a
- ditch, I expect the old lady will let us get home safely now. We’re
- through the worst. There are no more drifts between here and the hotel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was true. Anything that might have spelt danger was past, and it only
- remained to follow the beaten track up to the hotel, though even so, with
- the wind and snow driving in their faces, it took them a good half-hour to
- accomplish the task.
- </p>
- <p>
- Monsieur and Madame de Varigny, a distracted <i>maître d’hôtel</i>,
- and a little crowd of interested and sympathetic visitors welcomed their
- arrival.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mon dieu, mademoiselle!</i> But we rejoice to see you back!”
- exclaimed Madame de Varigny. “We ourselves are only newly returned—and
- that, with difficulty, through this terrible storm—and we arrive to
- find that none knows where you are!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me, I made sure that mademoiselle had accompanied <i>Madame la
- Comtesse.</i>” asseverated Monsieur Vautrinot, nervously anxious to
- exculpate himself from any charge of carelessness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were just going to organise a search-party,” added the
- little Count. “I, myself”—stoutly—“should
- have joined in the search.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Weary as she was, Jean could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of
- the diminutive Count in the rôle of gallant preserver. He would have been
- considerably less well-qualified even than herself to cope with the
- drifting snow through which the sheer, dogged strength of the Englishman
- had brought her safely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Instinctively she turned with the intention of effecting an introduction
- between the latter and the Varignys, only to find that he had disappeared.
- He had taken the opportunity presented by the little ferment of excitement
- which had greeted her safe return to slip away.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt oddly disconcerted. And yet, she reflected, it was so like him—so
- like the conception of him which she had formed, at least—to evade
- both her thanks and the enthusiasm with which a recital of the afternoon’s
- adventure Would have been received.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI—THE MAGIC MOMENT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN, surprisingly
- revived by a hot bath and a hot drink, and comfortably tucked up beside
- the fire in her room, was recounting the day’s adventure to Madame
- de Varigny.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a somewhat expurgated version of the affair that she outlined—thoughtfully
- calculated to allay the natural apprehensions of a temporary chaperon—in
- which the unknown Englishman figured innocuously as merely having come to
- her assistance when, in the course of her afternoon’s tramp, she had
- been overtaken by the blizzard. Of the stolen day, snatched from under
- Mrs. Grundy’s enquiring nose, Jean preserved a discreet silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know who he could be,” she pursued. “I’ve
- never seen him on the ice before; I should certainly have recognised him
- if I had. He was a lean, brown man, very English-looking—that sort
- of cold-tub-every-morning effect, you know. Oh! And he had one perfectly
- white lock of hair that was distinctly attractive. It looked”—descriptively—“as
- though someone had dabbed a powdered finger on his hair—just in the
- right place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny’s eyes narrowed, and a quick ejaculation escaped
- her. It was something more than a mere exclamation connoting interest; it
- held a definitely individual note, as though it sprang from some sudden
- access of personal feeling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, hearing it, looked up in some surprise, and the other, meeting her
- questioning glance, rushed hastily into speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A lock of white hair? But how <i>chic!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “It should not”—thoughtfully—“be difficult
- to discover the identity of anyone with so distinctive a characteristic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not staying in the hotel, at all events,” said Jean.
- “He told me he was at a friend’s chalet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he did not enlighten you as to his name? Gave you no hint?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny spoke with an assumption of indifference, but there was
- an undertone of suppressed eagerness in her liquid voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head, smiling a little to herself. It had been part of the
- charm of that brief companionship that neither of the two comrades knew
- any of the everyday, commonplace details concerning the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you will see him again at the rink to-morrow,”
- suggested Madame de Varigny, still with that note of restrained eagerness
- in her tones. “The snow is not deep except where it has drifted;
- they will clear the ice in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent. She was not altogether sure that she wanted to see him
- again. As it stood, robbed of all the commonplace circumstances of
- convention, the incident held a certain glamour of whimsical romance which
- could not but appeal to the daughter of Glyn Peterson. Nicely rounded off,
- as, for instance, by the unknown Englishman’s prosaically calling at
- the hotel the next day to enquire whether she had suffered any ill
- effects, it would lose all the thrill of adventure. It was the suggestion
- of incompleteness which flavoured the entire episode so piquantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- No, on the whole, Jean rather hoped that she would not meet the Englishman
- again—at least, not yet. Some day, perhaps, it might be rather nice
- if chance brought them together once more. There would be a certain
- element of romantic fitness about it, should that happen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I am likely to see him again,” she said
- quietly, replying to Madame de Varigny’s suggestion. “He told
- me he was going away to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Had it been conceivable, Jean would have said that a flash of
- disappointment crossed the Countess’s face. But there seemed no
- possible reason why the movements of an unknown Englishman should cause
- her any excitation of feeling whatever, pleasant or otherwise. The only
- feasible explanation was that odd little streak of inquisitiveness
- concerning other people’s affairs which appeared to be
- characteristic of her and which she had before evinced concerning the
- circumstances of Lady Anne Brennan.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever curiosity she may have felt, however, on this occasion Madame de
- Varigny refrained from giving expression to it. Apparently dismissing the
- subject of the Englishman’s identity from her mind, she switched the
- conversation into a fresh channel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is unfortunate that you should have met with such a contretemps
- to-day. You will not feel disposed to dance this evening, after so much
- fatigue,” she observed commiseratingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Jean scouted the notion. With the incomparable resiliency of youth,
- she felt quite equal to dancing all night if needs be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mais tout au contraire!</i>” she exclaimed. “I’m
- practically recovered—at least, I shall be after another half-hour’s
- lazing by this glorious fire. I wonder what heaven-sent inspiration
- induced Monsieur Vautrinot to install a real English fire-place in this
- room? It’s delicious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Countess rose, shrugging her expressive shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are wonderful—you English! If it had been I who had
- experienced your adventure to-day, I should be fit for nothing. As to
- dancing the same evening—<i>ma foi, non! Voyons</i>, I shall leave
- you to rest a little.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded smilingly and left the room. Once in the corridor outside,
- however, the smile vanished as though it had been wiped off her face by an
- unseen hand. Her curving lips settled into a hard, inflexible line, and
- the soft, disarming dark eyes grew suddenly sombre and brooding.
- </p>
- <p>
- She passed swiftly along to her own suite. It was empty. The little Count
- was downstairs, agreeably occupied in comparing symptoms with a fellow
- health crank he had discovered.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a quick sigh of relief at his absence she flung herself into a chair
- and lit a cigarette, smoking rapidly and exhaling the smoke in quick,
- nervous jerks. The long, pliant fingers which held the cigarette were not
- quite steady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Tout va bien!</i>” she muttered restlessly. “All
- goes well! <i>Assurément</i>, his punishment will come.” She bent
- her head. “<i>Que Dieu le veuille!</i>” she whispered
- passionately.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean took a final and not altogether displeased survey of herself in the
- mirror before descending to the big <i>salle</i> where the fancy-dress
- ball was to be held. She had had her dinner served to her in her room so
- that she might rest the longer, and now, as there came wafted to her ears
- the preliminary grunts and squeals and snatches of melody of the hotel
- orchestra in process of tuning up, she was conscious of a pleasant glow of
- anticipation.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was nothing strikingly original about the conception of her costume.
- It represented “Autumn,” and had been designed for a
- fancy-dress ball of more than a year ago—before the death of
- Jacqueline had suddenly shuttered down all gaiety and mirth at Beirnfels.
- But, simple as it was, it had been carried out by an artist in colour, and
- the filmy diaphanous layers of brown and orange and scarlet, one over the
- other, zoned with a girdle of autumn-tinted leaves, served to emphasise
- the russet of beech-leaf hair and the topaz-gold of hazel eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny’s glance swept the girl with approval as they
- entered the great <i>salle</i> together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is charming, your costume! <i>Regarde</i>, Henri”—turning
- to the Count, who, as a swashbuckling d’Artagnan, was getting into
- difficulties with his sword. “Has it not distinction—this
- costume<i> d’automne?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Count retrieved himself and, hitching his sword once more into
- position, poured forth an unembarrassed stream of Gallic compliment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny herself was looking supremely handsome as Cleopatra.
- Jean reflected that her eyes,—slumberous and profound, with their
- dusky frame of lashes and that strange implacability she always sensed in
- them—might very well have been the eyes of the Egyptian queen
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The <i>salle</i> was filling up rapidly. Jean, who did not anticipate
- dancing overmuch, as she had made but few acquaintances in the hotel,
- watched the colourful, shifting scene with interest. There was the usual
- miscellany of a masquerade—Pierrots jostling against Kings and
- Cossacks, Marie Antoinettes flaunting their jewels before the eyes of
- demure-faced nuns, with here and there an occasional costume of
- outstanding originality or merit of design.
- </p>
- <p>
- Contrary to her expectations, however, Jean soon found herself with more
- partners than she had dances to bestow, and, newly emancipated from the
- rigour of her year’s mourning, she threw herself into the enjoyment
- of the moment with all the long repressed enthusiasm of her youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was nearing the small hours when at last she found herself alone for a
- few minutes. In the exhilaration of rapid movement she had completely
- forgotten the earlier fatigues of the day, but now she was beginning to
- feel conscious of the strain which the morning’s skating, followed
- by that long, exhausting struggle through the blizzard, had imposed upon
- even young bones and muscles. Close at hand was a deserted alcove,
- curtained off from the remainder of the <i>salle</i>, and here Jean found
- temporary sanctuary, subsiding thankfully on to a big cushioned divan.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sound of the orchestra came to her ears pleasantly dulled by the heavy
- folds of the screening curtain. Vaguely she could feel the rhythmic
- pulsing, the sense of movement, in the <i>salle</i> beyond. It was all
- very soothing and reposeful, and she leaned her head against a fat, pink
- satin cushion and dosed, at the back of her mind the faintly disturbing
- thought that she was cutting a Roman senator’s dance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she stirred a little, hazily aware of some disquiet that was
- pushing itself into her consciousness. The discomfort grew, crystallising
- at last into the feeling that she was no longer alone. Eor a moment,
- physically unwilling to be disturbed, she tried to disregard it, but it
- persisted, and, as though to strengthen it, the recollection of the
- defrauded senator came back to her with increased insistence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Broad awake at last, she opened her eyes. Someone—the senator
- presumably—was standing at the entrance to the little alcove, and
- she rushed into conscience-stricken speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, have I cut your dance? I’m so sorry——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke off abruptly, realising as she spoke that the intruder was not,
- after all, the senator come to claim his dance, but a stranger wearing a
- black mask and domino. She was sure she had not seen him before amongst
- the dancers in the <i>salle</i>, and for a moment she stared at him
- bewildered and even a little frightened. Vague stories she had heard of a
- “hold-up” by masked men at some fancy-dress ball recalled
- themselves disagreeably to her memory, and her pulse quickened its beat
- perceptibly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, quite suddenly, she knew who it was. It did not need even the
- evidence of that lock of <i>poudré</i> hair above the mask he wore, just
- visible in the dim light of the recess, to tell her. She knew. And with
- the knowledge came a sudden, disturbing sense of shy tumult.
- </p>
- <p>
- She half-rose from the divan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You?” she stammered nervously. “Is it you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He whipped off his mask.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who else? Did this deceive you?”—dangling the strip of
- velvet from his finger, and regarding her with quizzical grey eyes.
- “I’ve been hunting for you everywhere. I’d almost made
- up my mind that you had gone to bed like a good little girl. And then my
- patron saint—or was it the special devil told off to look after me,
- I wonder?—prompted me to look in here. <i>Et vous voilà,
- mademoiselle!</i> How are you feeling after your exploits in the snow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke very rapidly, in a light half-mocking tone that seemed to Joan to
- make the happenings of the afternoon unreal and remote. His eyes were very
- bright, almost defiant in their expression—holding a suggestion of
- recklessness, as though he were embarked upon something of which his
- inmost self refused to approve but which he was nevertheless determined to
- carry through.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you <i>did</i> ‘call to enquire,’ after all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she spoke, Jean’s mouth curled up at the corners in an
- involuntary little smile of amused recollection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I did call after all?” He looked puzzled—not
- unnaturally, since he had no clue to her thoughts. “What do you
- mean? I came”—he went on lightly—“because I wanted
- the rest of the day which you promised to share with me. The proceedings
- were cut short rather abruptly this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how did you get here?” she asked. “And—and
- why did you disappear so suddenly after we got back to the hotel this
- afternoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got here by the aid of a pair of excellent skis and the light of
- the moon; the snow ceased some hours ago and the surface is hardening
- nicely. I disappeared because, as I told you, if you gave me this one day,
- it should bind you to nothing—not even to introducing me to your
- friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should have had to present you as <i>Monsieur l’Inconnu,</i>”
- remarked Jean without thinking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” He met her glance with smiling eyes, but he did not
- volunteer his name.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made no comment, uttered no word beyond the bald affirmative, yet
- somehow Jean felt as though she had committed an indiscretion and he had
- snubbed her for it. The blood rushed into her cheeks, staining them
- scarlet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again that glint of ironical amusement in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For what, mademoiselle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious of a rising indignation at his attitude. She could not
- understand it; he seemed to have completely changed from the man of a few
- hours ago. Then he had proved himself so good a comrade, been so entirely
- delightful in his thought and care of her, whereas now he appeared bent on
- wilfully misunderstanding her, putting her in a false position just for
- his own amusement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know perfectly well what I meant,” she answered, a tremor
- born of anger and wounded feeling in her voice. “You thought I was
- inquisitive—trying to find out your name——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well”—humorously—“you were, weren’t
- you?” Then, as her lip quivered sensitively, “Ah! Forgive me
- for teasing you! And”—more earnestly—“forgive me
- for not telling you my name. It is better—much better—that you
- should not know. Remember, we can only have this one day together; we’re
- just ‘ships that pass.’” He paused, then added: “Mine’s
- only a battered old hulk—a derelict vessel—and derelicts are
- best forgotten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his voice, the steadfast,
- submissive sadness of a man who has long ago substituted endurance for
- revolt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remember, we can only have this one day together.” The quiet
- utterance of the words stung Jean into a realisation of their
- significance, and suddenly she was conscious that the knowledge that this
- unknown Englishman was going away—going out of her life as abruptly
- as he had come into it—filled her with a quite disproportionate
- sense of regret. She found herself unexpectedly up against the recognition
- of the fact that she would miss him—that she would like to see him
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then—you want me to forget?” she asked rather
- wistfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes fell away from him as she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he returned gravely. “Just that. I want you to
- forget.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and you?” The words seemed dragged from her without
- her own volition.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? Oh”—he laughed a little—“I’m
- afraid I’m inconsistent. I’m going to ask you to give me
- something I can remember. That’ll even matters up, if you forget and
- I—remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you want me to give you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a sudden step towards her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to dance with me—just once. Will you?”—intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for her reply, his keen, compelling glance fixed on her face.
- Then, as though he read his answer there, he stepped to her side and held
- out his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Almost as if she were in a dream, Jean laid her hand lightly on his sleeve
- and he pulled aside the portière for her to pass through. Then, putting
- his arm about her, he swung her out on to the smooth floor of the <i>salle</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- They danced almost in silence. Somehow the customary small-change of
- ballroom conversation would have seemed irrelevant and apart. This dance—the
- Englishman had implied as much—was in the nature of a farewell. It
- was the end of their stolen day.
- </p>
- <p>
- The band was playing <i>Valse Triste</i>, that unearthly, infinitely sad
- vision of Sibelius’, and the music seemed to hold all the strange,
- breathless ecstacy, the regret and foreboding of approaching end of which
- this first, and last, dance was compact.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was over at last. The three final chords of the <i>Valse</i>—inexorable
- Death knocking at the door—dropped into silence, and with the end of
- the dance uprose the eager hum of gay young voices, as the couples drifted
- out from the <i>salle</i> in search of the buffet or of secluded corners
- in which to “sit out” the interval, according as the spirit
- moved them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean and her partner, making their way through the throng, encountered
- Madame de Varigny on the arm of a handsome Bedouin Arab. For the fraction
- of a second her eyes rested curiously on Jean’s partner, and a gleam
- of something that seemed like triumph flickered across her face. But it
- was gone in an instant, and, murmuring some commonplace to Jean, she
- passed on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Englishman rapped out the question harshly, and Jean was struck by an
- unaccustomed note in his voice. It held apprehension, distaste; she could
- not quite analyse the quality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Cleopatra, do you mean?” she said. “That was my
- chaperon, the Comtesse de Varigny. Why do you ask?” He gave a short,
- relieved laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No particular reason,” he returned with some constraint
- “She reminded me—extraordinarily—of someone I used to
- know, that’s all. Even the timbre of her voice was similar. It
- startled me for a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dismissed the matter with apparent indifference, and led Jean again
- into the same little alcove in which he had found her. They stood together
- silently in the dim, rose-hued twilight diffused by the shaded lamp above.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” he said at last, slowly, reluctantly. “So this
- is really the end of our stolen day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s hands, hanging loosely clasped in front of her, suddenly
- tightened their grip of each other. She felt herself struggling in the
- press of new and incomprehensible emotions. A voice within her was crying
- out rebelliously: “Why? Why must it be the end? Why not—other
- days?” Pride alone kept her silent. It was his choice, his decision,
- that they were not to meet again, and if he could so composedly define the
- limits of their acquaintance, she was far too sensitively proud to utter a
- word of protest. After all, he was only the comrade of a day. How—why
- should it matter to her whether he stayed or went?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I always believe”—the Englishman was speaking again,
- his eyes bent on hers—“I always believe that, no matter how
- sad or tragic people’s lives may be, God invariably gives them one
- magic moment—so that they may believe in heaven.... I have had mine
- to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you—believe in heaven?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laid his hands lightly on her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do now. I believe... in a heaven that is out of my reach.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His hands slipped upward from her shoulders, cupping her face, and for a
- moment he held her so, staring down at her with grave, inscrutable eyes.
- Then, stooping his head, he kissed her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye, little comrade,” he said unevenly. “Thank you
- for my magic moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned away sharply. She heard his step, followed by the quick, jarring
- rattle of brass rings jerked violently along the curtain-pole, and a
- moment later he was gone. With a dull sense of finality she watched the
- heavy folds of the portière swing sullenly back into their place.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII—WHICH DEALS WITH REFLECTIONS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE dawn of a new
- day possesses a curious potency of readjustment. It is as though Dame
- Nature, like some autocratic old nurse, wakes us up and washes and dresses
- our minds afresh for us each morning, so that they come to the renewed
- consideration of the affairs of life freed from the influences and
- emotions which were clogging their pores when we went asleep. Not
- infrequently, in the course of this species of mental ablution, a good
- deal of the glamour which invested the doings of the previous day gets
- scrubbed off, and a new and not altogether pleasing aspect of affairs
- presents itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was somewhat Jean’s experience when she woke on the morning
- following that of the fancy-dress ball. Looking back upon the events of
- the previous day, it seemed to her newly-tubbed, matutinal mind almost
- incredible that they should have occurred. It was like a dream—life
- itself tricked out in fancy dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- Stripped of the glamour of romance and adventure with which the unknown
- Englishman had contrived to clothe it, the whole episode of their day
- together presented itself as disagreeably open to criticism, and the
- memory of that final scene in the alcove sent the blood flying into her
- cheeks. She asked herself in mute amazement how it was possible that such
- a thing should have happened to her,—to “our chaste Diana,”
- as her father used laughingly to call her in recognition of the
- instinctive little air of aloofness with which she had been wont to keep
- men at a distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, the Englishman had taken her by surprise, but Jean was too
- honest, even in her dealings with herself, to shelter behind this excuse.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that she had yielded to his kiss—and knew, too, that the
- bare memory of it sent her heart throbbing in an inexplicable tumult of
- emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stolen day, that day embarked upon so unconcernedly, in a gay spirit
- of adventure, had flamed up at its ending into something altogether
- different from the light-hearted companionship with which it had begun.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then her conscience, recreated and vigorous from its morning toilet,
- presented another facet of the affair for her inspection. With officious
- detail it marshalled the whole series of events before her, dwelling
- particularly on the fact that, with hut very slight demur, she had
- consented to abrogate the accepted conventions of her class—conventions
- designed to safeguard people from just such consequences as had ensued—and
- winding up triumphantly with the corollary that although, like most men in
- similar circumstances, the Englishman had not scrupled to avail himself of
- the advantages the occasion offered, he had probably, none the less,
- thought rather cheaply of her for permitting him to do so.
- </p>
- <p>
- This reflection stung her pride—exactly as Conscience had intended
- it should, without doubt. Last night there had seemed to her no question
- about the quality of that farewell in the little screened-off alcove.
- There had been nothing common or “cheap” about it. The
- gathering incidents of the whole day, the fight through the storm, the
- prelude of <i>Valse Triste</i>, all seemed to have led her by
- imperceptible degrees to a point where she and the Englishman could kiss
- at parting without shame. And now, with the morning, the delicate rainbow
- veiling woven by romance was rudely torn asunder, and the word “cheap”
- dinned in her ears like the clapper of a bell.
- </p>
- <p>
- The appearance of her <i>premier dejeuner</i> came as a web come
- distraction from her thoughts, and with the consumption of <i>café au lait</i>
- and the crisp little rolls, hot from the oven, accompanying it, the whole
- matter began to assume a less heinous aspect. After all, argued Jean’s
- weak human nature, the unconventionality of the affair had been
- considerably tempered by the fact that the Englishman had practically
- saved her life during the course of the day. Alone, she would undoubtedly
- have foundered in the drifting snow; and when a man has rescued you from
- an early and unpleasantly chilly grave, it certainly sets the acquaintance
- between you, however short its duration, on a new and more intimate plane.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye, little comrade; thank you for my magic moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words, and the manner of their utterance, came back to Jean, bringing
- with them a warm and comforting reassurance. The man who had thus spoken
- had not thought her cheap; he was too fine in his perceptions to have
- misunderstood like that. She felt suddenly certain of it. And the pendulum
- of self-respect swung back into its place once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she caught herself wondering whether she would see him again
- before she left Montavan. True, he had told her he was going away the next
- day. But had he actually gone? Somewhere within her lurked a fugitive,
- half-formed hope that he might have altered his intention.
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried to brush the thought aside, refusing to recognise it and
- determinedly maintaining that it mattered nothing to her whether he stayed
- or went. Nevertheless, throughout the whole day—in the morning when
- she made a pretence of enjoying the skating on the rink, and again in the
- afternoon when she walked through the pine-woods with the Varignys—she
- was subconsciously alert for any glimpse of the lean, supple figure which
- a single day had sufficed to mate so acutely familiar.
- </p>
- <p>
- But by evening she was driven into accepting the fact that he had quitted
- the mountains, and of a sudden Montavan ceased to interest her; the magic
- that had disguised it yesterday was gone. It had become merely a dull
- little village where she was awaiting Lady Anne Brennan’s answer to
- her father’s letter, and she grew restlessly impatient for that
- answer to arrive.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came at last, during the afternoon of the following day, in the form of
- a telegram: “<i>Delighted to welcome you. Letter follows.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter followed in due course, two days later, the tardiness of its
- arrival accounted for by the fact that the writer had been moving about
- from place to place, and that Peterson’s own letter, after pursuing
- her for days, had only just caught up with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell you,” wrote Lady Anne in her squarish,
- characteristic hand, “how delighted I shall be to have the daughter
- of Glyn and Jacqueline with me for a time. Although Glyn with a grown-up
- daughter sounds quite improbable; he never really grew up himself. So you
- must come and convince me that the unexpected has happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean liked the warm-hearted, unconventional tone of the letter, and the
- knowledge that she would so soon be leaving Montavan filled her with a
- sense of relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the four days which had elapsed since the Englishman’s
- departure her restlessness had grown on her. Montavan had become too
- vividly reminiscent of the hours which they had shared together for her
- peace of mind. She wanted to forget that stolen day—thrust it away
- into the background of her thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Unfortunately for the success of her efforts in this direction, the
- element of the unknown which surrounded the Englishman, quite apart from
- anything else, would have tended to keep him in the forefront of her mind.
- It was only now, surveying their acquaintance in retrospect, that she
- fully realised how complete had been his reticence. True his figure
- dominated her thoughts, but it was a figure devoid of any background of
- home, or friends, or profession. He might be a king or a crossing-sweeper,
- for all she knew to the contrary—only that neither the members of
- the one nor the other profession are usually addicted to sojourning at
- Swiss chalets and forming promiscuous friendships on the ice.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were moments when she felt that she detested this man from nowhere
- who had contrived to break through her feminine guard of aloofness merely
- to gratify his whim to spend a day in her company.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there were other moments when the memory of that stolen day glowed and
- pulsed like some rare gem against the even, grey monotony of all the days
- that had preceded it—and of those which must come after. She could
- not have analysed, even to herself, the emotions it had wakened in her.
- They were too complex, too fluctuating.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- As she packed her trunks in preparation for an early start the following
- day, Jean recalled with satisfaction the genuine ring of welcome which had
- sounded through the letter that had come from England. Until she had
- received it, she had been the prey of an increasing diffidence with regard
- to suddenly billeting herself for an indefinite period upon even such an
- old friend of her father’s as Lady Anne—a timidity Peterson
- himself had certainly not shared when he penned his request.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give my little girl house-room, will you, Anne?” he had
- written with that candid and charming simplicity which had made and kept
- for him a host of friends through all the vicissitudes of his varied and
- irresponsible career. “I am off once more on a wander-year, and I
- can’t be tripped up by a petticoat—certainly not my own
- daughter’s—at every yard. This isn’t quite as cynical as
- it sounds. You’ll understand, I know. Frankly, a man whose life, to
- all intents and purposes, is ended, is not fit company for youth and
- beauty standing palpitating on the edge of the world. By the way, did I
- tell you that Jean is rather beautiful? I forget. Let her see England—that
- little corner where you live, down Devonshire way, always means England to
- my mind. And let her learn to love Englishwomen—if there are any
- more there like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And, having accomplished this characteristic, if somewhat; sketchy
- provision for his daughter’s welfare, Peterson had gone cheerfully
- on his way, convinced that he had done all that was paternally encumbent
- on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny was voluble in her regrets at the prospect of losing her
- “<i>chère Mademoiselle Peterson</i>,” yet in spite of her
- protestations of dismay Jean was conscious of an impression that the
- Countess derived some kind of satisfaction from the imminence of her
- departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not reconcile the contradiction, and it worried her a little.
- She believed—quite justly—that Madame de Varigny had conceived
- a real affection for her, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she
- had considerably revised her first impressions of the other, finding more
- to like in her than she had anticipated, noticeably a genuine warmth and
- fervour of nature, and a certain kind-hearted capacity for interesting
- herself in other people.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, liking her so much better than she had at first conceived possible,
- Jean resented the sudden recurrence of her original distrust produced by
- the suggestion of insincerity which she thought she detected in the
- Countess’s expressions of regret.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the face of it the thing seemed absurd. She could imagine no
- conceivable reason why her departure should give Madame de Varigny any
- particular cause for complacency, which only made the more perplexing her
- impression that this was the actual feeling underlying the latter’s
- cordial interest in her projected visit to England.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the morning of her departure, Jean’s mind was too preoccupied
- with the small details attendant upon starting off on a journey dwell upon
- the matter. But, as she shook bands with Madame de Varigny for the last
- time, the recollection surged over her afresh, and she was strongly
- conscious that beneath the other woman’s pleasant, “<i>Adieu,
- mademoiselle! Bon voyage!</i>” something stirred that was less
- pleasant—even inimical—just as some slimy and repulsive form
- of life may stir amid the ooze at the bottom of a sunlit stream.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII—THE MAN FROM MONTAVAN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN arrived in
- London with a good three hours to spare before the South-Western express,
- by which she proposed to travel to Devonshire, was due to leave Waterloo
- Station. She elected, therefore, to occupy the time by touring round the
- great, unknown city of her dreams in a taxicab, and spent a beatific hour
- glimpsing the Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, and the old, grey, misty
- river that Londoners love, and skirmishing in and out of the shops in
- Regent Street and Bond Street with her hands full of absurd, expensive,
- unnecessary purchases only bought because this was London and she felt she
- just simply <i>must</i> have something English at once, and winding up
- with a spin through Hyde Park—which didn’t impress her very
- favourably in its winter aspect of leafless trees and barren stretches of
- sodden grass.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she drove to a hotel, and, her luggage deposited there to await her
- departure, her thoughts turned very naturally towards lunch. Her scamper
- round London in the crisp, clear, frosty air had converted the
- recollection of her early morning coffee and roll into something extremely
- nebulous and unsupporting, and it was with the healthy appetite of an
- eager young mind in an eager young body that she faced the several courses
- of the table d’hote.
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced about her with interest, the little snatches of English
- conversation which drifted to her from other near-by tables giving her a
- patriotic thrill of pure delight. These were typically English people
- lunching in a typically English hotel, and she, hitherto a stranger to her
- own mother-country, was doing likewise. The knowledge filled her with
- ridiculous satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nor were English people—at home in their own country—anything
- like as dull and dowdy as Glyn Peterson’s sweeping criticisms had
- led her to expect. The men were immensely well-groomed and clean-looking.
- She liked the “morning-tub” appearance they all had; it
- reminded her of the Englishman at Montavan. Apparently it was a British
- characteristic.
- </p>
- <p>
- The women, too, filled her with a species of vicarious pride. They were so
- well turned-out, with a slim, long limbed grace of figure she found
- admirable, and with splendid natural complexions—skins like rose and
- ivory.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two of them were drifting into the room together now, with a superbly cool
- assurance of manner—rather as though they had bought the hotel—which
- brought the sleek head-waiter automatically to their side, bowing and
- obsequious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somewhat to Jean’s satisfaction he convoyed them to the table next
- her own, and she was pleasantly conscious, as they passed her, of a
- provocative whisper of silk and of the faint fragrance of violets subtly
- permeating the atmosphere.
- </p>
- <p>
- Conscious that perhaps she had been manifesting her interest a little too
- openly, she turned her attention to a magazine she had bought en route
- from Dover and was soon absorbed in the inevitable happy-ever-after
- conclusion of the story she had been reading.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lady Anne? Oh, she lives at Staple now. Didn’t you know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The speaker’s voice was clear and resonant, with the peculiar
- carrying quality which has replaced in the modern Englishwoman of the
- upper classes that excellent thing in woman which was the proud boast of
- an earlier generation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The conjunction of the familiar words “Lady Anne” and “Staple”
- struck sharply on Jean’s ears, and almost instinctively she looked
- up.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she stirred, one of the women glanced indifferently in her direction,
- then placidly resumed her conversation with her companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was just after the smash-up,” she pursued glibly. “Blaise
- Tormarin rushed off abroad for a time, and the news of Nesta’s death
- came while he was away. Poor Lady Anne had to write and tell him of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather ghastly!” commented the other woman. “I never
- heard the whole story of the affair. I was in Paris, then, and it was all
- over—barring the general gossip, of course!—by the time I
- returned. I tried to pump it out of Lady Anne once, but she was as close
- as an oyster.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Both women talked without lowering their voices in the slightest degree,
- and with that complete indifference to the proximity of a stranger
- sometimes exhibited by a certain arrogant type.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, realising that it was her father’s friends who were under
- discussion, and finding herself forced into the position of an unwilling
- auditor, felt wretchedly uncomfortable. She wished fervently that she
- could in some way arrest the conversation. Yet it was clearly as
- impossible for her to lean forward and say: “You are talking about
- the people I am on my way to visit,” as it would have been for her
- to put her fingers in her ears. So far nothing had been said to which she
- could actually object. Her feeling was chiefly the offspring of a
- supersensitive fear that she might learn from the lips of these two
- gossiping women, one of whom was apparently intimately acquainted with the
- private history of the Tormarin family, some little fact or detail which
- Lady Anne might not care for her future guest to know. Apart from this
- fear, it would hardly have been compatible with human nature—certainly
- not feminine human nature—if she had not felt pricked to
- considerable personal interest in the topic under discussion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it was a fool business,” the first woman rejoined,
- settling down to supply the details of the story with an air of rapacious
- satisfaction which reminded Jean of nothing so much as of a dog with a
- bone. “Nesta Freyne was a typical Italian—though her father
- was English, I believe—all blazing, passionate eyes and blazing,
- passionate emotion, you know; then there was another man—and there
- was Blaise Tormarin! You can imagine the consequences for yourself. Blaise
- has his full share of the Tormarin temper—and a Tormarin in a temper
- is like a devil with the bit between his teeth. There were violent
- quarrels and finally the girl bolted, presumably with the other man. Then,
- later, Lady Anne heard that she had died abroad somewhere. The funny thing
- is that it seemed to cut Tormarin up rather badly. He’s gloomed
- about the world ever since, so I suppose he must have been pretty deeply
- in love with her before the crash came. I never saw her, but I’ve
- been told she was diabolically pretty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The other woman laughed, dismissing the tragedy of the little tale with a
- shallow tinkle of mirth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, I’ve only met Blaise Tormarin once, but I should
- say he was not the type to relish being thrown over for another man!”
- She peered short-sightedly at the grilled fish on her plate, poking at it
- discontentedly with her fork. “I never think they cook their fish
- decently here, do you?” she complained.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, with that, both women shelved the affairs of Blaise Tormarin and
- concentrated upon the variety of culinary sins from which even expensive
- hotel chefs are not necessarily exempt.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had no time to bestow upon the information which had been thus thrust
- upon her until she had effected the transport of herself and her
- belongings from the hotel to Waterloo Station, but when this had been
- satisfactorily accomplished and she found herself comfortably settled in a
- corner seat of the Plymouth express, her thoughts reverted to her newly
- acquired knowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- It added a bit of definite outline to the very slight and shadowy picture
- she had been able to form of her future environment—a picture
- roughly sketched in her mind from the few hints dropped by her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- She wondered a little why Glyn should have omitted all mention of Blaise
- Tormarin’s love affair and its unhappy sequel, but a moment’s
- reflection supplied the explanation. Peterson had admitted that it was ten
- years since he had heard from Lady Anne; presumably, then, the
- circumstances just recounted in Jean’s hearing had occurred during
- those years.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt that the additional knowledge she had gained rather detracted
- from the prospective pleasure of her visit to Staple. Judging from the
- comments which she had overheard, her host was likely to prove a somewhat
- morose and gloomy individual, soured by his unfortunate experience of
- feminine fidelity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thence her thoughts vaulted wildly ahead. Most probably, as a direct
- consequence, he was a woman-hater and, if so, it was more than possible
- that he would regard her presence at Staple as an unwarrantable intrusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- A decided qualm assailed her, deepening quickly into a settled conviction—Jean
- was nothing if not thorough!—that the real explanation of the delay
- in Lady Anne’s response to Glyn’s letter had lain in Blaise
- Tormarin’s objection to the invasion of his home by a strange young
- woman—an objection Lady Anne had had to overcome, or decide to
- ignore, before she could answer Glyn’s request in the affirmative.
- </p>
- <p>
- The idea that she might be an unwelcome guest at Staple filled Jean with
- lively consternation, and by the time she had accomplished the necessary
- change of train at Exeter, and found herself being trundled along on the
- leisurely branch line which conducted her to her ultimate destination, she
- had succeeded in working herself up into a condition that almost verged
- upon panic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Coombe <i>Ea</i>-vie! <i>Coombe</i> Eavie!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sing-song intonation of a depressed-looking porter, first rising from
- a low note to a higher, then descending in contrary motion abruptly from
- high to low, was punctuated by the sharper, clipped pronouncement of the
- stationmaster as he bustled up the length of the platform declaiming:
- “’Meavie! ’Meavie! ’Meavie!” with a
- maddeningly insistent repetition that reminded one of a cuckoo in June.
- </p>
- <p>
- Apparently both stationmaster and porter were too much absorbed in the
- frenzied strophe and antistrophe effect they were producing to observe
- that any passenger, handicapped by luggage, contemplated descending from
- the train—unexpected arrivals were of rare occurrence at Coombe
- Eavie—and Jean therefore hastened to transfer herself and her
- hand-baggage to the platform unassisted. A minute later the train ambled
- on its way again, leaving the stationmaster and the depressed porter
- grouped in astonished admiration before the numerous trunks and
- suit-cases, labelled “Peterson,” which the luggage van of the
- departing train had vomited forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- To the bucolic mind, such an unwonted accumulation argued a passenger of
- quite superlative importance, and with one accord the combined glances of
- the station staff raked the diminutive platform, to discover Jean standing
- somewhat forlornly in the middle, of it, surrounded by the smaller fry of
- her luggage. The stationmaster hurried forward immediately to do the
- honours, and Jean addressed him eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want a <i>fiacre</i>—cab”—correcting herself
- hastily—“to take me to Staple Manor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are no cabs here, miss,” he informed her regretfully.
- “Anyone that wants to be met orders Wonnacott’s wagonette in
- advance.” Then, seeing Jean’s face lengthen, he continued
- hastily: “But if they’re expecting you up at Staple, miss,
- they’ll be sure to send one of the cars to meet you. There!”—triumphantly,
- as the chug-chug of an approaching motor came to them clearly on the
- crisp, cold air—“that’ll be it, for certain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Followed the sound of a car braking to a standstill in the road outside
- the station, and almost immediately a masculine figure appeared advancing
- rapidly from the lower end of the platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even through the dusk of the winter’s afternoon Jean was struck by
- something curiously familiar in the man’s easy, swinging stride. A
- surge of memories came flooding over her, and she felt her breath catch in
- her throat at the sudden possibility which flashed into her mind. For an
- instant she was in doubt—the thing seemed so amazingly improbable.
- Then, touching his hat, the stationmaster moved respectfully aside, and
- she found herself face to face with the unknown Englishman from Montavan.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed at him speechlessly, and for a moment he, too, seemed taken
- aback. His eyes met hers in a startled, leaping glance of recognition and
- something more, something that set her pulses racing unsteadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Little comrade!</i>” She could have sworn the words
- escaped him. Then, almost in the same instant, she saw the old, rather
- weary gravity replace the sudden fire that had blazed up in the man’s
- eyes, quenching its light.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So—<i>you</i> are Miss Peterson!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no pleasure, no welcome in his tones; rather, an undercurrent of
- ironical vexation as though Fate had played some scurvy trick upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” The brief monosyllable came baldly in reply; she hardly
- knew how to answer him, how to meet his mood. Then, hastily calling up her
- reserves, she went on lightly: “You don’t seem very pleased to
- see me. Shall I go away again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His mouth relaxed into a grim smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This isn’t Clapham Junction,” he answered tersely.
- “There won’t be a train till ten o’clock to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A glint of humour danced in Jean’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that case,” she returned gravely, “what do you
- advise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t advise,” he replied promptly. “I
- apologise. Please forgive such an ungracious reception, Miss Peterson—but
- you must acknowledge it was something in the nature of a surprise to find
- that you were—you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s given you an unfair advantage, too,” she replied.
- “I still haven’t penetrated your incognito—but I suppose
- you are Mr. Brennan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Nick Brennan’s my half-brother. I’m Blaise
- Tormarin, and, as my mother was unable to meet you herself, I came
- instead. Shall we go? I’ll give the station-master instructions
- about your baggage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So the unknown Englishman of Montavan was the man of whom the two women at
- the neighbouring lunch table in the hotel had been gossiping—the
- central figure of that most tragic love-affair! Jean thought she could
- discern, now, the origin of some of those embittered comments he had let
- fall when they were together in the mountains.
- </p>
- <p>
- In silence she followed him out of the little wayside station to where the
- big head-lamps of a stationary car shed a blaze of light on the roadway,
- and presently they were slipping smoothly along between the high hedges
- which flanked the road on either hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX—THE MASTER OF STAPLE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was too dark to
- distinguish details as the big car flew-along, but Jean found herself
- yielding instinctively to the still, mysterious charm of the country-side
- at even.
- </p>
- <p>
- A slender young moon drifted like a curled petal in the dusky blue of the
- calm sky, its pale light faintly outlining the tops of the trees and the
- dim, gracious curves of distant hills, and touching the mist that filled
- the valleys to a nebulous, pearly glimmer, so that to Jean’s eager
- eyes the foot of the hills seemed laved by some phantom sea of faery.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt no inclination to talk. The smooth rhythm of the pulsing car, the
- chill sweetness of the evening air against her face, the shadowy,
- half-revealed landscape all combined to lull her into a mood of tranquil
- appreciation, aloof and restful after the fatigue of her journey and the
- shock of her unexpected meeting with the Englishman from Montavan. She
- knew that later she would have to take up the thread of things again,
- adjust her mind to the day’s surprising developments, but just for
- the moment she was content to let everything else slide and simply enjoy
- this first exquisite revelation of twilit Devon.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long time they drove in silence, Tormarin seeming no more disposed
- to talk than she herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently, however, he slowed the car down and, half-turning in his seat,
- addressed her abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is somewhat in the nature of an anti-climax,” he
- remarked, the comment quite evidently springing from the thoughts which
- had been absorbing him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke curtly, as though he resented the march of events.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt herself jolted suddenly out of the placid reverie into which she
- had fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It is odd we should meet again so soon,” she assented
- hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The silence has been broken—after all! You may be sure, Miss
- Peterson, it was by no will of mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled under cover of the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not very complimentary,” she returned. “I’m
- sorry our meeting seems to afford you so little satisfaction.” There
- was a ripple of laughter in her tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not that.” As he spoke, he slackened speed until
- the car was barely moving. “You know it’s not that,” he
- continued, his voice tense. “But, all the same, I’m going to
- ask you to—forget Montavan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s heart gave a violent throb, and the laughter went suddenly
- out of her voice as she repeated blankly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “To forget Montavan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please. I said—and did—a few mad things that day we
- spent together. It was to be an uncounted day, you know, and—oh,
- well, the air of the Alps is heady! I want you to forgive me—and to
- blot out all remembrance of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to speak with some effort, yet each word was uttered
- deliberately, searing its way into her consciousness like red-hot iron.
- </p>
- <p>
- The curt, difficultly spoken sentences could only signify one thing—that
- he had meant nothing, not even good, honest comradeship, that day at
- Montavan. He had merely been amusing himself with a girl whom he never
- expected to meet again, and now that circumstances had so unexpectedly
- brought them together he was clearly anxious that she should be under no
- misapprehension in the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s pride writhed beneath the insult of it. It was as though he
- feared she might make some claim upon his regard and had hastened to warn
- her, almost in so many words, not to set a fictitious value upon anything
- that had occurred between them. The glamour was indeed torn from her
- stolen day on the mountains! The whole memory of it, above all the memory
- of that pulsing moment of farewell, would henceforth he soiled and
- vulgarised—converted into a rather sordid little episode which she
- would gladly have blotted out from amongst the concrete happenings of
- life.
- </p>
- <p>
- The feminine instinct against self-betrayal whipped her into quick speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve no wish to forget that you practically saved my life,”
- she said. “I shall always”—lightly—“feel
- very much obliged for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You exaggerate my share in the matter,” he replied
- carelessly. “You would have extricated yourself from your
- difficulties without my assistance, I have no doubt. Or, more truly”—with
- a short laugh—“you would never have got into them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He said no more, but let out the car and they shot forward into the
- gathering dusk. Presently they approached a pair of massive iron gates
- admitting to the manor drive, and as these were opened in response to a
- shrill hoot from Tormarin’s horn the car swung round into an avenue
- of elms, the bare boughs, interlacing overhead, making a black network
- against the moonlit sky.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still in silence they approached the house, its dim grey bulk, looming
- indeterminately through the evening mist, studded here and there with a
- glowing shield of orange from come unshaded window, and almost before
- Tormarin had pulled up the car, the front door flew open and a wide riband
- of light streamed out from the hall behind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was conscious of two or three figures grouped in the open doorway,
- dark against the welcoming blaze of light, then one of them detached
- itself from the group and hastened forward with outstretched hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here you are at last!”
- </p>
- <p>
- For an instant Jean hesitated, doubtful as to whether the speaker could be
- Lady Anne. The voice which addressed her was so amazingly young—clear
- and full of vitality like the voice of a girl. Then the light flickered on
- to hair as white as if it had been powdered, and she realized that this
- surprisingly young voice must belong to her hostess.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was so sorry I could not meet you at the station myself,”
- continued Lady Anne, leading the way into the house. “But a tiresome
- visitor turned up—one of those people who never know when it’s
- time to go—and I simply couldn’t get away without forcibly
- ejecting her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the fuller light of the hall, Jean discerned in Lady Anne’s
- appearance something of that same quality of inherent youth apparent in
- her voice. The keen, humorous grey eyes beneath their black, arched brows
- were alertly vivacious, and the quite white hair served to enhance, rather
- than otherwise, the rose-leaf texture of her skin. Many a much younger
- woman had envied Lady Anne her complexion; it was so obviously genuine,
- owing nothing at all to art.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now”—Jean felt herself pulled gently into the light—“let
- me have a good look at you. Oh, yes!”—Lady Anne laughed
- amusedly—“You’re Glyn Peterson’s daughter right
- enough—you have just his chin with that delicious little cleft in
- it. But your eyes and hair are Jacqueline’s.” She leaned
- forward a little and kissed Jean warmly. “My dear, you’re very
- welcome at Staple. There is nothing I could have wished more than to have
- you here—except that you could have prevailed upon Glyn to bring you
- himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When you have quite finished going into the ancestral details of
- Miss Peterson’s features, madonna, perhaps you will present me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne laughed good-humouredly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, this is my pushful younger son, Jean. (I’m certainly
- going to call you Jean without asking whether I may!) You’ve already
- made acquaintance with Blaise. This is Nick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick Brennan was as unlike his half-brother as he could possibly be—tall,
- and fair, and blue-eyed, with a perfectly charming smile and an air of not
- having a care in the world. Jean concluded he must resemble closely the
- dead Claude Brennan, since, except for a certain family similarity in cut
- of feature, he bore little resemblance to his mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise has had an hour’s start of me in getting into your
- good graces, Miss Peterson,” he said, shaking hands. “I
- consider it very unfair, but of course I had to be content—as usual—with
- the younger son’s portion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean liked him at once. His merry, lazy blue eyes smiled friendship at
- her, and she felt sure they should get on together. She could not imagine
- Nick “glooming” about the world, as one of the women at the
- hotel had declared his half-brother did.
- </p>
- <p>
- It occurred to her that it would simplify matters if both he and Lady Anne
- were made aware at once of her former meeting with Blaise, so she took the
- opportunity offered by Nick’s speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s had more than that,” she said gaily. “Mr.
- Tor-marin and I had already met before—at Montavan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Montavan?” Lady Anne gave vent to an ejaculation of amused
- impatience. “If we had only known! Blaise could have accompanied you
- back and saved you all the bothersome details of the journey. But we had
- no idea where he was. He went off in his usual way”—smiling a
- shade ruefully—“merely condescending to inform his yearning
- family that he was going abroad for a few weeks.” Then, as Tormarin,
- having surrendered the car to a chauffeur, joined the group in the hall,
- she turned to him and continued with a faint note of expostulation in her
- voice: “You never told us you had already met Miss Peterson, Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t know it myself till I found her marooned on the
- platform at Coombe Eavie,” he returned. His eyes, meeting Jean’s,
- flickered with brief amusement as he added nonchalantly: “I did not
- catch Miss Peterson’s name when we met at Montavan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we were not formally introduced,” supplemented Jean.
- “But Mr. Tormarin was obliging enough to pull me out of an
- eight-foot deep snowdrift up in the mountains, so we allowed that to count
- instead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What luck!” exclaimed Nick with fervour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it was rather,” agreed Jean. “To be smothered in a
- snowdrift isn’t exactly the form of extinction I should choose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I meant luck for Blaise,” explained Nick. “Opportunities
- of playing knight-errant are few and far between nowadays”—regretfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- They all laughed, and then Lady Anne carried Jean off upstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here she found that a charming bedroom, with a sitting-room connecting,
- had been allotted her—“so that you’ll have a den of your
- own to take refuge in when you’re tired of us,” as Lady Anne
- explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt touched by the kindly thought. It takes the understanding
- hostess to admit frankly that a guest may sometimes crave for the solitude
- of her own company—and to see that she can get it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rooms which were to constitute Jean’s personal domain were
- delightfully decorated, old-world tapestries and some beautiful old prints
- striking just the right note in conjunction with the waxen-smooth mahogany
- of Chippendale. From the bedroom, where a maid was already busying herself
- unstrapping the traveller’s manifold boxes, there opened off a
- white-tiled bathroom frankly and hygienically modern, and here Jean was
- soon splashing joyfully. By the time she had finished her bath and dressed
- for dinner she felt as though the fatigue of the journey had slipped from
- her like an outworn garment.
- </p>
- <p>
- The atmosphere at dinner was charmingly informal, and presently, when the
- meal was at an end, the party of four adjourned into the hall for coffee.
- As Jean’s eyes roved round the old-fashioned, raftered place, she
- was conscious of a little intimate thrill of pleasure. With its walls
- panelled in Jacobean oak, and its open hearth where a roaring fire of logs
- sent blue and green flames leaping up into the chimney’s cavernous
- mouth, it reminded her of the great dining-hall at Beirnfels. But here
- there was a pleasant air of English cosiness, and it was obvious that at
- Staple the hall had been adopted as a living-room and furnished with an
- eye to comfort. There were wide, cushioned window-seats, and round the
- hearth clustered deep, inviting chairs, while everywhere were the little,
- pleasant, home-like evidences—an open book flung down here, a piece
- of unfinished needlework there—of daily use and occupation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick at once established himself at Jean’s side, kindly informing
- her that now that his inner man was satisfied he was prepared to make
- himself agreeable. Upon which Lady Anne apologised for his manners and
- Nick interrupted her, volubly pointing out that the fault, if any (which
- he denied), was entirely hers, since she had been responsible both for his
- upbringing and inherited tendencies. They both talked at once, wrangling
- together with huge zest and enjoyment, and it was easily apparent that the
- two were very close friends indeed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise took no part in the stream of chatter and nonsense which ensued,
- but stood a little apart, his shoulder propped against the chimney-piece,
- drinking his coffee in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s glance wandered reflectively from one brother to the other.
- They presented a striking contrast—the stern, dark-browed face of
- the elder man, with its bitter-looking mouth and that strange white streak
- lying like some, ghostly finger-mark across his dark hair, and the
- bubbling, blue-eyed charm of the younger. The difference between them was
- as definite as the difference between sunlight and shadow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick was full of plans for Jean’s entertainment, suggestions for
- boating and tennis occupying a prominent position in the programme he
- sketched out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s really quite jolly paddling about on our lake,” he
- rattled on. “The stream that feeds it hails from Dartmoor, of
- course. All Devonshire streams do, I believe—at least, you’ll
- never hear of one that doesn’t, the Moor being our proudest
- possession. Besides, people always believe that your water supply must be
- of crystalline purity if you just casually mention that its source is a
- Dartmoor spring. So of course, we all swear to the Dartmoor origin of our
- domestic waterworks. It sounds well—even if not always strictly
- true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Peterson must find it a trifle difficult to follow your train
- of thought,” commented Blaise a little sharply. “A moment ago
- you were discussing boating, and now it sounds as though you’ll
- shortly involve yourself—and us—in a disquisition upon
- hygiene.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick smiled placidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My enthusiasm got away with me a bit,” he admitted with
- unruffled calm. “But I haven’t the least doubt that Miss
- Peterson will like to know these few reassuring particulars. However——”
- And he forthwith returned enthusiastically to the prospects of tennis and
- kindred pastimes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again Blaise broke in ungraciously. It seemed as though, for some
- reason, Nick’s flow of light-hearted nonsense and the dozen
- different plans he was proposing for Jean’s future divertisement,
- irritated him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your suggestions seem to me remarkably inept, Nick,” he
- observed scathingly, “seeing that at present it is midwinter and the
- lake frozen over about a foot deep. Quite conceivably, by the time that
- tennis and boating become practicable, Miss Peterson may not be here. She
- may get tired of us long before the summer comes,” he added quickly,
- as though in a belated endeavour to explain away the suggestion of
- inhospitality which might easily be inferred from his previous sentence.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if the hasty addition were intended to reassure Jean, it failed of its
- purpose. The idea that her coming to Staple was not particularly
- acceptable to its master had already taken possession, of her. Originally
- the consequence of the conversation she had overheard at the hotel,
- Tormarin’s reluctantly given welcome when he met her at Coombe Eavie
- Station had served to increase her feeling of embarrassment And now, this
- last speech, though so hastily qualified, convinced her that her advent
- was regarded by her host in anything but a pleasurable light.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I don’t think you must count on me for the tennis
- season, Mr. Brennan,” she said quickly, “I don’t propose
- to billet myself on you indefinitely, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, but I hope you do, my dear,” Lady Anne interposed with a
- simple sincerity there was no doubting. “You must certainly stay
- with us till your father comes home, and”—with a smile—“unless
- Glyn has altered considerably, I imagine Beirnfels will not see him again
- under a year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I couldn’t possibly foist myself on to you for a year!”
- exclaimed Jean. “That would be a sheer imposition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne smiled across at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” she said, “I’ve never had a daughter—only
- these two great, unmanageable sons—and I’m just longing to
- play at having one. You’re not going to disappoint me, I hope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something irresistibly winning in Lady Anne’s way of
- putting the matter, and Jean jumped up and kissed her impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should hate to!” she answered warmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she evaded giving a direct promise; there must be a clearer
- understanding between herself and Tormarin before she could accept Lady
- Anne’s hospitality as frankly and fully as it was offered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The opportunity for this clearer understanding came with the entry of
- Baines, the butler, who brought the information that a favourite young
- setter of Nick’s had been taken ill and that the stableman feared
- the dog had distemper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick sprang up, his concern showing in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll come out and have a look at him,” he said quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll come with you,” added Lady Anne.
- </p>
- <p>
- She slipped her hand through his arm, and they hurried off to the stables,
- leaving Blaise and Jean alone together.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment neither spoke. Blaise, smoking a cigarette, remained staring
- sombrely into the fire. Apparently he did not regard it as incumbent on
- him to make conversation, and Jean felt miserably nervous about broaching
- the subject of her visit. At last, however, fear lest Lady Anne and Nick
- should return before she could do so drove her into speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Tormarin,” she said quietly—so quietly that none
- would have guessed the flurry of shyness which underlay her cool little
- voice—“I am very sorry my presence here is so unwelcome to
- you. I’m afraid you will have to put up with me for a week or two,
- but I promise you I will try to make other arrangements as soon as I can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned towards her abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask what you mean?” he demanded. It was evident from
- the haughty, almost arrogant tone of his voice that something had aroused
- his anger, though whether it was the irritation consequent upon her
- presence there, or because he chose to take her speech as censuring his
- attitude, Jean was unable to determine. His eyes were stormy and inwardly
- she quailed a little beneath their glance; outwardly, however, she
- retained her composure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think my meaning is perfectly clear,” she returned with
- spirit. “Even at the station you made it quite evident that my
- appearance came upon you in the light of an unpleasant surprise. And—from
- what you said just now to Mr. Brennan—it is obvious you hope my
- visit will not be a long one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If she had anticipated spurring him into an impulsive disclaimer, she was
- disappointed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry I have failed so lamentably in my duties as host,”
- he said coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The apology, uttered with such an entire lack of ardour, served to
- emphasise the offence for which it professed to ask pardon. Jean’s
- face whitened. She would hardly have felt more hurt and astonished if he
- had struck her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I——” she began. Then stopped, finding her
- voice unsteady.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he had heard the break in the low, shaken tones, and in a moment his
- mood of intolerant anger vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive me,” he said remorsefully—and there was genuine
- contrition in his voice now. “I’m a cross-grained fellow, Miss
- Peterson; you’ll find that out before you’ve been here many
- days. But never think that you are unwelcome at Staple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why—I don’t understand you,” she stammered.
- She found his sudden changes of humour bewildering.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled down at her, that rare, strangely sweet smile of his which when
- it came always seemed to transform his face, obliterating the harsh
- sternness of its lines.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I don’t quite understand, either,” he said
- gently. “Only I know it would have been better if you had never come
- to Staple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then—you wish I hadn’t come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,”—slowly. “I think I do wish that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him a little wistfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that why you were angry—because I’ve come here? Lady
- Anne and—and Mr. Brennan seemed quite pleased,” she added as
- though in protest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No doubt. Nick, lucky devil, has no need to economise in magic
- moments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt her cheeks flush under the look he bent upon her, but she forced
- herself to meet it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and you?” she questioned very low.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have”—briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was long before sleep visited Jean that night The events of the day
- marched processionally through her mind, and her thoughts persisted in
- clustering round the baffling, incomprehensible personality of Blaise
- Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- His extreme bitterness of speech she ascribed to the unfortunate episode
- that lay in his past. But she could find no reason for his strange,
- expressed wish to disregard their former meeting at Montavan—to wipe
- out, as it were, all recollection of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- That he did not dislike her she felt sure; and a woman rarely makes a
- mistake over a man’s personal attitude towards her. But for some
- reason, it seemed to her, he was <i>afraid</i> to let himself like her! It
- was as though he were anxious to bolt and bar the door against any
- possibility of friendship between them. From whichever way she looked at
- it, she could find no key to the mystery of his behaviour. It was
- inexplicable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only one thing emerged from the confusion of thought; the lost glamour of
- that night at Montavan had returned—returned with fresh impulse and
- persuasiveness. And when at last she fell asleep, it was with the
- beseeching, soul-haunting melody of <i>Valse Triste</i> crying in her
- ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X—OTHER PEOPLE’S TROUBLES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN woke to find
- the chill, wintry sunlight thrusting in long fingers through the space
- between the casements and the edges of the window-blinds. At first the
- unfamiliar look of a strange bedroom puzzled her, and she lay blinking
- drowsily at the wavering slits of light, wondering in vague, half-awake
- fashion where she was. Gradually, however, recollection returned to her,
- and with it a lively curiosity to view Staple by daylight. She jumped out
- of bed and, rattling up the blinds on their rollers, peered out of the
- window.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a hard frost abroad, and the stillness which reigned over the
- ice-bound country-side reminded her of the big Alpine silences. But here
- there was no snow—no dazzling sheet of whiteness spread, with cold,
- grey-blue shadows flung across it Green and shaven the lawns sloped gently
- down from a flagged terrace, running immediately beneath her window, to
- the very rim of the frozen lake that gleamed in the valley below. Beyond
- the valley, scattered woods and copses climbed the hillside opposite,
- leafless and bare save where a cluster of tall pines towered in evergreen
- defiance against the slate of the sky.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the farther distance, beyond the confines of the manor park itself,
- Jean could catch glimpses of cultivated fields—the red Devon soil
- glowing jewel-like through filmy wisps of morning mist that still hung in
- the atmosphere, dispersing slowly as though loth to go. Here and there a
- little spiral of denser, blue-grey smoke wreathed its way upwards from the
- chimney of some thatched cottage or farmhouse. And back of it all,
- adumbrated in a dim, mysterious purple, the great tors of Dartmoor rose
- sentinel upon the horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s glance narrowed down to the sloping sward in front of the
- house. It was all just as her father had pictured it to her. On the left,
- a giant cedar broke the velvet smoothness of mown grass, its gnarled arms
- rimmed with hoar-frost, whilst to the right a tall yew hedge, clipped into
- huge, grotesque resemblances of birds and beasts, divided the lawns from a
- path which skirted a walled rose garden. By craning her neck and almost
- flattening her nose against the window-pane, she could just make out a
- sunk lawn in the rose garden, and in its centre the slender pillar of an
- ancient sundial.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was all very English and old-fashioned, breathing the inalienable charm
- of places that have been well loved and tended by successive generations.
- And over all, hills and valleys, park and woodland, lay that faint, almost
- imperceptible humid veil wherewith, be it in scorching summer sunshine or
- iron frost, the West Country tenderly contrives to soften every harsh
- outline into something gracious, and melting, and alluring.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean, familiarised from childhood with the piercing clarity of
- atmosphere, the brilliant colouring and the definiteness of silhouette of
- southern Europe and of Egypt, there was something inexpressibly restful
- and appealing in those blurred hues of grey and violet, in the warm red of
- the Devon earth, with its tender overtone of purple like the bloom on a
- grape, and the rounded breasts of green-clad hills curving suavely one
- into the other till they merged into the ultimate, rock-crowned slopes of
- the brooding moor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m going to love your England,” she told Nick.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were making their way down to the lake—alone together, since
- Blaise had curtly refused to join them—and as she spoke, Nick
- stopped and regarded her consideringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I rather imagine England will love you,” he replied, adding,
- with the whimsical impudence which was somehow always permitted Nick
- Brennan: “If it were not for a prior claim, I’m certain I
- should have loved you in about five minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry I happened too late,” retorted Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I can still be a brother to you,” he pursued, ignoring
- her interpolation. “I think,”—reflectively—“I
- shall like being a brother to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should expect a brother to fetch and carry,” cautioned
- Jean. “And to make himself generally useful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t got the character from my last place about me at
- the moment, but I’ll write it out for you when we get back.
- Meanwhile, I will perform the menial task of fastening on your skates.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had reached the lake by now. It was a wide stretch of water several
- acres in extent, and rimmed about its banks with rush and alder. At the
- far end Jean could discern a boat-house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be an ideal place for boating in the summer,” she
- said, taking in the size of the lake appreciatively as together they
- circled it with long, sweeping strokes, hands interlocked. It was much
- larger than it had appeared from her bedroom window, when it had been
- partially screened from her view by rising ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all right just for paddling about,” answered Nick.
- “But there’s really jolly boating on our river. That’s
- over on the west side of the park”—he pointed in the direction
- indicated. “It divides Staple from Willow Ferry—the property
- of our next-door neighbour, so to speak. You’d like the boating
- here,” he added, “though I’m afraid our skating
- possibilities aren’t likely to impress anyone coming straight from
- Switzerland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure I shall like skating—or anything else—here,”
- said Jean Warmly. “It is all so beautiful. I suppose Devonshire is
- really quite the loveliest county in England? My father always declared it
- was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>We</i> think so,” replied Nick modestly. “Though a
- Cornishman would probably want to knock me down for saying so! But I love
- it.” he went on. “There’s nowhere else I would care to
- live.” His eyes softened, seeming almost to caress the surrounding
- fields and woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded. “I can understand that,” she said. “Although
- I’ve only been here a few hours, I’m beginning to love it,
- too. I don’t know why it is—I can’t explain it—but
- I feel as if I’d <i>come home</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you have. The Petersons lived here for generations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean”—Jean stared at him in astonishment—“do
- you mean that they lived at Coombe Eavie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Didn’t you know? They used to own Charnwood—a
- place about a mile from here. It was sold after your grandfather’s
- death. Did your father never tell you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He always avoided speaking of anything in connection with his life
- over here. I think he hated England. Is there anyone living at Charnwood
- now?” she asked, after a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It has changed hands several times, and now a friend of ours
- lives there—Lady Latimer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then perhaps I shall be able to go there some day. I should like to
- see the place where my father’s people lived”—eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve got the true Devonshire homing instinct,” he
- declared. “Devon folk who’ve left the country always want to
- see the ‘place where their people lived.’ I remember, about a
- year ago, a Canadian girl and her brother turned up at Staple. They were
- descendants of a Tormarin who had emigrated two or three generations
- before, and they had come across to England for a visit. Their first trip
- was to Devonshire; they wanted to see ‘the place where Dad’s
- people had lived.’ And, by Jove, they knew a lot more about it than
- we did! They were posted up in every detail, and insisted on a personally
- conducted tour over the whole place. They went back to Canada rejoicing,
- loaded with photographs of Staple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it was rather dear of them to come back like that,”
- she said simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- They swung round the head of the lake and, as they turned, Jean caught
- sight of a woman’s figure emerging from the path which ran through
- the woods. Apparently the newcomer descried the skaters at the same
- moment, for she stopped and waved her hand in a friendly little gesture of
- greeting. Nick lifted his cap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is Lady Latimer,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in his voice, some indescribable deepening of quality, made Jean
- look at him quickly. She remembered on one occasion, in a jeweller’s
- shop, noticing a very beautiful opal lying in its case; she had commented
- on it casually, and the man behind the counter had lifted it from its
- satiny bed and turned it so that the light should fall full upon it. In an
- instant the red fire slumbering in its heart had waked into glowing life,
- irradiating the whole stone with pulsing colour. It was some such
- vitalising change as this that she sensed in the suddenly eager face
- beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hastening their pace, she and Nick skated up to the edge of the lake where
- Lady Latimer awaited them, and as he introduced the two women to each
- other it seemed as though the eyes of the woman on the bank asked hastily,
- almost frightenedly: “Will you prove friend or foe?” And Jean’s
- eyes, all soft and luminous like every real woman’s in the presence
- of love, signalled back steadily: “Friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire!” said Nick. And Jean thought that no name could have
- suited her better.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was the slenderest thing, with about her the pliant, delicate grace of
- a harebell. Ash-blonde hair, so fair that in some lights it looked silver
- rather than gold, framed the charming Greuze face. Only it was not quite a
- Greuze, Jean reflected. There was too much character in it—a certain
- gentle firmness, something curiously still and patient in the closing of
- the curved lips, and a deeper appeal than that of mere wondering youth in
- the gentian-blue eyes. They were woman’s eyes, eyes out of which no
- weeping could quite wash the wistfulness of some past or present sorrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you are one of the Charnwood Petersons?” said Lady Latimer
- in her soft, pretty voice. “You won’t like me, I’m
- afraid”—smiling—“I’m living in your old
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Jean won’t quarrel with you over that,” put in
- Nick. “She’s got a splendacious castle all her own somewhere
- in the wilds of Europe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Beirnfels is really my home. I’ve never even seen
- Charnwood,” smiled Jean. “But I should like to—some day,
- if you will ask me over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, certainly you must come,” replied Lady Latimer a
- little breathlessly. But she seemed unaccountably flurried, as though Jean’s
- suggestion in some way disquieted her. “But of course, Charnwood—now—isn’t
- a bit like what it must have been when the Petersons had it. I think a
- place changes with the people who inhabit it, don’t you? I mean,
- their influence impresses itself on it. If they are good and happy people,
- you can feel it in the atmosphere of the place, and if they are people
- with bad and wicked thoughts, you feel that, too. I know I do.” And
- there was no doubt in the mind of either of her hearers that she was
- referring to the last-named set of influences.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I think Charnwood must be lovely, since it’s your home
- now,” said Jean sincerely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes—of course—it is my home now.” Lady
- Latimer looked troubled. “But other people live—have lived
- there. It’s changed hands several times, hasn’t it, Nick?”—turning
- to him for confirmation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick was frowning. He, too, appeared troubled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it’s changed hands—heaps of times,” he
- replied gruffly. “But I should think your influence would be enough
- to counteract that of—of everybody else. Look here, chuck discussing
- rotten, psychic influences, Claire, and come on the ice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I can’t,” she replied hastily. “I haven’t
- my skates here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That doesn’t matter. We’ve a dozen pairs up at the
- house. One of them is sure to fit you. I’ll go and collect a few.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wheeled as though to cross the lake on his proposed errand, but Claire
- Latimer laid her hand quickly on his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” she said. “I can’t skate this morning. I’m
- on my way home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, change your mind!” begged Jean, noticing with friendly
- amusement Nick’s expression of discontent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, really I can’t” Claire’s face had whitened
- and her big eyes sought Nick’s in a kind of pathetic appeal. “Adrian
- is not—very well to-day. My husband,” she added explanatorily
- to Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- The latter was conscious of a sense of shock. She had quite imagined Lady
- Latimer to be a widow, and had been mentally engaged in weaving the most
- charming and happy-ever-after of romances since the moment she had seen
- that wonderful change come over Nick’s face. Probably her impression
- was due to the manner of his first introduction of Claire’s name,
- “A friend of ours lives there—Lady Latimer,” without
- reference to any husband lurking in the background.
- </p>
- <p>
- She observed that Nick made no further effort to persuade Claire to
- remain, and after exchanging a few commonplace remarks the latter
- continued her way back to Charnwood.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was so nearly lunch time that it did not seem worth while resuming
- their skating. Besides, with Claire Latimer’s refusal to join them,
- the occupation seemed to have lost some of its charm, and when Jean
- suggested a return to the house Nick assented readily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is very sweet—young Lady Latimer,” remarked
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, as they walked back over the frostily crisp turf. “But she
- looks rather sad. And she isn’t the kind of person one associates
- with sadness. There’s something so young and fresh about her; she
- makes one think of spring flowers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick’s face kindled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she’s like that, isn’t she?” he answered
- eagerly. “Like a pale golden narcissus.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the thoughts of each of them
- dwelling on the woman who had just left them. Then Jean said softly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that’s the ‘prior claim?’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he acknowledged simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never mentioned that she had a husband concealed somewhere. I
- quite thought she was a widow till she suddenly mentioned him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never think of him as her husband”—shortly. “You
- can’t mate light and darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose he’s an invalid?” ventured Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rick’s face darkened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s a drug fiend,” he said in a low, hard voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that one breathless exclamation of horror Jean remained silent. The
- swift picture conjured up before her eyes by Rick’s terse speech was
- unspeakably revolting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Years ago she had heard her father describing the effect of the drug habit
- upon a friend of his own who had yielded to it. He had been telling her
- mother about it, characteristically oblivious of the presence of a child
- of eleven in the room at the time, and some of Glyn Peterson’s
- poignant, illuminating phrases, punctuated by little, stricken murmurs of
- pity from Jacqueline, had impressed a painfully accurate picture on the
- plastic mind of childhood. Ever since then, drug-mania had represented to
- Jean the uttermost abyss.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, the vision of that slender, gracious woman, Rick’s “pale
- golden narcissus,” tied for life to a man who must ultimately become
- that which Glyn Peterson’s friend had become, filled her with
- compassionate dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was easy enough, now, to comprehend Claire Latimer’s curious lack
- of warmth when Jean expressed the hope that she might go over to Charnwood
- some day. It sprang from the nervous shrinking of a woman at the prospect
- of being driven to unveil before fresh eyes the secret misery and
- degradation of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was still silent as she and Nick re-entered the hall at Staple. It
- was empty, and as, by common consent, they instinctively drew towards the
- fire Nick pulled forward one of the big easy-chairs for her. Then he stood
- gloomily staring down into the leaping flames, much as Tormarin had stood
- the previous evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- Intuitively she knew that he wanted to give her his confidence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me about it, Nick,” she said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I?” The words jerked out like a sigh of relief. He
- dropped into a chair beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There isn’t very much to tell you. Only, I’d like you
- to know—to be a pal to her, if you can, Jean.” He paused, then
- went on quickly: “They married her to him when she was hardly more
- than a child—barely seventeen. She’s only nineteen now. Sir
- Adrian is practically a millionaire, and Claire’s father and mother
- were in low water—trying to cut a dash in society on nothing a year.
- So—they sold Claire. Sir Adrian paid their debts and agreed to make
- them a handsome allowance. And they let her go to him, knowing, then, that
- he had already begun to take drugs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>How could they?</i>” burst from Jean in a strangled
- whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick nodded. His eyes, meeting hers, had lost their gay good humour and
- were dull and lack-lustre.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you’d wonder how, wouldn’t you?” he said.
- His voice rasped a little. “Still—they did it. Then, later on,
- the Latimers came to Charnwood, and Claire and I met. It didn’t take
- long to love her—you can understand that, can’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Nick—yes! She is so altogether lovable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But understand this, too,”—and the sudden sternness
- that gripped his speech reminded her sharply of his brother—“we
- recognise that that is all there can ever be between us. Just the
- knowledge that we love each other. I think even that helps to make her
- life—more bearable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He fell silent, and presently Jean stretched out a small, friendly hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you for telling me, Nick,” she said. “Perhaps
- some day you’ll be happy—together. You and Claire. It sounds a
- horrible thing to say—to count on—I know, but a man who takes
- drugs——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick interrupted her with a short laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn’t count on Latimer’s snuffing out, if that’s
- what you mean. He is an immensely strong man—like a piece of steel
- wire. It will take years for any drug to kill him. I sometimes think”—bitterly—“that
- it will kill Claire first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI—“THE SINS OF THE FATHERS”
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> FEW days later,
- Jean, coming in from a long tramp across country in company with Nick and
- half a dozen dogs of various breeds, discovered Tormarin lounging in a
- chair by the fire. He was in riding kit, having just returned from
- visiting an outlying corner of the estates where his bailiff had suggested
- that a new plantation might be made, and Jean eyed his long supple figure
- with secret approval. Like most well-built Englishmen, he looked his best
- in kit that demanded the donning of breeches and leggings.
- </p>
- <p>
- A fine rain was falling out of doors, and beads of moisture clung to Jean’s
- clothes and sparkled in the blown tendrils of russet hair which had
- escaped from beneath the little turban hat she was wearing. Apparently,
- however, her appearance did not rouse Tormarin to any reciprocal
- appreciation, for, after bestowing the briefest of glances upon her as she
- entered, he averted his eyes, concentrating his attention upon the misty
- ribands of smoke that drifted upwards from his cigarette.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean knelt down on the hearth, and, pulling off her rain-soaked gloves,
- held out her hands to the fire’s cheerful blaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s good-bye to all the skating, I’m afraid,”
- she said regretfully. “Nick says we’re not likely to have
- another hard frost like the last, now that the weather has broken so
- completely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. It’s April next month—supposedly springtime, you
- know,” returned Blaise indifferently.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed disinclined to talk, and Jean eyed him contemplatively. His
- attitude towards her baffled her as much as ever. He was unfailingly
- courteous and considerate, but he remained, nevertheless, unmistakably
- aloof, avoiding her whenever it was politely possible, and when it was
- not, treating her with a cool neutrality of manner that was as complete a
- contrast to his demeanour when they were together at Montavan as could
- well be imagined. Indeed, sometimes Jean almost wondered if the events of
- that day they spent amid the snows had really taken place—they
- seemed so far away, so entirely unrelated to her present life,
- notwithstanding the fact that she was in daily contact with the man who
- had shared them with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was rather uncomplimentary of you not to come skating with us a
- solitary <i>once</i>,” she remarked at last, an accent of reproach
- in her voice. “Was my performance on the rink at Montavan so
- execrable that you felt you couldn’t risk it again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up, his glance meeting hers levelly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve phrased it excellently,” he replied briefly.
- “I felt I couldn’t risk it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden flush mounted to Jean’s face. There was no misunderstanding
- the significance that underlay the curt words, which, as she was vibrantly
- aware, bore no relation whatever to her skill, or absence of it, on the
- ice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise made no endeavour to relieve the awkward silence that ensued.
- Instead, his eyes rested upon her with a somewhat quizzical expression, as
- though he were rather entertained than otherwise by her evident confusion.
- Jean felt her indignation rising.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is fortunate that other people are not so—nervous,”
- she said disdainfully. “Otherwise I should find myself as isolated
- as a fever hospital.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is fortunate indeed,” he agreed politely.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of the three weeks which had elapsed since her arrival at
- Staple, Jean had dared several similar passages-at-arms with her host.
- Woman-like, she was bent on getting behind his guard of reticence, on
- forcing him into an explanation of his altered attitude towards her—since
- no woman can be expected to endure that a man should completely change
- from ill-suppressed ardour to a cool, impersonal detachment of manner,
- without aching to know the reason why! But in every instance Tormarin had
- carried off the honours of war, parrying her small thrusts with a lazy
- insouciance which she found galling in the extreme.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hitherto she had encountered little difficulty in getting pretty much her
- own way with the men of her acquaintance; she had sufficient of the
- temperament and charm of the red-haired type to compass that. But her
- efforts to elucidate the cause of the change in Blaise Tormarin were about
- as prolific of result as the efforts of a butterfly at stone-breaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately for the preservation of peace, at this juncture there came the
- sound of voices, and Lady Anne entered the room, accompanied by a visitor.
- Her clever, grey eyes flashed quickly from Jean’s flushed face to
- that of her son, but, if she sensed the electricity in the atmosphere, she
- made no comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise, my dear, here is Judith,” she said pleasantly.
- “I found her wandering forlornly in the lanes, so I drove her back
- here. She has just returned from town, and for some reason her car wasn’t
- at the station to meet her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wired home saying what time I should reach Coombe Eavie,”
- explained the new-comer. “But as I was rather late reaching
- Waterloo, I rashly entrusted the wire to a small boy to send off for me,
- and I’m afraid he’s played me false. I should have had to
- trudge the whole way back to Willow Ferry if Lady Anne hadn’t
- happened along.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne turned to Jean, and, laying an affectionate hand on her arm,
- drew her forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean, let me introduce you to Mrs. Craig. My new acquisition,
- Judith, she went on contentedly. A daughter. I always told you I wanted
- one. Now I’ve borrowed someone else’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean found herself shaking hands with a slender, distinctive-looking woman
- who moved with a slow, languorous grace that was almost snake-like in its
- peculiar suppleness.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave one the impression that she had no bones in her body, or that if
- she had, they had never hardened properly but still retained the
- pliability of cartilage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was somewhat sallow—the consequence, it transpired later, of
- long residence in India—with sullen, slate-coloured eyes, appearing
- almost purple in shadow, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth. Jean decided
- that she was not in the least pretty, though attractive in an odd, feline
- way, and that she must be about thirty-two. As a matter of fact, Judith
- Craig was forty, but no one would have guessed it—and she would
- certainly not have confided it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently Nick, who had been personally supervising the feeding of his
- beloved dogs, joined the party, greeting Mrs. Craig with the easy
- informality of an old friend, and shortly afterwards Baines brought in the
- tea-things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And where is Burke?” enquired Blaise, of Mrs. Craig, as he
- handed her tea. “Didn’t he come back with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey? Oh, no. He’s not coming down till the end of April.
- You know he detests Willow Ferry in the winter—‘beastly wet
- swamp,’ he calls it! He’s dividing his time between London and
- Leicestershire—London, while that long frost stopped all hunting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Craig was evidently on a footing of long-established intimacy with
- the Staple household, and Jean, listening quietly to the interchange of
- news and of little personal happenings, regarded her with rather critical
- interest. She was not altogether sure that she liked her, but she was
- quite sure that, wherever her lot might be cast, Judith Craig would never
- occupy the position of a nonentity. She had considerable charm of manner,
- and there was a quite unexpected fascination about her smile—unexpected,
- because, when in repose, her thin lips lay folded together in a straight
- and somewhat forbidding line, whereas the moment they relaxed into a smile
- they assumed the most delightful curves, and two little lines, which
- should have been dimples but were not, cleft each cheek on either side of
- the mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- All at once Mrs. Craig turned to Jean as though she had made up her mind
- about something over which she had been hesitating.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I seen you anywhere before?” she asked, her charming
- smile softening the abruptness of the question. “Your face is so
- extraordinarily familiar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think so,” she answered. “I’m sure
- I should remember you if we had met anywhere. Besides, I’ve lived
- abroad all my life; this is only my first visit to England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I can explain,” said Lady Anne. There was a
- deliberateness about her manner that suggested she was about to make a
- statement which she was aware would be of some special interest to at
- least one of the party. “Jean is Glyn Peterson’s daughter; so
- of course you see a likeness, Judith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, glancing enquiringly across at Mrs. Craig, was startled at the
- sudden change in her face produced by Lady Anne’s simple
- announcement. The sallow skin seemed to pale—almost wither, like a
- cut flower that needs water—and the lips that had been parted in a
- smile stiffened slowly into their accustomed straight line.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course”—Mrs. Craig’s voice sounded flat and
- she swallowed once or twice before she spoke—“that must be it.
- I—knew your father, Miss Peterson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean, always sensitive to the emotional quality of the atmosphere, it
- seemed as though some current of hostility, of malevolence, leapt at her
- through the innocent-sounding speech. “<i>I knew your father</i>.”
- It was quite ridiculous, of course, but the words sounded almost like a
- threat.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had no answer ready, and a brief silence followed. Then Lady Anne
- bridged the awkward moment with some commonplace, adroitly steering the
- conversation into smoother waters, and a few minutes later Mrs. Craig rose
- to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll see you across the park, Judith,” volunteered
- Nick, and he and his mother accompanied her out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the hall, Lady Anne detained her visitor an instant with a light hand
- on her arm, while Nick foraged for his own particular headgear, amongst
- the family assortment of hats and caps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean is a dear girl, Judith,” she said earnestly. “I
- want you to be friends with her. Don’t”—pleadingly—“visit
- the sins of the fathers on the children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, no, I shouldn’t,” replied Mrs. Craig, with
- apparent frankness. “It was only that, for the moment, it was rather
- a shock to learn that she was—that woman’s—child.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it was,” acquiesced Lady Anne. “Good-bye,
- dear Judith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But notwithstanding Mrs. Craig’s assurances, a troubled look
- lingered in Lady Anne’s grey eyes long after her guest’s
- departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII—A SENSE OF DUTY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN was immensely
- puzzled at the abrupt change which had occurred in Mrs. Craig’s
- manner immediately upon hearing that she was the daughter of Glyn
- Peterson, and, as soon as the visitor had taken her departure, she sought
- an explanation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth made Mrs. Craig freeze up the instant my father’s
- name was mentioned? Did she hate him for any reason?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin looked across at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he answered quietly. “She didn’t hate him.
- She loved him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at him in frank astonishment. She had never dreamed that there
- had been any other woman than Jacqueline in Glyn’s life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Craig—and my father?” she exclaimed incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She wasn’t Mrs. Craig in those days. She was Judith Burke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, but——” persisted Jean, determined to get to
- the bottom of the mystery. “I still don’t see why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why what?”—unwillingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why she looked as if she loathed the very sight of me. That’s
- not”—drily—“quite the effect you would expect love
- to produce!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a curiously abstracted look in Tormarin’s eyes as he made
- answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Love is productive of very curious effects on occasion. More
- particularly when it is without hope of fulfilment,” he added in a
- lower tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I suppose my father couldn’t help not falling in love
- with Mrs. Craig,” protested Jean with some warmth. “Nor could
- he have prevented her caring for him. And it’s certainly illogical
- of her to feel any resentment towards me on that score. <i>I</i> had
- nothing to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Love and logic have precious little to say to each other, as a
- rule,” replied Tormarin grimly. “To Judith, you’re the
- child of the woman who stole her lover away from her, so you can hardly
- expect her to feel an overwhelming affection for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The woman who stole her lover away from her?” repeated Jean
- slowly. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, Blaise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at her in some surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely—— Don’t you know the circumstances?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I simply don’t know in the least what you are talking
- about. Please tell me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin made no response for a moment. He was standing with his back to
- the light, but as he lit a cigarette the flare of the match revealed a
- worried expression on his face, as though he deprecated the turn the
- conversation was taking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well,” he said at last, evading the point at issue,
- “it’s all ancient history now. Let it go. There’s never
- anything gained by digging up the dry bones of the past.” Jean’s
- mouth set itself in a mutinous line of determination. “Please tell
- me, Blaise,” she reiterated. “As it is something which
- concerns my father and a woman I shall probably be meeting fairly often in
- the future, I think I have a right to know about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well—if you insist. But I don’t think you’ll
- be any happier for knowing.” He paused. “Still inflexible?”
- She bent her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite”—firmly—“whatever it is, I’d
- rather know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On your own head be it, then.” He seemed trying to infuse a
- lighter element into the conversation, as though hoping to minimise the
- effect of what he had to tell her. “It was just this—that your
- father and Judith Burke were engaged to be married at the time he met your
- mother, and that—well, to make a long story short, he ran away with
- Miss Mavory on the day fixed for his wedding with Judith.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A dead silence followed the disclosure. Then Jean uttered a low cry of
- dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father did that? Are you sure?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin could see that the story had distressed her. Her eyes showed hurt
- and bewildered like those of a child who has met with a totally unexpected
- rebuff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t take it like that!” he urged hastily. “After
- all, It was nothing so terrible. You look as though he had broken every
- one of the ten commandments”—smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled back rather wanly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know that I should worry very much if he had—in
- some circumstances. But—don’t you see?—it was so cruel,
- so horribly selfish!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve got to remember two things in justification——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Justification?</i>”—expressively. “There wasn’t
- any. There couldn’t be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, excuse, then, if you like. One thing is that Jacqueline
- Mavory was one of the most beautiful of women, and the other, that your
- father’s engagement to Judith had really been more or less
- engineered by their respective parents—adjoining properties, friends
- of long standing, and so on. It was no love-match—on his side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But on her wedding-day!”—pitifully. “Oh! Poor
- Judith!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin smiled a trifle cynically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was the root of the trouble. It was Judith’s pride that
- was hurt—as well as her heart. She married Major Craig not long
- after, and I believe they were really fond of one another and
- comparatively happy. But she has never forgiven Peterson from that day to
- this. And you, being Jacqueline Mavory’s daughter, will come in for
- the residue of her bitterness. Unless”—ironically—“you
- can make friends with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall try to,” said Jean simply. “Is Major Craig
- living now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. He died out in India, and after his death Judith came back to
- England. She has lived at Willow Ferry with her brother, Geoffrey Burke,
- ever since.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence, while Jean tried to fit in the new facts she had
- learned with her knowledge of her father’s character. She was a
- little afraid that Tormarin might misunderstand her impulsive outburst of
- indignation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t think that I am sitting in judgment on my father,”
- she said at last. “In a way, I can—even understand his doing
- such a thing. You know, for the last two years of my mother’s life I
- was with them both constantly, and anyone living with them could
- understand their doing all kinds of things that ordinary people wouldn’t
- do.” She paused, as though seeking words that might make her meaning
- clearer. “They would never really mean to hurt anyone, but they were
- just like a couple of children together—gloriously irresponsible and
- happy. I always felt years older than either of them. Glyn used to say I
- was ‘cursed with a damnable sense of duty’”—laughing
- rather ruefully. “I suppose I am. Probably I inherit it from our old
- Puritan ancestors on the Peterson side. I know I couldn’t have
- cheerfully run off and taken my happiness at the cost of someone else’s
- prior right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of extreme bitterness crossed Tormarin’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait till you’re tempted,” he said shortly. “Wait
- till <i>what you want</i> wars against what you ought to have—what
- you’ve the right to take.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment she made no answer. Put bluntly like that, the matter
- suddenly presented itself to her as one of the poignant possibilities of
- life. Supposing—supposing such a choice should ever be demanded of
- her? She felt a vague fear catch at her heart, an indefinable dread.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last she spoke, the eyes she lifted to meet Tor-marin’s were
- troubled. In them he could read the innate honesty which was prepared to
- face the question he had raised, and behind that—courage. A young,
- untried courage, not sure of itself, it is true, but still courage that
- only waited till some call should wake it into fighting actuality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope,” she said with a wistful humility that was rather
- touching, “I hope I should stick it out One’s ideals, and
- duty, and other people’s rights—it would be horrible to scrap
- the lot—just for love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Worth it, perhaps. You”—his voice was the least bit
- uneven—“you haven’t been up against love—yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she was conscious of that little catch at her heart—the same
- convulsive tightening of the muscles as one experiences when a telegram is
- put into one’s hand which may, or may not, contain bad news.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven’t been up against love yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words recalled her knowledge of the tragic episode that lay in
- Tormarin’s own past. The whole history she did not know—only
- the odds and ends of gossip which one woman had confided to another. But
- here, in the man’s curt brevity of speech, surely lay proof that he
- had suffered. And if he had suffered, it followed that he must have cared
- deeply for the woman who had thrown him aside for the sake of another man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s first generous impulse of pity as she realised this was
- strangely intermingled with a fleeting disquiet, a subconscious sense of
- loss. It was only momentary, and not definite enough for her to express in
- words, even to herself—hardly more than the slightly blank sensation
- produced upon anyone sitting in the sunshine when a cloud suddenly
- intervenes and drops a shadow where a moment before there has been warmth
- and light.
- </p>
- <p>
- An instant later it was overborne by her spontaneous sympathy for the man
- beside her, and, recognising the rather painful similarity between her
- father’s treatment of Judith Craig and the story she had heard of
- the unknown woman’s treatment of Tormarin himself, she tactfully
- deflected the conversation to something that would touch him less closely,
- launching into a description of the life her parents had led at Beirnfels.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were wonderfully happy together there. Not in the least—as
- I suppose they ought to have been—an awful example of poetic
- justice!” she declared. “Glyn used to call Beirnfels his
- ‘House of Dreams-Come-True’.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Glyn?”—suddenly remarking her use of Peterson’s
- Christian name.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never called them father and mother. They would have loathed it.
- Glyn used to say that anything which savoured so much of domesticity would
- kill romance!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That sounds like all that I have ever heard about him,” said
- Tormarin, smiling too. “So does the ‘House of
- Dreams-Come-True.’ It’s a charming idea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He took it from one of Jacqueline’s songs. She had a glorious
- voice, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, so I’ve heard. I suppose you have inherited it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I wish I had. But Jacqueline insisted on trying to teach me
- singing, all the same. Poor dear! I was a dreadful disappointment to her,
- I’m afraid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Couldn’t you sing the ‘House of Dreams’ song? I’m
- rather curious to hear the remainder of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rose and crossed to the piano.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I can sing you that. Jacqueline always used to say it was
- the only thing I sang as if I understood it, and Glyn declared it was
- because it agreed with my ‘confounded principles’!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled up at him as her fingers slid into the prelude of the song, but
- her little joke against herself brought no answering smile to his lips.
- Instead, he stood waiting for the song to begin with an odd kind of
- expectancy on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had most certainly not inherited her mother’s exquisite voice,
- but she had a quaint little pipe of her own, with a clouded, husky quality
- in it that was not without its appeal. It lent a wistful charm to the
- simple words of the song. <br /><br /><span class="indent15">"It’s a
- strange road leads to the House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To
- the House of Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span class="indent15">Its Hills are
- steep and its valleys deep, <br /><span class="indent15">And salt with
- tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I
- and you. <br /><br /><span class="indent15">"But there’s sure a way to
- the House of Dreams, <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of
- Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere
- the sun has set, <br /><span class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come
- fine, come wet, <br /><span class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you.”
- </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- The soft, husky voice ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then
- Tormarin said quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you. I don’t think your mother need have felt any great
- disappointment concerning your voice. It has its own qualities, even if it
- is not suited to the concert hall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the words of the song?” questioned Jean eagerly. “Don’t
- you like them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a pretty enough idea.” He laid a faint,
- significant stress on the last word. “But for some of us the ‘House
- of Dreams-Come-True’ has never been built. Or, if it has, we’ve
- lost the way there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a note of rigid acceptance in his voice, as though he no longer
- strove against the decisions of destiny, and Jean’s eager sympathy
- leaped impulsively to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say that!” she began. Then checked herself,
- flushing a little. “I hate to hear you speak in that way,” she
- went on more quietly. “It sounds as though there were nothing worth
- trying for—worth waiting for. I like to believe that everyone has a
- house of dreams which may ‘come true’ some day.” She
- paused. “‘If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,’”
- she repeated softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes had a far-away look in them, as though they were envisioning that
- narrow, winding track which leads, somewhen, to the place where dreams
- even the most wonderful of them—shall become realities.
- </p>
- <p>
- Glorious faith and optimism of youth! If we could only recapture it in
- those after years, when time has added tolerance and a little wisdom to
- our harvest’s store, the houses where dreams come true might add
- themselves together until there were whole streets of them—glowing
- townships—instead of merely an isolated dwelling here or there.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Tormarin listened to Jean’s young, eager voice, his face softened
- and some of the tired lines in it seemed to smooth themselves out “Little
- Comrade,” he said gently, and she felt her breath quicken as he
- called her again by the name which he had used at Montavan—and once
- since, when they had come suddenly face to face at Coombe Eavie Station.
- But that second time the words had escaped him unawares. Now he was using
- them deliberately, withholding no part of their significance. “Little
- comrade, I think the man who ‘fares straight on’ with you for
- fellow-traveller <i>will</i> find the House of Dreams-Come-True. But it
- isn’t—just any man who may start that journey with you. It
- mustn’t be”—his grave eyes held hers intently—“a
- man who has tried to find the road once before—and failed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to Jean that, as he spoke, the wall which he had built up
- between them since she came to Staple crumbled away. This was the same man
- she had known at Montavan, whose hands reached out to hers across some
- fixed dividing line which neither he nor she might pass. She knew now what
- that dividing line must be—the shadow flung by a past love, his love
- for Nesta Freyne which had ended in hopeless tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- There must always be a limit set to any friendship of theirs. So much he
- had implied at their first meeting. But, since then, he had taken even
- that friendship from her, substituting a deliberate indifference against
- which she had struggled in vain.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, without knowing quite how it had come about, the barrier was
- down. They were comrades once more—she and the Englishman from
- Montavan—and she was conscious of a great content that it should be
- so.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the moment she asked nothing more, was unconscious of any further
- wish. The woman in her still slumbered, and, to the girl, this friendship
- seemed enough. She did not realise that something deeper, more imperative
- in its ultimate demands, was mingled with it—was, indeed,
- unrecognised by her, the very essence of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII—“WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?”
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN, sculling
- leisurely down the river which ran between Staple and Willow Eerry, looked
- around her with a little thrill of enjoyment—the sheer, physical
- thrill of youth unconsciously in harmony with the climbing sap in the
- trees, with the upward thrust of young green, with all the exquisite
- recreation of Nature in the spring of the year.
- </p>
- <p>
- April had been, as it too commonly is in this northern clime of ours, the
- merest travesty of spring, a bleak, cold month of penetrating wind and
- sleet, but now May had stolen upon the world almost unawares, opening with
- tender, insistent fingers the sticky brown buds fast curled against the
- nipping winds, and misting all the woods with a shimmer of translucent
- green.
- </p>
- <p>
- Overhead arched a sky of veiled, opalescent blue, and Jean, staring up at
- it with dreamy eyes, was reminded of the “great city” of the
- Book of Revelation whose “third foundation” was of chalcedony.
- This soft English sky must be the third foundation, she decided
- whimsically.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the occupation of sky-gazing did not combine well with that of
- steering a straight course down a stream whose width hardly entitled it to
- its local designation of “the river,” and a few minutes later
- the boat’s nose cannoned abruptly against the bank.
- </p>
- <p>
- As, however, to tie up somewhere under the trees which edged the water had
- been Jean’s original intention, this did not trouble her overmuch,
- and discovering a gnarled stump convenient to her purpose, she looped the
- painter round it, collected the rug and a couple of cushions which she had
- brought with her, and established herself comfortably in the stern of the
- boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Everyone else at Staple having engagements of one sort or another, she had
- promised herself a lazy afternoon in company with the latest novel sent
- down from Mudie’s. But she was in no immediate hurry to begin its
- pages. The mellow warmth of the afternoon tempted her to the more restful
- occupation of mere day-dreaming, and as she lay tucked up snugly amongst
- her cushions, enjoying the sweet-scented airs that played among the trees
- and over the surface of the water, she allowed her thoughts to drift idly
- back across the two months she had spent at Staple.
- </p>
- <p>
- The time had slipped by so quickly that it was hard to believe that rather
- more than eight weeks had elapsed since that grey February evening when
- she had alighted on the little, deserted platform at Coombe Eavie Station.
- They had been quiet, happy weeks, filled with the pleasant building up of
- new friendships, and Jean reflected that she had already grown to look
- upon Staple almost as “home.” She possessed in a large measure
- the capacity to adapt herself to her surroundings, and realising that Lady
- Anne had been perfectly sincere in her expressed desire to play at having
- a daughter, Jean had, at first a little tentatively, but afterwards,
- encouraged by Lady Anne’s obvious delight, with more assurance,
- gradually assumed the duties that would naturally fall to the daughter of
- the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Day by day she had discovered an increasing pleasure and significance in
- their performance. They were like so many tiny links knitting her life
- into the lives of those around her, and already Lady Anne had begun to
- turn to her instinctively in the small difficulties and necessities which,
- one way or another, most days bring in their train. Jean appreciated this
- as only a girl who had counted for very little in the lives of those
- nearest her could do. It seemed to make her “belong” in a way
- in which she had never “belonged” at Beirnfels. There, Glyn
- and Jacqueline had turned to each other for counsel in the little daily
- vicissitudes of life equally as in its larger concerns, and Jean had
- learned to regard herself as more or less outside their lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had had one letter from Peterson since her arrival at Staple, a brief,
- characteristic note in which he expressed the hope that she liked England
- “better than her father ever could” but suggested that if she
- were bored she should return to Beirnfels, and ask some woman friend to
- stay with her; he warned her not to expect further letters from him for
- some time to come as, according to his present plans—of which he
- volunteered no particulars—he expected to spend the next few months
- “as far from civilisation as the restricted size of this world
- permits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With this letter it seemed to Jean as though the last link with her former
- life had snapped. She felt no regret. Beirnfels, and the unconventional,
- rather exotic life she had led there—dictated by her parents’
- whims and the practically unlimited wealth to gratify them which Peterson’s
- flair for successful speculation had achieved—seemed very far away,
- and Staple, with its peaceful, even-flowing English life, very near and
- enfolding.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her first visit to Charnwood had been a disappointment. Under changing
- ownerships, little now remained to remind her of the generations of
- Petersons who had lived there long ago. Such of the old pieces of
- furniture and china as Peterson had not considered worth transferring to
- Beirnfels at his father’s death had been bought by the next owners
- of the place, and had been taken away by them when they, in their turn,
- disposed of the property. Only a great square stone remained, sunk into
- one of the walls and bearing the Peterson coat of arms and the family
- motto: <i>Omnia debeo Deo</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Adrian Latimer had translated the words to Jean, with a cynical gleam
- in his heavy-lidded eyes and accompanying the translation by a caustic
- reference to her father. The drug had not so far dulled his intellect. On
- the contrary, it seemed to have had the opposite effect of endowing him
- with an almost uncanny insight into people’s minds, so that he could
- prick them on a sensitive spot with unerring accuracy and a diabolical
- enjoyment of the process.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s sympathy for his wife was boundless. A great affection had
- sprung up between the two girls, and bit by bit Claire had drawn aside the
- veil of reticence, letting the other see into the arid, bitter places of
- her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean could understand, now, of what Claire had been thinking on the
- occasion of their first meeting, when she had spoken of the influences of
- the people who inhabit a house. The whole atmosphere of Charnwood seemed
- permeated with the influence of Adrian Latimer—a grey, sinister,
- unwholesome influence, like the miasma which rises from some poisonous
- swamp.
- </p>
- <p>
- The hell upon earth which he contrived to make of life for his young wife
- had been a revelation to Jean, accustomed as she had been to the exquisite
- love and tenderness with which her father had surrounded Jacqueline.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Adrian’s chief pleasure in life seemed to be to thwart and
- humiliate his wife in every possible way, and once, in an access of
- indignation over some small refinement of cruelty of which he had been
- guilty, Jean had declared her intention of giving him her frank opinion of
- his behaviour. She had never forgotten the look of bitter amusement with
- which Claire had greeted the suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what would happen? He would listen to you with the
- utmost politeness, and very likely let you think you had impressed him.
- But afterwards he would <i>make me pay</i>—for a day, or a week, or
- a month. Till his revenge was satisfied. And he would put an end to our
- friendship——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He couldn’t!” Jean had interrupted impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Couldn’t he? You don’t know Adrian.... And I can’t
- afford to lose you, Jean. You’re one of my few comforts in life.
- Promise me”—she caught Jean’s hands in hers and held
- them tightly—“<i>promise me</i> that you will do nothing—that
- you won’t try to interfere? I can generally manage; him—more
- or less. And when I can’t, why, I have to put up with the
- consequences of my own bad management”—with a smile that was
- more sad than tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- With an effort of will Jean tried to banish the recollection of Sir Adrian
- from her thoughts. The picture of his thin, leaden-hued face, with its
- cruel mouth and furtive, suspicious eyes, was out of harmony with this
- soft day of spring. She wished she had not let the thought of him intrude
- upon her pleasant reverie at all. His sinister figure seemed to cast a
- shadow over the sunlit river, a shadow which grew bigger and bigger,
- blurring the green of the trees and the sky’s faint blue, and even
- silencing the comfortable little chirrups of the birds, busy with their
- spring housekeeping. At least, Jean couldn’t hear them any longer,
- and she took no notice even when one enterprising young cock-bird hopped
- near enough to filch a feather that was sticking out invitingly from the
- corner of the cushion behind her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next thing she was conscious of was of sitting up with great
- suddenness, under the impression that she had overslept and that the
- housemaid was calling to her very loudly to waken her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Someone <i>was</i> calling—shouting lustily, in fact, and collecting
- her sleep-bemused faculties, she realised that instead of being securely
- moored against the bank her boat was rocking gently in mid-stream, and
- that the occupant of another boat, coming from the opposite direction, was
- doing his indignant best to attract her attention, since just at that
- point the river was too narrow for them to pass one another unless each
- pulled well in towards the bank.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean reached hastily for her sculls, only to find, to her intense
- astonishment, that they had vanished as completely as though they had
- never existed. She cast a rapid glance of dismay around her, scanning the
- surface of the water in her vicinity for any trace of them. But there was
- none. She was floating serenely down the middle of the stream, perfectly
- helpless to pull out of the way of the oncoming boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile its occupant was calling out instructions—tempering his
- wrath with an irritable kind of politeness as he perceived that the fool
- whose craft blocked the way was of the feminine persuasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pull in a bit, please. We can’t pass here if you don’t....
- Pull in!” he yelled rather more irately as Jean’s boat still
- remained in the middle of the river, drifting placidly towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She flung up her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i> I cant!</i>” she shouted back. “I’ve lost my
- sculls!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lost your sculls?” The man’s tones sufficiently implied
- what he thought of the proceeding.
- </p>
- <p>
- A couple of strokes, and, gripping the gunwale of her boat as he drew
- level, he steadied it to a standstill alongside his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s eyes travelled swiftly from the squarish, muscular-looking
- hand that gripped the boat’s side to the face of its owner. He was
- decidedly an ugly man as far as features were concerned, with a
- dogged-looking chin and a conquering beak of a nose that jutted out
- arrogantly from his hatchet face. The sunlight glinted on a crop of
- reddish-brown hair, springing crisply from the scalp in a way that
- suggested immense vitality; Jean had an idea that it would give out tiny
- crackling sounds if it were brushed hard. His eyebrows, frowning in
- defence against the sun, were of the same warm hue as his hair and very
- thick; in later life they would probably develop into the bristling,
- pent-house variety. The eyes themselves, as Jean described them on a later
- occasion, were “too red to be brown”; an artist would have had
- to make extensive use of burnt sienna pigment in portraying them.
- Altogether, he was not a particularly attractive-looking individual—and
- just now the red-brown eyes were fixed on Jean in a rather uncompromising
- glare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How on earth did you lose your oars?” he demanded—as
- indignantly as though she had done it on purpose, she commented inwardly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her lips twitched in the endeavour to suppress a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t the least idea,” she confessed. “I tied
- up under some trees further up and—and I suppose I must have fallen
- asleep. But still that doesn’t explain how I came to be adrift like
- this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A woman’s knot, I expect,” he vouchsafed rather
- scornfully. “A woman never ties up properly. Probably you just
- looped the painter round any old thing and trusted to Providence that it
- would stay looped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave vent to a low laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you’ve described the process quite accurately,”
- she admitted. “But I’ve done the same thing before without any
- evil consequences. There’s hardly any current here, you know. I don’t
- believe”—with conviction—“that my loop could have
- unlooped itself. And anyway”—triumphantly—“the
- sculls couldn’t have jumped out of the boat without assistance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man smiled, revealing strong white teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I suppose not. I fancy”—the smile broadening—“some
- small boy must have spotted you asleep in the boat and, finding the
- opportunity too good to be resisted, removed your tackle and set you
- adrift.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a sympathetic twinkle in his eyes, and Jean, suddenly sensing
- the “little boy” in him which lurks in every grown-up man,
- flashed back:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that’s exactly what you would have done yourself in
- your urchin days!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe it is,” he acknowledged, laughing outright. “Well,
- the only thing to do now is for me to tow you back. Where do you want to
- go—up or down the river?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Up, please. I want to get back to Staple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw a quick glance at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely you must be Miss Peterson?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. How did you guess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My sister, Mrs. Craig, told me a Miss Peterson was staying at
- Staple. It wasn’t very difficult, after that, to put two and two
- together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you must be Geoffrey Burke?” returned Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right. So now that we know each other, will you come
- into my parlour?”—smiling. “If I’m going to take
- you back, there seems no reason why we shouldn’t accomplish the
- journey together and tow your boat behind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He held out his hand to steady her as she stepped lightly from one boat to
- the other, and soon they were gliding smoothly upstream, the empty craft
- tailing along in their wake.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a while Burke sculled in silence, and Jean leant back, idly watching
- the effortless, rhythmic swing of his body as he bent to his oars. His
- shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, broad-based neck, and
- she noticed in a detached fashion that small, fine hairs covered his bared
- arms with a golden down, even encroaching on to the backs of the brown,
- muscular hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- She found herself femininely conscious that the most dominant quality
- about the man was his sheer virility. Nor was it just a matter of
- appearances. It lay in something more fundamental than merely externals.
- She had known men of great physical strength to be not infrequently gifted
- with an almost feminine gentleness of nature, yet she was sure this latter
- element played but a small part in the make-up of Geoffrey Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- The absolute ease with which he sent the boat shearing through the water
- seemed to her in some way typical. It conveyed a sense of mastery that was
- unquestionable, even a little overpowering.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt certain that he was, above and before all other things, primeval
- male, forceful and conquering, of the type who in a different age would
- have cheerfully bludgeoned his way through any and every obstacle that
- stood between him and the woman he had chosen as his mate—and,
- afterwards, if necessary, bludgeoned the lady herself into submission.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here’s where you tied up, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s voice broke suddenly across her thoughts, and she looked
- round, recognising the place where she had moored her boat earlier in the
- afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you divine that?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It didn’t require much divination! There are your sculls”—pointing—“stuck
- up against the trunk of a tree—and looking as though they might
- topple over at any moment. I fancy”—with a smile—“that
- my ‘small boy’ theory was correct. I believe I could even put
- a name to the particular limb of Satan responsible,” he went on.
- “You moored your boat on the Willow Perry side of the stream, and
- our lodge-keeper’s kids are a troop of young demons. They want a
- thorough good thrashing, and I’ll see that they get it before they
- are much older.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled in to the shore and rescuing the sculls from their precarious
- position, restored them to the empty boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the same,” he added, as, a few minutes later, he helped
- Jean out on to the little wooden landing-place at Staple, “I think I’m
- rather grateful to the small boy—whoever he may be!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed and retorted impertinently:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure I’m very grateful to the bigger boy who came
- to the rescue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something quite unconsciously provocative about her as she stood
- there with one foot poised on the planking, her head thrown back a trifle
- to meet his glance, and a hint of gentle raillery tilting the corners of
- her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cave-man woke suddenly in him. He was conscious of an almost
- irresistible impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her. But the
- conventions of the centuries held, and all Jean knew of that swift
- flare-up of desire in the man beside her was that the grip of his hand on
- hers suddenly tightened so that the pain of it almost made her cry out.
- </p>
- <p>
- And because she was not given to regarding every unmarried man she met in
- the light of a potential lover—as some women are prone to do—and
- because, perhaps, her thoughts were subconsciously preoccupied by a lean,
- dark face, rather stern and weary-looking as though from some past
- discipline of pain, Jean never ascribed that fierce pressure of the hand
- to its rightful origin, but merely rubbed her bruised fingers
- surreptitously and wished ruefully that men were not quite so muscular.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll go with you up to the house,” remarked Burke,
- without any elaboration of “by your leave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was privately of the opinion that her leave would have little or
- nothing to do with the matter. If this exceedingly autocratic and
- masculine individual had decided to accompany her through the park,
- accompany her he would, and she might as well make the best of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was extraordinarily unlike his sister, she thought. Where Judith Craig
- would probably seek to attain her ends in a somewhat stealthy, cat-like
- fashion, Burke would employ the methods of the club and battering-ram. Of
- the two, perhaps these last were preferable, since they at least left you
- knowing what you were up against.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you come in?” asked Jean, pausing as they reached the
- house. “Though I’m afraid everyone is out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the better,” he replied promptly. “I’d
- much rather have tea alone with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s not very polite to the others”—smiling a
- little. “I thought the Staple people were old friends of yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So they are. That’s exactly it. I feel the mood of the
- explorer on me this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re one of the people with a penchant for new
- acquaintances, then?” she said indifferently, leading the way into
- the hall, where, in place of the great log fire of chillier days, a hank
- of growing tulips made a glory of gold and orange and red in the wide
- hearth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I’m not,” he returned bluntly. “But I’ve
- every intention of making your acquaintance right now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rang the bell and ordered tea.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think perhaps I might be consulted in the matter,” she
- returned lightly when Baines had left the room. “The settling of
- questions of that kind is usually considered a woman’s prerogative.
- Supposing”—smiling—“I don’t ask you to tea,
- after all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a smouldering fire in the glance he bestowed upon her vivid
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wouldn’t make a bit of difference—in the long run,”
- he replied deliberately. “If a man makes up his mind he can usually
- get his own way—over most things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can’t force friendship,” she said quickly. It was
- as though she were defying something that threatened.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again that queer gleam showed for a moment in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friendship? No, perhaps not,” he conceded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He said no more and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Jean was
- suddenly conscious that it might be possible to be a little afraid of this
- man. She did not like that side of him—the self-willed, masterful
- side—of which, almost deliberately, he had just given her a glimpse.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the appearance of tea the slight sense of tension vanished, and the
- conversation dropped into more ordinary channels. She discovered that he
- had travelled considerably and was familiar with many of the places to
- which, at different times, she had accompanied her father and mother, and
- over the interchange of recollections the little hint of discord—of
- challenge, almost—was forgotten.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were still chatting amicably together half an hour later when Blaise
- returned. The latter’s face darkened as he entered the hall and
- found them together, nor did it lighten when Jean recounted the afternoon’s
- adventure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose Miss Peterson has your lodge-keeper’s boys to thank
- for this?” he demanded stormily of Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid that’s so,” admitted the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had any consideration for your neighbours, you’d sack
- the lot of them,” returned Blaise sharply. “Or else see that
- they’re kept under proper control. They’ve given trouble
- before, but it is a little too much of a good thing when they dare to play
- practical jokes of that description on a guest of ours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at him in astonishment. She had told the story as rather a
- good joke and in explanation of Burke’s presence, and, instead of
- laughing at her dilemma, Tormarin appeared to be thoroughly angry over the
- matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke remained coolly unprovoked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t say I’ve any quarrel with the young ruffians,”
- he said. “They afforded me a charming afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doubtless,” retorted Blaise. “But that’s hardly
- the point. Anyway”—heatedly—“I’ll thank you
- to see that those lads are kept in hand for the future.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean glanced across at Burke with some apprehension, half fearing a
- responsive explosion of wrath on his part, but to her relief he was
- smiling—a twinkling, mirthful smile that redeemed the ugliness of
- his features.
- </p>
- <p>
- “’Fraid I can’t truthfully declare I’m sorry,
- Tormarin,” he said good-humouredly. “You wouldn’t, in my
- place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man was keeping his temper in the face of considerable provocation,
- and Jean liked him better at that moment than she had done throughout the
- entire afternoon. Tormarin’s own attitude she quite failed to
- understand, and after Burke’s departure she took him to task for his
- churlishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was really absurd of you, Blaise,” she scolded,
- half-smiling, half in genuine vexation. “As if Mr. Burke could
- possibly be held responsible for the actions of a mischievous schoolboy!
- At least he did all he could to repair the damage; he brought me back, and
- recovered the missing pair of oars for me. You hadn’t the least
- reason to flare up like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise listened to her quietly. The anger had died out of his face and his
- eyes were somewhat sad.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re right,” he said at last, “absolutely
- right. But there rarely is any reason for a Tormarin’s temper. Do
- you know—it sounds ridiculous, but it’s perfectly true—it
- was all I could do not to knock Burke down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Blaise, you fill me with alarm! I’d no idea you were
- such a bloodthirsty individual! But seriously, what had the poor man done
- to incur your wrath? He’s been most helpful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an element of self-mockery in the brief smile which crossed his
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps that was just it. I’ve rather grown to look upon it
- as my own particular prerogative to help you out of difficulties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, naturally I’d rather it had been you,” she
- allowed, twinkling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean that?”—swiftly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I do”—lightly. She had failed to notice the
- eagerness of demand in his quick question. “I’m more used to
- it! Besides, I believe Mr. Burke rather frightens me. He’s a trifle—overwhelming.
- Still”—shaking her head reprovingly—“I don’t
- think that excuses you. You must have a shocking temper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Most of the Tormarins have ruined their lives by their temper. I’m
- no exception to the rule.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s thought flew back to the description she had overheard when
- in London: “<i>A Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the bit
- between his teeth</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it’s true, escaped her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s true?”—with some surprise. “That the
- Tormarins are a vile-tempered lot? Quite. If you want to know more about
- it, ask my mother. She’ll tell you how I came by this white lock of
- hair—the mark of the beast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was trying to make the comments of the woman at the hotel and Blaise’s
- own confession tally with her recollection of the latter’s complete
- self-control on several occasions when he, or any other man, might have
- been pardoned for yielding to momentary anger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you’re exaggerating absurdly,” she said at
- last. “As a matter of fact, I’ve often been surprised at your
- self-control, seeing that I know you have a temper concealed about you
- somewhere. I think that is why your anger this afternoon took me so aback.
- It seemed unlike you to be so fearfully annoyed over practically nothing
- at all. I don’t believe”—half smiling—“that
- really you’re anything like bad-tempered as a Tormarin ought to be—to
- support the family tradition!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was looking, not at her but beyond her, as she spoke, as though his
- thoughts dwelt with some past memory. His expression was inscrutable; she
- could not interpret it. Presently he turned back to her, and though he
- smiled there was a deep, unfathomable sadness in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve had one unforgettable lesson,” he said quietly.
- “The Tormarin temper—the cursed inheritance of every one of us—has
- ruined my life just as it has ruined others before me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words seemed to fall on Jean’s ears with a numbing sense of
- calamity, not alone in that past to which they primarily had reference,
- but as though thrusting forward in some mysterious way into the future—<i>her</i>
- future.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious of a vague foreboding that that “cursed
- inheritance” of the Tormarins was destined, sooner or later, to
- impinge upon her own life.
- </p>
- <p>
- At night, when she went to bed, her mind was still groping blindly in the
- dark places of dim premonition. Single sentences from the afternoon’s
- conversation kept flitting through her brain, and when at last she slept
- it was to dream that she had lost her way and was wandering alone in a
- wild and desolate region. Presently she came to a solitary dwelling, set
- lonely in the midst of the interminable plain. Three wretched-looking
- scrubby little fir trees grew to one side of the house, all three of them
- bent in the same direction as though beaten and bowed forward by ceaseless
- winds. While she stood wondering whether she should venture to knock at
- the door of the house and ask her way, it opened and Geoffrey Burke came
- out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! There you are!” he exclaimed, as though he had been
- expecting her. “I’ve been waiting for you. Will you come into
- my parlour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled at her as he spoke—she could see the even flash of his
- white teeth—but there was something in the quality of the smile
- which terrified her, and without answering a word she turned to escape.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he overtook her in a couple of strides, catching her by the hand in a
- grip so fierce that it seemed as though the bones of her fingers must
- crack under it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come into my parlour,” he repeated. “If you don’t,
- you’ll be stamped forever with the mark of the beast. It’s too
- late to try and run away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean woke in a cold perspiration of terror. The dream had been of such
- vividness that it was a full minute before she could realise that,
- actually, she was safely tucked up in her own bed at Staple. When she did,
- the relief was so immeasurable that she almost cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning, with the May sunshine streaming in through the open
- window, it was easier to laugh at her nocturnal fears, and to trace the
- odd phrases which, snatched from the previous day’s conversation
- with Burke and Tormarin and jumbled up together, had supplied the
- nightmare horror of her dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, even so, it was many days before she could altogether shake off the
- disagreeable impression it had made on her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV.—A COMPACT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“Y</span> OU don’t
- like Jean Peterson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke made the announcement without preface. He and Judith were sitting
- together on the verandah at Willow Perry, where their coffee had been
- brought them after lunch. Judith inhaled a whiff of cigarette smoke before
- she answered. Then, without any change of expression, her eyes fixed on
- the glowing tip of her cigarette, she answered composedly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Did you expect I should?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, hang it all, you don’t hold her accountable for her
- father’s defection, do you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A dull red crept up under Mrs. Craig’s sallow skin, but she did not
- lift her eyes. They were still intent on the little red star of light
- dulling slowly into grey ash.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not accountable,” she replied coolly. “I look upon her
- as an unpleasant consequence.” She bent forward suddenly. “Do
- you realise that she might have been—my child?” There was a
- sudden vibrating quality in her voice, and for an instant a rapt look
- came into her face, transforming its hard lines. “But she isn’t.
- She happens to be the child of the man I loved—and another woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You surely can’t hate her for that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t I? You don’t know much about women, Geoff. Glyn
- Peterson stamped on my pride, and a woman never forgives that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She leaned back in her chair again, her face once more an indifferent
- mask. Burke sat silent, staring broodingly in front of him. Presently her
- glance flickered curiously over his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why does it matter to you whether I like her or not?” she
- asked, breaking the silence which had fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke shifted in his chair so that he faced her. His eyes looked far more
- red than brown at the moment, as though they glowed with some hot inner
- light.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” he said deliberately, “I’m going to
- marry her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Judith sat suddenly upright.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that’s the meaning of your constant pilgrimages to Staple,
- is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed—a disagreeable little laugh like a douche of cold water.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re rather late in the field, aren’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that Blaise Tormarin wants her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I do. It’s evident enough, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke pulled at his pipe reflectively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should have thought he’d had a sickener with Nesta Freyne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he had. But not in the way you mean. He never—loved—Nesta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why on earth did he ask her to marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good heavens, Geoffrey! You’re a man—and you ask me
- that! There are heaps of men who ask women to marry them on the strength
- of a temporary infatuation, and then regret it ever after. Luckily for
- Blaise, Nesta saved him the ‘ever after’ part. But”—eyeing
- him significantly—“Blaise’s feeling for Jean isn’t
- of the ‘temporary’ type. Of that I’m sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the same, I don’t believe he means to ask her to marry
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I don’t think he does—<i>mean</i> to. He’s
- probably got some high-minded scruples about not asking a second woman to
- make a mess of her life as a result of the Tormarin temper. It would be
- just like Blaise to adopt that attitude. But he <i>will</i> ask her, all
- the same. The thing’ll get too strong for him. And when he asks her,
- Jean will say yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be right. I’ve always said you were no fool, Judy.
- But if it’s as you think, then I must get in first, that’s
- all. First or last, though”—with a grim laugh—“I’ll
- back myself to beat Blaise Tormarin. <i>And you’ve got to help me.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Followed a silence while Judith threw away the stump of her cigarette and
- lit another. She did not hurry over the process, but went about it slowly
- and deliberately, holding the flame of the match to the tip of her
- cigarette for quite an unnecessarily long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t mind if I do,” she said slowly. “I don’t
- think I—envy—your wife much, Geoffrey. She won’t be a
- very happy woman, so I don’t mind assisting Glyn Peterson’s
- daughter to the position. It would make things so charming all round if he
- and I ever met again”—smiling ironically.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke looked at her with a mixture of admiration and disgust.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a thorough-going little beast you are, Judith,” he
- observed tranquilly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrugged her thin, supple shoulders with indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t make myself. Glyn Peterson had a good share in
- kneading the dough; why shouldn’t his daughter eat the bread? And
- anyhow, old thing”—her whole face suddenly softening—“I
- should like you to have what you want—even if you wanted the moon!
- So you can count on me. But I don’t think you’ll find it all
- plain sailing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No”—sardonically. “She’ll likely be a
- little devil to break.... Well, start being a bit more friendly, will you?
- Ask her to lunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Accordingly, a day or two later, a charming little note found its way to
- Staple, inviting Jean to lunch with Mrs. Craig.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be quite alone,” it ran, “as Geoffrey is going
- off for a day’s fishing, so I hope Lady Anne will spare you to come
- over and keep me company for an hour or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was delighted at this evidence that Judith was thawing towards her.
- She was genuinely anxious that they should become friends, feeling that it
- was up to her, as Glyn’s daughter, to atone—in so far as
- friendliness and sympathy could be said to atone—for his treatment
- of her. Beyond this, she had a vague hope that later, if she and Judith
- ever became intimate enough to touch on the happenings of the past, she
- might be able to make the latter see her father in the same light in which
- she herself saw him—as a charming, lovable, irresponsible child,
- innocent of any intention to wound, but with all a child’s
- unregarding pursuit of a desired object, irrespective of the consequences
- to others.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt that if only Judith could better comprehend Glyn’s nature,
- she would not only be disposed to judge him less hardly, but, to a certain
- extent, would find healing for her own bitterness of resentment and hurt
- pride.
- </p>
- <p>
- Judith was an unhappy woman, embittered by one of those blows in life
- which a woman finds hardest to hear. And Jean hated people to be unhappy.
- </p>
- <p>
- So that it was with considerable satisfaction that she set out across the
- park towards Willow Perry, crossing the river by the footbridge which
- spanned it at a point about a quarter of a mile below the scene of her
- boating mishap.
- </p>
- <p>
- Judith welcomed her with unaccustomed warmth, and after lunch completely
- won her heart by a candour seemingly akin to Jean’s own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been quite hateful to you since you came to Staple,”
- she said frankly. “Just because you were—who you were. I
- suppose”—turning her head a little aside—“you’ve
- heard—you know that old story?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as Jean murmured an affirmative, she went on quickly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it was idiotic of me to feel unfriendly to you because you
- happened to be Glyn’s daughter, and I’m honestly ashamed of
- myself. I should have loved you at once—you’re rather a dear,
- you know!—if you had been anyone else. So will you let me love you
- now, please—if it isn’t too late?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was charmingly done, and Jean received the friendly overture with all
- the enthusiasm dictated by a generous and spontaneous nature.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course,” she agreed gladly. “Let’s begin
- over again”—smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Judith smiled back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we’ll make a fresh start.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that, things progressed swimmingly. The slight gene which had
- attended the earlier stages of the visit vanished, and very soon, prompted
- by Judith’s eager, interested questions, Jean found herself chatting
- away quite naturally and happily about her life before she came to Staple
- and confessing how much she was enjoying her first experience of England.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all so soft, and pretty, and old,” she said.
- “I feel as if Staple must always have been here—just where it
- is, looking across to the Moor, and nodding sometimes, as much as to say,
- ‘I’ve been here so long that I know some of your secrets.’
- The Moor always seems to me to have secrets,” she added dreamily.
- “Those great tors watch us all the time, just as they’ve
- watched for centuries. They remind me of the Egyptian Sphinx, they are so
- still, and silent, and—and eternal-looking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve not been on to Dartmoor yet, have you?” asked
- Judith. “We have a bungalow up there—Three Fir Bungalow, it’s
- called. You must come and spend a few days there with us when the weather
- gets warmer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should love it,” cried Jean, her eyes sparkling. “I’m
- aching to go to the Moor. I want to see it in all sorts of moods—when
- it’s raining, and when the sun’s shining, and when the wind
- blows. I’m sure it will be different each time—rather like a
- woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it’s loveliest of all by moonlight,” said
- Judith, her eyes soft and shining with recollection. She loved all the
- beauty of the world as much as Jean herself did. “I remember being
- on the top of one of the tors at night. All the surrounding valleys were
- hidden in a mist like a silver sea, and I felt as if I had got right away
- from the everyday world, into a sort of holy of holies that God must have
- made for His spirits. One almost forgot that one was just an ordinary,
- plain-boiled human being tied up in a parcel of flesh and bone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only people aren’t really in the least plain-boiled or
- ordinary,” observed Jean quaintly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You aren’t, I verily believe.” Judith regarded her
- curiously for a moment. “I think I wish you were,” she said
- abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not finding the part assigned to her by her brother any too easy.
- It complicates matters, when you are deliberately planning a semblance of
- friendship towards someone, if that someone persists in inspiring you with
- little genuine impulses of liking and friendliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean herself was delighted with the result of her visit to Willow Perry.
- She was convinced that Judith was a much nicer woman than she had
- imagined, or than anyone else imagined her to be, and when she took her
- departure she carried these warmer sentiments with her, characteristically
- reproaching herself not a little for her first hasty judgment. People
- improved upon acquaintance enormously, she reflected.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not go straight back to Staple, but took her way towards Charnwood
- on the chance of finding Claire at home, and, Fate being in a benevolent
- mood, she discovered her in her garden, precariously mounted upon a ladder
- and occupied in nailing back a creeper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire greeted her joyfully and proceeded to descend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been lunching at Willow Perry,” explained Jean,
- “so I thought I might as well come on here and cadge my tea as well!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you might Adrian has gone into Exeter to-day, so we shall
- be alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was conscious of an immense relief. The knowledge that Sir Adrian was
- not anywhere on the premises seemed like the lifting of a blight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire’s blue eyes smiled at her understandingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know,” she nodded, as though Jean had given voice to
- her thought. “It’s just as if someone had opened a window and
- let the fresh air in, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She collected her tools, and slipping her arm within Jean’s led her
- in the direction of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll have tea at once,” she said, “and then I’ll
- walk back with you part way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re bent on getting rid of me quickly, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—seriously. “He”—there was little
- need to specify to whom the pronoun referred—“will be back by
- the afternoon train, and for some reason or other he is very unfriendly
- towards you just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What have I done to offend?” queried Jean lightly. Somehow,
- with Sir Adrian actually away, it didn’t seem a matter of much
- importance whether he was offended or not. Even the house had a different
- “feel” about it as they entered it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not anything you’ve done; it’s what you are,
- I think, sometimes, that when a man is full of evil and cruel thoughts and
- knows he has given himself up to wickedness, he simply hates to see anyone
- young and—and <i>good</i>, like you are, Jean, with all your life
- before you to make a splendid thing of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what about you?” asked Jean, her eyes resting
- affectionately on the other’s delicate flower face with its
- pathetically curved lips and the look of trouble in the young blue eyes.
- “He sees you constantly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he’s used to me. I’m only his wife, you see.
- Besides”—wearily—“he knows that he can effectually
- prevent me from making a splendid thing of my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The note of bitterness in her voice wrung Jean’s heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know how you bear it!” she exclaimed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One can bear anything—a day at a time,” answered Claire
- with an attempt at brightness. “But I never look forward,” she
- added in a lower tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words seemed to Jean to contain an epitome of tragedy. Not yet twenty,
- and Claire’s whole philosophy of life was embodied in those four
- desolate words: “I never look forward!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The world seemed built up of sadness and cross-purposes. Claire and Nick,
- Judith, and Blaise Tormarin—all had their own particular burdens to
- carry, burdens which had in a measure spoiled the lives of each one of
- them. It seemed as though no one was allowed to escape those “snuffers
- of Destiny” of which Blaise had spoken as he and Jean had climbed
- the mountain-side together. She felt a depressing conviction that her own
- turn would come and wondered whether it would be sooner or later.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t look so blue!” Claire’s voice broke in upon
- her gloomy trend of thought. She was laughing, and Jean was conscious of a
- sudden uprush of admiration for the young gay courage which could laugh
- even while it could not look forward. “After all, there are
- compensations in life. You’re one of them, my Jean, as I’ve
- told you before! Now let’s talk about something else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean responded gladly enough, and presently Sir Adrian was temporarily
- forgotten in the little intimate half-hour of woman-talk which followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV—LADY ANNE’S DISCLOSURE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“W</span> ELL, have
- you enjoyed yourself?” enquired Lady Anne when Jean returned.
- “I suppose so, as you stayed to tea”—smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I had tea with Claire. Sir Adrian was away”—with a
- small grimace—“so we had quite a nice little time together.
- But, yes, madonna”—Jean had fallen into the use of the
- gracious little name which Blaise and Nick kept for their mother—“I
- really enjoyed myself very much. Judith was ever so much nicer than I
- expected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So now, I suppose, we shall all be side-tracked in favour of Burke
- and his sister?” put in Blaise, who had been listening quietly.
- There was a sharpness in his tones, as though the prospect did not please.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled at him engagingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you will,” she replied. “I invariably
- sidetrack old friends when I get the chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you’ll get the chance right enough!”—rather
- sulkily. “Yes, I think I shall”—demurely. “Geoffrey
- has always been nice to me; and now Judith, too, has succumbed to my
- charms, and says she hopes we shall be good pals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin rose, pushing back his chair with unnecessary violence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I see Judith Craig extending her friendship to
- Glyn Peterson’s daughter,” he commented cynically.
- </p>
- <p>
- An instant later the door banged behind, and Lady Anne and Jean looked
- across at each other smiling, as women will when one of their menkind
- proceeds to behave exactly like a cross little boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- But a quick sigh chased the smile from Lady Anne’s lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Blaise!” she murmured, as though to herself. Then,
- her grey eyes meeting Jean’s squarely, she said quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean, you’re so much one of us, now, that I should like you
- to know what lies at the hack of things. You’d understand—some
- of us—better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean turned impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t need to understand you,” she said quickly.
- “I love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, my dear.” Lady Anne’s voice trembled
- slightly. “If I were not sure of that, I shouldn’t tell you
- what I am going to. But I want you to understand Blaise—and to make
- allowances for him, if you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean pulled forward a stool and settled herself at Lady Anno’s feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean about the ‘mark of the beast’?” she
- asked, smiling a little. “Blaise told me to ask you about it one
- day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did he? He thinks far too much about it and what it stands for”—sadly.
- “It has come to be almost a symbol in his eyes. You see, he too has
- suffered from the family failing—the very failing that was
- responsible for that white lock of hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne looked down at her thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there’s no need for me to tell you that the Tor-marins
- have hot tempers! You’ve seen evidences of it in Blaise—that
- sudden flaming up of anger. Though he has learnt through one most bitter
- experience to hold himself more or less in check.” She paused a
- moment, as if her thoughts had reverted painfully to the past. Presently
- she resumed: “All the Tormarin men have had it—that blazing,
- uncontrollable kind of temper which simply cannot brook opposition. Blaise’s
- father had it, and it was that which made our life together so unhappy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Destiny had been busy with her snuffers here, also!
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you, too!” whispered Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I. too?” Lady Anne questioned. “What does that mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, it seems to me as if <i>no one</i> is ever allowed to be
- really happy and to live their life in peace! There is Judith, whose life
- my father spoilt, and Claire, whose life Sir Adrian spoils—and that
- means Nick’s life as well. And now—you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some unconscious instinct of reticence deep within her forbade the mention
- of Blaise Tormarin’s name.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I expect we are not meant to be too joyful,” said Lady Anne.
- “Though, after all, it’s largely our own fault if we are not.
- We make or mar each other’s happiness; it isn’t all Fate....
- But I’ve had my share of happiness, Jean—never think that I
- haven’t. Afterwards, with Claude, I was utterly happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell silent for a space, ceasing on that quiet note of happiness.
- Presently, almost loth to disturb the reverie into which she had fallen,
- Jean questioned hesitantly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the ‘mark of the beast,’ madonna? You were going to
- tell me about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It came as a consequence of the Tormarin temper. That’s why
- Blaise calls it the ‘mark of the beast.’ It was just before he
- was born—when I was waiting for the supreme joy of holding my
- first-born in my arms. Derrick—Blaise’s father—was an
- extremely jealous-natured man. He hated to think that there had ever been
- anyone besides himself who cared for me. And there was one man, in
- particular, of whom he had always been foolishly jealous and suspicious. I
- can’t imagine why, though”—with a little puzzled laugh.
- “You would think that the mere fact that I had married <i>him</i>,
- and not the other man, would have been sufficient proof that he had no
- cause for jealousy. But no! Men are queer creatures, and he always
- resented my friendship with John Lovett—which continued after my
- marriage. I had known John from childhood, and he was the truest friend a
- woman ever had!” She sighed: “And I needed friends in those
- days! For somehow, brooding over things to himself, my husband conceived
- the idea that the little son who was coming was not his own child—but
- the child of John Lovett. I think someone must have poisoned his mind.
- There was a certain woman of our acquaintance whom I always suspected; she
- hated me and was very much attached to Derrick—she had wanted to
- marry him, I believe. In any case, he came home one evening, from her
- house, like a madman; and there was a scene... a terrible scene... he
- hurling accusations at me.... I won’t talk of it, because he was
- bitterly repentant afterwards. As soon as the fit of rage was past, he
- realised how utterly groundless his suspicions had been, and I don’t
- think he ever ceased to reproach himself. But that has always been the
- way! The Tormarins have invariably brought the bitterest self-reproach
- upon themselves. One way or another, the same story of blind, reckless
- anger, and its consequences, has repeated itself generation after
- generation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And then? What happened then?” asked Jean in low, shocked
- tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was very ill—so ill that they thought I should not live.
- But I did live, and I brought my baby into the world. Only, he was born
- with that white lock of hair. And my own hair had turned perfectly white.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent for a little. At last she said softly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m so glad, madonna, that you were happy afterwards. <i>Your</i>
- ‘house of dreams’ came true in the end!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—Lady Anne’s grey eyes were very bright and
- luminous. “My house of dreams came true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After a while, she went on quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “But my poor Blaise’s house of dreams fell in ruins. The
- foundation was rotten. You knew, didn’t you, that there was a woman
- he once cared for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded. Speech was difficult to her just at that moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a miserable business altogether. The girl, Nesta Freyne was
- an Italian. Blaise met her when he was travelling in Italy, and—oh,
- well, it wasn’t love! Not love as I know it, and as I think, one
- day, you too will know it. It blazed up, just one of those wild
- infatuations that sometimes spring into being between a man and a woman,
- and almost before he had time to think, Blaise had married her——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Married her!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words leapt from Jean’s lips before she could check them. In the
- account of Tormarin’s disastrous love affair which had been forced
- upon her hearing in London, there had been no mention of the word
- marriage, and she had always imagined that the woman, this Nesta Freyne,
- had simply jilted him in favour of another man. Moreover, since she had
- been at Staple, nothing had been said to correct this impression, as, very
- naturally, the subject was one avoided by general consent.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, without warning or preparation, she found herself face to face
- with the fact that Blaise had been married—that he had belonged to
- another woman! It seemed to set her suddenly very far apart from him, and
- a fierce, intolerable jealousy of that other woman leaped to life in her
- heart, racking her with an anguish that was almost physical. She was
- confused, bewildered, by the storm of emotion which suddenly swept her
- whole being.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Married her?” she repeated with dry lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Didn’t you know that Blaise was a widower?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Had Lady Anne divined the stress under which the girl was labouring that
- she so quickly interposed the knowledge that his wife was dead?
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” answered Jean unsteadily. “I didn’t even
- know that he had been married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact of that other woman’s being dead did not serve to allay the
- tumult within her. She had lived, and while she lived she had been <i>his
- wife!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he married her.” Lady Anne went on speaking in level
- tones. “I think matters were hurried to a climax by the fact that
- Nesta’s step-sister, Margherita Valdi, detested English people. She
- was much the elder of the two, and as their mother had died when Nesta was
- born, she had practically brought the girl up. She would never have
- countenanced the idea of her marrying an Englishman, but Nesta so
- contrived her meetings with Blaise that Margherita was unaware of his very
- existence, and eventually they married without her knowledge. From that
- day onward, Margherita declined to hold any communication with her sister.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why had she such a rooted antipathy to the English?” Jean had
- recovered her composure during the course of Lady Anne’s narrative,
- and now put her question with a very good semblance of detachment. But,
- inside, her brain was dully hammering out the words “Married—married!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems that Margherita’s step-father—Nesta’s
- father, of course,—who was an Englishman, treated his wife extremely
- badly, and Margherita, who had adored her mother, never forgave him and
- hated all Englishmen in consequence. At least, that was what Nesta told
- Blaise, and it seems quite probable. Italians are a hot-blooded race, you
- know, and very vindictive and revengeful. Of course, these Valdis were of
- no particular family—that was where the trouble began. Nesta was
- just a rather second-rate, though extraordinarily beautiful girl, suddenly
- elevated to a position which she was not in the least fitted to fill. It
- didn’t take a month for the glamour to wear off—and for Blaise
- to see her as I saw her. He came to his senses to find himself married to
- a bit of soulless, passionate flesh and blood. Oh, Jean! If I could only
- have been there—in Italy, to have saved him from it all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean hardly heeded that instinctive mother-cry. She was keyed up to know
- the end of the story. She felt as though she must scream if Lady Anne were
- long about the telling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on,” she said, forcing herself to speak quietly. “Tell
- me the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The rest had the Tormarin temper for its corner-stone. Nesta was an
- utterly spoilt child, and a coquette to her very finger-tips. She tossed
- dignity to the winds, and there were everlasting scenes and quarrels.
- Then, one day, Blaise came in and found her entertaining a man whom he had
- forbidden the house. I don’t know what he said to her—but I
- can guess, poor child! He horsewhipped the man, and he must have
- frightened Nesta half out of her mind. That evening she ran away from
- Staple—Nick and I, of course, were living at the Dower House then—and
- after months of fruitless enquiry I had a letter from Margherita Valdi
- telling me that she had been found drowned. She had evidently made her way
- back to Italy, hoping to reach her sister, and then, in a fit of despair,
- committed suicide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, poor Blaise! How awful for him!” exclaimed Jean,
- horror-stricken. For the moment her own individual point of view was swept
- away in a flood of sympathy for Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It broke him up badly. Always, I think, he is brooding over
- the past. It colours his entire outlook on things. You see, he blamed
- himself—his ungovernable temper—for the whole tragedy.... If
- only he had been gentler with her, not terrified her into running away!...
- After all, she was a mere child—barely seventeen. But she was a
- heartless, conscienceless minx, nevertheless.... And Margherita Valdi did
- not let him down lightly. She wrote him a terrible letter, accusing him of
- her sister’s death. I opened it—he was abroad at the time—but,
- of course, he had to see it ultimately. Tied up in a little separate
- packet was Nesta’s wedding-ring, together with a newspaper report of
- the affair, and, to add a last stab of horror, she had folded the
- newspaper clipping and thrust it through the wedding-ring, labelling the
- packet ‘Cause and effect.’ It was a brutal thing to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were both silent for a space, Jean painfully envisaging the tragedy
- that lay behind that stern, habitual gravity of Tormarin’s, Lady
- Anne asking herself tremulously if she had been wise—if she had been
- wise in her disclosure? She wanted her son’s happiness so
- immeasurably! She believed she knew wherein it might lie, and she had
- raked over the burning embers of the past that she might help to give it
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that he himself was very unlikely to confide in Jean the story of
- his unhappy marriage, or that if he ever did so, it would be but to
- shoulder all the blame himself, exonerating Nesta entirely. Nor, unless
- Jean understood the fiery furnace through which he had passed—that
- ordeal of impetuous, mistaken love, of disillusion, and, finally, of the
- most bitter self-reproach—could she possibly interpret aright Blaise’s
- strange, churlish moods, his insistent efforts to stand always on one
- side, as though he were entitled to make no further claim on life, and,
- above all, the bitter quality which permeated his whole outlook.
- </p>
- <p>
- All these things had been in Lady Anne’s mind when she had decided
- to enlighten Jean. She had seen, just as Judith had seen, whither Blaise
- was tending, fight against it as he might, and she was determined to
- remove from his path whatever of stumbling-block and hindrance she could.
- And, in this instance, she felt instinctively that Jean’s own
- attitude might constitute the greatest danger. Any woman, as sincere and
- positive as she, might easily be driven in upon herself, shrinkingly
- misunderstanding Blaise’s deliberate aloofness, and thus
- unconsciously assist in strengthening that barrier against love which he
- was striving to hold in place between them—and which Lady Anne so
- yearned to see thrown down.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was to this end that she had reopened the shadowed pages of the past—so
- that no foolish obstacle, born of sheer misunderstanding, might imperil
- her son’s hope of happiness if the time should ever come—as
- she prayed it would come—when he would free himself from the
- shackles of a tragic memory and turn his face towards the light of a new
- dawn.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI—THE GIFT OF LOVE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HERE are some
- people to whom love comes in a single blinding flash; it is as though the
- heavens were opened and the vision and the glory theirs in a sudden,
- transcendant revelation. To others it comes gradually, their hearts
- opening diffidently to its warmth and light as a closed bud unfolds its
- petals, almost imperceptibly, to the sun.
- </p>
- <p>
- With Jean, its coming partook in a measure of both of these. Love itself
- did not come to her suddenly. It had been secretly growing and deepening
- within her for months. But the recognition of it came upon her with an
- overwhelming suddenness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne, in recalling that bleak tragedy of the past, had accomplished
- more than she knew. She had shown Jean her own heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- From those fierce, unexpected pangs of jealousy which had stabbed her as
- she realised the part played by another woman in Blaise’s life—the
- woman who had been his wife—had sprung the knowledge that she loved
- him. Only love could explain the instant, clamorous rebellion of her whole
- being against that other woman’s claim. And now, looking back upon
- the months which she had spent at Staple, she comprehended that the veiled
- figure of Love, face shrouded, had walked beside her all the way. That was
- why these even, uneventful weeks at Staple had seemed so wonderful!
- </p>
- <p>
- The recognition of the great thing that had come into her life left her a
- little breathless and shaken. But she did not seek to evade or deny it.
- The absolute candour of her mind—candid even to itself—accepted
- the truth quite simply and frankly. No false shame that she had, as far as
- actual fact went, given her love unasked, tempted her to disguise from
- herself the reality of what had happened. For good or ill, whether Blaise
- returned her love or no, it was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in her inmost heart she believed that he, too, cared—half-fearfully,
- half-joyfully recognising the pent-up force which surged behind the bars
- of his deliberate aloofness.
- </p>
- <p>
- True, he had never definitely spoken of his love in so many words, hut
- Lady Anne had supplied the key to his silence. The past still bound him!
- Alive, Nesta had held him by her beauty; and dead, she still held him with
- the cords of remorse and unavailing self-reproach—cords which can
- bind almost as closely as the strands of love.
- </p>
- <p>
- But for that——
- </p>
- <p>
- The hot colour surged into Jean’s cheeks at the sweet, secret
- thought which lay behind that “but”. Blaise cared! Cared for
- her, needed her, just as she cared for and needed him. To her woman’s
- eyes, newly anointed with love’s sacramental oil and given sight, it
- had become suddenly evident in a hundred ways, most of all evident in his
- sullen effort to conceal it from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- So much that he had said, or had not said—those clipped sentences,
- bitten off short with a savage intensity that had often enough troubled
- and bewildered her, now found their right interpretation. He cared... but
- the bondage of the past still held.
- </p>
- <p>
- And with that thought came reaction. The brief, quivering ecstacy, which
- had sent little fugitive thrills and currents racing through every nerve
- of her, died suddenly like a damped-out fire, as she realised all which
- that bondage implied.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was possible he might never break the silence which he himself had
- decreed. From the very beginning he had recognised and insisted upon—the
- fact that they two were only “ships that pass,” and though
- now, for a little space, Fate had directed the course of each into the
- same channel, a year, at most, would float them out again on to the big
- ocean of life where vessels signalled—and passed—each other.
- She must, in the ordinary course of events, return eventually to
- Beirnfels, while Blaise remained in England. And that would be the end of
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew the man’s dogged pertinacity; he would hold to an idea or
- belief immovably if he conceived it right, no matter what the temptation
- to break away. And in the flood of light vouchsafed by Lady Anne’s
- disclosure, she felt convinced that he had somehow come to regard the
- tragic happenings of the past as standing betwixt him and any future
- happiness. Why, Jean could not altogether fathom, but she guessed that the
- dominant factor in the matter was probably an exaggerated consciousness of
- responsibility for his wife’s death, and perhaps, too, a certain
- lingering tenderness, a subconscious feeling of loyalty to the dead woman,
- which urged him on to the sacrifice of his own personal happiness as some
- kind of atonement.
- </p>
- <p>
- Unless—and a swift spasm of pain shot through her, searing its way
- like a tongue of flame—unless Lady Anne had been altogether mistaken
- in her fixed belief that Blaise had not really cared for his wife but had
- only been carried away on the swift tide of passion—that tide which
- runs so fiercely and untrammelled in hot youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had her black hour then, when she faced the fact that although her
- love was given, and although she tremulously believed it was returned, she
- would probably never know the supreme joy of utter certainty, never hear
- the beloved’s voice utter those words which hold all heaven for the
- woman who hears them.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, through the darkness that closed about her, there gleamed a single
- thread of light—the light of her own bestowal of love. Even if she
- never knew, of a surety, that Blaise cared, even if—and here she
- shrank, but forced herself to face the possibility sincerely—even if
- she were utterly mistaken and he did not care for her in any other way
- save as a friend—his “little comrade”—still there
- would remain always the golden gleam of love that has been given. For no
- one who loves can be quite unhappy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII—IN THE ROSE GARDEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE chalcedony of
- the spring skies had deepened into the glowing sapphire of early June—a
- deep, pulsating blue, tremulous with heat. On the sundial, the shadow’s
- finger pointed to twelve o’clock, and the sleepy hush of noontide
- hung over the rose garden where Jean was gathering roses for the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t I help?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s voice broke across the drowsy quiet so unexpectedly that she
- jumped, almost letting fall the scissors with which she was scientifically
- snipping the stems of the roses. She bestowed a small frown upon the head
- and shoulders appearing above the wooden gate on which he leant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not very helpful to begin by giving one an electric
- shock,” she complained. “How long have you been there?”
- His attitude had a repose about it which suggested that he might have been
- standing there some time watching her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know. But as I <i>am</i> here, may I come in?”
- Without waiting for her answer, he unlatched the gate and came striding
- across the velvet greenness of the lawn.
- </p>
- <p>
- His visits to Staple had grown of late so much a matter of daily
- occurrence that they were no longer hedged about by any ceremony, and Jean
- had come to accept his appearance at any odd moment without surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since the day when she had lunched at Willow Eerry, and learned, as she
- believed, to understand and make allowances for the bitterness which had
- so warped Judith’s nature, her acquaintance with both brother and
- sister had ripened rapidly into a friendly intimacy. But the fact that
- Burke’s feeling towards her was something other, and much warmer
- than mere friendship, had failed to penetrate her consciousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was patent enough to the lookers on, and probably Jean was the only one
- amongst the little coterie of intimate friends who had not realised what
- was impending.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is not very often that a woman remains entirely oblivious of the small,
- unmistakable signs which go to indicate a man’s attitude towards
- her. In Jean’s case, however, her thoughts were so engrossed with
- the one man that, at the moment, all other men occupied but a very shadowy
- relationship towards the realities of life as far as she was concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- So that she scarcely troubled to look up as Burke halted beside her, but
- went on cutting her roses unconcernedly, merely observing:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Idlers not allowed. You can make yourself useful by paring the
- thorns off the stems.” She gestured towards a basket which stood on
- the ground at her side, already overflowing with its scented burden of
- pink and white and crimson roses.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at the russet head bent studiously above a bush rose and there
- was a gleam, half angry, half amused, in his eyes. His fingers went
- uncertainly to his pocket, where reposed a serviceable knife, then
- suddenly he drew his hand sharply away, empty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said. “I didn’t come over to be useful
- this morning. I came over”—he spoke slowly, as though
- endeavouring to gain her attention—“on a quite different
- errand.” There was a vibration in his voice that might have warned
- her had she been less intent upon her task of wrestling with a refractory
- branch. As it was, she merely questioned absently:
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what was the ‘quite different’ errand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next moment she felt his hand close over both hers, gardening scissors
- and wash-leather gloves notwithstanding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop cutting those confounded flowers, and I’ll tell you,”
- he said roughly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up in astonishment, and, at last, a glimmering of what was
- coming dawned upon her. Even the blindest of women, the most preoccupied,
- must have read the expression of his eyes at that moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no—no,” she began hastily. “I must finish
- cutting the roses—really, Geoffrey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried to release her hands, but he held them firmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said coolly. “You won’t finish cutting
- your flowers—at least, not now. You’re going to listen to me.”
- He drew the scissors from her grasp, and they flashed like a fish in the
- sunshine as he tossed them down on to the rose-basket. Then, quite
- deliberately, he pulled off the loose gloves she was wearing and his big
- hands gripped themselves suddenly, closely, about her slight, bared ones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice wavered uncertainly. The realisation of his intent had come upon
- her so unexpectedly, rousing her from her placid unconsciousness, that she
- felt stunned—nervously unready to deal with the situation. She
- struggled a little, instinctively, but he only laughed down at her, a ring
- of masterful triumph in his voice, holding her effortlessly, with all the
- ease of his immense strength.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s no good, Jean. You’ve got to hear me out. I’ve
- waited long enough.” He paused, then drew a deep breath. “I
- love you!” he said slowly. “My God, how I love you!”
- There was an element of wonder in his tones, and she felt the strong hands
- gripping hers tremble a little. Then their clasp tightened and he drew her
- towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say you love me,” he demanded. “Say it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was then Jean found her voice. The imperious demand, infringing on that
- secret, inner claim of which she alone knew, stung her into quick denial.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I don’t! I don’t love you!” Then, as she saw
- the blank look in his eyes, she went on hastily: “Oh, Geoffrey, I am
- so sorry. I never guessed—I never thought of your caring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never guessed! Good God!”—with a harsh laugh—“I
- should have thought I’d made it plain enough. Why, even that first
- day, on the river—I wanted you then. What do you suppose has brought
- me to Staple every day? Affection for Blaise Tormarin?”—cynically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought—I thought——” She cast about in
- her mind for an answer, then presented him with the simple truth. “I’m
- afraid I never thought about it at all. I just took your coming over for
- granted. I knew you and Judith were old friends and neighbours, so it
- seemed quite natural for you to be here often—just as Claire Latimer
- is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke searched her face for a moment. He was thinking of the other women
- he had known—women who would never have remained blind to his
- meaning, who had, indeed, shown their willingness to come half-way—more
- than half-way—to meet him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really believe that’s true,” he said at last,
- grudgingly. “But if it is, you’re the most unselfconscious
- woman I’ve ever come across.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it’s true,” she replied simply. “I’m—I’m
- so sorry, Geoffrey. I like you far too much to have wished to hurt you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want liking. I want your love. And I mean to have it.
- You may not have understood before, Jean, but you do now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew herself away from him a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That doesn’t make any difference, Geoffrey. I have no love to
- give you,” she said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t take no,” he said doggedly. “You’re
- the woman I want. And I mean to have you.... Don’t you understand?
- It’s no use fighting against me. You may say no, now; you may say no
- fifty times. But one day you’ll say—yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s slight frame tautened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are mistaken,” she said, in a chill, clear voice
- calculated to set immeasurable spaces between them. “I’m not a
- cave woman to be forced into marriage. Oh!”—the ludicrous side
- of this imperious kind of wooing striking her suddenly—“don’t
- be so absurd, Geoffrey! You can’t seize me by the hair and carry me
- off to your own particular hole in the rocks, you know.” She began
- to laugh a little. “Let’s just go on being good friends—and
- forget that this has ever happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held out her hand, but he took no notice of the little friendly
- gesture. There was a red gleam in his eyes, a smouldering glow that needed
- but a breath to fan it into flame.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You speak as if it were something that was over and done with,”
- he said in a low, tense voice. “But it isn’t; it never will
- be. I love you and want you, and I shall go on loving you and wanting you
- as long as I live. Jean—sweetest”—his voice suddenly
- softened incredibly—“I’ll try to be more gentle. But
- when a man loves as I do, he doesn’t stop to choose his words.”
- He stepped closer to her. “Oh! You little, little thing! Why, I
- could pick you up and carry you off to my cave with two fingers. Jean,
- when will you marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His big frame towered beside her. He paid no more attention to her
- dismissal of him than if she had not spoken, and she was conscious of an
- odd feeling of impotence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t seem to have understood me,” she said forcing
- herself to speak composedly. “If I loved you, you’d have no
- need to ‘carry me off’ to your cave. I’d come—gladly.
- But I don’t love you, Geoffrey. And I shall never marry a man I don’t
- love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll marry me,” he returned stubbornly. “Do you
- think I’m going to give you up so easily? If you do, you mistaken. I
- love you, and I’ll teach you to love me—when you’re my
- wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two pairs of eyes met, a challenging defiance flashing between them.
- Jean shrugged her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you must be mad,” she said contemptuously, and turned
- to leave him.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the same instant his hands gripped her shoulders and he swung her round
- facing him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mad!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Yes, I am mad—mad
- for you. You little cold thing! Do you know what love is—man’s
- love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt his arms close round her like a vice of steel, lifting her off
- her feet, so that she hung helpless in his embrace. For a moment his eyes
- burned down into hers—the hot flame of desire that blazed in them
- seeming almost to scorch her—the next, he had hidden his face
- against the warm white curve of her throat, where a little affrighted
- pulse throbbed tempestuously. Then, as though the touch of her snapped the
- last link of his self-control, his mouth sought hers, and he was kissing
- her savagely, crushing her soft, wincing lips beneath his own. Her slender
- body swayed helpless as a reed in his strong grip, while the tide of his
- passion, like some fierce, untamable flood, swept over her resistlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last he released her, she stood back from him, staggering a
- little. Instinctively he stretched out his hand to steady her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t... touch me!” she panted.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words came driven between clenched teeth, chokingly. Her face was
- milk-white and her eyes blazed at him out of its pallor. She felt as if
- her heart were beating in her throat, stifling her, and for a little space
- sheer physical stress held her silent But she fought it back, asserting
- her will against her weakness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How dare you?” There was bitter anger in her still tones.
- “How dare you touch me—like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a swift movement she passed her handkerchief across her lips and then
- let it fall on the ground as though it were something unclean. He winced
- at the gesture; for a moment the passion died out of his face and a rueful
- look, almost of schoolboy shame, took its place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you—feel like that about it?” he said, nodding
- towards the handkerchief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just like that,” she returned. “Do you think—if I
- had known—I would ever have risked being alone with you? But I
- thought we were friends—I never dreamed I couldn’t trust you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you can’t,” he said unsteadily. The sight of her
- slender, defiant figure and lovely, tilted face, with the scornful lips he
- had just kissed showing like a scarlet stain against its whiteness, sent
- the blood rioting through his veins once more. “You’ll... you’ll
- never be able to trust any man who loves you, Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her thoughts flew to Blaise. She would trust herself with him—now,
- at any time, always. But then, perhaps—the after thought came like a
- knife-thrust—perhaps he did not care!
- </p>
- <p>
- “A man who—loved me,” she said dully, “would not
- do what you’ve just done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He would—sooner or later. Unless his veins ran milk and
- water!” He drew a step nearer and stood staring down at her
- sombrely. “Do you know what you’re like, I wonder? With your
- great golden eyes and your maddening mouth and that little cleft in your
- white chin.... You’re angry because I kissed you. I wonder I didn’t
- do it before! I’ve wanted to, dozens of times. But I wanted your
- love more than a passing kiss. I’ve waited for that—waited all
- these weeks. And now you refuse it—you’ve not even <i>understood</i>
- that you’re all earth and heaven to me. God! How blind you must have
- been!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent. Her anger was waning, giving place to a certain
- distressful comprehension of the mighty force which had suddenly broken
- bondage in the man beside her. Dimly, from her own knowledge of the
- yearning bred of the loved one’s nearness, she envisaged what these
- last weeks must have meant to a man of Burke’s temperament. Was it
- any wonder, when suddenly made to realise that the woman he loved not only
- did not love him in return, but had failed even to sense his love for her,
- that his stormy spirit had rebelled—flung off its shackles? An
- element of self-reproach tinctured her thoughts. In a measure the fault
- had been hers; her self-absorption was to blame.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she acknowledged. “I’m afraid I have been
- blind, Geoffrey. Indeed—indeed I would have prevented all this if I
- had known, if I had guessed. But, honestly, I just thought of you—you
- and Judith—as friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you really did,” he said slowly, almost
- incredulously. Then, as though in swift corollary: “Jean, is there
- anyone else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The question drove at her with its sudden grasp of the truth. Her face
- grew slowly drawn and pinched-looking beneath his merciless gaze and her
- lips moved speechlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So it <i>is</i> that, is it? And does he—has he——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey, you are insufferable!” The words came wrung from
- her in quick, low protest. “You have no right—no right——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I suppose I haven’t,” he admitted, touched by the
- stricken look in her eyes. “I’d no business to ask that. For
- the moment, it’s enough that you don’t love me.... But I shall
- never give you up, Jean. You’re mine—my woman!” The
- light of possession flared up once more in his eyes. “Do you
- remember I told you once that, if a man makes up his mind, he can get his
- own way over most things? Well, it’s true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused a moment, then abruptly swung round on his heel and without a
- word of farwell, strode away across the garden towards the gate by which
- he had entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the latch clicked into its place behind him, Jean was conscious of a
- sudden tremor, of a curious, uncontrollable fear, as though his words held
- something of prophecy. The man’s dominating personality seemed to
- swamp her, overwhelming her by its sheer physical force.
- </p>
- <p>
- The remembrance of her sinister dream, and of the dream Burke’s
- threat: “<i>It’s too late to try and run away. If you don’t
- come into my parlour, you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast
- forever</i>,” returned to her with a disagreeable sense of menace.
- She shivered a little and, picking up her basket, almost ran back to the
- house, as though seeking safety.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII—CROSS-PURPOSES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the task of
- arranging her roses in the various bowls and vases Baines had set in
- readiness for her, Jean found a certain relief from the feeling of terror
- which had invaded her. Something in the homely everydayness of the
- occupation served to relax the tension of her mind, keyed up and
- overwrought by the stress of her interview with Burke, and it was with
- almost her usual composure of manner that she greeted Blaise when
- presently he joined her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve raided the rose garden to-day,” she said,
- smilingly indicating the mass of scented blossom that lay heaped up on the
- table. “I expect when Johns finds out he will proceed to meditate
- upon something for my benefit with boiling oil in it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Johns was one of the gardeners to whom Jean’s joyous and wholesale
- robbery of his first-fruits was a daily cross and affliction. Only
- chloroform would ever have reconciled him to the cutting off of a solitary
- bloom while still in its prime.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise regarded the tangle of roses consideringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder you found time to gather so many. When I passed by the
- rose garden, you were—otherwise occupied.” The quietly uttered
- comment sent the blood rushing up into Jean’s face. When had he
- passed? What had he seen?
- </p>
- <p>
- She kept her eyes lowered, seemingly intent upon the disposition of some
- exquisite La France roses in a black Wedge-wood bowl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean?” she asked negligently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin was silent a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had she looked at him she would have surprised a restless pain in the keen
- eyes he bent upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean”—he spoke very gently—“have I—to
- congratulate you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was difficult to preserve her poise of indifference when the man she
- loved put this question to her, but she contrived it somehow. Women become
- adepts in the art of hiding their feelings. The conventions demand it of
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s answer fluttered out with the airy lightness of a butterfly
- in the sunshine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure I can’t say, unless you tell me upon what grounds?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know of none, then”—swiftly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “None.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nibbled the end of a stalk and surveyed the Wedge-wood bowl
- critically. Tormarin felt like shaking her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” he said gruffly, “let me suggest you revise your
- methods. The woman who plays with Geoffrey Burke might as safely play with
- an unexploded bomb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice betrayed him, revealing the personal element behind the
- proffered counsel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean glanced at him between her lashes. So that was it! He was jealous—jealous
- of Burke! At last something had happened to pierce the joints of his
- armour of assumed indifference! Her heart sang a little pæan of
- thanksgiving, and all that was woman in her rose bubbling to meet the
- situation. In an instant she had recaptured her aplomb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I rather enjoy playing with unexploded bombs,” she
- returned meditatively. “There are always—possibilities—about
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are”—grimly. “And it is precisely against
- those possibilities that I am warning you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you think it’s rather bad taste on your part to
- warn me against a man who is admittedly on terms of friendship with you
- all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don’t”—steadily. “Nor should I care
- if it were. When it’s a matter of you and your safety, the question
- of taste doesn’t enter into the thing at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My safety?” jeered Jean softly. (It was barely half an hour
- since Burke had inspired her with that sudden fear of him and of his
- compelling personality!)
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if not your safety, at least your happiness,” amended
- Blaise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very kind of you to interest yourself, but really my
- happiness has nothing whatever to do with Geoffrey Burke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He flashed the question at her, and there was that in his tone which set
- her pulses athrill, quenching the light-hearted spirit of banter that had
- led her to torment him. It was the note of restrained passion which she
- had heard before in his voice, and which had always power to move her to
- the depths of her being.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perfectly true.” She faltered a little. “But”—forcing
- herself to a defiance that was in reality a species of self-defence—“I
- fail to see that it concerns you, Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It concerns me in so far as Burke is not the sort of man that a
- woman can make a friend of. It’s all or nothing with him. And if you
- don’t intend to give him all, you’d better give him—nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His glance, grave and steady, met hers, and she knew then, of a certainty,
- that he had witnessed the scene which had taken place in the rose garden,
- when Burke had held her in his arms and the flood of his passion had risen
- and overwhelmed her. He had witnessed that—and had misunderstood it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious of a fierce resentment against him. It mattered nothing
- to her that, in the light of her nonchalant answers to his questions, he
- was fully justified in the obvious conclusion he had drawn. She did not
- stop to think whether her anger was reasonable or unreasonable. She was
- simply furious with him for suspecting her of flirting—odious word!—with
- Geoffrey Burke. Well, if he chose to think thus of her, let him do so! She
- would not trouble to explain—to exculpate herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- She regarded him with stormy eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please understand, Blaise, that I want neither your advice nor your
- criticism. If I choose to make a friend of Geoffrey Burke—or of any
- other man—I shall do so without asking your permission or approval.
- What I do, or don’t do, is no business of yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment they faced each other, his eyes, stormy as her own, dark with
- anger. His hands clenched themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I could,” he said hoarsely, “I would <i>make</i> it
- my business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wheeled round and left the room without another word. Jean stood
- staring dazedly at the blank panels of the door which had closed behind
- him. She wanted to laugh... or to cry. To laugh, because with every sullen
- word he revealed the thing he was so sedulously intent on keeping from
- her. To cry, because he had taken her pretended indifference at its face
- value, and so another film of misunderstanding had risen to thicken the
- veil between them—the veil which he would not, and she, being a
- woman, could not, draw aside.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX—THE SPIDER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ROBABLY masculine
- obtuseness and the feminine faculty for dissimulation are together
- responsible for more than half the broken hearts with which the highways
- of life are littered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Recalcitrant Parent, the Other Woman—be she never so guileful—or
- the Other Man, as the case may be, are none of them as potent a menace to
- the ultimate happy issue of events as the mountain of small
- misunderstandings which a man and a maid in love are capable of piling up
- for themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man is prone to see only that which the woman intends he shall—and
- no self-respecting feminine thing is going to unveil the mysteries of her
- heart until she is very definitely assured that that is precisely what the
- man in the case is aching for her to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- So she dissimulates with all the skill which Nature and a few odd thousand
- years or so of tradition have taught her and pretends that the Only Man in
- the World means rather less to her than her second-best shoe buckles. With
- the result that he probably goes silently and sadly away, convinced that
- he hasn’t an outside chance, while all the time she is simply
- quivering to pour out at his feet the whole treasure of her love.
- </p>
- <p>
- In this respect Blaise and Jean blundered as egregiously as any other
- love-befogged pair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Following upon their quarrel over the matter of Jean’s attitude
- towards Geoffrey Burke, Tormarin retreated once again into those
- fastnesses of aloof reserve which seemed to deny the whole memory of that
- “magic moment” at Montavan. And Jean, just because she was
- unhappy, flirted outrageously with the origin of the quarrel, finding a
- certain reckless enjoyment in the flavour of excitement lent to the
- proceedings by the fact that Burke was in deadly earnest.
- </p>
- <p>
- Playing with an “unexploded bomb” at least sufficed to take
- her thoughts off other matters, and enabled her momentarily to forget
- everything for which forgetting seemed the only possible and sensible
- prescription.
- </p>
- <p>
- But you can’t forget things by yourself. Solitude is memory’s
- closest friend. So Jean, heedless of consequences, encouraged Burke to
- help her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne sometimes sighed a little, as she watched the two go off
- together for a long morning on the river, or down to the tennis-court,
- accompanied, on occasion, by Claire Latimer and Nick to make up the set.
- But she held her peace. She was no believer in direct outside interference
- as a means towards the unravelment of a love tangle, and all that it was
- possible to do, indirectly, she had attempted when she revealed to Jean
- the history of Blaise’s marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did, however, make a proposal which would have the effect of breaking
- through the present trend of affairs and of throwing Blaise and Jean more
- or less continuously into each other’s company. She was worldly wise
- enough to give its due value to the power of propinquity, and her
- innocently proffered suggestion that she and her two sons and Jean should
- all run up to London for a week, before the season closed, was based on
- the knowledge of how much can be accomplished by the skilful handling of a
- <i>partie carrée</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- The suggestion was variously received. By Blaise, indifferently; by Jean,
- with her natural desire to know more of the great city she had glimpsed en
- route augmented by the knowledge that a constant round of sight-seeing and
- entertainment would be a further aid towards the process of forgetting; by
- Nick, the sun of whose existence rose and set at Charnwood, with open
- rebellion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why go to be baked in London, madonna, when we might remain here in
- the comparative coolth of the country?” he murmured plaintively to
- his mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were alone at the moment, and Lady Anne regarded him with twinkling
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frankly, Nick, because I want Jean for my daughter-inlaw. No other
- reason in the world. Personally, as you know, I simply detest town during
- the season.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed and kissed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a Machiavelli in petticoats! I’d never have believed it
- of you, madonna. S’elp me, I wouldn’t!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you may. And you’ve got to back me up, Nick. No
- philandering with Jean, mind! You’ll leave her severely alone and
- content yourself with the company of your aged parent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aged fiddlestick!” he jeered. “If it weren’t for
- that white hair of yours, I’d tote you round as my youngest sister.
- ‘And I don’t believe”—severely—“that
- it <i>is</i> white, really. I believe your maid powders it for you every
- morning, just because you were born in sin and know that it’s
- becoming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So it was settled that the first week of July should witness a general
- exodus from Staple, and meanwhile the June days slipped away, and Tormarin
- sedulously occupied himself in adding fresh stones to the wall which he
- thought fit to interpose between himself and the woman he loved. While
- Jean grew restless and afraid, and flung herself into every kind of
- amusement that offered, wearing a little fine under the combined mental
- and physical strain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire, perceiving the nervous tension at which the girl was living, was
- wistfully troubled on her friend’s behalf, and confided her anxious
- bewilderment to Nick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think Blaise must be crazy,” she declared one day. “I’m
- perfectly convinced that he’s in love with Jean, and yet he appears
- prepared to stand by while Geoffrey Burke completely monopolises her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I own I can’t understand the fellow. He’ll wake up
- one day to find that she’s Burke’s wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I hope not!” cried Claire hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were pacing up and down one of the gravelled alleys that intersected
- the famous rhododendron shrubbery at Charnwood, and, as she spoke, Claire
- cast a half-frightened glance in the direction of the house. She knew that
- Sir Adrian was closeted with his lawyer, and that he was, therefore, not
- in the least likely to emerge from the obscurity of his study for some
- time to come. But as long as he was anywhere on the place, she was totally
- unable to rid herself of the hateful consciousness of his presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- He reminded her of some horrible and loathsome species of spider, at times
- remote and motionless in the centre of his web—that web in which,
- body and soul, she had been inextricably caught—but always liable to
- wake into sudden activity, and then pounce mercilessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I hope not!” she repeated, shivering a little. “If
- she only knew what marriage to the wrong man means!... And I’m
- certain Geoffrey is the wrong man. Why on earth does Blaise behave like
- this?”—impatiently. “Anyone might think—Jean
- herself might think—he didn’t care! And I’m positive he
- does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he does, he’s a fool. Good Lord!”—moodily
- kicking a pebble out of his path—“imagine any sane man, with a
- clear road before him, <i>not taking it!!</i>” He swung round
- towards her suddenly. “Claire, if there were only a clear road—for
- us! If only I could take you away from all this!” his glance
- embracing the grey old house, so beautiful and yet so much a prison, which
- just showed above the tops of the tall-growing rhododendrons.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hush! Hush!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire glanced round her affrightedly, as though the very leaves and
- blossoms had ears to hear and tongues to repeat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One never knows”—she whispered the words barely above
- her breath—“where he is. He might easily be hidden in one of
- the alleys that run parallel with this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The skunk!” muttered Nick wrathfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>What’s that?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire drew suddenly closer to him, her face blanching. A sound—the
- light crunching of gravel beneath a footstep—had come to her
- strained ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick! Did you hear?” she breathed.
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of keen anxiety overspread his face. For himself, he did not care;
- Adrian Latimer could not hurt him. But Claire—his “golden
- narcissus”—what might he not inflict on her as punishment if
- he discovered them together?
- </p>
- <p>
- The next moment it was all he could do to repress a shout of relief. The
- steps had quickened, rounded the corner of the alley, and revealed—Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re mighty glad to see you,” remarked Nick, as she
- joined them. “We thought you were—the devil himself”—with
- a grin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he’s safe for half an hour yet,” Jean reassured
- them, “I asked Tucker”—the Latimer’s butler, who
- worshipped the ground Claire walked on—“and his solicitor is
- still with him. Otherwise I wouldn’t have risked looking for you”—smiling.
- “I knew Nick was over here, and Sir Adrian might have followed me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re sure he hasn’t?” asked Claire nervously.
- “He is so cunning—so stealthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even if he had, you’re doing nothing wrong,” maintained
- Jean stoutly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Everything</i> I do is wrong—in his eyes,” returned
- Claire bitterly. “That’s what makes the misery of it. If I
- were really wicked, really unfaithful, I should feel I deserved anything I
- got. But it’s enough if I’m just happy for a few minutes with
- a friend for him to want to punish me, to—to suspect me of any evil.
- Sometimes I feel as if I couldn’t bear it any longer!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She flung out her arms in a piteous gesture of abandonment. There was
- something infinitely touching and forlorn about her as she stood there, as
- though appealing against the hideous injustice of it all, and, with a
- little cry Jean caught her outstretched hands and drew her into her
- embrace, folding her closely in her warm young arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick had turned aside abruptly, his face rather white, his mouth working.
- His powerlessness to help the woman he loved half maddened him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Jean was crooning little, inarticulate, caressing sounds above
- Claire’s bowed head, until at last the latter raised a rather white
- face from her shoulder and smiled the small, plucky smile with which she
- usually managed to confront outrageous fortune.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you so much,” she said with a glint of humour in her
- tones. “You’ve been dears, both of you. It’s awfully
- nice to—to let go, sometimes. But I’m quite all right again,
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, if you are,” replied Jean cheerfully, “perhaps
- you can bear up against the shock of too much joy. We want you to have
- ‘a day out.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘A day out’?” repeated Claire. “What do you
- mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean we’re organising a picnic to Dartmoor, and we want to
- fix it so that you can come too. Didn’t you tell me that Sir Adrian
- was going to be away one day this week? Going away, and not returning till
- the next day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire nodded, her eyes dancing with excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—oh, yes! He has to go up to London on business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then that’s the day we’ll choose. Heaven send it be
- fine!”—piously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, how I’d love it!” exclaimed Claire. “I haven’t
- been on the Moor for such a long time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I’ve never been there at all,” supplemented Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick! Nick!” Claire turned to him excitedly. “Did you
- know of this plan? And why didn’t you tell me about it before?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, I never thought of it,” he admitted. “You see”—explanatorily—“when
- I’m with you, I can’t think of anything else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick, I won’t have you making barefaced love to a married
- woman under my very nose,” protested Jean equably. And the shadow of
- tragedy that had lowered above them a few minutes earlier broke into a
- spray of cheery fun and banter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seem very gay to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold, sneering tones fell suddenly across the gay exchange of jokes
- and laughter that ensued, and the trio looked up to see the tall, lean,
- black-clad figure of Sir Adrian standing at the end of the path, awaiting
- their approach.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean, as to Claire, occurred the analogy of a malevolent spider on the
- watch. Even the man’s physical appearance seemed in some way to
- convey an unpleasant suggestion of resemblance—his long, thin,
- sharply-jointed arms and legs, his putty-coloured face, a livid mask lit
- only by a pair of snapping, venomous black eyes, half hidden between
- pouched lids that were hardly more than hanging folds of wrinkled skin,
- his long-lipped, predatory mouth with its slow, malicious smile. Jean
- repressed a little shudder of disgust as she responded to his sneering
- comment:
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are—quite gay, Sir Adrian. It’s a fine day, for one
- thing, and the sun’s shining, and we’re young. What more do we
- want?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What more, indeed? Except”—bowing mockingly—“the
- beauty with which a good Providence has already endowed you. You are a
- lucky woman, Miss Peterson; your cup is full. My wife is not, perhaps”—regarding
- her appraisingly—“quite so beneficently dowered by Providence,
- so it remains for me to fill her cup up to the brim.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused, and as the black, pin-point eyes beneath the flabby lids
- detected the slight stiffening of Claire’s slender figure, his long,
- thin lips widened into a sardonic smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to the brim,” he repeated with satisfaction. “That’s
- a husband’s duty, isn’t it, Mr. Brennan?”—addressing
- Nick with startling suddenness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should know better than I, Sir Adrian,” retorted Nick,
- “seeing that you have experience of matrimony, while I have none.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you have hopes—aspirations, isn’t it so?”
- pursued Latimer suavely. There was an undercurrent of disagreeable
- suggestion in his tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick was acutely conscious that his keenest aspiration at the moment was
- to knock the creature down and jump on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must find you a wife, eh, Claire? Eh, Miss Peterson?”
- continued Sir Adrian, rubbing the palm of one bony hand slowly up and down
- over the back of the other. “I’m sure, Claire, you would like
- to see so—intimate—a friend as Mr. Brennan happily married,
- wouldn’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to see him happy,” answered Claire with tight
- lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just so—just so,” agreed her husband in a queer
- cackling tone as though inwardly amused. “Well, get him a wife, my
- dear. You are such friends that you should know precisely the type of
- woman which appeals to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded and turned to go, gliding away with an odd shuffling gait, and
- muttering to himself as he went: “Precisely the type—precisely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he disappeared from view down one of the branching paths of the
- shrubbery, an odious little laugh, half chuckle, half snigger, came to the
- ears of the three listeners.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire’s face set itself in lines that made her look years older
- than her age.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d better go,” she whispered unevenly. “We
- shan’t be able to talk any more now that he knows you are here. He’ll
- be hovering round—<i>somewhere</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we’d better be going. Come along, Nick. And let us know,
- Claire”—dropping her voice—“as soon as you have
- found out for certain what day he goes away. You can telephone down to us,
- can’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I’ll ring up when he’s out of the house some time,”
- she answered “Or send a message. Anyway, I’ll manage to let
- you know somehow. Oh!”—stretching out her arms ecstatically—“imagine
- a day, of utter freedom! A whole day!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX—THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>OLD of gorse and
- purple of heather, a shimmering haze of heat quivering above the
- undulating green of the moor, and somewhere, high up in the cloud-flecked
- blue above, the exultant, piercingly sweet carol of a lark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! How utterly perfect this is!” sighed Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was lying at full length on the springy turf, her chin cupped in her
- hands, her elbows denting little cosy hollows of darkness in the close
- mesh of green moss.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin, equally prone, was beside her, his eyes absorbing, not the open
- vista of rolling moor, hummocked with jagged tors of brown-grey stone, but
- the sun as it rioted through a glory of red-brown hair and touched
- changeful gleams of gold into topaz eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a queer little throb in Jean’s voice, the low note of
- almost passionate delight which sheer beauty never failed to draw from
- her. It plucked at the chords of memory, and Tormarin’s thoughts
- leaped back suddenly to that day they had spent together in the mountains,
- when, as they emerged from the pinewood’s gloom to the revelation of
- the great white-pinacled Alps, she had turned to him with the rapt cry:
- “It’s so beautiful that it makes one’s heart ache!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you remember——” he began involuntarily, then
- checked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “’M—m?” she queried. The little interrogative
- murmur was tantalising in its soft note of intimacy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Jean of the last few days—the days immediately following their
- quarrel—had temporarily vanished. The beauty of the Moor had taken
- hold of her, and all the mockery and bitter-sweetness which she had
- latterly reserved for Tomarin’s benefit was absent from her
- manner. She was just her natural sweet and wholesome self.
- </p>
- <p>
- “’M—m? Do I remember—what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was thinking what a pagan little beauty-lover you are! You
- worshipped the Alps. Now you are worshipping Dartmoor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see why you should call it ‘pagan,’
- though. I should say it was equally Christian. I think we were <i>meant</i>
- to love beauty. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been such a lot of it
- about. God didn’t put it around just by accident.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite probably you’re right,” agreed Blaise. “In
- which case you must be”—he smiled—“an excellent
- Christian.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Positively I believe they’re talking theology!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire’s voice, girlishly gay and free from the nervous restraint
- which normally dulled its cadence of youth, broke suddenly on their ears,
- as she and Nick, rounding the corner of a big granite boulder, discovered
- the two recumbent forms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You disgustingly lazy people!” she pursued indignantly.
- “Everybody’s dashing wildly to and fro unpacking the lunch
- baskets, while you two are just lounging here in blissful idleness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s chronic with me,” murmured Tormarin lazily.
- “And anyway, Claire, neither you nor Nick appear to be precisely
- overtaxing yourselves bearing nectar and ambrosia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I carried some of the drinks up this confounded hill,”
- submitted Nick. “And damned heavy they were, too! I can’t <i>think</i>”—plaintively—“why
- people should be so thirsty at a picnic. I’m sure Baines has shoved
- in enough liquid refreshment to float a ship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Praise be!” interpolated Blaise piously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we’ve done our share,” supplemented Claire. “And
- now we’re going to the gipsy who lives here to have our fortunes
- told.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before lunch,” subjoined Nick, “so that in case they’re
- depressingly bad you can stay us with flagons afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sat up suddenly, her face alight with interest “Do you mean
- that there is a real gipsy who tells real fortunes?” she demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—quite real. She’s supposed to be extraordinarily
- good,” replied Nick. “She is a lady of property, too, since
- she has acquired a few square yards of the Moor from the Duchy and built
- herself a little shanty there. She rejoices in the name of Keturah
- Stanley.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to have my fortune told,” murmured Jean
- meditatively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll take you,” volunteered Blaise.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a suddenly alert look in his face, as though he, too, would like
- to hear Jean’s fortune told.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll all go, then,” said Claire. “You must let
- Keturah tell yours as well, Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thanks, no,” he answered briefly. “I know my fortune
- quite as well as I have any wish to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin’s curt refusal somewhat quenched the gaiety of the moment,
- and rather soberly they all four made their way down the slope to where,
- in a little sheltered hollow at the foot of the tor, the sunlight glinted
- on the corrugated iron roofing of a tiny two-roomed hut, built of wood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside, sitting on an inverted pail and composedly puffing away at a clay
- pipe, they discovered a small, shrivelled old woman, sunning herself, like
- a cat, in the midday warmth.
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her head as they approached, revealing an immensely old,
- delicately-featured face, which might have been carved out of yellow
- ivory. It was a network of wrinkles, colourless save for the piercing
- black eyes that sparkled beneath arched black brows, while the fine-cut
- nostrils and beautifully moulded mouth spoke unmistakably of race—of
- the old untainted blood which in some gipsy families has run clear,
- unmixed and undiluted, through countless generations.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an odd dignity about the shrunken, still upright figure as she
- rose from her seat—the freedom of one whose neck has never bowed to
- the yoke of established custom, whose kingdom is the sun and sea and earth
- and air as God gave them to Adam—and when the visitors had explained
- their errand, and she proceeded to answer them in the soft, slurred
- accents of the Devon dialect, the illiterate speech seemed to convey a
- strange sense of unfitness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire and Nick were the first to dare the oracle. The old woman beckoned
- to them to follow her into the cottage, while Tormarin and Jean waited
- outside, and when they emerged once more, both were laughing, their faces
- eager and half excited like the faces of children promised some indefinite
- treat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s given you luck, then?” asked Jean, smiling in
- sympathy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The gipsy interposed quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tezn’t for me to give nor take away the luck. But I knaw
- that, back o’ they gert black clouds the young lady’s so
- mortal feared of, the zun’s shinin’ butivul. I tell ’ee,
- me dear”—nodding encouragingly to Claire, while her keen old
- eyes narrowed to mere pin-points of light—“you’ll zee
- it, yourself—and afore another year’s crep’ by. ’Ess,
- fay! You’ll knaw then as I tolled ’ee trew.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, with a gesture that summoned Jean to follow her, she disappeared
- once more into the interior of the hut.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean hesitated nervously in the doorway. For a moment she was conscious of
- an acute feeling of distaste for the impending interview—a dread of
- what this woman, whose eyes seemed the only live thing in her old, old
- face, might have to tell her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come with me,” she appealed to Blaise. And he nodded and
- followed her across the threshold.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scent of a peat fire came warm and fragrant to her nostrils as she
- stepped out of the sunlight into the comparative dusk of the little
- shanty, mingling curiously with an aroma of savoury stew which issued from
- a black pot hung above the fire, bubbling and chuckling as it simmered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The gipsy, as though by force of habit, gave a stir to its contents and
- then, settling herself on a three-legged stool, she took Jean’s hand
- in her wrinkled, claw-like fingers and peered at its palm in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your way baint so plain tu zee as t’other young lady’s,”
- she muttered at last, in an odd, sing-song tone. “There’s life
- an’ death an’ fire an’ flame afore yu zee the sun shinin’
- clear.... And if so be yu take the wrong turnin’, you’ll niver
- zee it. And there’ll be no postes to guide ’ee. Tez your awn
- sawl must tell ’ee how to walk through the darkness. For there’s
- darkness comin’... black darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused, and the liquid in the black pot over the fire seethed up
- suddenly and filled the silence with its chuckling and gurgling, so that
- to Jean it seemed like the sound of some hidden malevolence chortling
- defiance at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old woman clutched her hand a little tighter, turning the palm so that
- the light from the tiny window fell more directly upon it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s a castle waitin’ for ’ee, me dear,”
- she resumed in the same sing-song voice as before. “I can zee it so
- plain as plain. But yu won’t never live there wi’ the one yu
- luve, though you’m hopin’ tu. I see ruin and devastation all
- around it, and the sky so red as blid above it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She released Jean’s hand slowly, and her curiously bright eyes
- fastened upon Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I tell the gentleman’s hand?” she asked,
- stretching out her withered claw to take it.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he drew it away hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” he said, attempting to speak lightly. “This
- lady’s fortune isn’t sufficiently encouraging for me to
- venture.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gipsy’s eyes never left his face. She nodded slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s as may be. For tez the zaim luck and zaim ill-lack
- will come to yu as comes to thikke maid. There’s no ring given or
- taken, but you’m bound together so fast and firm as weddin’-ring
- could bind ’ee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt her face flame scarlet in the dusk of the tiny room, and she
- turned and made her way hastily out into the sunshine once more, thankful
- for the eager queries of Nick and Claire, which served to bring back to
- normal the rather strained atmosphere induced by the gipsy’s final
- comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they climbed the side of the tor once more, Jean relapsed into silence.
- More than once, more than twice, since she had come to England, she had
- been vaguely conscious of some hidden menace to her happiness, and now the
- gipsy had suddenly given words to’ her own indefinite premonition of
- evil.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a relief to join the rest of the picnic party, who were clamouring
- loudly for their lunch, good-humouredly indignant with the wanderers for
- keeping them waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another five minutes,” announced Burke, “and we should
- have begun without you. Not even Lady Anne could have kept us under
- restraint a moment longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The party was quite a large one, augmented by a good many friends from
- round about the neighbourhood, and amid the riotous fun and ridiculous
- mishaps which almost invariably accompany an alfresco meal, Jean contrived
- to throw off the feeling of oppression generated by Keturah’s
- prophecy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke, having heaped her plate with lobster mayonnaise, established
- himself beside her, and proceeded to catechise her about her recent
- experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did the lady—what’s her name, Keturah?—tell you
- when you were going to marry me?” he demanded in an undertone, his
- dare-devil eyes laughing down at her impudently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she did not. She only foresees things that are really going to
- happen,” retorted Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that is”—composedly. “She can’t be
- much good at her job if she missed seeing it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” Jean affected to consider—“the nearest she
- got to it was that she saw ‘darkness coming... black darkness.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Under cover of the general preoccupation in lunch and conversation, Burke’s
- hand closed suddenly over hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You little devil!” he said, half amused, half sulky. “I’ll
- make you pay for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But out here, in the wind-swept, open spaces of the Moor, Jean felt no
- fear of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “First catch your hare——” she retaliated
- defiantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He regarded her tensely for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll take your advice,” he said briefly. Then he added:
- “Did you know that I’m driving you back in my cart this
- afternoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Various cars and traps and saddle horses had brought the party together at
- the appointed rendezvous—a little village on the outskirts of the
- Moor, and Jean had driven up with Blaise in one of the Staple cars. She
- looked at Burke now, in astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You certainly are not,” she replied quickly. “I shall
- go back as I came—in the car.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite impossible. It’s broken down. They rashly brought on
- the lunch hampers in it, across that God-forsaken bit of moor road—with
- disastrous consequences to the car’s internals. So that you and
- Tormarin have got to be sorted into other conveyances. And I’ve
- undertaken to get you home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s face fell a little. Throughout the drive up to the Moor
- Blaise had seemed less remote and more like his old self than at any time
- since their quarrel, and she could guess that this arrangement of Burke’s
- was hardly likely to conduce towards the continuance of the new peace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How will Blaise get home?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They can squeeze him into her car, Judy says. It’ll be a
- tight fit, but he can cling on by his eyelashes somehow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it would be a better arrangement if you drove Blaise and I
- went back in the car with your sister,” suggested Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s certainly not room for two extra in the car. There
- isn’t really room for one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There wouldn’t be two. You would drive Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pardon me. I should do nothing of the sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean”—incredulously—“that you would
- refuse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I should invent an armour-plated reason. A broken spring in the
- dog-cart or something. But I do mean that if I don’t drive you, I
- drive no one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean looked at him vexedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” she said uncertainly, “we can’t have a
- fuss at a picnic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” agreed Burke. “So I’m afraid you’ll
- have to give in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rather thought so, too. There didn’t seem any way out of it.
- She knew that Burke was perfectly capable, under cover of some supposed
- mishap to his trap, of throwing the whole party into confusion and
- difficulty, rather than relinquish his intention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, very well,” she yielded at last, resignedly. “Have
- your own way, you obstinate man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I intend to,” he replied coolly. “Now—-and
- always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI—DIVERS HAPPENINGS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“I</span> DON’T
- think I want any champagne,” said Claire smilingly, as Nick filled a
- glass and handed it to her. “Being utterly free like this produces
- much the same effect. I feel drunk, Nick—drunk with happiness. Oh,
- why can’t I be always free——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke off abruptly in her speech, her face whitening, and stared past
- Nick with dilated eyes. Her lips remained parted, just as when she had
- ceased speaking, and the breath came between them unevenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick followed the direction of her glance. But he could see nothing to
- account for her suddenly stricken expression of dismay. A man in chauffeur’s
- livery, vaguely familiar to him, was approaching, and it was upon him that
- Claire’s eyes were fixed in a sick gaze of apprehension. It reminded
- Nick of the look of a wounded bird, incapable of flight, as it watches the
- approach of a hungry cat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s the
- matter? For God’s sake don’t look like that, Claire!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly, with difficulty, she wrenched her eyes away from that sleek,
- conventional figure in the dark green livery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you see who it is?” she asked in a harsh, dry
- whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Nick could answer, the man had made his way to Claire’s side
- and paused respectfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, touching his hat, “Sir
- Adrian sent me to say that he’s waiting for you in the car just
- along the road there.” He pointed to where, on the white ribbon of
- road which crossed the Moor not far from the base of the tor, a stationary
- car was visible.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire, her face ashen, turned to Nick in mute appeal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Adrian? I thought he left for London this morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick shot the question fiercely at the chauffeur, but the man’s face
- remained respectfully blank.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir. Sir Adrian drove as far as Exeter and then returned.
- Afterwards we drove on here, sir, and they told us in the village we
- should find you at Shelston Tors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile the other members of the party were becoming aware that some
- contretemps had occurred. Claire’s white, stricken face was evidence
- enough that something was amiss, and simultaneously Lady Anne and Jean
- hurried forward, filled with apprehension.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, Claire?” asked Lady Anne, suspecting bad news of
- some kind. “What has happened?” Recognising the Charnwood
- livery, she turned to the chauffeur and continued quickly: “Has Sir
- Adrian met with an accident?” She could conceive of no other cause
- for the man’s unexpected appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my lady. Sir Adrian is waiting in the car for her ladyship.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Waiting in the car?” repeated Jean and Lady Anne in chorus.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little group of friends drew closer together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you see what it means?” broke out Claire in a low
- voice of intense anger. “It’s been all a trick—a trick!
- He never meant to go to London at all. He only <i>pretended</i> to me that
- he was going, so that I should think that I was free and he could trap me.”
- She looked at Nick and Jean significantly. “He must have overheard
- us—that day in the shrubbery at Charnwood—you remember?”
- They both nodded. “And then planned to humiliate me in front of half
- the county.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you won’t go back with him?” exclaimed Nick hotly.
- He swung round and addressed the chauffeur stormily. “You can damn
- well tell your master that her ladyship will return this evening with the
- rest of the party.” The man’s face twitched. As far as it is
- possible for a well-drilled servant’s face to express the human
- emotion of compassion, his did so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be no good, sir,” he said in a low voice. “He
- means her ladyship to come. ‘Go and fetch her away, Langton,’
- was his actual words to me. I didn’t want the job, sir, as you may
- guess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, she’s not coming, that’s all,” declared
- Nick determinedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I must, Nick—I must go,” cried Claire in distress.
- “I—I <i>daren’t</i> stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think she must go, Nick dear,” she said persuasively.
- “It would he—-wiser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s damnable!” ejaculated Nick furiously. “It’s
- only done to insult her—to humiliate her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire smiled a little wistfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ought to be used to that by now,” she said a trifle
- shakily. “But Lady Anne is right—I must go.” She turned
- to the chauffeur, dismissing him with a little air of dignity that, in the
- circumstances, was not without its flavour of heroism. “You can go
- on ahead, Langton, and tell Sir Adrian that I am coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man touched his hat and moved off obediently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick and I will walk down to the car with you,” said Lady
- Anne. She was fully alive to the fact that her escort might contribute
- towards ameliorating the kind of reception Claire would obtain from her
- husband. “Jean dear, look after everybody for me for a few minutes,
- will you? And,” raising her voice a little, “explain that
- Claire has been called home suddenly, as Sir Adrian was not well enough to
- make the journey to town, after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Lady Anne’s well-meant endeavour to throw dust in the eyes of
- the rest of the party was of comparatively little use. Although to many of
- them Claire was personally an entire stranger—since Sir Adrian
- intervened whenever possible to prevent her from forming new friendships—the
- story of her unhappy married life was practically public property in the
- neighbourhood, and it was quite evident that to all intents and purposes
- the detestable husband had actually insisted on her returning with him,
- exactly as a naughty child might be swept off home by an irate parent in
- the middle of a jolly party.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was impossible to stem the flood of gossip, and though most of it was
- kindly enough, and wholeheartedly sympathetic to Lady Latimer, Jean’s
- cheeks burned with indignation that Claire’s dignity should be thus
- outraged.
- </p>
- <p>
- The remainder of the afternoon was spoilt for her, and Nick’s stormy
- face when he, together with Lady Anne, rejoined the rest of the party did
- not help to lighten her heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whispered compassionately,
- when presently the opportunity of a few words alone with him occurred.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glared at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you?” he said shortly. “I’m not. I think I’m
- glad. This ends it. No woman can be expected to put up with public
- humiliation of that sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick!” There was a sharp note of fear in Jean’s voice.
- “Nick, what do you mean? What are you going to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an ugly expression on the handsome boyish-looking face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll know soon enough,” was all he vouchsafed. And
- swung away from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt troubled. She had never seen Nick before with that set, still
- look on his face—a kind of bitter concentration which reminded her
- forcibly of his brother—and she rather dreaded what it might
- portend.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her thoughts were still preoccupied with the afternoon’s unpleasant
- episode, and with the possible consequences which might accrue, as she
- climbed into Burke’s high dog-cart.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had had a fleeting notion of claiming Claire’s vacant seat for
- the homeward run, but had dismissed it since actually Claire’s
- absence merely served to provide comfortable room for Blaise in the Willow
- Ferry car, which had held its full complement of passengers on the outward
- journey. Moreover, she reflected that any change of plan, now that she had
- agreed to drive back with Burke, might only lead to trouble. He was not in
- a mood to brook being thwarted.
- </p>
- <p>
- A big, raking chestnut, on wires to be off, danced between the shafts of
- the dog-cart, irritably pawing the ground and jerking her handsome,
- satin-skinned head up and down with a restless jingle of bit and
- curb-chain. She showed considerable more of the white of a wicked-looking
- eye than was altogether reassuring as she fought impatiently against the
- compulsion of the steady hand which gripped the reins and kept her,
- against her will, at a standstill.
- </p>
- <p>
- The instant she felt Jean’s light foot on the step her excitement
- rose to fever heat. Surely this <i>must</i> mean that at last a start was
- imminent and that that firm, masterful pressure on the bit would be
- released!
- </p>
- <p>
- But Burke had leaned forward to tuck the light dust-rug round Jean’s
- knees, and regarding this further delay as beyond bearing the chestnut
- created a diversion by going straight up in the air and pirouetting gaily
- on her hind legs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s calm tones fell rebukingly on the quivering, sensitive ears,
- and down came two shining hoofs in response, as the mare condescended to
- resume a more normal pose. The next moment she was off at a swinging trot,
- breaking every now and again, out of pure exuberance of spirits, into a
- canter, sternly repressed by those dominating hands whose quiet mastery
- seemed conveyed along the reins as an electric current is carried by a
- wire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn’t be afraid,” remarked Burke. “She’ll
- settle down in a few minutes. It’s only a ‘stable ahead’
- feeling she’s suffering from. There’s not an ounce of vice in
- her composition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not afraid,” replied Jean composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not tell him why. But within herself she knew that no woman would
- ever be afraid with Geoffrey Burke. Afraid of him, possibly, but never
- afraid that he would not be entire master of any situation wherein
- physical strength and courage were the paramount necessities.
- </p>
- <p>
- She reflected a little grimly to herself that it was this very
- forcefulness which gave the man his unquestionable power of attraction.
- There is always a certain fascination in sheer, ruthless strength—a
- savour of magnificence about it, something tentatively heroic, which
- appeals irresistibly to that primitive instinct somewhere hidden in the
- temperamental make-up of even the most ultra-twentieth-century feminine
- product.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Jean was quite aware that she herself was not altogether proof against
- the attraction of Burke’s dynamic virility.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another kind of strength which appealed to her far more. She
- knew this, too. The still, quiet force that was Tormarin’s—deep,
- and unfathomable, and silent, of the spirit as well as of the body.
- Contrasted with the savage power she recognised in Burke, it was like the
- fine, tempered steel of a rapier compared with a heavy bludgeon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A penny for your thoughts!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean came out of her reverie with a start. She smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t get conceited. I was thinking about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nice thoughts, I hope, then?” suggested Burke. “It’s
- better”—audaciously—“to think well of your future
- husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old gipsy’s words flashed into Jean’s mind: “<i>You’m
- bound together so fast and firm as weddin-ring could bind </i>’<i>ee,</i>”
- and her face flamed scarlet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was true—at least as far as she was concerned—that no
- wedding-ring could bind her more firmly to Blaise than her own heart had
- already bound her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The instinct to flirt with Burke was in abeyance. It was an instinct only
- born of heartache and unhappiness, and now that Blaise’s mood was so
- much less cool and distant than, it had been, the temptation to play with
- unexploded bombs had correspondingly lost much of its charm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t be tiresome, Geoffrey,” she said vexedly. “If
- only you would make up your mind to be—just pals, I should think
- much better of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to think worse,” he
- retorted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just at that moment they encountered a flock of sheep, ambling leisurely
- along towards them and blocking up the narrow roadway, and Jean was spared
- the necessity of replying by the fact that Burke immediately found his
- hands full, manoeuvring a path for the mare between the broad, curly backs
- of the bleating multitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- The drover of the flock was, of course, a hundred yards or more behind his
- charges, negligently occupied in relighting his pipe, so that no
- assistance was to be looked for in that direction, and as the sheep bumped
- against the mare’s legs and crowded up against the wheels of the
- trap in their characteristically maddening fashion, it required all Burke’s
- skill and dexterity to make a way through the four-footed crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- The chestnut’s own idea of dealing with the difficulty was to charge
- full speed ahead, an idea which by no means facilitated matters, and she
- fought her bit and fairly danced with fury as Burke checked her at almost
- every yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had nearly reached the open road again, and Jean, looking down on the
- sea of woolly backs, with the hovering cloud of hoof-driven dust above
- them, thought she could fully appreciate the probable feelings of the
- Israelites as they approached the further shore of the Red Sea. And it was
- just at this inauspicious moment that the drover, having lit his pipe to
- his satisfaction, looked up and grasped the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Guilty conscience not only makes cowards, but is also prolific in the
- creation of fools, and the drover, stung into belated action by the
- consciousness of previous remissness, promptly did the most foolish thing
- he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- He let off a yell that tore its way through every quivering nerve in the
- mare’s body, and with a shout of, “Round ’em, lad!”
- sent his dog—a half-trained youngster—barking like a creature
- possessed, full tilt in pursuit of the sheep.
- </p>
- <p>
- That settled it as far as the chestnut was concerned. With a bound she
- leapt forward, scattering the two or three remaining sheep that still
- blocked her path, and the next moment the light, high cart was rocking
- like a cockle-shell in a choppy sea, as she tore along, utterly out of
- hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Luckily, for a couple of miles the road ran straight as a dart, and after
- the first gasp of alarm Jean found herself curiously collected and able to
- calculate chances. At the end of the two miles, she know, there came a
- steep declivity—a typical Devonshire hill, like the side of a house,
- which the British workman had repaired in his usual crude and inefficient
- manner, so that loose stones and inequalities of surface added to the
- dangers of negotiation. At the foot of this descent was a sharp double
- turn—a veritable death-trap. Could Burke possibly got the mare in
- hand before they reached the brow of the hill? Jean doubted it.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no sound now in all the world except the battering of the mare’s
- hoofs upon the road and the screaming rush of the wind in their ears. The
- hedges flew past, a green, distorted blur. The strip of road fled away
- beneath them as though coiled up by some swift revolving cylinder; ahead,
- it ended sheer against a sky blue as a periwinkle, and into that blue they
- were rushing at thirty miles an hour. When they reached it, it would be
- the end. Jean could almost hear the crash that must follow, sense the
- sickening feeling of being flung headlong, hurled into space.... hurtling
- down into black nothingness.,..
- </p>
- <p>
- Her glance sought Burke’s face. His jaw was out-thrust, and she
- could guess at the clenched teeth behind the lips that shut like a
- rat-trap. His eyes gleamed beneath the penthouse brows, drawn together so
- that they almost met above his fighting beak of a nose.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an oddly detached manner she found herself reflecting on the dogged
- brute strength of his set face. If anyone could check that flying,
- foam-flecked form, rocketing along between the shafts like a red-brown
- streak, he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- She wondered how long he would be able to hold the beast—to hang on?
- She remembered having heard that, after a time, the strain of pulling
- against a runaway becomes too much for human nerves and muscles, and that
- a man’s hands grow numb—and helpless! While the dead pull on
- the bit equally numbs the mouth of the horse, so that he, too, has no more
- any feeling to be played upon by the pressure of the hit.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes dropped to Burke’s hands. With a little inward start of
- astonishment she realised that he was not attempting to pull against the
- chestnut. He was just holding... holding... steadying her, ever so little,
- in her mad gallop. Jean felt the mare swerve, then swing level again,
- still answering faintly to the reins.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s hands were very still. She wondered vaguely why—now—he
- didn’t pit his strength against that of the runaway. They must have
- covered a mile or more. A bare half-mile was all that still lay between
- them and disaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as she watched Burke’s hands, she saw them move, first one
- and then the other, sawing the bit against the tender corners of the mare’s
- mouth. Jean was conscious of a faint difference in the mad pace of her.
- Not enough to be accounted a check—but still <i>something</i>, some
- appreciable slackening of the whirlwind rush towards that blue blur of sky
- ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed as though Burke, too, sensed that infinitesimal yielding to the
- saw of the bit. For the first time, he gave a definite pull at the reins.
- Then he relaxed the pressure, and again there followed the same sawing
- motion and the fret of the steel bar against sensitive, velvet lips. Then
- another pull—the man’s sheer strength against the mare’s....
- Jean watched, fascinated.
- </p>
- <p>
- And gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the frenzied beat of the
- iron-shod hoofs became more measured as the chestnut shortened her stride.
- It was no longer merely the thrashing, thunderous devil’s tattoo of
- sheer, panic-driven speed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now and again Jean could hear Burke’s voice, speaking to the
- frightened beast, chiding and reassuring in even, unhurried tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious of no fear, only of an absorbing interest and excitement
- as to whether Burke would be able to impose his will upon the animal
- before they reached that precipitous hill the descent of which must
- infallibly spell ‘destruction’.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat very still, her hands locked together, watching... watching....
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII—“WILLING OR UNWILLING!”
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was over. A bare
- twenty yards from the brow of the bill the man had won, and now the mare
- was standing swaying between the shafts, shaking in every limb, her flanks
- heaving and the sweat streaming off her sodden coat in little rivulets.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke was beside her, patting her down and talking to her in a little
- intimate fashion much as though he were soothing a frightened child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re all in, aren’t you, old thing?” he
- murmured sympathetically. Then he glanced up at Jean, who was still
- sitting in the cart, feeling rather as though the end of the world had
- occurred and, in some surprising fashion, left her still cumbering the
- earth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s pretty well run herself out,” he remarked.
- “We shan’t have any more trouble going home”—smiling
- briefly. “I hope not,” answered Jean a trifle flatly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You all right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, thank you. You must be an excellent whip,” she added.
- “I thought the mare would never stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Probably even Jean hardly realised the fineness of the horsemanship of
- which she had just been a witness—the judgment and coolness Burke
- had evinced in letting the mare spend the first freshness of her strength
- before he essayed to check her mad pace; the dexterity with which he had
- somehow contrived to keep her straight; and finally, the consummate skill
- with which, that last half-mile, he had played her mouth, rejecting the
- dead pull on the reins—the instinctive error of the mediocre driver—which
- so quickly numbs sensation and neutralises every effort to bring a runaway
- to a standstill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I rather thought our number was up,” agreed Burke
- absently. He was passing his hands feelingly over the mare to see if she
- were all right, and suddenly, with a sharp exclamation, he lifted one of
- her feet from the ground and examined it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cast a shoe and torn her foot rather badly,” he announced.
- “I’m afraid we shall have to stop at the next village and get
- her shod. It’s not a mile further on. You and I can have tea at the
- inn while she’s at the blacksmith’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a final caress of the steaming chestnut neck, he came back to the
- side of the cart, reins in hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can you drive her with a torn foot?” queried Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes. We’ll have to go carefully down this hill, though.
- There are such a confounded lot of loose stones about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He climbed into the dog-cart and very soon they had reached the village,
- where the chestnut, tired and subdued, was turned over to the blacksmith’s
- ministrations while Burke and Jean made their way to the inn.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tea was brought to them upstairs in a quaint, old-fashioned parlour
- fragrant of bygone times. Oaken beams, black with age, supported the
- ceiling, and on the high chimneypiece pewter dishes gleamed like silver,
- while at either end an amazingly hideous spotted dog, in genuine old
- Staffordshire, surveyed the scene with a satisfied smirk. Through the
- leaded diamond panes of the window was visible a glimpse of the Moor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What an enchanting place!” commented Jean, as, tea over, she
- made a tour of inspection, pausing at last in front of the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke had been watching her as she wandered about the room, his expression
- moody and dissatisfied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a famous resort for honeymooners,” he answered.
- “Do you think”—enquiringly—“it would be a
- good place in which to spend a honeymoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends,” replied Jean cautiously. “If the people
- were fond of the country, and the Moor, and so on—yes. But they
- might prefer something less remote from the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I?”—with detachment. “I’m not contemplating
- a honeymoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly Burke crossed the room to her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We might as well settle that point now,” he said quietly.
- “Jean, when will you marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him indignantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve answered that question before. It isn’t fair of
- you to reopen the matter here—and now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he agreed. “It isn’t fair. In fact, I’m
- not sure that it isn’t rather a caddish thing for me to do, seeing
- that you can’t get away from me just now. But all’s fair in
- love and war. And it’s both love and war between us two”—grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The two things don’t sound very compatible,” fenced
- Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s only war till you give in—till you promise to
- marry me. Then”—a smouldering light glowed in his eyes—“then
- I’ll show you what loves means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid,” she said, attempting to speak coolly,
- “that it means war indefinitely then, Geoffrey. I can give you no
- different answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall!” he exclaimed violently. “I tell you, Jean,
- it’s useless your refusing me. I won’t <i>take</i> no. I want
- you for my wife—and, by God, I’m going to have you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew away from him a little, backing into the embrasure of the window.
- The look in his eyes frightened her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whether I will or no?” she asked, still endeavouring to speak
- lightly. “<i>My</i> feelings in the matter don’t appear to
- concern you at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d rather you came willingly—but, if you won’t,
- I swear I’ll marry you, willing or unwilling!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was standing close to her now, staring down at her with sombre,
- passion-lit eyes, and instinctively she made a movement as though to elude
- him and slip back again into the room. In the same instant his arms went
- round her and she was prisoned in a grip from which she was powerless to
- escape.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t struggle,” he said, as she strove impotently to
- release herself. “I could hold you from now till doomsday without an
- effort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a curious thrill in his voice, the triumphant, arrogant leap of
- possession. He held her pressed against him, and she could feel his chest
- heave with his labouring breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re mine—mine! My woman—meant for me from the
- beginning of the world—and do you think I’ll give you up?...
- Give you up? I tell you, if you were another man’s wife I’d
- take you away from him! You’re mine—every inch of you, body
- and soul. And I want you. Oh, my God, how I want you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me go... Geoffrey...”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words struggled from her lips. For answer his arms tightened round
- her, crushing her savagely, and she felt his kisses burning, scorching her
- face, his mouth on hers till it seemed as though he were draining her very
- soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last he released her, she leant helplessly against the woodwork of
- the window, panting and shaken. Her face was white as a magnolia petal and
- her eyes dark-rimmed with purple shadow.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint expression of compunction crossed Burke’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose—I shall never be forgiven now,” he muttered
- roughly.
- </p>
- <p>
- With an effort Jean forced her tongue to answer him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said in a voice out of which every particle of
- feeling seemed to have departed. “You will never be forgiven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of deviltry came into his eyes. He crossed the room and, locking
- the door, dropped the key into his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” he remarked coolly, “in that case, I’d
- better keep you a prisoner here till you have promised to marry me. It’s
- you I want. Your forgiveness can come after. I’ll see to that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The result of his action was unexpected. Jean turned to the window,
- unlatched it, and flung open the casement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you don’t unlock that door at once, Geoffrey,” she
- said quietly, “I shall leave the room—this way”—with
- a gesture that sufficiently explained her meaning.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice was very steady. Burke looked at her curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean—you’d jump out?” he asked, openly
- incredulous.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes answered him. They were feverishly bright, with an almost
- fanatical light in them, and suddenly Burke realised that she was at the
- end of her tether, that the emotional stress of the last quarter of an
- hour had taken its toll of her high-strung temperament and that she might
- even do what she had threatened. He had no conception of the motive behind
- the threat—of the imperative determination which had leaped to life
- within her to endure or suffer anything rather than stay locked in this
- room with Burke, rather than give Blaise, the man who held her heart
- between his two hands, ground for misunderstanding or mistrusting her
- anew.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke fitted the key into the lock of the door and turned it sulkily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You prim little thing! I was only teasing you,” he said.
- “Do you mean you’re really as frightened as all that of—<i>what
- people may say?</i> I thought you were above minding the gossip of
- ill-natured scandal-mongers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean grasped eagerly at the excuse. It would serve to hide the real motive
- of her impulsive action.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No woman can afford to ignore scandal,” she answered quickly.
- “After all, a woman’s happiness depends mostly on her
- reputation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s eyes narrowed suddenly. He looked at her speculatively, as
- though her words had suggested a new train of thought, but he made no
- comment. Somewhat abstractedly he opened the door and allowed her to pass
- out and down the stairs. Outside the door of the inn they found the mare
- and dog-cart in charge of an ostler.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The mare’s foot’s rather badly torn, sir,”
- volunteered the man, “but the blacksmith thinks she’ll travel
- all right. Far to go, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nine or ten miles,” responded Burke laconically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was curiously silent on the way home. It was as though the chain of
- reasoning started by Jean’s comment on the relation scandal bears to
- a woman’s happiness still absorbed him. His brows were knit together
- morosely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean supposed he was probably reproaching himself for his conduct that
- afternoon. After all, she reflected, he was normally a man of decent
- instincts, and though the flood-tide of his passion had swept him into
- taking advantage of the circumstances which had flung them together in the
- solitude of the little inn, he would be the first to agree, when in a less
- lawless frame of mind, that his conduct had been unpardonable. Although,
- even from that, one could not promise that he would not be equally
- culpable another time!
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise had proved painfully correct in his estimate of the dangers
- attaching to unexploded bombs. Jean admitted it to herself ruefully. And
- she was honest enough also to admit that, with his warning ringing in her
- ears and with the memory of what had happened in the rose garden to
- illumine it, she herself was not altogether clear of blame for the
- incidents of the afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- She <i>had</i> played with Burke, even encouraged him to a certain extent,
- allowing him to be in her company far more frequently than was altogether
- wise, considering the circumstance of his hot-headed love for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with somewhat of a mental start of surprise that she found herself
- seeking for excuses for his behaviour—actually trying to supply
- adequate reasons why she should overlook it!
- </p>
- <p>
- His brooding, sulky silence as he drove along, mile after mile, was not
- without its appeal to the inherent femininity of her. He did not try to
- excuse or palliate his conduct, made no attempt to sue for forgiveness. He
- loved her and he had let her see it; manlike, he had taken what the
- opportunity offered. And she didn’t suppose he regretted it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The faintest smile twitched the comers of her lips. Burke was not the type
- of man to regret an unlawful kiss or two!
- </p>
- <p>
- She was conscious that—as usual, where he was concerned—her
- virtuous indignation was oozing away in the most discreditable and
- hopeless fashion. There was an audacious charm about the man, an
- attractiveness that would not be denied in the hot-headed way he went, all
- out, for what he wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Other women, besides Jean had found it equally difficult to resist. His
- sheer virility, with its splendid disregard for other people’s
- claims and its conscienceless belief that the battle should assuredly be
- to the strong, earned him forgiveness where, for misdeeds not half so
- flagrant, a less imperious sinner would have been promptly shown the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- But no woman—not even the women to whom he had made love without the
- excuse of loving—had ever shown Burke the door or given him the kind
- of treatment which he had thoroughly well merited twenty times over. And
- Jean was no exception to the rule.
- </p>
- <p>
- At least he had some genuine claim on her forgiveness—the claim of a
- love which had swept through his very bung like a flame, the fierce
- passion of a man to whom love means adoration, worship—above all,
- possession.
- </p>
- <p>
- And what woman can ever long remain righteously angry with a man who loves
- her—and whose very offence is the outcome of the overmastering
- quality of that love? Very few, and certainly none who was so very much a
- woman, so essentially feminine as Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in a very small voice, which she endeavoured to make airily
- detached, that she at last broke the silence which had reigned for the
- last six miles or so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I shall have to forgive you—more or less. One can’t
- exactly quarrel with one’s next door neighbour.” Burke smiled
- grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there’s Judith to be considered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A rather curious expression came into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he agreed. “There’s Judith to be
- considered.” There was a hint of irony in the dry tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would complicate matters if I were not on speaking terms with
- her brother,” pursued Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited for his answer, but none came. The threatened possibility
- contained in her speech appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, and the
- silence seemed likely to continue indefinitely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean prompted him gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might, at least, say you are sorry for—for——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For kissing you?”—swiftly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—flushing a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m not. Kissing you”—with deliberation—“is
- One of the things I shall never regret. When I come to make my peace with
- Heaven and repent in sackcloth and ashes for my sins of omission and
- commission, I shan’t include this afternoon in the list, I assure
- you. It was worth it—if I pay for it afterwards in hell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a moment. Then:
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’ll promise you one thing. I’ll never kiss you
- again till you give me your lips yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled at the characteristic speech. She supposed this was as near an
- apology as Burke would ever get.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all right, then,” she replied composedly.
- “Because I shall never do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He flicked the chestnut lightly with the whip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you will,” he said. “I think”—he
- looked at her somewhat enigmatically—“that you will give me
- everything I want—some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII—ON THE SIDE OF THE ANGELS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HROUGHOUT the day
- following that of the expedition to Dartmoor, Nick seemed determined to
- keep out of Jean’s way. It was as though he feared she might force
- some confidence from him that he was loth to give, and, in consequence,
- deliberately avoided being alone with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the second day, however, as luck would have it, she encountered him in
- the corridor just outside her own sitting-room. He was striding blindly
- along, obviously not heeding where he was going, and had almost collided
- with her before he realised that she was there.
- </p>
- <p>
- He jerked himself backwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” he muttered, still without looking at
- her, and made as though to pass on.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean checked him with a hand on his sleeve. She had not watched the dogged
- sullenness of his face throughout yesterday to no purpose, and now, as her
- swift gaze searched it anew, she felt convinced that something fresh had
- occurred to stir him. It was impossible for Jean to see a friend in
- trouble without wanting to “stand by.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick, old thing, what’s wrong?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her unseeingly. “Wrong?” he muttered. “Wrong?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Come in here and let’s talk it out—whatever it is.”
- With gentle insistence she drew him into her sitting-room. “How,”
- she said, when she had established him in an easy-chair by the open window
- and herself in another, “what’s gone wrong? Are you still
- boiling over about that trick Sir Adrian played on Claire the day of the
- picnic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke lightly—more lightly than the occasion warranted—of
- set purpose, hoping to reduce the tension under which Nick was obviously
- labouring. His face hurt her. The familiar lazy insouciance which was half
- its charm was blotted out of it by some heavy cloud of tragic
- significance. He looked as though he had not slept for days, and his eyes,
- the gaiety burnt out of them by pain, seemed sunken in his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he seemed to awaken to the
- meaning of her question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said slowly. “No. The boiling over part is done
- with—finished.... I’m going to take her away from him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke with a curious precision. It frightened Jean far more than any
- impetuous outburst of anger could have done. She made no answer for a
- moment, but her mind worked rapidly. She did not doubt the absolute
- sincerity of his intention. This was no mere reckless boast of an angry
- lover, but the sane, considered aim and object of a man who has come, by
- way of some long agony of thwarting, to a set determination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean that, Nick?” she asked at last, to gain time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do I mean it?” he laughed. Then his hands gripped the arms of
- the chair and he leaned forward. “I saw her—last evening after
- dinner.... Her shoulder was black.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sharp cry broke from Jean’s lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not—not—he hadn’t——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had struck her. There was one of the usual scenes when they got
- back from the Moor—and he struck her.... It’s the first time
- he has ever actually laid hands on her. It’s going to be the last”—grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent. Her whole soul was in revolt against the half-mad,
- drug-ridden creature who was making of Claire’s life a devil
- martyrdom; the instinct to protect her, to succour her in some way,
- asserting itself with almost passionate force. And yet—— She
- knew that Nick’s way was not the right way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it must be the last time,” she agreed. “But—but,
- Nick, your plan won’t do, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick stiffened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Think not?” he said curtly. “Can you suggest a better?”
- Then, as Jean remained miserably silent: “Nor can I. And one thing I
- swear—I won’t leave the woman I love in the hands of a man who
- is practically a maniac, to be tortured day after day, mentally and
- physically, just whenever he feels like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It struck Jean as curious that Nick had been able, more or less, to keep
- himself in hand whilst Sir Adrian inflicted upon Claire whatever of mental
- and spiritual torture seemed good in his distorted vision. It was the fact
- that he had hurt her physically, laid his hand upon her in actual
- violence, which had scattered Nick’s self-control to the four winds
- of heaven. To Jean herself, it seemed conceivable that the mental anguish
- of Claire’s married life had probably far outstripped any mere
- bodily pain. Half tentatively she gave expression to her thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick sprang to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God!” he exclaimed. “If you were a man, you’d
- understand! I see red when I think of that damned brute striking the woman
- I love. It—it was sacrilege!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And won’t it be—another kind of sacrilege—if you
- take her away with you, Nick?” asked Jean very quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flushed dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’ll divorce her, and then we shall marry,” he
- answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even so”—steadily—“it would be doing evil
- that good may come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we’ll do it”—savagely. “It’s
- easy enough for you to sit there moralising, perfectly placid and
- comfortable. Claire and I have borne all we can. It has been bad enough to
- care as we care for each other, and to live apart But when it means that
- Claire is to suffer unspeakable misery and humiliation while I stand by
- and look on—why, it’s beyond human endurance. You’re not
- tempted. You’ve no conception what you’re talking about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sat very still and silent while Nick stormed out the bitterness of
- soul, recognising the truth of every word he littered—even of the
- gibes which, in the heedlessness of his own pain, he flung at herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she got up and moved rather slowly across to his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick,” she said, and her eyes, looking into his, were very
- bright and clear and steady. Somehow for Nick they held the semblance of
- two flames, torches of pure light, burning unflickeringly in the darkness.
- “Nick, every word you say is true. I’m not tempted as you and
- Claire have been, and so it seems sheer cheek my interfering. But I’m
- only asking you to do what I pray I’d be strong enough to do myself
- in like circumstances. I don’t believe any true happiness can ever
- come of running away from duty. And if ever I’m up against such a
- thing—a choice like this—I hope to God I’d be able to
- hang on... to run straight, even if it half killed me to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The quick, impassioned utterance ceased, and half shrinkingly Jean
- realised that she had spoken out of the very depths of her soul,
- crystallising in so many words the uttermost ideal and <i>credo</i> of her
- being. In some strange, indefinable fashion it was borne in on her that
- she had reached an epoch of her life. It was as when a musician, arrived
- at the end of a musical period, strikes a chord which holds the keynote of
- the ensuing passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She faltered and looked at Nick beseechingly, suddenly self-conscious, as
- we most of us are when we find we have laid bare a bit of our inmost soul
- to the possibly mocking eyes of a fellow human being.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Nick’s eyes were not in the least mocking.
- </p>
- <p>
- Instead of that, some of the hardness seemed to have gone out of them, and
- his voice was very gentle, as, taking Jean’s two hands in his, he
- answered:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe <i>you</i> would run straight, little Jean—even if
- it meant tearing your heart out of your body to do it. But, you know, you’re
- always on the side of the angels—instinctively. I’m only a man—just
- an average earthy man”—smiling ruefully—“and my
- ideals all tumble down and sit on the ground in a heap when I think of
- what my girl’s enduring as Latimer’s wife. I believe I might
- stick my part of the business—but I can’t stick it for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet,” urged Jean, “if you go away together, Nick,
- it’s she who’ll pay, you know. The woman always does.
- Supposing—supposing Sir Adrian <i>doesn’t</i> divorce her—refuses
- to? It would be just like him to punish her that way. What about Claire—then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He <i>would</i> divorce her,” protested Nick harshly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think so. Honestly, I believe he would get undiluted
- satisfaction out of the fact that, as long as he lived, he could stand
- between Claire and everything that a normal woman wants—home, and a
- sheltered life, and the knowledge that no one can ‘say things’
- about her. Oh, Nick, Nick! Between you—you and Sir Adrian—you’d
- make an outcast of Claire, make her life a worse hell with you than it is
- without you.” She paused, then went on more quietly: “Have you
- said anything to her about this—told her what you want her to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not yet—not definitely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean breathed a quick sigh of relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then don’t! Promise me you won’t, Nick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She might refuse, after all,” he suggested, evading a direct
- answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Refuse! You know her better than that. If you wanted Claire to make
- a burnt-offering of herself for your benefit to-morrow, you know she’d
- do it! And—and”—laughing a little hysterically—“pretend,
- too, that she enjoyed the process of being grilled! No, Nick, it’s
- up to you to—to just go on helping to make her life bearable, as you
- have done for the last two years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s asking too much of me, Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick spoke a little thickly. He was up against one of man’s most
- primitive instincts—the instinct to protect and comfort and cherish
- the woman he loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. It’s asking everything of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean waited. She felt that she had gained a certain amount of ground—that
- Nick’s resolution had weakened a little in response to her pleading,
- but she feared to drive him too far. She fancied she could hear steps
- crossing the hall below. If someone should come upstairs and disturb them
- now, while things were still trembling in the balance——
- </p>
- <p>
- “See, Nick,” she began to speak again hurriedly. “You
- believe I’m your pal—yours and Claire’s?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it,” he replied quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and you do care a bit about me?”—smiling a
- little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re the third woman in my world, Jean. After Claire and my
- mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, to please me—for nothing else in the world, if you
- like, but because I ask it—will you let things stay as they are for
- a few weeks longer? Just that little while, Nick? We’re going to
- London next week. That’ll make a break—bring us all back to a
- calmer, more everyday outlook on things. Will you wait? Sir Adrian may
- never strike Claire again. And it wouldn’t be fair—just now,
- at a time when she is feeling horribly bitter and humiliated from that—that
- insult—to ask her to go away with you. Give her a fair chance to
- decide a big question like that when things are at their normal level—not
- when they are worse than usual. To ask her now would be to take advantage
- of the feeling she must have, just at this moment, that her life is
- unbearable. It wouldn’t be playing the game.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no answer, and Jean waited with increasing trepidation. She was
- sure now that she could hear footsteps. Someone had mounted the stairs and
- was coming along the corridor towards her room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nick!” The low, agitated whisper burst from her as the steps
- halted outside the door. “Promise me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed an eternity before he answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. I promise. You’ve won for the moment—‘Saint
- Jean’!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled at her, rather sadly. Before she could reply, Blaise’s
- voice sounded outside the door, asking if he might come in, and with a
- feeling of intense relief that the battle was won for the moment, Jean
- gave the required permission. As his brother entered the room, Nick
- quitted it, brushing past him abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin’s eyes questioned Jean’s;
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have been discussing Sir Adrian,” she explained, as the
- door closed behind Nick. “And—and Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded comprehendingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Nick!” he said. “It’s damned rough on
- him. Latimer ought to be carefully and quickly chloroformed out of the
- way. He’s as much a menace to society as a mad dog.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sighed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid they’re very unhappy—Nick and Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder Claire doesn’t chuck her husband,” said
- Blaise. “And take whatever of happiness she can get out of the
- world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know you don’t mean that. You don’t really believe
- in snatching happiness—at all costs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d let precious little stand in the way. If I were Nick I
- think I should do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But being you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean did not know what unaccountable impulse induced her to give a
- personal and individual twist to what had been developing almost into an
- academic discussion. Perhaps it was the familiar, unsatisfied longing to
- hear Blaise himself define the thing which kept them apart—even
- though, since Lady Anne’s disclosure, she could guess only too well
- what it was. Or perhaps it was the faint, tormenting hope that one day his
- determination would weaken and his love sweep away all barriers.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her contemplatively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sometimes the past makes claims upon a man which forbid him to
- snatch at happiness. I don’t believe in any man’s shirking his
- just punishment for the evil he has done. What he has brought on himself,
- that he must bear. But Nick and Claire have had no part in bringing about
- their own tragedy. They are just the sport of chance—of an ill fate.
- They are morally free to take their happiness in a way in which I shall
- never be free to take mine, as long as I live.” He regarded her
- steadily. “There are certain things for which I have proved myself
- unfitted—with which it is evident I am not to be trusted. And one of
- those is the safeguarding of any woman’s happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt her throat contract. It would always be the same, then! The long
- tentacles of the past would reach out eternally into the future. The woman
- who had been his wife—the woman who had destroyed herself, and, in
- so doing, hanged a millstone of remorse about his neck—would stand
- forever at the gateway of the garden of happiness, her dead lips silently
- denying him—and, with him, the woman who loved him—the right
- to enter.
- </p>
- <p>
- With an effort Jean answered that part of his speech which had reference
- only to Claire and Nick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are other ways, though, in which they have no moral right. I
- grant that Claire was persuaded, almost driven into marrying Sir Adrian by
- her parents, but, after all, we each have our individual free will. She <i>could</i>
- have refused to obey them. Or, if she felt there were reasons why she must
- marry him—the material advantage to her parents, and so on, why, she
- ought to have reckoned the cost I don’t mean to be hard, Blaise————-”
- She broke off wistfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—hard!” He laughed a little, as though amused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only—only one must try to be fair all round—to look at
- things <i>straight</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She leaned her chin on her palm and her eyes grew thoughtful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know, but it seems to me that we weren’t meant
- to run away from things—hard things. If a man and a woman marry,
- they must accept their responsibilities—not evade them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So absorbed was she in her trend of thought that she never realised how
- directly this speech must strike at Blaise himself. His face changed
- slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re right, of course,” he said abruptly. “You—generally
- are. And if all women were like you, it would be easy enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes dwelt with a curious intentness on the pure outline of her face;
- on the parted, tenderly curved lips, and the golden eyes with their
- momentary touch of the idealist and the dreamer.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed as if the quiet intensity of his regard drew her, for slowly she
- turned her head and met his gaze, flushing suddenly and faltering under
- it. The consciousness of him, of his nearness, swept her from head to
- foot, and it seemed to her as though now, in this moment, they were in
- closer touch, nearer understanding, than they had ever been.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dreamer and idealist vanished and it was all at once just sheer woman,
- passionate and wistful and tremulous, and infinitely alluring, that looked
- at him out of the golden eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a stifled exclamation he caught her hands in his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beloved——”
- </p>
- <p>
- And the whole of a man’s forbidden, thwarted love vibrated in the
- word as he spoke it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he bent his head, and for a moment his lips were against her soft
- palms....
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood very still and quiet when he had gone, realising in every
- quivering nerve of her that whatsoever the future might bring—even
- though Blaise might choose to shut himself away from her again as in the
- past and the dividing wall between them rise as high as heaven—she
- knew now, without any shadow of doubt or questioning, that he loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the burning utterance of a single word, in the pressure of passionate,
- renouncing lips, the assurance had been given, and nothing could ever take
- it away again.
- </p>
- <p>
- She spread out her hands, palms upward, and looked at them curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“H</span> AVE you
- been <i>very</i> bored, Nick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The week in London had nearly run its course, and Lady Anne’s eyes
- begged charmingly for a negative. Nick accorded it with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m never bored with you, madonna; you know that,” he
- said. “And hotel life is always more or less amusing. One comes
- across such queer types. There’s one here this evening has been
- intriguing me enormously. At a little table by herself—do you see
- her? A tall, rather gorgeous-looking being—kind of cross between the
- Queen of Sheba and Lucretia Borgia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne threw a veiled glance in the direction indicated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she’s a very handsome woman, obviously not English.”
- Her eyes travelled onwards towards the door. “I wish Blaise and Jean
- would hurry up,” she added impatiently. “They’re taking
- an unconscionable time to dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two latter had come in late from a sight-seeing expedition undertaken
- on Jean’s behalf, and had only returned to the hotel just as Lady
- Anne and Nick were preparing to make their way in to dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For such a deliberate matchmaker, you’re a lot too impatient,
- madonna,” commented Nick teasingly. “That they should have
- stayed out together until the very last moment ought to have pleased you
- immensely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne made a small grimace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So it does—theoretically. Only from a practical and purely
- material point of view, everything else sinks into insignificance beside
- the fact that I am literally starving. Oh!”—joyfully catching
- sight of Jean and Tormarin making their way up the room—“Here
- they are at last! Collect our waiter, Nick, and let’s begin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither of the late-comers appeared in the least embarrassed by the
- tardiness of their arrival, said they responded to tentative enquiries
- concerning their afternoon’s amusement with a disappointing lack of
- self-consciousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne experienced an inward qualm of misgiving. There seemed too calm
- and tranquil a camaraderie between the two to please her altogether. It
- was as though the last few days had brought about a silent understanding
- between them—a wordless compact.
- </p>
- <p>
- She picked up the menu and assumed an absorption in its contents which she
- was far from feeling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are we all going to eat?” she asked. “I think we
- must hurry a little, or we shall be late for the play. Then I shall lose
- the exquisite thrill of seeing the curtain go up.” Tormarin looked
- entertained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does it still thrill you, you absurdly youthful person?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it does. I always consider that the quality of the thrill
- produced by the rise of the curtain is the measure of one’s capacity
- for enjoyment. When it no longer thrills me, I shall know that I am
- getting old and bored, and that I only go to the theatre to kill time and
- because everyone else goes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dinner proceeded leisurely in spite of Lady Anne’s admonition that
- they should hurry, and presently Nick, who had glanced across the room
- once or twice as though secretly amused, remarked confidentially:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lucretia Borgia lady is taking a quite uncommon interest in
- someone of our party. I’m afraid I can’t flatter myself that
- she’s lost her heart to me, as I’ve only observed this
- development since Jean and Blaise joined us. Blaise, I believe it’s
- you who have won her devoted—if, probably, somewhat violent—affections.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your Lucretia Borgia lady? Which is she?” enquired Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can’t see her, because you are sitting with your back to
- her,” replied Nick importantly. “And it isn’t manners to
- screw your head round in a public restaurant—even although the
- modern reincarnation of an unpleasantly vengeful lady may be sitting just
- behind you. But if you’ll look into that glass opposite you—a
- little to the right side of it—you’ll see who I mean. She’s
- quite unmistakable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean tilted her head a little and peered slantwise into the mirror which
- faced her. It was precisely at the same moment that Nick’s “Lucretia
- Borgia lady” looked up for the second time from her <i>pêche</i>
- Melba, and Jean found herself gazing straight into the dense darkness of
- the eyes of Madame de Varigny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why—why————” she stammered in
- astonishment. “It is the Comtesse de Varigny!” She turned to
- Lady Anne, adding explanatorily: “You remember, madonna, I told you
- about her? She chaperoned me at Montavan, after Glyn had departed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The recognition had been mutual. Madame de Varigny had half-risen from her
- seat and was poised in an attitude of expectancy, smiling and gesturing
- with expressive hands an invitation to Jean to join her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll go across and speak to her,” said Jean. “I
- can’t imagine what she is doing in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you, too, met this rather splendid-looking personage at
- Montavan?” enquired Nick of his brother, as Jean quitted the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never spoke to her. I saw her once, on the night of a fancy-dress
- ball at the hotel, arrayed as Cleopatra.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’d look the part all right,” commented Nick. “She
- gives me the impression of being one of those angel-and-devil-mixed kind
- of women—the latter flavour preponderating. I should rather feel the
- desirability of emulating Agag in any dealings I had with her. Good Lord!”—with
- a lively accession of interest—“Jean’s bringing her over
- here. By Jove! She really is a beautiful person, isn’t she. Like a
- sort of Eastern empress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame de Varigny wishes to be presented to you, Lady Anne,”
- said Jean, and proceeded to effect introductions all round.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember seeing you with Mees Peterson at Montavan,”
- remarked the Countess, as she shook hands with Blaise, her dark eyes
- resting on him curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Join us and finish your dinner at our table,” suggested Lady
- Anne hospitably.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Madame de Varigny protested volubly that she had already finished her
- meal, though she would sit and talk with them a little if it was
- agreeable? It was—quite agreeable. She herself saw to that. No one
- could be more charming than she when she chose, and on this occasion she
- elected to make herself about as altogether charming as it is possible for
- a woman to be, entirely conquering the hearts of Lady Anne and Nick. Her
- simple, childlike warm-heartedness of manner was in such almost ludicrous
- contrast to her majestic, dark-browed type of beauty that it took them
- completely by storm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is only just a flying visit that I pay to England,” she
- explained artlessly. “It is a great good fortune that I should have
- chanced to encounter <i>ma chère Mees Peterson</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s certainly an odd chance brought you to the same hotel,”
- agreed Nick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it not?”—delightedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, from the frank wonder and satisfaction she evinced at the
- coincidence, no one could possibly have surmised that the sole cause and
- origin of her “flying visit” was a short paragraph contained
- in the <i>Morning Post</i>, a copy of which, by her express order, had
- been delivered daily at Chateau Varigny ever since her return thither from
- the Swiss Alps. The paragraph referred simply to the arrival at Claridge’s
- of Lady Anne Brennan, accompanied by her two sons and Miss Jean Peterson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And are you making a long stay in London?” enquired Madame de
- Varigny.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. We go back to Staple to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The other’s face fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how unfortunate! I shall then see nothing of my dear Mees
- Peterson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed so distressed that Lady Anne’s kind heart melted within
- her, albeit it accorded ill with her plans to increase the number of her
- party.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are going on to the theatre,” she said impulsively.
- “If you have no other engagement, why not come with us? There will
- be plenty of room in our box.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny professed herself enchanted. Curiously enough, she
- seemed to have no particular wish to draw Jean into anything in the nature
- of a private talk, but appeared quite content just to take part in the
- general conversation, while her eyes rested speculatively now upon Jean,
- now upon Tormarin, as though they afforded her an abstract interest of
- some kind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even at the theatre, where from her corner seat she was able to envisage
- the other occupants of the box, she seemed almost as much interested in
- them as in the play that was being performed on the stage. Once, as
- Tormarin leaned forward and made some comment to Jean, their two pairs of
- eyes meeting in a look of mutual understanding of some small joke or
- other, the quiet watcher smiled contentedly, as though the little byplay
- satisfied some inner questioning.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the fall of the curtain at the end of the first act, she turned to
- Lady Anne, politely enthusiastic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is a charming play,” she said. “It is no wonder
- the house is so full.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her glance strayed carelessly over the body of the auditorium, then was
- suddenly caught and held. A minute later she touched Jean’s arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think there is someone in the stalls trying to attract your
- attention,” she observed quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even as she spoke, Nick, too, became aware of the same fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hullo!” he exclaimed. “There’s Geoffrey Burke
- down below. I didn’t know he was in town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny found the effect upon her companions of this apparently
- innocent announcement distinctly interesting. It was as though a thrill of
- disconcerting consciousness ran through the other occupants of the box.
- Jean flushed suddenly and uncomfortably, and the dark, keen eyes that were
- watching from behind the fringe of dusky lashes noted an almost
- imperceptible change of expression flit across the faces of both Lady Anne
- and Tormarin. In neither case was the change altogether indicative of
- pleasure. Then, following quickly upon a bow of mutual recognition, the
- music of the orchestra suddenly ceased and the curtain went up for the
- second act.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more the curtain had fallen, and, to the hum of conversation suddenly
- released, the lights flashed up into being again over the auditorium.
- Simultaneously the door of Lady Anne’s box was opened from the
- corridor outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I come in?” said a voice—a pleasant voice with a
- gay inflection of laughter running through it as though its owner were
- quite sure of his welcome—and Burke, big and striking-looking in his
- immaculate evening kit, his ruddy hair flaming wickedly under the electric
- lights, strolled into the box.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook hands all round, his glance slightly quizzical as it met Jean’s,
- and then Lady Anne presented him to the Comtesse de Varigny.
- </p>
- <p>
- It almost seemed as though something, some mutual recognition of a kindred
- spirit, flashed from the warm southern-dark eyes to the fiery red-brown
- ones, and when, a minute or two later, Burke established himself in the
- seat next Jean, vacated by Nick, he murmured in a low tone:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where did you find that Eastern-looking charmer? I feel convinced I
- could lose my heart to her without any effort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean could hardly refrain from smiling. This was her first meeting with
- Burke since the occasion of the scene which had occurred between them in
- the little parlour at the “honeymooners’ inn,” and now
- he met her with as much composure and arrogant assurance as though nothing
- in the world, other than of a mutually pleasing and amicable nature, had
- taken place. It was so exactly like Burke, she reflected helplessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you had better go and make love to her,” she suggested.
- “There happens to be a husband in the background—a little
- hypochondriac with quite charming manners—but I don’t suppose
- you would consider that any obstacle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None,” retorted Burke placidly. “I’m quite
- certain she can’t be in love with him. Her taste would be more—robust,
- I should say. Where is she stopping?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Claridge’s. We met her there this evening. I knew her in
- Switzerland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you shall all come out to supper with me to-morrow:—-the
- Countess included.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean shook her head demurely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall all be back at Staple to-morrow—the Countess
- excepted. You can take her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the supper must be to-night,” replied Burke serenely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you doing in town, anyway?” asked Jean. “Is
- Judith with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Came up to see my tailor”—laconically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He crossed the box to arrange matters with Lady Anne, and before the
- curtain rose on the last act it was settled that they should all have
- supper together after the play.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later, when Burke had once more resumed his seat next to
- Jean, Madame de Varigny, whose hearing, like her other senses, was
- preternaturally acute, caught a whispered plaint breathed into Nick’s
- ear by Lady Anne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now <i>isn’t</i> that provoking, Nick, darling? Why on earth
- need Geoffrey Burke have turned up in town on our last evening? I was
- hoping, later on—if you and I were very discreet and effaced
- ourselves—that Blaise and Jean might settle things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny’s eyes remained fixed upon the stage. There was no
- change in their expression to indicate that Lady Anne’s plaintive
- murmur had at that moment supplied her with the key of the whole situation
- as it lay between Jean and the two men who were sitting one each side of
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the following evening, when, the Staple party having left town, she
- and Burke were dining alone together at a little restaurant in Soho, the
- knowledge she had gleaned bore fruit.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke never quite knew what impulse it was that had prompted him, as he
- made his farewells after the supper-party, to murmur in Madame de Varigny’s
- ear, “Dine with me to-morrow night.” It was as though the
- dark, mysterious eyes had spoken to him, compelling him to some sort of
- friendly overture which the shortness of his acquaintance with their owner
- would not normally have inspired.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until the coffee and cigarette stage of the little dinner had
- been reached that Madame de Varigny suddenly shot her dart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you come all the way up from this place, Coombe—Coombe
- Eavie?—to see Mees Peterson, and hey, presto! She vanish the next
- morning!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke stared at her almost rudely. The woman’s perspicacity annoyed
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came up to see my tailor,” he replied curtly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mais parfaitement!</i>” she laughed—low, melodious
- laughter, tinged with a frank friendliness of amusement which somehow
- smoothed away Burke’s annoyance at her shrewd summing up of the
- situation. “To see your tailor. <i>Naturellement!</i> But you were
- not sorry to encounter Mees Peterson also, <i>hein?</i> You enjoyed that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke’s eyes gleamed at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think a dog enjoys looking at the bone that’s out of
- reach?” he said bluntly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And is Mees Peterson, then, out of your reach? Me, I do not think
- so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke was moved to sudden candour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She might not be, if it were not that there is another man——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Ce Monsieur Tor-ma-rin?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, confound him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We-ell”—with a long-drawn inflection compact of gentle
- irony. “You should be able to win against this Monsieur Tor-ma-rin.
- I think”—regarding him intently—“I think you <i>will</i>
- win.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke shook his head gloomily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had first innings. He met her abroad somewhere—rescued her
- in the snow or something. That rescuing stunt always pays with a woman.
- All <i>I</i> did”—with a short, harsh laugh—“was
- nearly to break her neck for her out driving one day recently!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is she engaged to Monsieur Tormarin?” asked Madame do Varigny
- quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Luckily, there’s some old affair in the past holds him
- back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall marry her,” she declared with conviction. “See,
- Monsieur Bewrke—<i>aïe, aïe, quel nom!</i> I am <i>clairvoyante,
- prophétesse</i>, and I tell you that you weel marry zis leetle brown Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her foreign accent strengthened with her increasing emphasis.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke looked dubious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid your clairvoyance will fail this journey madame.
- She’ll probably marry Tormarin—unless”—his eyes
- glinting—“I carry her off by force.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny shook her head emphatically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But <i>no!</i> I do not see it like that. <i>Eh bien!</i> If she
- become <i>fiancée</i>—engaged to him—you shall come to me, and
- I will tell you how to make sure that she shall not marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Non, non!</i> Win her your own way. Only, if you do not succeed,
- if Monsieur Tormarin wins her—why, then, come to visit me at Château
- Varigny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That night a letter written in the Comtesse de Varigny’s flowing
- foreign handwriting sped on its way to France.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Matters work towards completion,” it ran. “My visit
- here has chanced <i>bien à propos</i>. There is another would-be-lover
- besides Blaise Tormarin. I have urged him on to win her if he can, for if
- I have not wrongly estimated Monsieur Tormarin—and I do not think I
- have—he is of the type to become more deeply in love and less able
- to master his feelings if he realises that he has a rival. At present he
- refrains from declaring himself. The opposition of a rival will probably
- drive him into a declaration very speedily. When the dog sees the bone
- about to be taken from him—he snaps! So I encourage this red-headed
- lion of a man, Monsieur Burke, to pursue his <i>affaire du cour</i> with
- vigour. For if Blaise Tormarin becomes actually betrothed to Mademoiselle
- Peterson, it will make his punishment the more complete. I pray the God of
- Justice that it may not now be long delayed!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV—ARRANGED BY TELEPHONE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE visit to
- London, if it had not been prolific in the results which Lady Anne had
- hoped for, had at least accomplished certain things.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had acted as a brake upon the swiftly turning wheels of two lives
- precariously poised at the top of that steep hill of which no traveller
- can see the end, but which very surely leads to heartbreak and disaster,
- and had sufficed, as Jean had suggested that it might, to restore Nick to
- a more normal and temperate state of mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- He and Claire had passed a long hour alone together the day after his
- return to Staple, and now that the first violent reaction, the first
- instinctive impulse of unbearable revolt from Sir Adrian’s spying
- and brutality had spent itself they had agreed to shoulder once more the
- burden fate had laid upon them, to fight on again, just holding fast to
- the simple knowledge of their love for one another and leaving the
- ultimate issue to that great, unfathomable Player who “hither and
- thither moves, and mates, and slays,” not with the shadowed vision
- of our finite eyes but with the insight of eternity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had seen them coming hand in hand through the cool green glades of
- the wood where the great decision had been taken, and something in the two
- young, stern-set faces brought a sudden lump into her throat. She turned
- swiftly aside, avoiding a meeting, feeling as though here was holy ground
- upon which not even so close a friend as she could tread without
- violation.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean herself the week in London had brought a certain, new tranquillity
- of spirit. Quite ordinarily and without effort—thanks to Lady Anne’s
- skilful stage-management—she and Blaise had been constantly in each
- other’s company, and, with the word “Beloved” murmuring
- in her heart like some tender undertone of melody, the hours they had
- shared together were no longer a mingled ecstacy and pain, marred by
- torturing doubts and fears, but held once more the old magic of that
- wonder-day at Montavan.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somehow, the dividing line did not seem to matter very much, now that she
- was sure that Blaise, on his side of it, was loving her just as she, on
- hers, loved him. Indeed, at this stage Jean made no very great demands on
- life. After the agony of uncertainty of the last few months, the calm
- surety that Blaise loved her seemed happiness enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- Other sharp edges of existence, too, had smoothed themselves down—as
- sharp edges have a knack of doing if you wait long enough. Burke seemed to
- have accepted her last answer as final, and now spared her the effort of
- contending further with his tempestuous love-making, so that she felt able
- to continue her friendship with Judith, and her consequent visits to
- Willow Ferry, with as little <i>gêne</i> as though the episode at the
- “honeymooners’ inn” had never taken place. She even
- began to believe that Burke was genuinely slightly remorseful for his
- behaviour on that particular occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Apparently he had not made a confidant of his sister over the matter, for
- it was without the least indication of a back thought of any kind that she
- approached Jean on the subject of spending a few days with herself and
- Geoffrey at their bungalow on the Moor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoff and I are going for a week’s blow on Dartmoor, just by
- way of a ‘pick-me-up.’ Come with us, Jean; it will do you good
- after stuffy old London—blow the cobwebs away!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But here, at least, Jean felt that discretion was the better part of
- valour. It was true that Burke appeared fairly amenable to reason just at
- present, but in the informal companionship of daily life in a moorland
- bungalow it was more than probable that he would become less manageable.
- And she had no desire for a repetition of that scene in the inn parlour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Therefore, although the Moor, with its great stretches of gold and purple,
- its fragrant, heatherly breath and its enfolding silences, appealed to her
- in a way in which nothing else on earth seemed quite to appeal, pulling at
- her heartstrings almost as the nostalgia for home and country pulls at the
- heartstrings of a wanderer, she returned a regretful negative to Judith’s
- invitation. So Burke and Mrs. Craig packed up and departed to Three Fir
- Bungalow without her, and life at Staple resumed the even tenor of its
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- The weather was glorious, the long, hot summer days melting into balmy
- nights when the hills and dales amid which the old house was set were
- bathed in moonlight mystery—transmuted into a wonderland of
- phantasy, cavernous with shadow where undreamed-of dragons lurked, lambent
- with opalescent fields of splendour whence uprose the glimmer of
- half-visioned palaces or the battlemented walls of some ethereal fairy
- castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- More than once Jean’s thoughts turned wistfully towards the Moor
- which she had so longed to see by moonlight—Judith’s “holy
- of holies that God must have made for His spirits”—and she
- felt disposed to blame herself for the robust attack of caution which had
- impelled her to refuse the invitation to the bungalow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One loses half the best things in life by being afraid,” she
- told herself petulantly. “And a second chance to take them doesn’t
- come!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt almost tempted to write to Judith and propose that she should
- join her at the bungalow for a few days after all if she still had room
- for her. And then, as is often the way of things just when we are
- contemplating taking the management of affairs into our own hands, the
- second chance offered itself without any directing impulse on Jean’s
- part.
- </p>
- <p>
- The telephone bell rang, and Jean, who was expecting an answer to an
- important message she had ’phoned through on Lady Anne’s
- behalf, hastened to answer it. Very much to her surprise she found that it
- was Burke who was speaking at the other end of the wire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that you, Geoffrey?” she exclaimed in astonishment.
- “I didn’t know your bungalow was on the telephone. I thought
- you were miles from anywhere!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t. And we are,” came back Burke’s voice.
- From a certain quality in it she knew that he was smiling. “I’m
- in Okehampton, ’phoning from a pal’s house. I’ve a
- message for you from Judy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye-es?” intoned Jean enquiringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She wants you to come up to-morrow, just for one night. It’ll
- be a full moon and she says you have a hankering to see the Moor by
- moonlight. Have you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, oh yes!”—with enthusiasm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thought so. It certainly does look topping. Quite worth seeing.
- Well, look here, Judy’s got a party of friends, down from town, who
- are coming over to us from the South Devon side—going to drive up
- and stay the night, and the idea is to do a moonlight scramble up on to
- the top of one of the tors after supper. Are you game?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! How heavenly!” This, ecstatically, from Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavenly! <i>Heavenly!</i>”—with increasing emphasis.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t you hear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, ‘heavenly’—yes, I hear. Yes, it would be
- rather—if you came.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Even through the’phone Burke’s voice conveyed something of
- that upsettingly fiery ardour of his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t come—unless you promise to behave,” said
- Jean warningly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bubbling over with pleasure at the prospect unfolded by the invitation,
- she found it a little difficult to infuse a befitting sternness into her
- tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do I need to take fresh vows?” came back Burke’s
- answer, spoken rather gravely. “I made you a promise that day—when
- we drove back from Dartmoor. I’ll keep that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>I’ll never hiss you again till you give me your lips
- yourself.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words of the promise rushed vividly into Jean’s mind, and now
- that steady voice through the ’phone, uttering its quiet endorsement
- of the assurance given, made her feel suddenly ashamed of her suspicions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, I’ll come then,” she said hastily. “How
- shall I get to you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all planned, because we thought—at least we hoped—you’d
- come. If you’ll come down to Okehampton by the three o’clock
- train from Coombe Eavie, I’ll meet you there with the car and drive
- you up to the bungalow. Judy is going to drive into Newton Abbot early, to
- do some marketing, and afterwards she’ll lunch with her London
- people—the Holfords. Then they’ll all come up together in the
- afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see. Very well. I’ll come to Okehampton by the three train
- to-morrow afternoon”—repeating his instructions carefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Right. That’s all fixed, then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite. <i>Mind</i> you also fix a fine day—or night, rather!
- Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A murmured farewell came back along the wire, and then Jean, replacing the
- receiver in its clip, ran off to apprise Lady Anne of the arrangements
- made.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne looked up from some village charity accounts which were
- puckering her smooth brow to smile approval.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How nice, dear! Quite a charming plan—you’ll enjoy it.
- Especially as there will be nothing to amuse you here to-morrow. I have
- two village committees to attend—I’m in the chair, so I must
- go. And Blaise, I know, is booked for a busy day with the estate agent,
- while Nick is going down to South Devon somewhere for a day’s
- fishing. I think he goes down to-night. Really, it’s quite unusually
- lucky that Judith should have fixed on to-morrow for her moonlight party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI—MOONLIGHT ON THE MOOR
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE moorland air,
- warm with its subtle fragrance of gorse—like the scent of peaches
- when the sun is shining on them—tonic with the faint tang of salt
- borne by clean winds that had swept across the Atlantic, came to Jean’s
- nostrils crisp and sparkling as a draught of golden wine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before her, mile after mile, lay the white road—a sword of
- civilisation cleaving its way remorselessly across the green wilderness of
- mossy turf, and on either side rose the swelling hills and jagged peaks of
- the great tors, melting in the far distance into a vague, formless blur of
- purple that might be either cloud or tor as it merged at last into the dim
- haze of the horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, blessed, blessed Moor!” exclaimed Jean. “How I love
- it! You know, half the people in the world haven’t the least idea
- what Dartmoor is like. I was enthusing to a woman about it only the other
- day and she actually said, ‘Oh, yes—Dartmoor. It’s quite
- flat, I suppose, isn’t it?’ <i>Flat!</i>” with sweeping
- disgust.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke, his hand on the wheel of the big car which was eating up the miles
- with the facility of a boa-constrictor swallowing rabbits, smiled at the
- indignant little sniff with which the speech concluded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t like dead levels, then?” he suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I like hills—something to look up to—to climb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Spiritual as well as temporal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes, I think I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled sardonically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s just that terrible angelic tendency of yours I complain
- of. It’s too much for any mere material man to live up to. I wish
- you’d step down to my low level occasionally. You don’t seem
- to be afflicted with human passions like the rest of us”—he
- added, a note of irritation in his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I am!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean spoke impulsively, out of the depths of that inner, almost
- unconscious self-knowledge which lies within each one of us, dormant until
- some lance-like question pricks it into spontaneous affirmation. She had
- hardly heeded whither the conversation was tending, and she regretted her
- frank confession the instant it had left her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke turned and looked at her with a curious speculation in his glance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if that’s true?” he said consideringly.
- “If so, they’re still asleep. I’d give something to be
- the one to rouse them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was the familiar, half-turbulent quality in his voice—the
- sound as of something held in leash. Jean sensed the danger in the
- atmosphere.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll house one of them—the quite ordinary,
- commonplace one of bad temper, if you talk like that,” she replied
- prosaically. “You’ve got to play fair, Geoffrey—keep the
- spirit of the law as well as the letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All’s fair in love and war—as I told you before,”
- he retorted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey”—indignantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean!”—mimicking her. “Well, we won’t
- quarrel about it now. Here we are at our journey’s end. Behold the
- carriage drive!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The car swung round a sharp bend and then bumped its way up a roughly-made
- track which served to link a species of cobbled yard, constructed at one
- side of the bungalow, to the road along which they had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- The track cleaved its way, rather on the principle of a railway cutting,
- clean through the abrupt acclivity which flanked the road that side, and
- rising steeply between crumbling, overhanging banks, fringed with coarse
- grass and tufted with straggling patches of gorse and heather, debouched
- on to a broad plateau. Here the road below was completely hidden from
- view; on all sides there stretched only a limitless vista of wild
- moorland, devoid of any sign of habitation save for the bare, creeperless
- walls of the bungalow itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the scene unfolded, Jean became suddenly conscious of a strange sense
- of familiarity. An inexplicable impress sion of having seen the place on
- some previous occasion, of familiarity with every detail of it—even
- to a recognition of its peculiar atmosphere of loneliness—took
- possession of her. For a moment she could not place the memory. Only she
- knew that it was associated in her mind with something disagreeable. Even
- now, as, at Burke’s dictation, she waited in the car while he
- entered the bungalow from the back, passing through in order to admit his
- guest by way of the front door, which had been secured upon the inside,
- she was aware of a feeling of intense repugnance.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, in a flash, recollection returned to her. This was the house of
- her dream—of the nightmare vision which had obsessed her during the
- hours of darkness following her first meeting with Geoffrey Burke.
- </p>
- <p>
- There stood the solitary dwelling, set amid a wild and desolate country,
- and to one side of it grew three wretched-looking, scrubby little fir
- trees, all of them bent in the same direction by the keen winds as they
- came sweeping across the Moor from the wide Atlantic. Three Fir Bungalow!
- Why, the very name itself might have prewarned her!
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes fixed themselves on the green-painted door. She knew quite well
- what must happen next. The door would open and reveal Burke standing on
- the threshold. She watched it with fascinated eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently came the sound of steps, then the grating noise of a key turning
- stiffly in the lock. The door was flung open and Burke strode across the
- threshold and came to the side of the car to help her out. Jean waited,
- half terrified, for his first words. Would they be the words of her dream?
- She felt that if he chanced to say jokingly, “Will you come into my
- parlour?” she should scream.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go straight in, will you?” said Burke. “I’ll just
- run the car round to the garage and then we might as well get tea ready
- before the others come. I’m starving, aren’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The spell was broken. The everyday, commonplace words brought with them a
- rush of overpowering relief, sweeping away the dreamlike sense of
- unreality and terror, and as Jean nodded and responded gaily, “Absolutely
- famished!” she could have laughed aloud at the ridiculous fears
- which had assailed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The inside of the bungalow was in charming contrast to its somewhat
- forbidding exterior. Its living-rooms, furnished very simply but with a
- shrewd eye to comfort, communicated one with the other by means of double
- doors which, usually left open, obviated the cramped feeling that the
- comparatively small size of the rooms might otherwise have produced, while
- the two lattice windows which each boasted were augmented by French
- windows opening out on to a verandah which ran the whole length of the
- building.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, having delightedly explored the front portion of the bungalow,
- joined Burke in the kitchen, guided thither by the clinking of crockery
- and the cheerful crackle of a hearth fire wakened into fresh life by the
- scientific application of a pair of bellows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no idea you were such a domesticated individual,” she
- remarked, as she watched him carefully warming the brown earthenware
- teapot as a preliminary to brewing the tea while she busied herself making
- hot buttered toast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Judy and I are quite independent up here, I assure you,”
- he answered with pardonable pride. “We never bring any of the
- servants from Willow Ferry, but cook for ourselves. A woman comes over
- every morning to do the ‘chores’—clean the place, and
- wash up the dishes from the day before, and so on. But beyond that we are
- self-sufficing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where does your woman come from? I didn’t see a house for
- miles round.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you can’t see the place, but there’s a little
- farmstead, tucked away in a hollow about three miles from here, which
- provides us with cream and butter and eggs—-and with our char-lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean surveyed with satisfaction a rapidly mounting pile of delicately
- browned toast, creaming with golden butter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, that’s ready,” she announced at last. “I
- do hope Judy and Co. will arrive soon. Hot buttered toast spoils with
- keeping; it gets all sodden and tastes like underdone shoe leather. Do you
- think they’ll be long?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke threw a glance at the grandfather’s clock ticking solemnly
- away in a corner of the kitchen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s half-past four,” he said dubiously. “I don’t
- think we’ll risk that luscious-looking toast of yours by waiting for
- them. I’m going to brew the tea; the kettle’s boiling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won’t Judith think it rather horrid of us not to wait?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Lord, no! Judy and I never stand on any ceremony with each
- other. Any old thing might happen to delay them a bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, frankly hungry after her spin in the car through the invigorating
- moorland air, yielded without further protest, and tea resolved itself
- into a jolly little <i>tête-à-tète</i> affair, partaken of in the shelter
- of the verandah, with the glorious vista of the Moor spread out before her
- delighted eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke was in one of those rare moods of his which never failed to inspire
- her with a genuine liking for him—when the unruly, turbulent devil
- within him, so hardly held in check, was temporarily replaced by a certain
- spontaneous boyishness of a distinctly endearing quality—that
- “little boy” quality which, in a grown man, always appeals so
- irresistibly to any woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- The time slipped away quickly, and it was with a shock of astonishment
- that Jean realised, on glancing down at the watch on her wrist, that over
- an hour and a half had gone by while they had been sitting chatting on the
- verandah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey! Do you know it’s nearly six o’clock! I’m
- certain something must have happened. Judy and the Holfords would surely
- be here by now if they hadn’t had an accident of some sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke looked at his own watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he acquiesced slowly. “It is—getting late.”
- A look of concern spread itself over Jean’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think we ought to get the car out again and go and see if
- anything has happened,” she said decisively. “They may have
- had a spill. Were they coming by motor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Judy drove down to Newton Abbot in the dog-cart, and the
- Holfords proposed hiring some sort of conveyance from a livery stable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I expect they’ve had a smash of some kind. I’m
- sure we ought to go and find out! Was Judy driving that excitable chestnut
- of yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—a perfectly well-conducted pony, as meek as Moses. We’ll
- give them a quarter of an hour more. If they don’t turn up by then,
- I’ll run the car out and we’ll investigate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The minutes crawled by on leaden feet. Jean felt restless and uneasy and
- more than a trifle astonished that Burke should manifest so little anxiety
- concerning his sister’s whereabouts. Then, just before the quarter
- of an hour was up, there came the shrill tinkle of a bicycle bell, and a
- boy cycled up to the gate and, springing off his machine, advanced up the
- cobbled path with a telegram in his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s face blanched, and she waited in taut suspense while Burke
- ripped open the ominous orange-coloured envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it?” she asked nervously. “Have they—is
- it bad news?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause before Burke answered. Then, he handed the flimsy sheet
- to her, remarking shortly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “They’re not coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s eyes flew along the brief message.
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- “<i>Returning to-morrow. Am staying the night with Holfords.
- Judy</i>.”
- </pre>
- <p>
- Her face fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How horribly disappointing!” Her glance fluttered,
- regretfully to the faint disc of the moon showing like a pallid ghost of
- itself in a sky still luminous with the afternoon sunlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shan’t see my moonlit Moor to-night after all!” she
- continued. “I wonder what has happened to make them change their
- plans?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke volunteered no suggestion but stood staring moodily at the swiftly
- receding figure of the telegraph boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” Jean braced herself to meet the disappointment,
- “there’s nothing for it but for you to run me back home,
- Geoffrey. We ought to start at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. I’ll go and get the car out,” he answered.
- “I suppose it’s the only thing to be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved off in the direction of the garage, Jean walking rather
- disconsolately beside him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>am</i> disappointed!” she declared. “I just hate
- the sight of a telegraph boy! They always spoil things. I rather wonder
- you get your telegrams delivered at this outlandish spot,” she added
- musingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of course we have to pay mileage. There’s no free
- delivery to the ‘back o’ beyond’!”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he spoke, Burke vanished into the semi-dusk of the garage, and
- presently Jean heard sounds suggestive of ineffectual attempts to start
- the engine, accompanied by a muttered curse or two. A few minutes later
- Burke reappeared, looking Rather hot and dusty and with a black smear of
- oil across his cheek.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d better go back to the bungalow,” he said gruffly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s something gone wrong with the works, and it will take
- me a few minutes to put matters right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded sympathetically and retreated towards the house, leaving him
- to tinker with the car’s internals. It was growing chilly—the
- “cool of the evening” manifests itself early up on Dartmoor—and
- she was not at all sorry to find herself indoors. The wind had dropped,
- but a curious, still sort of coldness seemed to be permeating the
- atmosphere, faintly moist, and, as Jean stood at the window, gazing out
- half absently, she suddenly noticed a delicate blur of mist veiling the
- low-lying ground towards the right of the bungalow. Her eyes hurriedly
- swept the wide expanse in front of her. The valleys between the distant
- tors were hardly visible. They had become mere basins cupping wan lakes of
- wraithlike vapour which, even as she watched them, crept higher, inch by
- inch, as though responding to some impulse of a rising tide.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean had lived long enough in Devonshire by this time to know the risks of
- being caught in a mist on Dartmoor, and she sped out of the room,
- intending to go to the garage and warn Burke that he must hurry. He met
- her on the threshold of the bungalow, and she turned back with him into
- the room she had just quitted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you ready?” she asked eagerly. “There’s a
- regular moor mist coming on. The sooner we start the better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her oddly. He was rather pale and his eyes were curiously
- bright.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The car won’t budge,” he said. “I’ve been
- tinkering at her all this time to no purpose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at him, a vague apprehension of disagreeable possibilities
- presenting itself to her mind. Their predicament would be an extremely
- awkward one if the car remained recalcitrant!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won’t budge?” she repeated. “But you must make it
- budge, Geoffrey. We can’t—we can’t <i>stay</i> here!
- What’s gone wrong with it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke launched out into a string of technicalities which left Jean with a
- confused feeling that the mechanism of a motor must be an invention of the
- devil designed expressly for the chastening of human nature, but from
- which she succeeded in gathering the bare skeleton fact that something had
- gone radically wrong with the car’s running powers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her apprehensions quickened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are we to do?” she asked blankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Make the best of a bad job—and console each other,” he
- suggested lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She frowned a little. It did not seem to her quite the moment for jesting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t be ridiculous, Geoffrey,” she said sharply.
- “We’ve got to get back <i>somehow</i>. What can you do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t do anything more than I’ve done. Here we are
- and here we’ve got to stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know that’s impossible,” she said, in a quick, low
- voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her with a sudden devil-may-care glint in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never can tell beforehand whether things are impossible or not.
- I know I used to think that heaven on earth was—impossible,”
- he said slowly. “I’m not so sure now.” He drew a step
- nearer her. “Would you mind so dreadfully if we had to stay here,
- little Miss Prunes-and-Prisms?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at him in amazement—in amazement which slowly turned to
- incredulous horror as a sudden almost unbelievable idea flashed into her
- mind, kindled into being by the leaping, half-exultant note in his tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey———” Her lips moved stiffly, even
- to herself, her voice sounded strange and hoarse. “Geoffrey, I don’t
- believe there is anything wrong with the car at all!... Or if there is,
- you’ve tampered with it on purpose.... You’re not being
- straight with me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke off, her startled gaze searching his face as though she would
- wring the truth from him. Her eyes were very wide and dilated, but back of
- the anger that blazed in them lurked fear—stark fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment Burke was silent. Then he spoke, with a quiet deliberateness
- that held something ominous, inexorable, in its very calm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I’ve not
- been straight with you. But I’ll be frank with you now. The whole
- thing—asking you to come here to-day, the moonlight expedition for
- to-night—everything—was all fixed up, planned solely to get
- you here. The car won’t run for the simple reason that I’ve
- put it out of action. I wasn’t quite sure whether or no you could
- drive a car, you see!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t,” said Jean. Her voice was quite
- expressionless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No? So much the better, then. But I wasn’t going to leave any
- weak link in the chain by which I hold you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By which you hold me?” she repeated dully. She felt stunned,
- incapable of protest, only able to repeat, parrotlike, the words he had
- just used.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Don’t you understand the position? It’s clear
- enough, I should think!” He laughed a little recklessly. “Either
- you promise to marry me, in which case I’ll take you home at once—the
- car’s not damaged beyond repair—or you stay here, here at the
- bungalow with me, until tomorrow morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a sharp cry she retreated from him, her face ash-white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—no! Not that!” The poignancy of that caught-back cry
- wrenched the words from his lips in hurrying, vehement disclaimer. “You’ll
- be perfectly safe—as safe as though you were my sister. Don’t
- look like that.... Jean! Jean! Could you imagine that I would hurt you—you
- when I worship—my little white love?” The words rushed out in
- a torrent, hoarse and shaken and passionately tender. “Before God,
- no! You’ll be utterly safe, Jean, sweetest, beloved—I swear
- it!” His voice steadied and deepened. “Sacred as the purest
- love in the whole world could hold you.” He was silent a moment;
- then, as the tension in her face gradually relaxed, he went on: “But
- the world won’t know that!” The note of tenderness was gone
- now, swept away by the resurgence of a fierce relentlessness—triumphant,
- implacable—that meant winning at all costs. “The world won’t
- know that,” he repeated. “After tonight, for your own sake—because
- a woman’s reputation cannot stand the breath of scandal, you’ll
- be <i>compelled</i> to marry me. You’ll have no choice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stood quite still, staring in front of her. Once her lips moved, but
- no sound came from them. Slowly, laboriously almost, she was realising
- exactly what had happened, her mind adjusting itself to the recognition of
- the trap in which she had been caught.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her dream had come true, after all—horribly, inconceivably true.
- </p>
- <p>
- The heavy silence which had fallen seemed suddenly filled with the
- dream-Burke’s voice—mocking and exultant:
- </p>
- <p>
- “... you’ll be stamped with the mark of the beast for ever. It’s
- too late to try and run away.... It’s too late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVII—INTO THE MIST
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">“T</span> HEN that
- telegram—that telegram from Judy—I suppose that was all part
- of the plan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt the futility of the question even while she asked it. The answer
- was so inevitable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—briefly. “I knew that Judy meant staying the
- night with her friends before she went away. She sent the wire—because
- I asked her to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Judy did that?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was such an immeasurable anguish of reproach in the low,
- quick-spoken whisper that Burke felt glad Judith was not there to hear it.
- Had it been otherwise, she might have regretted the share she had taken in
- the proceedings, small as it had been. She was not a man, half-crazed by
- love, in whose passion-blurred vision nothing counted save the winning of
- the one woman, nor had she known Burke’s plan in its entirety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Judy sent the wire,” he said.. “But give her so
- much credit, she didn’t know that I intended—this. She only
- knew that I wanted another chance of seeing you alone—of asking you
- to be my wife, and I told her that you wouldn’t come up to the
- bungalow unless you believed that she would be there too. I didn’t
- think you’d trust yourself alone with me again—after that
- afternoon at the inn”—with blunt candour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I shouldn’t have done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you see I had to think of something—some way. And it was
- you yourself who suggested this method.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I?”—incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Don’t you remember what you told me that day I drove you
- back from Dartmoor ‘<i>A woman’s happiness depends upon her
- reputation</i>.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him quickly, recalling the scattered details of that
- afternoon—Burke’s gibes at what he believed to be her fear of
- gossiping tongues and her own answer to his taunts: “No woman can
- afford to ignore scandal.” And then, following upon that, his
- sudden, curious absorption in his own thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- The remembrance of it all was like a torchlight flashed into a dark place,
- illuminating what had been hidden and inscrutable. She spoke swiftly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it was then—that afternoon—you thought of this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he acknowledged.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent. It was all clear now—penetratingly so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the Holfords? Are there any such people?” she asked
- drearily.
- </p>
- <p>
- She scarcely knew what prompted her to put so purposeless and unimportant
- a question. Actually, she felt no interest at all in the answer. It could
- not make the least difference to her present circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it was a little the feeling that this trumpery process of question
- and answer served to postpone the inevitable moment when she must face the
- situation in which she found herself—face it in its simple
- crudeness, denuded of unessential whys and wherefores.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, the Holfords are quite real,” answered Burke.
- “And so is the plan for an expedition to one of the tors by
- moonlight. Only it will be carried out to-morrow night instead of
- to-night. To-night is for the settlement between you and me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The strained expression of utter, shocked incredulity was gradually
- leaving Jean’s face. The unreal was becoming real, and she knew now
- what she was up against; the hard, reckless quality of Burke’s voice
- left her no illusions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey,” she said quietly, “you won’t really do
- this thing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- If she had hoped to move him by a simple, straightforward appeal to the
- best that might be in him, she failed completely. For the moment, all that
- was good in him, anything chivalrous which the helplessness of her
- womanhood might have invoked, was in abeyance. He was mere primitive man,
- who had succeeded in carrying off the woman he meant to mate and was
- prepared to hold her at all costs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you I would compel you,” he said doggedly. “That
- I would let nothing in the world stand between you and me. And I meant
- every word I said. You’ve no way out now—except marriage with
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The imperious decision of his tone roused her fighting spirit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you imagine,” she broke out scornfully, “that—after
- this—I would ever marry you?... I wouldn’t marry you if you
- were the last man on earth! I’d die sooner!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I daresay you would,” he returned composedly. “You’ve
- too much grit to be afraid of death. Only, you see, that doesn’t
- happen to be the alternative. The alternative is a smirched reputation.
- Tarnished a little—after to-night—even if you marry me;
- dragged utterly in the mire if you refuse. I’m putting it before you
- with brutal frankness, I know. But I want you to realise just what it
- means and to promise that you’ll be my wife before it’s too
- late—while I can still get you back to Staple during the hours of
- propriety”—smiling grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him with a slow, measured glance of bitter contempt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even a tarnished reputation might be preferable to marriage with
- you—more endurable,” she added, with the sudden tormented
- impulse of a trapped thing to hurt back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t really believe that”—impetuously—“I
- know <i>I know</i> I could make you happy! You’d be the one woman in
- the world to me. And I don’t think”—more quietly—“that
- you could endure a slurred name, Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no answer. Every word he spoke only made it more saliently clear
- to her that she was caught—bound hand and foot in a web from which
- there was no escape. Yet, little as Burke guessed it, the actual question
- of “what people might say” did not trouble her to any great
- extent. She was too much her father’s own daughter to permit a mere
- matter of reputation to force her into a distasteful marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not that she minimised the value of good repute. She was perfectly aware
- that if she refused to marry Burke, and he carried out his threat of
- detaining her at the bungalow until the following morning, she would have
- a heavy penalty to pay—the utmost penalty which a suspicious world
- exacts from a woman, even though she may be essentially innocent, in whose
- past there lurks a questionable episode.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she had courage enough to face the consequences of that refusal, to
- stand up to the clatter of poisonous tongues that must ensue; and trust
- enough to bank on the loyalty of her real friends, knowing it would be the
- same splendid loyalty that she herself would have given to any one of them
- in like circumstances. For Jean was a woman who won more than mere
- lip-service from those who called themselves her friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- Burke had never been more mistaken in his calculations than when he
- counted upon forcing her hand by the mere fear of scandal. But none the
- less he held her—and held her in the meshes of a far stronger and
- more binding net, had he but realised it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Looking back upon the episode from which her present predicament had
- actually sprung, Jean could almost have found it in her heart to smile at
- the relative importance which, at the time, that same incident had assumed
- in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had seemed to her, then, that for Blaise ever to hear that she had been
- locked in a room with Burke, had spent an uncounted, hour or so with him
- at the “honeymooners’ inn” would be the uttermost
- calamity that could befall her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would never believe that it had been by no will of hers—so she
- had thought at the time—and that fierce lover’s jealousy which
- had been the origin of their quarrel, and of all the subsequent mutual
- misunderstandings and aloofness, would be roused to fresh life, and his
- distrust of her become something infinitely more difficult to combat.
- </p>
- <p>
- But compared with the present situation which confronted her, the
- happenings of that past day faded into insignificance. She stood, now,
- face to face with a choice such as surely few women had been forced to
- make.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whichever way she decided, whichever of the two alternatives she accepted,
- her happiness must pay the price. Nothing she could ever say or do,
- afterwards, would set her right in the eyes of the man whose belief in her
- meant everything. Whether she agreed to marry Burke, returning home in the
- odour of sanctity within the next hour or two, or whether she refused and
- returned the next morning—free, but with the incontrovertible fact
- of a night spent at Burke’s bungalow, alone with him, behind her,
- Blaise would never trust or believe in her love for him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- And if she promised to marry Burke and so save her reputation, it must
- automatically mean the end of everything between herself and the man she
- loved—the dropping of an iron curtain compared with which the wall
- built up out of their frequent misunderstandings in the past seemed
- something as trifling and as easily demolished as a card house.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the other hand, if she risked her good name and kept her freedom, she
- would be equally as cut off from him. Not that she feared Blaise would
- take the blackest view of the affair—she was sure that he believed
- in her enough not to misjudge her as the world might do—but he would
- inevitably think that she had deliberately chosen to spend an afternoon on
- the Moor alone with Burke—“playing with fire” exactly as
- he had warned her not to, and getting her fingers burnt in consequence—and
- he would accept it as a sheer denial of the silent pledge of love
- understood which bound them together.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would never trust her again—nor forgive her. No man could. Love’s
- loyalty, rocked by the swift currents of jealousy and passion, is not of
- the same quality as the steady loyalty of friendship—that calm,
- unshakable confidence which may exist between man and man or woman and
- woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moreover—and here alone was where the fear of gossip troubled her—even
- if the inconceivable happened and Blaise forgave and trusted her again,
- she could not go to him with a slurred name, give him herself—when
- the gift was outwardly tarnished. The Tormarin pride was unyielding as a
- rock—and Tormarin women had always been above suspicion. She could
- not break the tradition of an old name—do that disservice to the man
- she loved! No, if she could find no way out of the web in which she had
- been caught she was set as far apart from Blaise as though they had never
- met. Only the agony of meeting and remembrance would be with her for the
- rest of life!
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean envisaged very clearly the possibilities that lay ahead—envisaged
- them with a breathless, torturing perception of their imminence. It was to
- be a fight—here and now—for the whole happiness that life
- might hold.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to Burke, breaking at last the long silence which had descended
- between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what do you suppose I feel towards you, Geoffrey? Will you be
- content to have your wife think of you—as I must think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint shadow flitted across his face. The quiet scorn of her words—their
- underlying significance—flicked him on the raw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll be content to have you as my wife—at any price,”
- he said stubbornly. “Jean”—a sudden urgency in his tones—“try
- to believe I hate all this as much as you do. When you’re my wife, I’ll
- spend my life in teaching you to forget it—in—wiping the very
- memory of to-day out of your mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never forgot it,” she said slowly. Then, bitterly:
- “I wonder why you even offer me a choice—when you know; that
- it is really no choice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why? Because I swore to you that you should give me what I want—that
- I wouldn’t take even a kiss from you again by force. But”—unevenly—“I
- didn’t know what it meant—the waiting!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside, the mist had thickened into fog, curtaining the windows. The
- light had dimmed to a queer, glimmering dusk, changing the values of
- things, and out of the shifting shadows her white face, with its scarlet
- line of scornful mouth, gleamed at him—elusive, tantalising as a
- flower that sways out of reach. In the uncertain half-light which
- struggled in through the dulled window-panes there was something
- provocative, maddening—a kind of etherealised lure of the senses in
- the wavering, shadowed loveliness of her. The man’s pulses leaped;
- something within him slipped its leash.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kiss me!” he demanded hoarsely. “Don’t keep me
- waiting any longer. Give me your lips... now... now...”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sprang aside from him, warding him off. Her eyes stormed at him out of
- her white face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You promised!” she cried, her voice sharp with fear. “You
- promised!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tension of the next moment strained her nerves to breaking-point.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he fell back. Slowly his arms dropped to his sides without touching
- her, his hands clenching with the effort that it cost him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re right,” he said, breathing quickly. “I
- promised. I’ll keep my promise.” Then, vehemently: “Jean,
- why won’t you let me take you home? I could put the car right in ten
- minutes. Come home!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was unmistakable appeal in his tones. It was obvious he hated the
- task to which he had set himself, although he had no intention of
- yielding.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him doubtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you? Will you take me home, Geoffrey?... Or”—bitterly—“is
- this only another trap?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll take you home—at once, <i>now</i>—if you’ll
- promise to be my wife. Jean, it’s better than waiting till to-morrow—till
- circumstances <i>force</i> you into it!” he urged.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent, thinking rapidly. That sudden break in Burke’s
- control, when for a moment she had feared his promise would not hold him,
- had warned her to put an end to the scene—if only temporarily—as
- quickly as possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very trusting,” she said, forcing herself to speak
- lightly. “How do you know that I shall not give you the pledge you
- ask merely in order to get home—and then decline to keep it? I think”—reflectively—“I
- should be quite justified in the circumstances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled a little and shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not afraid of that. If
- you give me your word, I know you’ll keep it. You wouldn’t be—you—if
- you could do otherwise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment, Jean was tempted, fiercely tempted to take his blind belief
- in her and use it to extricate herself from the position into which he had
- thrust her. As she herself had said, the circumstances were such as almost
- to justify her. Yet something within her, something that was an integral
- part of her whole nature, rebelled against the idea of giving a promise
- which, from the moment that she made it, she would have no smallest
- intention of keeping. It would be like the breaking of a prisoner’s
- given parole—equally mean and dishonourable.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a little mental shrug she dismissed the idea and the brief
- temptation. She must find some other way, some other road to safety. If
- only he would leave her alone, leave her just long enough for her to make
- a rush for it—out of the house into that wide wilderness of
- mist-wrapped moor!
- </p>
- <p>
- It would be a virtually hopeless task to find her way to any village or to
- the farmstead, three miles away, of which Burke had spoken. She knew that.
- Even moorwise folk not infrequently entirely lost their bearings in a
- Dartmoor mist, and, as far as she herself was concerned, she had not the
- remotest idea in which direction the nearest habitation lay. It would be a
- hazardous experiment—fraught with danger. But danger was preferable
- to the dreadful safety of the bungalow.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a brief space, stung to swift decision by that tense moment when Burke’s
- self-mastery had given way, she had made up her mind to risk the open
- moor. But, for that she must somehow contrive to be left alone. She must
- gain time—time to allay Burke’s suspicions by pretending to
- make the best of the matter, and then, on some pretext or other, get him
- out of the room. It was the sole way of escape she could devise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, which is it to be?” Burke’s voice broke in
- harshly upon the wild turmoil of her thoughts. “Your promise—and
- Staple within an hour and a half? Or—the other alternative?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it can be either—yet,” she said
- quietly. “What you’re asking—it’s too big a
- question for a woman to decide all in a minute. Don’t you see”—with
- a rather shaky little laugh—“it means my whole life? I—I
- must have time, Geoffrey. I can’t decide now. What time is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He struck a match, holding the flame close to the dial of his watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seven o’clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only that?” The words escaped her involuntarily. It seemed
- hours, an eternity, since she had read those few brief words contained in
- Judith’s telegram. And it was barely an hour ago!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then—then I can have a little time to think it over,”
- she said after a moment. “We could get back to Staple by ten if we
- left here at eight-thirty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There or thereabouts. We should have to go slow through this
- infernal mist Jean”—his voice took on a note of passionate
- entreaty—“sweetest, won’t you give me your promise and
- let me take you home? You shall never regret it. I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hush!” she checked him quickly. “I can’t
- answer you now, Geoffrey. I must have time—time. Don’t press
- me now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well.” There was an unaccustomed gentleness in his
- manner. Perhaps something in the intense weariness of her tones appealed
- to him. “Are you very tired, Jean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know”—she spoke with some surprise, as though
- the idea had only just presented itself to her—“do you know, I
- believe I’m rather hungry! It sounds very material of me”—laughing
- a little. “A woman in my predicament ought to be quite above—or
- beyond—mere pangs of hunger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hungry! By Jove, and well you might be by this hour of the day!”
- he exclaimed remorsefully. “Look here, we’ll have supper.
- There are some chops in the larder. We’ll cook them together—and
- then you’ll see what a really domesticated husband I shall make.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke with a new gaiety, as though he felt very sure of her ultimate
- decision and glad that the strain of the struggle of opposing wills was
- past.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Chops! How heavenly! I’m afraid”—apologetically—“it’s
- very unromantic of me, Geoffrey!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed and, striking a match, lit the lamp. “Disgustingly so!
- But there are moments for romance and moments for chops. And this is
- distinctly the moment for chops. Come along and help me cook ’em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He flashed a keen glance at her face as the sudden lamplight dispelled the
- shadows of the room. But there was nothing in it to contradict the
- insouciance of her speech. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes
- very bright, but her smile was quite natural and unforced. Burke reflected
- that women were queer, unfathomable creatures. They would fight you to the
- last ditch—and then suddenly surrender, probably liking you in
- secret all the better for having mastered them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had forgotten that he was dealing with a daughter of Jacqueline Mavory.
- All the actress that was Jean’s mother came out in her now, called
- up from some hidden fount of inherited knowledge to meet the imperative
- need of the moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- No one, watching Jean as she accompanied Burke to the kitchen premises and
- assisted him in the preparation of their supper, would have imagined that
- she was acting her part in any other capacity than that of willing
- playmate. She was wise enough not to exhibit any desire to leave him alone
- during the process of carrying the requisites for the meal from the
- kitchen into the living-room. She had noticed the sudden mistrust in his
- watchful eyes and the way in which he had instantly followed her when, at
- the commencement of the proceedings, she had unthinkingly started off down
- the passage from the kitchen, carrying a small tray of table silver in her
- hand, and thereafter she refrained from giving him the slightest ground
- for suspicion. Together they cooked the chops, together laid the table,
- and finally sat down to share the appetising results of their united
- efforts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Throughout the little meal Jean preserved an attitude of detached
- friendliness, laughing at any small joke that cropped up in the course of
- conversation and responding gaily enough to Burke’s efforts to
- entertain her. Now and again, as though unconsciously, she would fall into
- a brief reverie, apparently preoccupied with the choice that lay before
- her, and at these moments Burke would refrain from distracting her
- attention, but would watch intently, with those burning eyes of his, the
- charming face and sensitive mouth touched to a sudden new seriousness that
- appealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time the meal had drawn to an end, his earlier suspicions had been
- lulled into tranquillity, and over the making of the coffee he became once
- more the big, overgrown schoolboy and jolly comrade of his less
- tempestuous moments. It almost seemed as though, to please her, to atone
- in a measure for the mental suffering he had thrust on her, he was
- endeavouring to keep the vehement lover in the background and show her
- only that side of himself which would serve to reassure her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I rather fancy myself at coffee-making,” he told her, as he
- dexterously manipulated the little coffee machine. “There!”—pouring
- out two brimming cups—“taste that, and then tell me if it isn’t
- the best cup of coffee you ever met.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sipped it obediently, then made a wry face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ough!” she ejaculated in disgust. “You’ve
- forgotten the sugar!”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she had herself slipped the sugar basin out of sight when he was
- collecting the necessary coffee paraphernalia on to a tray, the oversight
- was not surprising.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a simple little ruse, its very simplicity it’s passport to
- success. The naturalness of it—Jean’s small, screwed-up face
- of disgust and the hasty way in which she set her cup down after tasting
- its contents—might have thrown the most suspicious of mortals
- momentarily off his guard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove, so I have!” Instinctively Burke sprang up to rectify
- the omission. “I never take it myself, so I forgot all about it. I’ll
- get you some in a second.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was gone, and before he was half-way down the passage leading to the
- kitchen, Jean, moving silently and swiftly as a shadow, was at the doors
- of the long French window, her fingers fumbling for the catch.
- </p>
- <p>
- A draught of cold, mist-laden air rushed into the room, while a slender
- form stood poised for a brief instant on the threshold, silhouetted
- against the white curtain of the fog. Then followed a hurried rush of
- flying footsteps, a flitting shadow cleaving the thick pall of vapour, and
- a moment later the wreaths of pearly mist came filtering unhindered, into
- an empty room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Blindly Jean plunged through the dense mist that hung outside, her feet
- sinking into the sodden earth as she fled across the wet grass. She had no
- idea where the gate might be, but sped desperately onwards till she rushed
- full tilt into the bank of mud and stones which fenced the bungalow
- against the moor. The sudden impact nearly knocked all the breath out of
- her body, but she dared not pause. She trusted that his search for the
- hidden sugar basin might delay Burke long enough to give her a few minutes’
- start, but she knew very well that he might chance upon it at any moment,
- and then, discovering her flight, come in pursuit.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clawing wildly at the bank with hands and feet, slipping, sliding, bruised
- by sharp-angled stones and pricked by some unseen bushy growth of gorse,
- she scrambled over the bank and came sliding down upon her hands and knees
- into the hedge-trough dug upon its further side. And even as she picked
- herself up, shaken and gasping for breath, she heard a cry from the
- bungalow, and then the sound of running steps and Burke’s voice
- calling her by name.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean! Jean! You little fool!... Come back! Come back!” She
- heard him pause to listen for her whereabouts. Then he shouted again.
- “Come back! You’ll kill yourself! Jean! Jean!....”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she made no answer. Distraught by fear lest he should overtake her,
- she raced recklessly ahead into the fog, heedless of the fact that she
- could not see a yard in front of her—even glad of it, knowing that
- the mist hung like a shielding curtain betwixt her and her pursuer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The strange silence of the mist-laden atmosphere hemmed her round like the
- silence of a tomb, broken only by the sucking sound of the oozy turf as it
- pulled at her feet, clogging her steps. Lance-sharp spikes of gorse
- stabbed at her ankles as she trod it underfoot, and the permeating
- moisture in the air soaked swiftly through her thin summer frock till it
- clung about her like a winding-sheet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her breath was coming in sobbing gasps of stress and terror; her heart
- pounded in her breast; her limbs, impeded by her clinging skirts, felt as
- though they were weighted down with lead.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, all at once, seeming close at hand in the misleading fog which plays
- odd tricks with sound as well as sight, she heard Burke’s voice,
- cursing as he ran.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the instinct of a hunted thing she swerved sharply, stumbled, and
- lurched forward in a vain effort to regain her balance. Then it seemed as
- though the ground wore suddenly cut from under her feet, and she fell...
- down, down through the mist, with a scattering of crumbling earth and
- rubble, and lay, at last, a crumpled, unconscious heap in the deep-cut
- track that linked the moor road to the bungalow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVIII—THEY WHO WAITED
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ADY ANNE sat
- gazing absently into the heart of the fire, watching the restless leap of
- the flames and the little scattered handfuls of sparks, like golden star
- dust, tossed upward into the dark hollow of the chimney by the blazing
- logs. The “warm and sunny south”—at least, that part of
- it within a twelve-mile radius of Dartmoor—is quite capable, on
- occasion, of belying its guide-book designation, particularly towards the
- latter end of summer, and there was a raw dampness in the atmosphere this
- evening which made welcome company of a fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed a little lonely without Jean’s cheery presence, and Lady
- Anne, conscious of a craving for human companionship, glanced impatiently
- at the clock. Blaise should surely have returned by now from his all-day
- conference with the estate agent.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not much longer to wait. The quick hoof-beats of a trotting horse
- sounded on the drive outside, and a few minutes later the door of the room
- was thrown open and Blaise himself strode in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, madonna?” He stooped and kissed her. “Been a
- lonely lady to-day without all your children?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled up at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a little,” she acknowledged. “When I came back
- from those stupid committees, which are merely an occasion for half the
- old tabbies in the village to indulge in a squabble with the other half, I
- couldn’t help feeling it would have been nice to find Jean here to
- laugh over them with me. Jean’s sense of humour is refreshing; it
- never lets one down. However, I suppose she’s enjoying her beloved
- Moor by moonlight, so I mustn’t grumble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Much moonlight they’ll see!” he observed. “I rode
- through a thick mist coming back from Hedge Barton. It’ll he a
- blanket fog on Dartmoor to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, poor Jean! She’ll he so disappointed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin sat down on the opposite side of the hearth and lit a cigarette.
- The dancing firelight flickered across his face. He was thinner of late,
- his mother thought with a quick pang. The lines of the well-beloved face
- had deepened; it had a worn—almost ascetic—look, like that of
- a man who is constantly contending against something.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne looked across at him almost beseechingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Son,” she said, “have you quite made up your mind to
- let happiness pass you by?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He started, roused out of the reverie into which he had fallen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I’ve got any say in the matter,” he
- replied quietly. “I’ve forfeited my rights in that respect.
- You know that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Jean? Are you going to make her forfeit her rights, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll find happiness—somehow—elsewhere. It would
- be a very short-lived affair with me”—bitterly. “After
- what has happened, it’s evident I’m not to be trusted with a
- woman’s happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There were sounds of arrival in the hall. Nick’s voice could be
- heard issuing instructions about the bestowal of his fishing tackle. Lady
- Anne spoke quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think so, Blaise. Not with the happiness of the woman
- you love.” She laid her hand on his shoulder as she passed him on
- her way into the hall to welcome the wanderer returned. “Tell Jean,”
- she advised, “and see what she says. I think you’ll find she’d
- be willing to risk it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When she had left the room Blaise remained staring impassively into the
- fire. His expression gave no indication as to whether or not Lady Anne’s
- advice had stirred him to any fresh impulse of decision, and when,
- presently, his mother and Nick entered the room together, he addressed the
- latter as casually as though no emotional depths had been stirred by the
- recent conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hullo, Nick! Had good sport?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only so-so. We had a jolly time, though—out at Het-worthy
- Bridge. But I had the deuce of a business getting back from Exeter this
- evening. It was so misty in places we could hardly see to drive the car.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know. I found the same. It’s a surprising change in
- the weather.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Jean will have had a disappointing trip to Dartmoor,”
- put in Lady Anne. “The mist is certain to be bad up there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dartmoor? But she didn’t go—surely?” And Nick
- glanced from one to the other questioningly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, she did. It was quite clear in the afternoon when she
- started—looked like being a lovely night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick stammered and came to a halt. There was a look of bewilderment in his
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But who’s she gone with?” he demanded at last. “I
- thought she said she intended stopping the night with Judith and Burke at
- their bungalow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So she did,” replied Blaise. “Why? Have you any
- objection?”—smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Only”—Nick frowned—“I don’t quite
- understand it Judith isn’t <i>on</i> the Moor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not on the Moor?” broke simultaneously from Lady Anne and
- Blaise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know, Nick?” added the latter gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, because”—Nick’s face wore an expression of
- puzzled concern—“because I saw Judith in Newton Abbot late
- this evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise leaned forward, a sudden look of concentration on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You saw Judith?” he repeated. “What time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must have been nearly eight o’clock. I was buzzing along
- in Jim Cresswell’s car to catch the seven forty-five up train, and I
- saw Judith with one of the Holfords—you know, those people from
- London—turning into the gateway of a house. I expect it was the
- place the Holfords are stopping at. They didn’t see me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re quite certain? You’ve made no mistake?”
- said Blaise sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I’ve made no mistake. Think I don’t know Judy
- when I see her? But what’s the meaning of it, Blaise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin rose to his feet, tossing the stump of his cigarette into the
- fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But I’m
- going to find out. Madonna”—turning to his mother—“did
- Jean tell you just exactly what Judith said when she rang her up on the’phone
- about this moonlight plan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wasn’t Judith who rang up,” replied Lady Anne, a
- faint misgiving showing itself in her face. “It was Geoffrey who
- gave the message.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin looked at her with a sudden awakened expression in his eyes.
- There was dread in them, too—keen dread. The expression of a man
- who, all at once, sees the thing he values more than anything in the whole
- world being torn from him—dragged forcibly away from the shelter he
- could give into some unspeakable darkness of disaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That settles it.” He pressed his finger against the bell-push
- and held it there, and when Baines came hurrying in response to the
- imperative summons, he said curtly: “Order me a fresh horse round at
- once—<i>at once</i>, mind—tell Harding to saddle Orion, and to
- look sharp about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise”—Lady Anne’s obvious uneasiness had
- deepened to a sharp anxiety—“Blaise, what are you going to do?
- What—what are you afraid of?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked her straight in the eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid of just what you are afraid of, madonna—of
- the devil let loose in Geoffrey Burke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and you’re going to look for her—for Jean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m going to find her,” he corrected quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Gravity had set its seal on all three faces. Each was conscious of the
- same fear—the fear they could not put into words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why do you take Orion?” asked Nick. “The little
- thoroughbred mare—Redwing—would do the journey quicker and he
- lighter of foot over any marshy ground on the Moor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Orion can go where he chooses,” returned Tormarin. “And
- he’ll choose to-night. Redwing is a little bit of a thing, though
- she’s game as a pebble. But she couldn’t carry—two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The significance of Tormarin’s choice of his big roan hunter,
- three-parts thoroughbred and standing sixteen hands, came home to Nick. He
- nodded without comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Silently he and Lady Anne accompanied Blaise into the hall. From the
- gravelled drive outside came the impatient stamping of Orion’s
- iron-shod hoofs. Just at the last Lady Anne clung to her son’s arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll bring her back, Blaise?” she urged, a quiver in
- her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll bring her back, madonna,” he answered quietly.
- “Don’t worry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A minute later he and the great roan horse were lost to sight in the mirk
- of the night. Only the beat of galloping hoofs was flung back to the two
- who were left to watch and wait, muffled and vague through the shrouding
- mist like the sound of a distant drum.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIX—THE GOLDEN HOUR
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>RION had fully
- justified Blaise’s opinion of his capabilities. As though the great
- horse had gathered that there was trouble abroad to which he must not add,
- he had needed neither whip nor spur as he carried his master with long,
- sweeping strides over the miles that lay betwixt Staple and the Moor. He
- was as fresh as paint, and the rush through the cool night, under a rider
- with hands as light as a woman’s and who sat him with a flexible
- ease, akin to that of a Cossack, had not distressed him in the very least.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now they were climbing the last long slope of the white road that
- approached the bungalow, the reins lying loosely on Orion’s neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- The mist had lifted a little in places, and a watery-looking moon peered
- through the clouds now and again, throwing a vague, uncertain light over
- the blurred and sombre moorland.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin had no very definite plan of campaign in his mind. He felt
- convinced that he should find Jean at the bungalow. If, contrary to his
- expectation, she were not there, nor anyone else to whom he could apply
- for information as to her whereabouts, he would have to consider what his
- next move must be.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, his thoughts were preoccupied with the main fact that she had
- failed to return home. If she had accepted Burke’s invitation to the
- bungalow, believing that Judith and the Holfords would be of the party,
- how was it that she had not at once returned when she discovered that for
- some reason they were not there?
- </p>
- <p>
- Some weeks ago—during the period when she was defiantly
- investigating the possibilities of an “unexploded bomb”—it
- was quite possible that the queer recklessness which sometimes tempts a
- woman to experiment in order to see just how far she may go—the
- mysterious delight that the feminine temperament appears to derive from
- dancing on the edge of a precipice—might have induced her to remain
- and have tea with Burke, chaperon or no chaperon. And then it was quite on
- the cards that Burke’s lawless disregard of anything in the world
- except the fulfilment of his own desires might have engineered the rest,
- and he might have detained her at the bungalow against her will.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Blaise could not believe that a <i>tête-à-tête</i> tea with Burke
- would hold any attraction for Jean now—not since that day, just
- before the visit to London, when he and she had been discussing the
- affairs of Nick and Claire and had found, quite suddenly, that their own
- hearts were open to each other and that with the spoken word, “Beloved,”
- the misunderstandings of the past had faded away, to be replaced by a
- wordless trust and belief.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if it <i>had</i> attracted her, if—knowing precisely how much
- the man she loved would condemn—she had still deliberately chosen to
- spend an afternoon with Burke, why, then, Blaise realised with a swift
- pang that she was no longer his Jean at all but some other, lesser woman.
- Never again the “little comrade” whose crystalline honesty of
- soul and sensitive response to all that was sweet and wholesome and true
- had come into his scarred life to jewel its arid places with a new
- blossoming of the rose of love.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to thrust the thought away from him. It was just the kind of
- thing that Nesta would have done, playing off one man against the other
- with the innate instinct of the born coquette. But not Jean—not Jean
- of the candid eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently, through the thinning mist, Tormarin discerned the sharp turn of
- the track which branched off from the road towards the bungalow, and
- quickening Orion’s pace, he was soon riding up the steep ascent, the
- moonlight throwing strange, confusing lights and shadows on the mist-wet
- surface of the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the roan snorted and wheeled
- around, shying violently away from the off-side bank. A less good horseman
- might have been unseated, but as the big horse swerved Tormarin’s
- knees gripped against the saddle like a vice, and with a steadying word he
- faced him up the track again, then glanced keenly at the overhanging side
- of the roadway to discover what had frightened him.
- </p>
- <p>
- A moment later he had jerked Orion to a sudden standstill, leapt to the
- ground and, with the reins over his arm, crossed the road swiftly to
- where, clad in some light-stuff that glimmered strangely in the moonlight,
- lay a slender figure, propped against the bank.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise!” Jean’s voice came weakly to his ears, but with
- a glad note in it of immense relief that bore witness to some previous
- strain.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant Tormarin was kneeling beside her, one arm behind her
- shoulders. He helped her to her feet and she leaned against him,
- shivering. Feeling in his pockets, he produced a brandy flask and held it
- to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drink some of that!” he said. “Don’t try to tell
- me anything yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The raw spirit sent the chilled blood racing through her veins, putting
- new life into her. A faint tinge of colour crept into her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Blaise! I’m so glad you’ve come—so glad!”
- she said shakily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So am I,” he returned grimly. “See, drink a little more
- brandy. Then you shall tell me all about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, bit by bit, she managed to give him a somewhat disjointed account
- of what had occurred.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I must have been stunned for a little when I fell,”
- she said. “I can’t remember anything after stepping right off
- into space, it seemed, till—oh, ages afterwards—- I found
- myself lying here. And when I tried to stand, I found I’d hurt my
- ankle and that I couldn’t put my foot to the ground. So”—with
- a weak little attempt at laughter—“I—I just sat down
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise gave vent to a quick exclamation of concern. “Oh, it’s
- nothing, really,” she reassured him hastily. “Only a strain.
- But I can’t walk on it.” Then, suddenly clinging to him with a
- nervous dread: “Oh, take me away, Blaise—take me home!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will. Don’t be frightened—there’s no need to be
- frightened any more, my Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I know. I’m not afraid—now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But he could hear the sob of utter nerve stress and exhaustion back of the
- brave words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’ll take you home at once,” he said cheerfully.
- “But, look here, you’ve no coat on and you’re wet with
- mist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. My coat’s at the bungalow. I left in a hurry, you see”—whimsically.
- The irrepressible Peterson element, game to the core, was reasserting
- itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we must fetch it———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! No!” Her voice rose in hasty protest. “I won’t—I
- can’t go back!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—don’t! Geoffrey might be there——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the better”—grimly. “I’d like five
- minutes with him.” Tormarin’s hand tightened fiercely on the
- hunting-crop he carried. “But he’s more likely lost his way in
- the mist and fetched up far enough away. Probably”—with a
- short laugh—“he’s still searching Dartmoor for! you. You’d
- be on his mind a bit, you know! Wait here a minute while I ride up to the
- bungalow——”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she clung to his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no! Don’t go! I—I can’t be left alone—again.”
- The fear was coming back to her voice and Blaise, detecting it, abandoned
- the idea at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, little Jean,” he said reassuringly. “I won’t
- leave you. Put my coat round you”—stripping it off. “There—like
- that.” He helped her into it and fastened it with deft fingers.
- “And now I’m going to get you up on to Orion and we’ll
- go home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never get up there,” she observed, with a glance at
- the roan’s great shoulders looming through the mist. “I shan’t
- be able to spring—I can only stand on one foot, remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise laughed cheerily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t worry. Just remain quite still—standing on your
- one foot, you poor little lame duck!—and I’ll do the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt his arm release its clasp of her, and a moment later he had swung
- his leg across the horse and was back in the saddle again. With a word to
- the big beast he dropped the reins on to his neck and, turning towards
- Jean, where she stood like a slim, pale ghost in the moonlight, he leaned
- down to her from the saddle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can you manage to come a step nearer?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- She hobbled forward painfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now!” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lower, lower still he stooped, his arms outheld, and at last she felt them
- close round her, lifting her with that same strength of steel which she
- remembered on the mountain-side at Montavan. Orion stood like a statue—motionless
- as if he knew and understood all about it, his head slewed round a bit as
- though watching until the little business should be satisfactorily
- accomplished, and blowing gently through his velvety nostrils meanwhile.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then Jean found herself resting against the curve of Blaise’s
- arm, with the roan’s powerful shoulders, firm and solid as a rock,
- beneath her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right?” queried Blaise, gathering up the reins in his
- left hand. “Lean well back against my shoulder. There, how’s
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s like an arm-chair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid you won’t say the same by the end of the journey,”
- he commented ruefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- But by the end of the journey Jean was fast asleep. She had “leant
- well back” as directed, conscious, as she felt the firm clasp of
- Blaise’s arm, of a supreme sense of security and well-being. The
- reaction from the strain of the afternoon, the exhaustion consequent upon
- her flight through the mist and the fall which had so suddenly ended it,
- and the rhythmic beat of Orion’s hoofs all combined to lull her into
- a state of delicious drowsiness. It was so good to feel that she need
- fight and scheme and plan no longer, to feel utterly safe... to know that
- Blaise was holding her...
- </p>
- <p>
- Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes closed, and the next
- thing of which she was conscious was of being lifted down by a pair of
- strong arms and of a confused murmur of voices from amongst which she
- hazily distinguished Lady Anne’s heartfelt: “Thank God you’ve
- found her!” And then, characteristically practical, “I’ll
- have her in bed in five minutes. Blankets and hot-water bottles are all in
- readiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the evening of the following day. Jean, tucked up on a couch and
- with her strained ankle comfortably bandaged, had been reluctantly
- furnishing Blaise with the particulars of her experience at the bungalow.
- She had been very unwilling to confide the whole story to him, fearing the
- consequences of the Tormarin temper as applied to Burke. A violent quarrel
- between the two men could do no good, she reflected, and would only be
- fraught with unpleasant results to all concerned—probably, in the
- end, securing a painful publicity for the whole affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately Blaise had been out when Judith had rung up earlier in the day
- to inquire if Jean had returned to Staple, or he might have fired off a
- few candid expressions of opinion through the telephone. But now there was
- no evading his searching questions, and he had quietly but determinedly
- insisted upon hearing the entire story. Once or twice an ejaculation of
- intense anger broke from him as he listened, but, beyond that, he made
- little comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and that was all,” wound up Jean. “And,
- anyway, Blaise”—a little anxiously—“it’s
- over now, and I’m none the worse except for the acquisition of a
- little more worldly wisdom and a strained ankle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it’s over now,” he said, standing looking down at
- her with a curious gleam in his eyes. “But that sort of thing shan’t
- happen twice. You’ll have to marry me—do you hear?”—imperiously.
- “You shall never run such a risk again. We’ll get married at
- once!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Jean, with a quiver of amusement at the corners of her mouth,
- responded meekly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next minute his arms were round her and their lips met in the first
- supreme kiss of love at last acknowledged—of love given and
- returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- There is no gauge by which those first moments when two who love confess
- that they are lovers may be measured. It is the golden, timeless span when
- “unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday” cease to hem us round
- about and only love, and love’s ecstasy, remain.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Blaise and Jean it might have been an hour—a commonplace period
- ticked off by the little silver clock upon the chimneypiece—or half
- eternity before they came back to the recollection of things mundane. When
- they did, it was across the kindly bridge of humour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise laughed out suddenly and boyishly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I quite forgot
- to propose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you did! Suppose”—smiling up at him impertinently—“suppose
- you do it now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not I! I won’t waste my breath when I might put it to so much
- better use in calling you belovedest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean was silent, but her eyes answered him. She had made room for him
- beside her, and now he was seated upon the edge of the Chesterfield,
- holding her in his arms. She did not want to talk much. That still, serene
- happiness which lies deep within the heart is not provocative of
- garrulity.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last a question—the question that had tormented her through all
- the long months since she had first realised whither love was leading her,
- found its way to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn’t you tell me before, Blaise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face clouded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because of all that had happened in the past. You know—you
- have been told about Nesta——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes! Don’t talk about it, Blaise,” she broke in
- hastily, sensing his distasteful recoil from the topic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think we must a little, dear,” he responded gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, Nesta was not all to blame—nor even very much, as I’m
- sure”—with a little half-tender smile—“my mother
- tried hard to make you believe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded vigorously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She did. And I expect she was perfectly right”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he answered. “The fault was really mine. My
- initial mistake was in confusing the false fire with the true. It—was
- not love I had for Nesta. And I found it out when it was too late. We were
- poles apart in everything, and instead of trying to make it easier for
- her, trying to understand her and to lead her into our ways of looking at
- things. I only stormed at her. It roused all that was worst in me to see
- her trailing our name in the dust, throwing her dignity to the winds,
- craving for nothing other than amusement and excitement. I’m not
- trying to excuse myself. There <i>was</i> no excuse for me. In my way, I
- was as culpable and foolish as she. And when the crash came—when I
- found her deliberately entertaining in my house, against my express
- orders, a man who ought to have been kicked out of any decent society,
- why, I let go. The Tormarin temper had its way with me. I shall never
- forgive myself for that. I frightened her, terrified her. I think I must
- have been half mad. And then—well, you know what followed. She
- rushed away and, before anyone could find her or help her, she had killed
- herself—thrown herself into the Seine. Quite what happened between
- leaving here and her death we were never able to find out. Apparently
- since her marriage with me, her sister had gone to Paris, unknown to her,
- and had taken a situation as <i>dame de compagnie</i> to some Frenchwoman,
- and Nesta, though she followed from Italy to Paris, failed to find her
- there. At least that is what Margherita Valdi told me in the letter
- announcing Nesta’s death. Then she must have lost heart. So you see,
- morally I am responsible for that poor, reckless child’s death.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, no, Blaise! I don’t see that”—pitifully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you? I do—very clearly. And that was why, when I
- found myself growing to care for you, I tried to keep away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt in his pocket and produced a plain gold wedding ring. On the
- inside were engraved the initials “B.T. and N.E.,” and a date.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was my talisman. Alargherita sent it back to me when she wrote
- telling me of Nesta’s death. Whenever I felt my resolution
- weakening, I used to take it out and have a look at it. It was always
- quite effective in thrusting me back into my proper place in the scheme of
- things—that is, outside any other woman’s life.” There
- was an inexpressible bitterness in his tones, and Jean drew a little
- nearer to him, her heart overflowing with compassion. He looked down at
- her, and smiled a thought ironically. “But now—you’ve
- beaten me.” His lips brushed her hair. “I’m glad to be
- beaten, belovedest... I knew, that day at Montavan, what you might come to
- mean to me. And I intended never to see you again, but just to take that
- one day for remembrance. I felt that, having made such an utter hash of
- things, having spoiled one woman’s life and been, indirectly, the
- cause of her death, I was not fit to hold another woman’s happiness
- in my hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad you thought better of it? she observed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know, even now, that I’m right in letting you
- love me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can’t stop me,” she objected.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I would if I could—now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean leaned up and, with a slender, dictatorial finger on the side of his
- face, turned his head towards her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Quite</i> sure?” she demanded saucily. Then, without
- waiting for his answer: “Blaise, I do love your chin—it’s
- such a nice, square, your-money-or-your-life sort of chin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something light as a butterfly, warm as a woman’s lips, just brushed
- the feature in question.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her into his arms, folding them closely about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I—I love every bit of you,” he said hoarsely.
- “Body and soul, I love you! Oh! Heart’s beloved! Nothing—no
- one in the whole world shall come between us two ever again!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXX—THE GATEWAY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>UGUST seemed
- determined to justify her claim to be numbered amongst the summer months
- before making her exit. Apparently she had repented her of having recently
- veiled the country in a mist that might have been regarded as a very
- creditable effort even on the part of November, for to-day the sun was
- blazing down out of a cloudless sky and scarcely a breath of wind swayed
- the nodding cornstalks, heavy with golden grain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, her strained ankle now practically recovered, was tramping along the
- narrow footpath through the cornfield, following in Blaise’s
- footsteps, while Nick brought up the rear of the procession. She had not
- seen Claire since her engagement had become an actual fact, though a
- characteristically warm-hearted little note from the latter had found its
- way to Staple, and this morning Jean had declared her inability to exist
- another day “without a ‘heart-to-heart’ talk with
- Claire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hence the afternoon’s pilgrimage across the cornfield which formed
- part of a short cut between Staple and Charnwood.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first Jean had feared lest her new-found happiness might raise a
- barrier of sorts betwixt herself and Claire. The contrast between the
- respective hands that fate had dealt them was so glaring, and the rose and
- gold with which love had suddenly decked Jean’s own life seemed to
- make the bleak tragedy which enveloped Claire’s appear ever darker
- than before.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Claire’s letter, full of a quiet, unselfish rejoicing in the
- happiness which had fallen to the lot of her friend, had somehow smoothed
- away the little uncomfortable feeling which, to anyone as sensitive as
- Jean, had been a very real embarrassment. Nick’s felicitations, too,
- had been tendered with frank cordiality and affection, and with a delicate
- perception that had successfully concealed the sting of individual pain
- which the contrast could hardly fail to have induced.
- </p>
- <p>
- So that it was with a considerably lightened heart that Jean, with her
- escort of two, passed between the great gates of Charnwood and, avoiding
- the lengthy walk entailed by following the windings of the drive, struck
- off across the velvety lawns—smooth stretches of close-cropped sward
- which, broken only by branching trees and shrubbery, and undefaced by the
- dreadful formality of symmetrical flower-beds, swept right up to the
- gravelled terrace fronting the windows of the house itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men loitered to discuss the points of a couple of young spaniels
- rollicking together on the grass, but Jean, eager to see Claire, smilingly
- declined to wait for them, and, speeding on ahead, she mounted the short
- flight of steps leading to the terrace from the lower level of the lawns.
- </p>
- <p>
- Facing her, as she reached the topmost step was a glass door, giving
- entrance to Claire’s own particular sanctum, which usually, in
- summer, stood wide open to admit the soft, warm air and the fragrant
- scents breathed out from a border of old-fashioned flowers, sweet and prim
- and quaint, which encircled the base of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to-day the door was shut and forbidding-looking, and Jean experienced
- a sudden sense of misgiving. Supposing Claire chanced to be out just when
- she had arrived brimming over with the hundred little feminine confidences
- that were to have formed part of the “heart-to-heart” talk! It
- would be too aggravating!
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eager glance flew ahead, searching the room’s interior, clearly
- visible through the wide glass panel of the door. Then, with a startled
- cry, she halted, her hand clapped against her lips to stifle the
- involuntary exclamation of dismay and terror that had leapt to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The afternoon sunshine slanted in upon a picture of grotesque horror—-a
- nightmare conception that could only have sprung from the macabre
- imagination of a madman.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the middle of the room Claire sat bound to a high-backed chair, secured
- by cords which cut cruelly across her slender body. Her face had assumed a
- curious ashen shade, and her eyes were fixed in a numbed look of
- fascinated terror upon the tall, angular figure of her husband, which
- pranced in front of her jerkily, like a marionette, while he threatened
- her with a revolver, his thin lips, smiling cruelly, drawn back from his
- teeth like those of a snarling animal.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was addressing her in queer, high-pitched tones that had something
- inhuman about them—the echoing, empty sound of a voice no longer controlled
- by a reasoning brain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you needn’t worry that Mr. Brennan will be overwhelmed
- with grief at your early demise. He won’t—te-he-he!”—he
- gave a foolish, cackling laugh—“he won’t have time to
- miss you much! I’ll attend to that—I’ll attend to that!
- There’ll be a second bullet for your dear friend, Mr. Brennan.”
- ... Crack! The sharp report of a revolver shattered the summer silence as
- Jean sprang forward and wrenched at the handle of the door. But it refused
- to yield. It had been locked upon the inside!
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as the smoke cleared away, she saw that Claire was Unhurt. Sir
- Adrian had deliberately fired above her head and was now rocking his long,
- lean body to and fro in a paroxysm of horrible, noiseless mirth. Evidently
- he purposed to amuse himself by inflicting the torture of suspense upon
- his victim before he actually murdered her, for Latimer had been at one
- time an expert revolver shot, and, even drug-ridden as he had since
- become, he could not well have missed his helpless target by accident.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire’s head had fallen back, but no merciful oblivion of
- unconsciousness had come to her relief. Her mouth was a little open and
- the breath came in short, quick gasps between her grey lips. Her face
- looked like a mask, set in a blank stupor of horror.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sound of the shot brought Blaise and Nick racing to Jean’s side.
- One glance through the glass door sufficed them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God in heaven! He’s gone mad!” Nick’s voice was
- quick with fear for the woman he loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get Tucker here at once!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise’s swift command, flung at her as he and Nick leaped forward,
- sent Jean flying along the terrace as fast as feet winged with unutterable
- terror could carry her. As she ran, she heard the crash of splintering
- glass as the two men she had left behind smashed in the panel of the
- locked door, and, almost simultaneously, Sir Adrian’s pistol barked
- again—another shot, and then a third in quick succession.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sound seemed to wring every nerve in her body... had that madman shot
- him?
- </p>
- <p>
- With sobbing breath she rushed blindly on into the house and met the
- butler, running too, white faced and horror-stricken.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God, miss! Sir Adrian’s murdering her ladyship—and
- the room door’s locked!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man almost babbled out the words in his extremity of fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The terrace door... Quick, Tucker!”—Jean gasped out the
- order. “Mr. Brennan’s there they’ve broken in the
- glass...”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not waiting to hear the end of the sentence, Tucker bolted out of the hall
- and along the terrace, while Jean leaned up against the doorway drawing
- long, shuddering breaths that seemed actually to tear their way through
- her throat and yet brought no relief to the agonised thudding of her
- heart. For the moment she was physically unable to run another yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- But her mind was working with abnormal clarity and swiftness. This was her
- doing—hers! If she had not dissuaded Nick that day when he had
- proposed taking Claire away with him, all this would never have
- happened.... Claire would have been safe—safe! But she had
- interfered, clinging to her belief that no real good ever came by doing
- wrong, and now her creed had failed her utterly. Nick’s resistance
- of temptation was culminating in a ghastly tragedy that might have been
- avoided. To Jean it seemed in that moment as if her world were falling in
- ruins about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sick with apprehension, she almost reeled out again into the mocking
- summer sunlight, and, running as fast as the convulsive throbbing of her
- heart would let her, regained the far end of the terrace and peered
- through the door that led into Claire’s room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Its great panes were shattered. Jagged teeth and spites of glass stuck out
- from the wooden framework, while here and there, dependent from them, were
- bits of cloth tom from the men’s coats as they had scrambled
- through.
- </p>
- <p>
- Within the room Jean could discern a confused hurly-burly of swaying,
- writhing figures—Blaise and Nick and the butler struggling to
- overpower Sir Adrian, who was fighting them with all the cunning and the
- amazing strength of madness. From beyond came the clamour of people
- battering uselessly at the door, the shrill, excited voices of the
- frightened servants who had collected in the hall outside the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a few breathless seconds Jean was in doubt—wondered wildly
- whether Sir Adrian would succeed in breaking away from his captors. Then
- she saw Nick’s foot shoot out suddenly like the piston-rod of an
- engine, and Sir Adrian staggered and came crashing down on to his knees.
- The other two closed in upon him swiftly, and a minute later he was lying
- prone on his back with the three men holding him down by main force.
- </p>
- <p>
- With difficulty avoiding the protruding pieces of glass, Jean stepped into
- the room. Her first thought was for Claire, who now hung helpless and
- unconscious against the bonds that held her. But Blaise very speedily
- directed her attention to something of more urgent importance for the
- moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unlock that door,” he called to her. “Quick!” He
- was still panting from the exertion of the recent struggle. “Get a
- rope of some sort!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean turned the key and tore open the door leading into the hall. The
- little flock of servants gathered outside it overflowed into the room,
- frightened and excitedly inquisitive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get some cord, one of you,” commanded Jean authoratively.
- “Anything will do if it’s strong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Two or three of the servants broke away from the main body and ran
- frantically in search of the required cord, glad to be of use, and very
- soon Sir Adrian, bound as humanely as his struggles rendered possible, was
- borne to his own room and laid upon his bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ring up the doctor,” ordered Blaise, as he assisted in the
- rather difficult process of conveying Sir Adrian upstairs. “Tell him
- to come to Charnwood as quickly as he can get here.” And another
- eager little detachment of domestics flew off to carry out his bidding.
- The under-footman won the race for the telephone by a good half-yard, and,
- in a voice which fairly twittered with the agitating and amazing news he
- had to impart, transmitted the message to the doctor’s parlour-maid
- at the other end of the wire, adding a few picturesque and stimulating
- details concerning the struggle which had just taken place—and
- which, apparently, he had perceived with the eye of faith through the
- wooden panels of the locked door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Nick and Jean had turned their attention towards releasing
- Claire, who, as the last of her bonds was cut, toppled forward in a dead
- faint into the former’s arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- A second procession wended its way upstairs, Nick bearing the slight,
- unconscious figure in his arms while Jean and a kindly-faced housemaid
- followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her ladyship’s maid is out, miss,” volunteered the
- girl. “But perhaps I can help?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled at her, the frank, friendly smile that always won for her the
- eager, willing service of man and maid alike.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure you can,” she said gently. “As soon as
- we can bring her ladyship round, you shall help me undress her and put her
- to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes Claire recovered consciousness, but she was horribly
- shaken and distraught, crying and clinging to Jean or to the housemaid—who
- was almost crying, too, out of sympathy—like a child frightened by
- the dark.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, understanding just what was needed, shepherded Nick to the door of
- the room, where he lingered unhappily, his anxious gaze still fixed on the
- slender, shrinking figure upon the couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t worry, Nick,” she said reassuringly. “She’ll
- he all right; it’s only reaction. But I know what she wants—she
- wants a real mother-person. Go down and ring up Lady Anne, will you, and
- ask her to come over in the car as quickly as she can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick nodded; the idea commended itself to him. His “pale golden
- narcissus,” so nearly broken, would be safe indeed with the kind,
- comforting arms of his mother about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an intense relief to Jean when Lady Anne arrived and quietly and
- efficiently took command of affairs. And there was sore need for her
- unruffled poise and capability throughout the night that followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire, nervous and utterly unstrung, slept but little, waking constantly
- with a cry of terror as in imagination she relived the ordeal of the
- afternoon, while in the big bedroom across the landing, where her husband
- lay, the grim shadow of death itself was drawing momentarily closer.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time the doctor had arrived in answer to the summons sent, there
- seemed small need for the strong cords with which Sir Adrian’s limbs
- were bound. The wild fury of the afternoon’s struggle had thoroughly
- exhausted him, and he lay, propped up with pillows, apparently in a state
- of stupor, breathing very feebly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heart,” the doctor told Tormarin after he had made a swift
- examination. “I’ve known for months that Sir Adrian might go
- out at any moment. His heart was already impaired, and, of course, he’s
- drugged for years. He may recover a little, but if, as I think is highly
- probable, there’s any recurrence of the brain disturbance—why,
- he’ll not live out a second paroxysm. The heart won’t stand
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin endeavoured to look appropriately shocked. But the doctor was a
- man and an honest one, and not even professional etiquette prevented his
- adding, with a jerk of his head in the direction of Claire’s
- bedroom:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be a merciful deliverance for that poor little woman.
- There’s a strain of madness in the Latimer’s you know. And”—with
- a shrug—“naturally Sir Adrian’s habits have accentuated
- it in his own case.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the doctor was mistaken in his calculations. Sir Adrian’s
- constitution was stronger than he estimated. As Nick had once bitterly
- commented to Jean, the man was like a piece of steel wire, and two
- dreadful outbreaks of maniacal fury had to be endured before the wire
- began to weaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the course of the first paroxysm it was all the four men could do
- to restrain him from leaping from the bed and rushing out of the room,
- since, during the period of quiescence which had preceded the doctor’s
- arrival, a mistaken feeling of humanity had dictated the loosening of the
- cords which bound him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He fought and screamed, uttering the most horrible imprecations, and his
- evil intent towards the woman who was his wife was unmistakable. With her
- husband free to work his will, Claire’s life would not have been
- worth a moment’s purchase.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the period of coma that succeeded this outbreak Sir Adrian, was again
- secured, as mercifully as possible, from any possibility of doing his wife
- a mischief, and the second paroxysm which convulsed the bound and shackled
- madman was very terrible to witness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like its predecessor, this attack was followed by a stupor, during which
- Sir Adrian appeared more dead than alive.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was palpably weaker, restoratives failing to produce any appreciable
- effect, and towards morning, in those chill, small hours when the powers
- of the body languish and fail, the crazed and self-tormented spirit of
- Adrian Latimer quitted a world in which he had been able to perceive none
- of those things that are just and pure and lovely and of good report, but
- only distrust and malice and, finally, black hatred.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- A fortnight had come and gone. Sir Adrian’s body had been laid to
- rest in Coombe Eavie churchyard, and Claire, in the simplest of widow’s
- weeds, went about once more, looking rather frail and worn-out but with a
- fugitive light of happiness on her face that was a source of rejoicing to
- those who loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no pretence at mourning the man who had turned her life into a
- living hell for nearly three years and who stood like a gaoler betwixt her
- and the happiness which might have been hers had she been free. But the
- conventions, as well as her own feelings, dictated that a decent interval
- must elapse before she and Nick could be married, and this would be for
- her a quiet period dedicated to the readjustment of her whole attitude
- towards life.
- </p>
- <p>
- The length of that period was the subject of considerable discussion. Nick
- protested that six months was amply long enough to wait—too long
- indeed!—but Claire herself seemed disposed to prolong her widowhood
- into a year.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t in the least because I feel I owe it to Adrian,”
- she said in answer to Nick’s protest. “I don’t consider
- that I owe him anything at all. But I feel so battered, Nick, so utterly
- tired and weary after the perpetual struggle of the last three years that
- I don’t want to plunge suddenly into the new duties of a new life—not
- even into new happiness. It’s difficult to make you understand, but
- I feel just like a sponge which has soaked up all it can and simply can’t
- absorb any more of <i>anything</i>. You must let me have time for the past
- to evaporate a bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But it required the addition of a few common-sense observations on the
- part of Lady Anne to drive the nail home.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Claire is quite right, Nick,” she told him. “She is
- temporarily worn out—mentally, physically and spiritually spent. Her
- nerves have been kept at their utmost stretch off and on for years, and
- now that release has come they’ve collapsed like a fiddle-string
- when the peg that holds it taut is loosened. You must give her time to
- recover, to key herself up to normal pitch again. At present she isn’t
- fit to face even the demands that big happiness brings in its train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Nick had perforce to bow to Claire’s decision, and it was settled
- that for the first month of two, at least, of her widowhood Jean should
- remove herself and her belongings from Staple and bear her company at
- Charnwood. And meanwhile Nick and Claire would spend many peaceful hours
- together of quiet happiness and companionship, while Claire, as she
- herself expressed it, “rebuilt her soul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Jean the issue of events had brought nothing but pure joy. Her belief
- had been justified, and the grim gateway of death had become for these two
- friends of hers the gateway to happiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had neither seen nor heard anything from Burke since the day she had
- fled from him on the Moor, although indirectly she had discovered that he
- had quitted the bungalow the day following that of her flight from it and
- had gone to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- Judith sent her a brief, rather formal letter of congratulation upon her
- engagement, but in it she made no reference to him nor did she endeavour
- to explain away or palliate her own share in his scheme to force Jean’s
- hand. Probably an odd kind of loyalty to her brother prevented her from
- clearing herself at his expense, added to a certain dogged pride which
- refused to let her extenuate any action of hers; to the daughter of Glyn
- Peterson.
- </p>
- <p>
- But none of these things had any power to hurt Jean now. In her new-born
- happiness she felt that she could find it in her heart to forgive anybody
- anything! She was even conscious of a certain tentative understanding and
- indulgence for Burke himself. He had only used the “primitive man”
- methods his temperament dictated in his effort to win the woman he wanted
- for his wife. And he had failed. Just now, Jean could not help
- sympathising with anybody who had failed to find the happiness that love
- bestows.
- </p>
- <p>
- She reflected that the old gipsy on the Moor had been wonderfully correct
- in her prophecy concerning Nick and Claire. The sun was “shin’
- butivul” for them at last, just as she had assured them that it
- would.
- </p>
- <p>
- And, with the same, came a sudden little clutch of fear at Jean’s
- heart, like the touch of a strange hand. The gipsy had had other words for
- her—harsher, less sweet-sounding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For there’s darkness comin’... black darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shivered a little. She felt as though a breath of cold air had passed
- over her, chilling the warm blood that ran so joyously in her veins.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXI—AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>LAISE was seated
- at his study table, regarding somewhat dubiously a letter which lay open
- in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was written in a flowing, foreign hand and expressed with a quaintly
- stilted, un-English turn of phrase. The heading of the notepaper upon
- which it was inscribed was that of a hotel in Exeter.
- </p>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
- “Dear Mr. Tormarin,” it ran. “You will, without doubt, be
- surprised to receive a letter from me, since we have met
- only once. But I have something of the most great importance
- to confide in you, and I therefore beg that you will accord
- me an interview. When I add to this that the matter
- approaches very closely the future of your fiancée, Miss
- Peterson, I do not doubt to myself that you will appoint a
- time when I may call to see you.”
- </pre>
- <p>
- The letter was signed <i>M. de Varigny</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise had received this thought-provoking epistle two days previously,
- and had been impressed by an uncomfortable consciousness that it foreboded
- something unpleasant. He could not imagine in what manner the affairs of
- Madame de Varigny impinged upon his own, or rather, as she seemed to
- imply, upon those of his future wife, and this very uncertainty had
- impelled him to fix the interview the Countess had demanded at as early a
- moment as possible. Disagreeables were best met and faced without delay.
- So now he was momentarily awaiting her arrival, still unable to rid
- himself of the impression that something of an unpleasant nature impended.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced through the open window, facing him. Afterwards, he was always
- able to recall every little detail of the picture upon which his eyes
- rested; it was etched upon his mind as ineffaceably as though cut upon
- steel with a graver’s tool.
- </p>
- <p>
- Although the mellow sunlight of September flooded the lawns and terraces,
- that indescribable change which heralds autumn had already begun to
- manifest itself. Not that any hint of chill as yet edged the balmy
- atmosphere or tint of russet reddened the gently waving foliage of the
- trees. It was something less definite—a suggestion of maturity, of
- completed ripening, conveyed by the deep, rich green of the grass, the
- strong, woody growth of the trees, the full-blown glory of the roses
- nodding on their stems.
- </p>
- <p>
- To the left, in the shade of a stately cedar, Lady Anne and Jean were
- encamped with their sewing and writing materials at hand, and the rays of
- sunshine, filtering between the widespread branches above them, woke
- fugitive gold and silver lights in the down-bent auburn and white-crowned
- heads. Further away, in the valley below, the brown smudge of a
- wide-bottomed boat broke the smooth expanse of the lake whence the mingled
- laughter of Nick and Claire came floating up on the breeze.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a peaceful scene, full of intimate happiness and tender promises,
- and Blaise watched it with contented eyes. The voice of Baines, formal and
- urbane, roused him from a pleasant reverie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame de Varigny,” announced that functionary, throwing open
- the door and standing aside for the visitor to enter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise rose courteously to greet her, holding out his hand. But the
- Countess shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I will not shake hands,” she said abruptly. “When
- you know why I am come, you will not want to shake hands with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something not unattractive about the outspoken refusal to sail
- under false colours, more especially softened, as it was, by the charm of
- the faintly foreign accent and intonation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny had paused a moment in the middle of the room and was
- regarding her host with curiously appraising eyes, and as Blaise returned
- her gaze he was conscious, as once before at the fancy-dress ball at
- Montavan, of the strange sense of familiarity this woman had for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry for that,” he said, answering her refusal to shake
- hands. “Won’t you, at least, sit down?” pulling forward
- a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will sit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sank into the chair with the quick, graceful motion of the South, and
- continued to regard Blaise watchfully between the thick fringes of her
- lashes. Had Jean been present, she would have been struck anew by the
- expression of implacability which hardened the dark-brown eyes. By that,
- and by something else as well—a look of unmistakable triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have much—much to say to you, Monsieur Tor-ma-rin,”
- she began at last. “I will commence by telling you a little about
- myself. I am”—here she looked away for an instant, then shot a
- swift, penetrating glance at him—“an Italian by birth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A brief silence followed this announcement. Blaise was thinking
- concentratedly. So Madame de Varigny, despite her French name and her
- French mannerisms, was an Italian! He might have guessed it had the
- possibility ever definitely presented itself to him—guessed it from
- those broad, high cheek bones, those liquid, southern-dark eyes, and the
- coarse, blue-black hair. Yet, except for one fleeting moment at Montavan,
- the idea had never occurred to him, and it had then been swiftly
- dissipated by Jean’s explanation that the impressive-looking
- Cleopatra was the Comtesse de Varigny and her chaperon for the time being.
- </p>
- <p>
- Italian! Blaise felt more convinced than ever now that Madame de Varigny’s
- visit portended unpleasant developments. Something, a voice from the past,
- was about to break stridently on the peaceful present. He braced himself
- to meet and counter whatever might be coming. Vaguely he foresaw some kind
- of blackmail, and he thanked Heaven for Jean’s absolute
- understanding and complete knowledge of the past and of all that
- appertained to his first unhappy marriage. There would be little foothold
- here for an attempt at blackmail, however skilfully worked, he reflected
- grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He therefore responded civilly to Madame de Varigny’s statement,
- apparently accepting it at its mere face value.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am surprised,” he told her. “You have altogether the
- air of a Parisian.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Countess smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I had a French grandmother,” she returned carelessly.
- “Also, I have lived much in Paris.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! that explains it,” replied Tormarin, leaning back in his
- chair as though satisfied. “It’s the influence of environment
- and heredity, I expect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was fencing carefully, waiting for the woman to show her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have also Corsican blood in my veins,” pursued Madame de
- Varigny. Then, as Tormarin made no answer, she leaned forward and said
- intently: “Do you know the characteristic of the Corsicans, Monsieur
- Tor-ma-rin? They never forget—<i>nevaire</i>”—her
- foreign accent increasing, as usual, with emotion of any kind. “The
- Corsican always repays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes? And you have something to repay? Is that it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I have something to repay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A revenge, in fact?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I do not call it revenge. It is punishment—the just
- punishment earned by the man who married Nesta Freyne and brought her in
- return nothing but misery.” Tormarin rose abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What have the affairs of Nesta Freyne to do with you?” he
- asked sternly. “As you are obviously aware, she was my wife. And I
- do not propose to discuss private personal matters with an entire
- stranger.” He moved towards the door. “I think our interview
- can very well terminate at that. I do not wish to forget that I am your
- host.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are more than that,” said Madame de Varigny suavely.
- “You are my brother-in-law.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>What?</i>” Tormarin swung ’round and faced her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” The suavity was gone now, replaced by a curious deadly
- precision of utterance, enhanced by the foreign rendering of syllabic
- values. “I am—or was, until my marriage—Margherita
- Valdi. I am Nesta’s sister.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin regarded her steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In that case,” he said, “I will hear what you have to
- say. Though I don’t think,” he added, “that any good can
- come of raking up the past. It is better—forgotten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgotten?” Madame de Varigny seized upon the unlucky word.
- “Yes—it may be easy enough for you to forget—you who
- took Nesta’s young, beautiful life and crushed it; you who came like
- a thief and stole from me the one creature in the whole world whom I loved—my
- <i>bambina</i>, my little sister. Oh, yes”—her voice rose
- passionately—“easy enough when there is another woman—a
- new love—with whom you think to start your life all over again! But
- I tell you, you <i>shall not!</i> There shall be no new beginning for you—no
- marriage with this Jean Peterson to whom you are now <i>fiancé</i>. I
- forbid it—I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise stemmed the torrent of her speech with an authoritative gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask how the news of my engagement reached you?” he
- asked, his cool, dispassionate question falling like a hailstone dropped
- into some molten stream of lava.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I have kept watch. I have the means of knowing. There is very
- little that has happened to you since—since I wrote to you of Nesta’s
- death”—she stumbled a little over the words, and Blaise,
- despite his anger, was conscious of a sudden flash of sympathy for her—“very
- little that I have not known. And this—your engagement, I knew of
- that when it was barely a week old.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m really curious to know why my affairs should be of such
- surpassing interest to you. My engagement, for instance—how did you
- hear of it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that was easy”—contemptuously. “There was
- another man who loved your Mees Peterson—this Monsieur Burke. I used
- him. I knew he was afraid that you might win her, and I told him that if
- ever you became engaged he must come and tell me, and I would show him how
- to make sure that you should never marry her. Oh! That was <i>vairy</i>
- simple!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid you promised him more than you can hope to
- perform. I grant that you have every reason to dislike me—hate me,
- if you will. I acknowledge, too, that I was to blame, miserably to blame,
- for Nesta’s unhappiness—as much in fault as she herself. But
- there is nothing gained at this late hour by apportioning the blame. We
- each made bad mistakes—and we have each had to pay the price.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours has been a very light price—comparatively,” she
- commented with intense bitterness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in the quiet, still utterance of the brief question brought her
- glance swiftly, curiously, back to his face. It was as though, behind
- those four short words, she could feel the intolerable pressure of years
- of endurance. For a moment she seemed to waver, then, as though she had
- deliberately pushed the impression aside, she laughed disagreeably.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too light to satisfy her sister, at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin froze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is fortunate, then, that my ultimate fate does not lie in your
- hands,” he observed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that is just where it does lie—in the palm of my hand—there!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She flung out one shapely hand, palm, upward, and pointed to it with the
- other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now—see—I close my hand—so!... And this
- beautiful marriage of which you have dreamed, your marriage with Mees
- Peterson—<i>it does not take place!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you mad?” asked Blaise contemptuously, experiencing all
- an Englishman’s distaste for this display of unforced drama.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said quietly. “I am not mad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The air of theatricality seemed to fall suddenly away from her, leaving
- her a stern and sombre figure, invested with an intrinsic atmosphere of
- tragedy, filled with one sentiment only—the thirst for vengeance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I am not mad. I am telling you the truth. You can never marry
- Jean Peterson, because Nesta—your wife—still lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin fell back a pace. For one moment he believed the woman had gone
- genuinely mad—that by dint of long brooding upon how she might most
- hurt and punish the Englishman whom she had never forgiven for marrying
- her sister, she had evolved from a half-crazed mind the belief that Nesta
- still lived and that thus she would be able to prevent his marriage with
- any other woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, looking into those seeming soft brown eyes with the granite
- hardness in their depths, he could see the light of reason burning
- steadily within them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny was quite sane, as sane as he was himself. And if so...
- </p>
- <p>
- A great fear came upon him—the fear of a man who dimly senses the
- approach of some appalling danger and knows that it will find him utterly
- defenceless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what you are saying?” he demanded, his voice
- roughened and uneven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know. Nesta is alive,” she repeated simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Alive?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The word was wrung from him, hardly more than a hoarse whisper of sound.
- He swung round upon her violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you yourself wrote and told me of her death?” She nodded
- placidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I wrote a lie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the official information? We had that, too, later, from the
- French police, confirming your account. You had better be careful about
- what you are telling me,” he added sternly. “Lies won’t
- answer, now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The need for lying is past,” she answered with the most
- absolute candour. “The French police wrote quite truthfully all they
- knew. They had found the body of a suicide, whom I identified as my
- sister. To strengthen matters I bribed someone I knew also to identify the
- dead girl as Nesta. She was a married woman, too, the poor little dead,
- one! So it was quite simple. And I took Nesta home—home to Château
- Varigny. I had married by then. But she had heard of my marriage through
- friends in Italy and wrote to me from there, telling me of her misery with
- you and begging me to succour her. So I went to Italy and brought her back
- with me to Varigny. Then I planned that you should believe her dead. It
- was all very simple,” she repeated complacently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what was your object in all this? Why did you scheme to keep me
- in ignorance? What was your purpose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” Her voice deepened suddenly, the placid satisfaction
- with which she had narrated the carrying out of her plan disappearing from
- it completely. “Why? I did it to punish you—first for stealing
- my Nesta from me and then because, after you had stolen her, you brought
- her nothing but misery and heart-break. She was so young—so young!
- And you, with your hideous temper and cold, formal English ways—you
- broke her heart, cowed her, crushed her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was old enough to coquette with every man she met,” came
- grimly between Tormarin’s teeth. “No husband—English or
- Italian, least of all Italian—would have endured her conduct.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She would not have played with other men if you had loved her. She
- was all fire. And you—you were like a wet log that will not burn!”
- She gestured fiercely. “You <i>never</i> loved her! It was in a
- moment of passion—of desire that you married her!... But you were
- sure, eventually, to meet some other woman and learn what love—real
- love—is. So I waited. And when I saw you at Montavan with Jean—I
- knew that the day I had waited for so long would come at last. I knew that
- your punishment was ready to my hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean”—Blaise spoke in curiously measured accents—“do
- you mean that you deliberately concealed the fact that Nesta still lived
- so that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that you should not marry the woman that you loved when the time
- came! Yes, I planned it all! I kept Nesta safely hidden at Varigny, and I
- made little changes in her appearance—a woman can, you know”—mockingly—“the
- colour of her hair, the way of dressing it. Oh, just little changes, so
- that if by chance she was seen in the street by anyone who had known her
- as your wife she would not easily be recognised.” Oh once more with
- that exasperating complacence at her own skill in deception—“I
- thought of every little detail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin stood listening to her silently, like a man in a trance. His face
- had grown drawn and haggard, and his eyes burned in their sockets. Once,
- as she poured out her story of trickery and deception, she heard him
- mutter dazedly: “Jean... Jean,” and the anguish in his voice
- might have moved any woman to pity save only one who was utterly and
- entirely obsessed with the desire for vengeance.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the intolerable suffering which had suddenly lined his face and rimmed
- his mouth with tiny beads of sweat was meat and drink to her. She gloried
- in it. This was her hour of triumph after long years of waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at him blandly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I have behaved very well,” she pursued. “I
- might have waited till you were actually married. But I have no wish to
- punish the little Jean. She, at least, is ‘on the square,’ as
- you say—though it would have revenged my Nesta well had I waited.
- You ruined Nesta’s life; I could have ruined the life of the woman
- you love. I did think of it. Ah! You would have suffered then, knowing
- that the Jean you worshipped was neither wife, nor maid, but a——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Be silent, woman!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tortured beyond bearing, this final taunt, levelled at the woman he held
- more dear than anything in life, snapped his last thread of self-control.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flung himself forward and his hands were gripping, gripping at the soft
- ivory throat from which the taunt had sprung. He felt the woman writhe,
- struggling to pull his hands from her neck. But it meant nothing to him.
- He did not think of her any longer as a woman. She was something vile—leprous
- to the very core of her being—a thing to be destroyed. The thing
- which had made of all Jean’s promised happiness a black and bitter
- mockery.
- </p>
- <p>
- The mad Tormarin rage surged through his veins like a consuming fire. He
- would break her—break her and utterly destroy her just as one
- destroyed a deadly snake.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then across the thunderous roar that beat in his ears came the beloved
- voice, the voice that would have power to call him out of the depths of
- hell itself—Jean’s voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise! Blaise! What are you doing? Stop!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXII—THE DIVIDING SWORD
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>LOWLY,
- reluctantly, Tormarin’s hands loosened their clasp of Madame de
- Varigny’s throat, and with a swift, flexible twist of the body she
- slipped aside and stood a few paces away from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean looked from one to the other with horrified eyes. “Madame de
- Varigny?—Blaise?” she stammered. “What is it?... Why,
- you—you might have killed her, Blaise!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her blankly. His release of the Italian woman had been in
- mere blind response to Jean’s first imperative appeal that he should
- desist But the mists of ungovernable anger had hardly yet cleared from his
- brain; the blood still drummed in his ears like the roar of the sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise”—Jean spoke imploringly. “What were you
- doing? Tell me———”
- </p>
- <p>
- With an effort he seemed to recover himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a pity you didn’t let me finish it, Jean,”
- he said harshly. “Such women are better dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madame de Varigny was fingering her neck delicately where the pressure of
- Blaise’s grip had scored red marks on the cream-like flesh. She
- seemed quite composed. Her smile still held its quiet triumph and her long
- dark eyes gleamed with the same mockery that had brought her within
- measureable distance of quick death.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As Monsieur Tor-ma-rin seems to find a difficulty in explaining—permit
- me,” she said at last “He was angry with me because I bring
- him the good news that his wife is still alive, that he need mourn no
- longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While she spoke her eyes, resting on Blaise’s mask-like face, held
- an expression of malicious satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His wife... alive?” repeated Jean dazedly. “Blaise, is
- she mad? Nesta has been dead years—years.” Then, as he made no
- answer, she continued rapidly, a faint note of fear vibrating in her
- voice: “Isn’t it so? Blaise—speak! Quickly, tell her—Nesta
- has been dead some years!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He cannot tell me anything about her which I do not know already,
- Mees Peterson, seeing that she is my sister and has been living with me
- ever since her husband’s cruelty drove her from his home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it true, Blaise?” whispered Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- Belief that some substance of terrible truth lay behind the Italian’s
- coolly uttered statements was beginning to lay hold of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise, Blaise”—her voice rising a little—“say
- it isn’t true—tell her it isn’t true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her speechlessly, but the measureless pain in his eyes
- answered her more fully, more convincingly than any words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see?” broke in Madame de Varigny triumphantly. “He
- cannot deny it! It was I who told him of her death and I who now tell him
- that she still lives. Listen to me, mademoiselle, and I will recount you
- how——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” interrupted Jean proudly. “Whatever there may be
- for me to hear, I will hear it from Blaise—not from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned again to Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me everything, Blaise,” she said simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her outstretched hands and drew her slowly towards him. No one,
- reading now the calm sadness, the stern imprint of endurance on his face,
- could have imagined it was that of the same man who, a few moments
- earlier, had been swept by such a tempest of uncontrollable anger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean,” he said very gently and pitifully. “I’m
- afraid that what Madame de Varigny says may be true. I have no proof that
- it is not——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor have you any proof that it is,” broke in Jean swiftly.
- She swung round on Madame de Varigny. “Where is your proof—where
- is your proof?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Italian smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Monsieur Tor-ma-rin will find his wife in my car. I bade the
- chauffeur wait with it at the lodge gate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean you have brought Nesta—<i>here?</i>” cried
- Blaise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?” replied Madame do Varigny, with a return to the
- same exasperating complacency with which she had originally described her
- whole scheme of revenge. “And—<i>here?</i> Surely her husband’s
- house is the proper place to which to bring his wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She cannot remain here,” said Blaise with decision.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No? For the moment that was not my idea. I brought her with me
- because I thought there could be no more convincing proof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise looked at her searchingly. He fancied he detected a false note in
- her voluble speech, and a new idea presented itself to him. Was the woman
- simply putting up a gigantic bluff? Or was it really Nesta, his wife,
- waiting in the car at the lodge gates? It occurred to him as perfectly
- feasible that it might be merely some woman whose remarkable resemblance
- to the dead girl had suggested to the Countess’s fertile brain the
- scheme that she should impersonate her.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mind seized eagerly upon the idea, bolstering it up with Madame de
- Varigny’s own admissions. “<i>I made little changes in her
- appearance</i>,” she had said. “<i>The colour of her hair, the
- way of dressing it</i>.” Probably she was relying on those “little
- changes,” and on the blurred recollection resulting from the length
- of time which had elapsed since Nesta’s death, to aid her in her
- plan of introducing as his wife a woman who closely resembled her. He felt
- morally sure of it, and the light of hope suddenly shone bravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you are deceiving me,” he said quietly. “Lying—as
- you have lied all through the piece. I’ll come and see this ‘wife’
- you have waiting in the car for me”—grimly. He turned to Jean.
- “Keep up your courage, sweetheart” he said in a low voice full
- of infinite solicitude. “I believe the whole thing is a put-up job
- to separate us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean smiled at him radiantly. She felt all at once very confident. In a
- few minutes this nightmarish story of a Nesta still alive and claiming her
- rights as Blaise’s wife would be proved a lie.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin crossed the room and opened the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Madame de Varigny—will you come with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman hesitated a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come,” insisted Blaise firmly. “Or—are you
- afraid, after all, to bring me face to face with my wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said. “I am not afraid. It is only that I am
- so sorry—so sorry for the little Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes, soft and dark and liquid as the eyes of a deer, sought Jean’s
- beseechingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so sorry,” she repeated. And passed, slowly,—almost
- unwillingly, it seemed, out of the room, followed by Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean raised her head from Blaise’s shoulder and pushed back her
- hair, damp with perspiration, from her forehead. It seemed to her as
- though she had been down, down into some awful, limitless abyss of
- darkness from which she was now feebly struggling back to a painful
- consciousness of material things. A great sea had surged over her head,
- blotting out everything, and remained poised above her like a huge black
- arch, imprisoning her in the vast, deserted chaos in which she found
- herself wandering. Then—after a long time, it seemed—it had
- surged away again and she could distinguish Blaise’s face bent above
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then—then it’s true?” she said stupidly. Her
- voice sounded tiny, even to herself—a mere thread of sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise made no answer. He only held her a little closer in his arms. She
- supposed he hadn’t heard that thin little thread of voice. She must
- try again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it true, Blaise? Is Nesta——” But somehow the
- last word wouldn’t come.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt his arm jerk against her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said baldly. “It’s true. Nesta is alive.
- I’ve seen her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean said nothing. She knew it—had known it all the time the arched
- wall of sea had kept her down in that awful black waste where there had
- been neither warmth nor sunshine but only bitter, freezing cold and
- lightless space. She clung a little closer to Blaise, like a frightened,
- exhausted child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heart’s beloved... little <i>dearest</i> Jean...” She
- heard the wrung murmur of his voice above her head. Then suddenly, his
- arms tightening round her: “<i>My soul!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sunlight still slanted in through the windows, mellow and golden. A
- gay shout of laughter came up from the boat on the lake. The clock on the
- chimney-piece struck the hour—twelve slow, maddening strokes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at its blank, foolish face. The hands had pointed to half-past
- eleven when the door of the room had closed behind Blaise and Madame de
- Varigny. It had taken just a brief half-hour to smash up her whole world—to
- rob her of everything that mattered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must think—I must think,” she muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Belovedest”—Blaise’s voice was wonderfully tender—not
- with the passionate tenderness of a lover but with a solicitude that was
- almost maternal. “Belovedest, don’t try to think now. Try to
- rest a little, won’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And at that Jean came right back to an understanding of all that had
- happened, as the needle of a compass swings back to the frozen north.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rest?” she said. “<i>Rest?</i> Do you realise that I
- shall have all the remainder of life to—rest in? There’ll he
- nothing else to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She released herself very gently from Tormarin’s arms and, crossing
- the room to the window, stood looking out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How funny!” she said in a rather high-pitched, uncertain
- voice. “It all looks just the same—although everything in the
- world is changed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He came and stood beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is changed, dear. Our
- love is the same as it was before. Always remember that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we can’t every marry now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. We can’t marry—now. You’ll never have the
- Tormarin temper to bear with, after all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her hand swiftly across his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it was dreadful!” she said, recalling the terrible scene
- which she had interrupted. “It—it hardly seemed—<i>you</i>,
- Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For the moment it wasn’t. It was the Tormarin devil—the
- curse of every generation. But I think that Varigny woman could turn a
- saint into a devil if she tried! She said something about you—and I
- couldn’t stand it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that it? Then I suppose I shall have to forgive you”—with
- a pale little attempt at a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the half-hearted smile faded again almost instantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Blaise, what would your temper matter if we could still be
- together?” she cried passionately. “Nothing in the wide world
- would matter then!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s worse for you than for me. I wish it were more
- equal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How worse for me? I don’t understand. Unless”—with
- a brief, sad smile—“you love me less?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you know I don’t mean that! But I’ve only the
- separation to face. I’m not tied to somebody I don’t love. You’ve
- got Nesta to consider.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nesta?” He gave a short, grim laugh. “Nesta can go back
- to where she came from.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence. At last Jean broke it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise, you can’t do that—you can’t send her away
- again,” she said in quick, low tones. “She’s your wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My wife! She seems to have been oblivious of the fact—and to
- have wished me to be equally oblivious of it—for the last few years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, of course she’s been wrong, wickedly wrong. But that
- doesn’t alter the fact that she’s your responsibility, Blaise.
- You must take her back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take her back?”—violently. “I’ll be shot if
- I do! She’s chosen to live her life without me for the last few
- years—she can continue to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean laid her hand on his arm. She was smiling wistfully. “Dear, you’ll
- have to take her back,” she persisted gently. “Don’t you
- see—she’s not wholly to blame? You’ve admitted that. You’ve
- blamed yourself in a large measure for her running away. It’s up to
- you now to put things straight, to—to give her the chance she didn’t
- have before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re discounting these last few years,” he returned
- gravely. “These years in which she has lived a lie, allowing me to
- believe her dead—-cheating and deceiving me as no man was ever
- cheated before. She’s cheated me out of my happiness”—heavily—“taken
- <i>you</i> from me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know.” Jean’s voice quivered, but she steadied
- it again. “But even in that, she was not solely to blame. You’ve
- told me how—how weak she is and easily led astray. And she’s
- very young. What chance would Nesta have of asserting her will against her
- sister’s, even had she wished to return to you? She ran away from
- Staple in a fit of temper and because you had frightened her. After that—you
- can see for yourself—Madame de Varigny is responsible for everything
- that has happened since.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tormarin remained silent. The quiet justice of Jean’s summing up of
- the situation struck at him hard.
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited a moment, then added quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must take her back, Blaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wheeled round on her violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you?” he exclaimed. “You? Did you ever love me,
- Jean, that you can talk so coolly about turning me over to another woman?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She whitened at the bitter accusation in his tones, but she did not
- flinch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s just <i>because</i> I love you, Blaise, that I want you
- to do this thing—to do the only thing that is worthy of you. Oh, my
- dear, my dear”—her hands went out to him in sudden, helpless
- pleading—“do you think it’s <i>easy</i> for me to ask
- it?” The desolate cry pierced him. He caught her in his arms,
- kissing her fiercely, adoringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sweetheart!... Forgive me! I’m half mad, I think. Beloved,
- say that you forgive me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She leaned against him, glad to feel the straining clasp of his arms about
- her—to rest once more in her place against his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest of all,” she said tremulously, “there is no
- question of forgiveness between us two. There never will be. We’re
- just—both of us—struggling in the dark, and there’s only
- duty”—brokenly—“only duty to hold to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They stood together in silence, comforted just a little by the mere human
- touch of each other in this communion of sorrow which had so suddenly come
- upon them, yet knowing in their hearts that this was the very comfort that
- must for ever be denied them in the lonely future.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last Jean raised her head from its resting-place and her eyes searched
- Blaise’s face, asking the question she could no longer bring herself
- to put in words. He met their gaze. “Jean, is it your wish I do this
- thing—take Nesta back?” He felt a shudder run through her
- frame. Twice she tried ineffectually to answer. At last she forced her dry
- lips to utter an affirmative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So be it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His answer sounded in her ears like the knell to the whole meaning of
- life. The future was settled. Henceforth their lives must lie apart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So be it,” said Blaise. “She shall come back and take
- her place again at Staple.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean clung to him a little closer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise, beloved—I know the harder part will be yours. But
- mine won’t be easy, dear. I shall go to Charnwood to be with Claire
- at once—to-morrow—and it won’t be easy, when I see in an
- evening the lights twinkle up at Staple, to know that you two are within,
- shut in from the world together, while I’m outside—always
- outside your life and your love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll never be outside my love,” he said swiftly.
- “That’s yours, now and forever. And no other woman shall rob
- you of one jot or tittle of it, were she my wife twenty times over. I will
- bring Nesta back to Staple, and she shall bear my name and live as my wife
- in the eyes of the world. But my love—that is yours, utterly and
- entirely. Yours and no other’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her face to his, and their lips met in a kiss that was the seal
- of love and all love’s faithfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So is mine yours,” she said. “How and forever, in this
- world and the next. Oh, Blaise—beloved!”—she clung to
- him in a passion of love and anguish and straining belief—“Some
- day, surely, in that other world, God will give us freedom to take our
- happiness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIII—THE RETURNING TIDE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>WO months had
- elapsed since Fate’s dividing sword had fallen, forever separating
- Jean from the man she loved, and the subsequent march of events, with the
- many changes involved and the bitter loneliness of soul entailed, had made
- the two months seem to her more like two years.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had left Staple for Charnwood on the day following that of Madame de
- Varigny’s visit. It was no longer possible for her to remain under
- the same roof with Blaise, where the enforced strain of meeting each other
- daily, and of endeavouring to behave as though nothing more than mere
- commonplace friendship linked them together, would have been too great for
- either of them to endure even for the few remaining days which still
- intervened before the date originally planned for her departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne, with her usual sympathetic insight, had made no effort to
- dissuade her, reluctant though she had been to part with her. For herself,
- the fact that Nesta was alive had come upon her in the light of an almost
- overwhelming blow. She had never liked the girl, whereas she had grown to
- look upon Jean as a beloved daughter, and no one had rejoiced more
- sincerely than his mother when Blaise had confided to her the news of his
- engagement. At last she would see that grey page in his life turned down
- for ever and the beginning of a newer, fairer page, illuminated with
- happiness! And instead, like a tide that has receded far out and then
- rushes in again with redoubled energy, the whole misery and sorrow of the
- past had returned upon him, a thousand times accentuated by reason of his
- love for Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with a heavy heart, therefore, that Lady Anne, together with Nick,
- quitted Staple and established herself for the second time at the Dower
- House, retiring thither in favour of Nesta who was now installed once more
- at the Manor. And the thought of how gladly she would have effected the
- same change, had it been Jean whom Blaise was bringing home as his bride,
- added but a keener pang to her sorrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- She watched with anxious eyes the progress of events at Staple. At the
- commencement of the new régime Nesta had appeared genuinely repentant and
- ashamed of her conduct in the past, and there was something disarming in
- the little, half-apologetic air with which she had at first reassumed her
- position of châtelaine of Staple, deferring eagerly to Blaise on every
- point and trying her utmost to please him and conform to his wishes. It
- held something of the appeal of a forgiven child who tries to atone for
- former naughtiness by an almost alarming access of virtue.
- </p>
- <p>
- She accepted with meek docility Blaise’s decision regarding the
- purely formal relations upon which their married life was henceforth to be
- based, apparently humbly thankful to be reinstated as his wife on any
- terms whatsoever that he chose to dictate..
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I have been bad—<i>bad</i>,” she declared,
- “to run away and leave you like that. I can’t”—forlornly—“hope
- for you to love me again——”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Tormarin had replied with unmistakable decision:
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you can’t hope for that. And I’m glad you
- understand and recognise the fact. Still, we can try to be good friends,
- Nesta, at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But this tranquil state of things only lasted for a comparatively short
- time. Very soon, as the novelty and satisfaction of her reinstatement
- began to wear off, Nesta became more self-assured and, apparently,
- considerably less frequently visited by spasms of repentance and remorse.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her butterfly nature could retain no very deep impression for any length
- of time, and gradually the characteristics of the old Nesta—the
- pettish, self-willed, pleasure-loving woman of former times—began to
- reassert themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise tried hard to exercise forbearance with her and to treat her, at
- least with justice and with a certain meed of kindliness. But she did not
- second his efforts. Instead, she became more exigeant and difficult as
- time passed on.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was no longer satisfied by the fact that she was once more installed
- as the mistress of Staple. She demanded a husband who would surround her
- with all the little observances that only love itself can dictate, whom
- she could alternately scold and cajole as the fancy took her, but who
- would always come back to her, after a tiff, ready anew to play the
- adoring lover.
- </p>
- <p>
- She found Blaise’s cool, measured, elder-brotherly kindness
- unendurable, and she exhausted herself beating continually against the
- rock of his determination, without producing any effect other than to make
- his manner even more austere, less friendly than it had been before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then when she recognised her total inability to move him to any sort of
- responsive emotion, and that her beauty—which was undeniable—made
- no more impression upon him than if he had been blind, she resorted to the
- old, painfully, familiar weapons of tears and fits of temper, in the
- course of which she would upbraid him bitterly, pouring forth streams of
- reproaches which more often than not culminated in an attack of hysterics.
- </p>
- <p>
- All of which Blaise bore with a curious, stoical self-control. It seemed
- as though the Tormarin temper had been exorcised, as if that fierce storm
- of anger provoked by Madame de Varigny’s taunts, and which had so
- nearly resulted in a tragedy, had shocked Blaise into realisation of the
- terrible latent possibilities of the family failing and the absolute
- necessity for an iron self-government.
- </p>
- <p>
- For weeks he supported Nesta’s petty gibes and ebullitions of temper
- with illimitable patience, and it was only when, trading on his
- unaccustomed forbearance, she ventured too far, that she was brought very
- suddenly to understand that there was a limit beyond which she might not
- go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know why you no longer love me,” she told him at last, on
- an occasion when she had been vainly endeavouring, by every feminine
- blandishment and wile of which she was mistress, to evoke from him some
- sign of an awakening <i>tendresse</i>. “I know!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded her dark head significantly, while pin-points of jealous anger
- flickered in her long, narrow eyes, black as midnight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, if you know,” replied Tormarin patiently, “it is
- surely most foolish of you to keep asking why I do not. Why can’t
- you content yourself with things as they are, Nesta? We can only try to
- make the best of a bad job. You don’t help me much in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want to help you,” she retorted viciously.
- “I want you to love me. And you won’t, because of that
- washed-out-looking, carroty-haired woman who is living with Lady Latimer.
- And she’s in love with you, too!... No! I <i>won’t</i> be
- quiet! Oh!”—her voice rising hysterically—“you
- think I don’t notice things, but I do. I do, I tell you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sprang up from the couch, where she had been lolling indolently amid a
- heap of cushions, and crossed the room to his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you hear me?” she cried violently, shaking him by the arm.
- “You think I’m a blind fool! But I’m not! I’m not!
- I’ve seen that Peterson woman looking at you like a cat looking
- through the larder window——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she felt Blaise’s hand clapped against her lips, stemming
- the torrent of vulgar recrimination and abuse that poured from them. He
- held it there quite gently, so as not to hurt her, but immovably, and she
- had perforce to hear what he wished to say in rebellious silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen to me,” he said gently. “It is quite true what
- you say—that I love Jean Peterson and that she loves me. But we have
- given up our love, and with it our hope of happiness in this world, for
- you. In return, you will give up something for us. You will give up the
- infinite pleasure you appear to derive from vilifying and belittling a
- woman who is as much above you as the heavens are above the earth, whose
- conception of love is as fine and pure as yours is mean and commonplace
- and jealous. You will never again speak to Miss Peterson with anything but
- respect, nor will you ever again refer to the love which you now know for
- a fact exists between us. Your lips soil such love as ours. If you do, if
- you disobey my commands in either of these respects, you go out of my
- house that same day. <i>And you don’t return.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He released her and had the satisfaction, for once, of perceiving that she
- believed he meant what he said. Presumably she came to the conclusion
- that, in the circumstances, discretion was the better part of valour, for
- she made no attempt to challenge his determination in the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the same time, unknown to him, she compelled Jean to pay for the
- silence enforced upon her at home. With a species of venom, absurdly
- childish in its manifestation, she essayed to excite Jean’s envy by
- constantly enlarging to her upon the subject of Blaise’s perfections
- as a husband, drawing entirely imaginary descriptions of the attention he
- paid her and of his constant solicitude for her welfare, and vaunting her
- happiness at being his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so proud to have won so fine and splendid a husband,”
- she would declare fervently. “Would you not feel the same, Miss
- Peterson, if you were me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Jean would make answer, outwardly unmoved:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I should. You ought to be a happy woman, Mrs. Tormarin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The quiet composure which Jean invariably opposed to these knat-like
- attacks annoyed Nesta intensely. Endowed with all the petty jealousy of a
- small nature, she herself, had the situation been reversed, would have
- found this pinprick kind of warfare insupportable, and it made her furious
- that her best thought-out and most spiteful efforts failed to goad Jean
- into any expression of either anger or distress. The “cold
- Englishwoman’s” armour of indifference and reserve seemed
- impervious to no matter what poison-tipped dart she loosed against her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nesta felt that, as the woman in possession, she was missing half the
- satisfaction in life by reason of her inability to triumph openly over the
- other woman—the woman without the gate. Finally, at the end of her
- resources of innuendo and allusion, she tried the effect of open warfare.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had driven over to Charnwood to call and, as Claire was away, spending
- the afternoon with friends, Jean had perforce to entertain her undesired
- visitor alone. It was just as she was preparing to take her departure that
- Nesta launched her attack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look so ill, Miss Peterson,” she remarked
- commiseratingly. “So pale and worn! It does not suit you, I am sure,
- for of course you must have been very pretty at one time for my husband to
- have wished to marry you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at her without reply. The outrageous speech almost took her
- breath away, by its sheer, impudent bravado.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There!” Nesta feigned dismay. “Now I have offended you!
- And I so want us to be good friends. But of course”—quickly—“it
- is difficult for you to feel friendly towards the wife of Blaise. I can
- understand that. I suppose”—her head a little tilted to one
- side like that of an enquiring robin and her eyes fastened on the other’s
- white face with a merciless, gimlet gaze that filled Jean with helpless
- rage—“I suppose you loved him <i>very</i> much?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt the blood rush into her cheeks and caught a responsive gleam of
- satisfaction in the other’s half-closed eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that is hardly a subject which can be discussed between us,”
- she said, with a supreme effort at self-control.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, to her unbounded thankfulness, Tucker threw open the door and
- announced that Mrs. Tormarin’s car was waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- This open declaration of hostility on Nesta’s part gave Jean food
- for reflection. Briefly she recounted the incident to Claire, adding:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It means I must not go to Staple again. If she intends to adopt
- that attitude, it would make a situation which is already quite difficult
- enough hopelessly impossible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two girls were pacing up and down the terrace at Charnwood together
- when Jean indicated the consequences of Nesta’s visit, and Claire,
- sensing the pain in her friend’s voice, pressed her arm
- sympathetically. But she said nothing. What was there to say? Within
- herself, she felt that Jean’s determination to eschew the Tormarin
- menage altogether was the only wise one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Blaise!” pursued Jean, a slight tremor in her voice.
- “He has the hardest part to bear. She must make life hideously
- difficult for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He is looking very fagged and strained. Horrid little beast!”
- she added with unusual vehemence. “Why on earth couldn’t she
- have <i>stayed</i> dead?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean laughed joylessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why indeed?—Only she never really died, you see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean”—Claire’s hand crept further along the other’s
- arm and the kind little fingers sought and clasped Jean’s own—“if
- you knew how miserable I am about you! It makes me feel wicked—disgustingly
- selfish and wicked!—to be so happy myself when you have so much to
- bear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There were tears in her voice, and Jean squeezed her hand reassuringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” she said earnestly, “you had your black years
- if anyone ever had! If a woman ever deserved her happiness at last, you
- do.... I suppose we all get our share of trouble in this world,” she
- went on thoughtfully. “I remember the first time I ever met Blaise—that
- day at Montavan, you know—he said that Destiny, with her snuffers,
- came to most of us sooner or later and snuffed out our light of happiness.
- Well”—rather drearily—“I suppose it’s my
- turn now and she’s come to me. That’s all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A little wind blew up from the valley, chill and complaining. Autumn had
- the world at her mercy now, and a grey mist was rising from the sodden
- fields, soaked by the continual rains of the preceding fortnight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire shivered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s go in,” she said. “It’s growing too
- cold to stay out any longer. Besides, it’s depressing. Grey skies,
- bare branches—Oh! How I detest the autumn!” They turned and
- retraced their steps to the house. As they entered by way of the front
- door, they caught a glimpse of the postman making his way briskly down the
- drive. A solitary letter lay upon the hall table, addressed to Jean in a
- rather flourishy copper-plate style of writing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bill, I suppose!” she commented indifferently.
- </p>
- <p>
- She picked it up carelessly, carrying it unopened to her room. Nor did she
- open it immediately upon arriving there, stopping first to remove her hat
- and coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last she slit the envelope she found that it was no tradesman’s
- bill, as she had imagined, but a letter from Glyn Peterson’s family
- solicitor, announcing, in the stiff phraseology without which no lawyer
- seems able to express himself, the sudden death of her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sat down abruptly, her legs seeming all at once to give way under
- her. She could not grasp it—could not realise that the witty,
- charming personality which, after all, in spite of Peterson’s lack
- of the more conventional paternal attributes, had meant a great deal to
- her, had been swept without warning out of her life for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- Glyn Peterson had, it seemed, died very suddenly, in a remote corner of
- Africa whither his restless wanderings had led him, and it had been some
- weeks before the news of his death had reached his lawyer, who had
- immediately communicated it to Jean.
- </p>
- <p>
- By his will, everything he possessed, except for a certain sum set aside
- to cover a few legacies to old and valued servants, was left to Jean, and
- with the quaint whimsicality which was characteristic of him he had
- particularly mentioned: “<i>Beirnfels, the House of Dreams-Come-True</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little phrase, with its suggestion of joyous consummation, stabbed her
- with a sharp thrill of pain. Greeting her, as it did, at the moment when
- all her hopes of happiness were lying trampled beneath the iron heel of
- hostile destiny, it seemed to add a last touch of irony to the bitterness
- of the burden she had to bear.
- </p>
- <p>
- The House of Dreams-Come-True! In the solicitude and silence of her room
- Jean laughed out loud at the mockery of it! But her breath caught in her
- throat, sobbingly, and then quite suddenly the merciful, healing tears
- began to fall, and, laying her head down on her arms, she cried
- unrestrainedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIV—THE TEST
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>EW YEAR’S
- EYE found Jean sitting alone in Claire’s special sanctum—the
- room which had witnessed that frightful scene when Sir Adrian had suddenly
- gone mad.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a cosy enough little room in winter-time. A cheery fire crackled in
- the open grate, while a heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the door
- that gave egress to the terrace, effectually screening out the ubiquitous
- draught which invariably seeks entry through crack and hinge-space.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire was at the Dower House this evening, where a New Year’s
- dinner-party was in progress, but Jean had no heart for festivities of any
- kind even had she not been precluded from taking part in them by reason of
- her father’s death.
- </p>
- <p>
- The grief and strain of the last four months had set their mark upon her.
- She was much thinner than formerly—her extreme slenderness
- accentuated by the clinging black of the dress she was wearing—while
- faint purple shadows lay beneath her eyes, giving her a look of frailty
- and fatigue.
- </p>
- <p>
- She and Claire led a very sober and uneventful existence at Charnwood, the
- one absorbed in her quiet happiness, the other in her quiet grief. But the
- bond of their friendship had held true throughout the differing fortunes
- which had fallen to the lot of each, and although for Jean there was
- inevitable additional pain involved in still remaining within the
- neighbourhood of Staple, it was counterbalanced by the comfort she drew
- from Clare’s companionship.
- </p>
- <p>
- Besides, as she reflected dispiritedly, where else had she to go? The
- Dower House would have been open to her, of course, at any time, but there
- she would be certain to encounter Blaise more frequently, and of late her
- principal preoccupation had been to avoid such meeting whenever possible.
- And she could not face Beirnfels yet—alone! Some day, when Claire
- was married, she knew that she must brace herself to return there—to
- a house of dreams that would never come true now. But at present she
- shrank intolerably from the idea. She craved companionship—above
- all, the consoling, tender understanding which Claire, who had herself
- suffered, was so well able to give her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The book that she had been reading earlier in the evening lay open on her
- knee, and her thoughts were with Claire now. She pictured her sitting next
- to Nick at dinner, her flower-like face radiant with unclouded happiness,
- and Jean was thankful to the very bottom of her heart that she was able to
- feel glad—glad of that happiness. At least her own sorrow had not
- yet taught her the grudging envy which cannot endure another’s joy.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a quickly repressed sigh, she turned again to her book. Its pages
- fluttered faintly, as though stirred by some passing current of air, and
- Jean, coming suddenly out of her reverie, was conscious of a cool draught
- wafting towards her from the direction of the terrace door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vaguely surprised, she glanced up, and a startled cry broke from her lips.
- The door was open, the folds of the curtain had been drawn aside, and in
- the aperture stood Blaise Tormarin.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean sprang up from her chair and stood staring at him with dilated eyes,
- one hand gripping the edge of the chimney-piece.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise!... You!” The words issued stammeringly from her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he returned shortly. “May I come in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Without waiting for an answer he closed the door behind him, letting the
- curtain fall back into its place, and crossed the room to her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean felt her heart contract as her eyes marked the changes wrought in him
- by the few weeks which had elapsed since she had seen him. His face was
- haggard as though from lack of sleep, and the lines on either side the
- mouth were scored deep into the flesh. The mouth itself closed in a tense
- line of savage misery and the stark bitterness of his eyes filled her with
- grief and pity, knowing how utterly powerless she was to help or comfort
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Distrusting her self-control, she snatched at the first conventional
- remark that suggested itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought—I thought you and Nesta were both dining at the
- Dower House,” she said confusedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nesta is there. I made an excuse. I came here instead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in the curt, clipped sentences sounded a note of warning in her
- ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you ought not to have come here,” she replied quickly—defensively
- almost. “Why have you come, Blaise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came,” he said slowly, “because I can’t bear my
- life without you a day longer. Because—— Oh, Jean! Jean!... <i>Beloved!</i>
- Do you need to ask me why I came?”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a swift, irresistible movement he swept her up into his arms, holding
- her crushed against his breast, his mouth on hers, kissing her as a man
- kisses when love that has been long thwarted and denied at last bursts
- asunder the shackles which constrained it.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Jean, starved for four long months of the touch of the beloved arms,
- the pressure of the beloved lips upon her own, had yielded to him almost
- before she was aware of her surrender.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the remembrance of the woman who stood between them rushed across her
- and she tore herself free from his embrace, white and trembling in every
- limb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise!... Blaise!... What are you thinking of? Oh! We’re mad—mad!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She covered her face with her shaking hands but he drew them away, gazing
- down at her with eyes that worshipped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, beloved, we’re not mad,” lie cried triumphantly.
- “We’re sane—sane at last. We were mad to think we could
- live apart, mad to dream we could starve love like ours. That was when we
- were mad! But we’ll never be parted again; sweet——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise,” she whispered, staring at him with horrified,
- dilated eyes. “You don’t know what you are saying! You’re
- forgetting Nesta—your wife. Oh, go—go quickly! You must not
- stay here and talk like this to me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he returned. “I won’t go, Jean. I’ve
- come to take you away with me.” Once more his arms went round her.
- “Belovedest, I can’t live without you any longer. I’ve
- tried—and I can’t do it. Jean, you’ll come? You love me
- enough—enough to come away with me to the ends of the earth where we’ll
- find happiness at last?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sought to free herself from his, clasp, pressing with straining hands
- against his chest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! No!” she cried breathlessly. “I can’t go with
- you... you know I can’t! Ah! Don’t ask me, Blaise!”
- There was an agony of supplication in her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I do ask you. And if you love me”—his eyes holding
- hers—“you’ll come, Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do love you,” she answered earnestly. “But it isn’t
- the you I love asking me this, Blaise. It’s some other man—a
- stranger——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you love me, you’ll come,” he reiterated doggedly.
- “I can’t live without you, Jean. I want you—oh, heart’s
- beloved, if you knew—” And the burning, passionate words, the
- pent-up love and longing of months of separation and despair, came pouring
- from his lips—beseeching and demanding, wringing her heart, pulling
- at the love within her that ached to give him the answer which he craved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Blaise, dearest of all—hush! Hush!” She checked him
- brokenly, with quivering lips. “I can’t go with you. It wouldn’t
- bring us happiness. Ah, listen to me, dear!” She came close to him
- and laid her hands imploringly on his arm, lifting her white, stricken
- face to his. “It would only spoil our love—to take it like
- that when we have no right to. It would smirch and soil it, make it
- something different. I think—I think, in the end, Blaise, it would
- kill it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing would ever kill my love for you,” he exclaimed
- passionately. “Jean, little Jean, think of what our life together
- might be—the glory and beauty of it—just you and I in our
- House of Dreams!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She caught her breath. Oh! Why did he make it so hard for her? With every
- fibre of her being yearning towards him she must refuse, deny him, drive
- him away from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” she cried tremulously. “We could never reach
- our House of Dreams that way—Oh, I know it! At least, not the sort
- of House of Dreams that would be worth anything to you or me, Blaise. It
- would only be a sham, a make-believe. You can’t build true on a
- rotten foundation.... Don’t ask me any more, dear. It’s so
- hard—so hard to keep on saying no when everything in me wants to say
- yes. But I must say it. And you... you must go back to Nesta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice almost failed her. She could feel her strength ebbing with every
- moment that he stayed beside her. She knew that she would not be able to
- resist his pleading much longer. Her own heart was fighting against her—fighting
- on his side!
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her weakness and caught at it eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded hoarsely.
- “Do you know what you are sending me back to? Our life together—Nesta’s
- and mine—has been simple hell upon earth. I obeyed you—and I
- took her back. But I have done no good by it. She is as weak and worthless
- as she ever was. Our days are one continual round of bickering and
- quarrels.” His face darkened. “And she is not satisfied! Her
- nominal position as my wife does not con tent her. Do you understand what
- that must mean—if I go back?” He paused, his eyes bent
- steadily upon her. “Jean”—very low—“now that
- you know—will you still send me back to Nesta? Or will you come with
- me and let us find our happiness together?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched the scarlet flood surge into her face and then retreat, leaving
- it a pallid white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Answer me!” he persisted, as she remained silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait... wait a little...” she muttered helplessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned away from him and, leaning her elbows on the chimney-piece,
- buried her face in her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- The supreme test had come at last. She realised, now, that her
- renunciation—that renunciation which had cost her so much pain and
- bitterness—had been, after all, only something superficial and
- incomplete. She had not made the full sacrifice that duty and honour
- demanded of her. Though she had outwardly renounced her lover—bade
- him return to Nesta—she still held him hers by the utter
- faithfulness of his love for her. Nesta had had but the husk, the shell—a
- husband in name only, every hour of their life together an insult to her
- pride and womanhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s thoughts lashed her. Her shoulders bent and cowered a little
- as though beneath a physical blow.
- </p>
- <p>
- There had been a time—oh! very long ago, it seemed, before Destiny
- had come with her snuffers and quenched the twin flames and love and
- happiness—a time when dimly, as in some exquisite dream, she had
- heard the sound of little voices, felt the helpless touch of tiny hands.
- Perhaps Nesta, too, had heard those voices, felt those clinging hands,
- while her soul quickened to the vision of a future which might hold some
- deeper meaning, some more sacred trust and purpose, than her empty,
- wayward past.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she, Jean, had stood between Nesta and the fulfilment of that dream,
- forever forbidding her entrance to her woman’s kingdom.
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw it all now with a terrible clarity of vision, understood to the
- full the two alternatives which faced her—to go with Blaise, as he
- implored, or to send him—her man, the man she loved—back to
- Nesta. There was no longer any middle course.
- </p>
- <p>
- A voice sounded in her ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>No true happiness ever came of running away from duty. And if
- ever I’m up against such a thing—a choice like this—I
- hope to God I’d be able to hang on, to run straight, even if it
- half-killed me to do it!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words sounded so clear and distinct that Jean half raised her head to
- see who spoke them. And then, in an overwhelming rush of memory, she
- recognised that it was no actual voice she heard but the mental echo of
- her own words to Nick—to Nick at the time when he had been passing
- through a like fire of fierce temptation.
- </p>
- <p>
- How easily, in her young, untried ignorance, the words had fallen from her
- lips as she had urged Nick to renounce his fixed resolve! Such eminently
- wise and excellent counsel! And how little—how crassly little had
- she realised at the time the huge demand that she was making!
- </p>
- <p>
- She had spoken as though it were comparatively easy to reject the wrong
- and choose the right—to follow the stern and narrow path of Duty,
- through the mists and utter darkness that enshrouded it, up to those
- shining heights which lie beyond human sight—the outposts of Eternal
- Heaven itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Easy!</i>.... Oh, God!....
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last Jean uncovered her face and lifted it to meet the set gaze of
- the man beside her, it was wan and ravaged “the face of one who has
- come through some fierce purgatory of torment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he demanded, his voice roughened because he found
- himself unable to steady it with that strained and altered face upturned
- to his. “Well? Are you going to send me back to Nesta?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not answer his question. Instead, she put another.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think she—loves you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nesta? Yes. As far as her sort can love, I believe she does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean nodded, as though it were the answer she had expected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise... I’m going to send you back to her. I’m sure
- now. I <i>know</i>. It’s the only thing we can do... We must say
- good-bye—altogether—never see each other again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never?” The word came draggingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never. It—it would be too hard for us, Blaise, to see each
- other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he answered slowly. “It would be too hard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were both silent. The minutes ticked away unregarded. Time had ceased
- to count. This farewell was till the end of time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise—” All the resonance had gone out of her voice.
- It sounded flat and tired. “You—you will go back to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will go back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stretched out her hands flutteringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then go.... go soon, Blaise! I—I can’t bear very much
- more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened his arms, then, and she went to him, and for a space they clung
- together in silence. For the last time he set his lips to hers, held her
- once more against his heart. Then slowly they drew apart, stricken eyes
- gazing lingeringly into other eyes as stricken, and presently the closing
- of the terrace door told her that he had gone, and that she must turn her
- feet to the solitary path of those who have said farewell to love.
- </p>
- <p>
- Henceforth, she would be alone—living or dying, quite alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was long past midnight when Claire returned from the Dower House.
- </p>
- <p>
- She found Jean sitting beside the grey embers of a burnt-out fire, her
- hands lying folded upon her knee, her eyes staring stonily in front of her
- in a fixed, unseeing gaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire called to her softly, as when one wakes a sleeper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jean!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean turned her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you have got back?” she said dully. She stood up stiffly,
- as though her limbs were cramped. “Claire, I am going away—right
- away from here—to Beirnfels.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” asked Claire.
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited tensely for the answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise has been here. He asked me to go away with him. I’ve
- sent him back to Nesta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The short, stilted sentences fell mechanically from her lips. She spoke
- exactly like a child repeating a lesson learned by rote.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire’s eyes grew very pitiful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And must you go to Beirnfels alone?” she asked quietly.
- “Won’t you take me with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Will you come?</i>”—incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I’ll come. I shouldn’t dream of letting you
- go by yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, all at once, Jean’s tired body, exhausted by the soul’s
- long conflict, gave way, and she slipped to the ground in a dead faint.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXV—THE EVE OF DEPARTURE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> WEEK later Jean
- sat at the foot of the stairs and surveyed with faint amusement the motley
- collection of trunks and suit-cases which thronged the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was still looking pale and worn, strung up to face her self-imposed
- exile from the country which now held everything that was dear to her, but
- no enormity of sorrow, would ever blind Jean for long to the whimsical
- aspect that attends so many of the little things of daily life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a lot of useless lumber we women carry about with us wherever
- we go!” she commented. “Five—six—<i>seven</i>
- packages to supply the needs of two solitary females—and Heaven only
- knows how many brown paper parcels will be required at the last moment for
- all the things we shall find we have forgotten when the time actually
- comes to start.” Claire, standing on the flight of stairs above and
- viewing the assemblage in the hall from over the top of the banister rail,
- giggled helplessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they do look a lot,” she admitted. “However”—hopefully—“there’ll
- be plenty of room for them all when we actually get to Beirnfels.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, plenty,” agreed Jean. “But we’ve got to
- convey them half across Europe first—two lone women and one
- miserable maid who will probably combine train-sickness and home-sickness
- to an extent that will totally incapacitate her for the performance of her
- duties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this moment the front-door bell clanged violently through the house, as
- though pulled by someone in a tremendous hurry. Claire hastily withdrew
- her head from over the banister rail and disappeared upstairs, while Jean
- relinquished the accommodation offered by the bottommost step and sought
- refuge in the nearest of the sitting-rooms, closing the door stealthily
- behind her.
- </p>
- <p>
- A moment later Tucker, who had caught sight of her hurriedly retreating
- figure, reopened it and announced imperturbably:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Burke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean greeted him with surprise, but without any feeling of embarrassment.
- So much had happened since the day she had eluded him on the Moor, events
- of such intimate and tragic import had swept her path, that the unexpected
- meeting failed to rouse any feeling either of anger or dismay. Burke, and
- everything connected with him, belonged to another period of her existence
- altogether—to that glorious care-free time when it had seemed as
- though life were a deep, inexhaustible well bubbling over with wonderful
- possibilities. Burke was merely a ghost—a <i>revenant</i> from that
- far distant epoch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m in time, then?” he said, when he had shaken hands.
- “In time? In time for what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In time to see you before you go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes.” Jean spoke lightly. “You’re in time for
- that. But who told you I was going away? I didn’t know you were in
- England, even.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came back a fortnight ago—to London. Judith wired me from
- home that you were leaving Coombe Eavie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see the necessity for her wiring you,” remarked
- Jean a little coldly. “There was no need for you to see me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was—every need.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced at him keenly, detecting a new note in his voice, an
- unexpected gravity and restraint.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Every need,” he repeated. He paused, then went on quickly,
- with a nervousness that was foreign to him. “Jean, I know everything
- that has happened—that your engagement to Tormarin is at an end—and
- I have come to ask you if you will be my wife. No—hear me out!”—as
- she would have interrupted him. “I’m not asking you now as—as
- I did before. If you will marry me, I swear I will ask for nothing that
- you are not willing to give. I’m making no demands. I’ve
- learned now”—with a faint weary smile—“that you
- cannot force love. It can only be given. And I want nothing but just the
- right to take care of you, to shield you—to keep the sharp corners
- of life away from you.” Then, as he read her incredulous face, he
- went on gravely: “If I had wanted more than that, Jean, if I had not
- learned something—just from loving you, I should not have waited
- until now. I should have come at once—as soon as I learned from
- Madame de Varigny that Tormarin’s wife was still alive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why didn’t you come then, Geoffrey? I sometimes wondered—you
- being you!”—with a faint smile. “Because, of course, I
- knew why you had rushed off to France. Madame de Varigny explained that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A dull flush mounted to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did she? I expect she told you merely what was the truth. I went to
- see her because she had assured me that she could stop your marriage with
- Tormarin—could interfere in some way to prevent it. That was why I
- went to France.... But when she told me her blackguardly scheme—how
- she had planned and plotted to conceal the fact that Tormarin’s wife
- was alive—<i>and why</i> she had done it, I would have no hand in
- anything that followed. I’m no saint”—a brief, ironical
- smile flitted across his face—“but there are some methods at
- which even I draw the line.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So—that was why you stayed away?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was why. I wanted you, Jean—God only knows how I wanted
- you!—but I couldn’t try to force your hand at such a time. I
- couldn’t profit by a damnable scheme like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s eyes grew soft as she realised that beneath all the impetuous
- arrogance and dominant demands of the man’s temperament there yet
- lay something fine and clean and straight—difficult to get at,
- perhaps, but which could yet rise, in answer to a sense of honour and
- fairness with which she had not credited him, and take command of his
- whole nature.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad—glad you didn’t come, Geoffrey,”
- she said gently. “Glad you—couldn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know that I’m glad about it,” he returned
- with a grim candour. “I simply couldn’t do it, and that’s
- all there is to it. But I’ve come now, Jean. I’ve come because
- I want you to give me just the right to look after you. I’m not
- asking for anything. I only want to serve you—if you’ll let me—just
- to be near you. If Tormarin were free, I would not have come to you again.
- I know I should have no chance. But he’s not free. Does that give me
- a chance, Jean? If it doesn’t, I’ll take myself off—I’ll
- never bother you again. I’ll try Africa—big game shooting”—with
- a short laugh. “But if it does——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused and waited for her answer. The intensity of longing in his eyes
- was the sole indication of the emotion that stirred within him—an
- emotion held in check by a stern self-control that seemed to Jean to be
- part of this new, changed lover of hers. Surely, in the months which had
- elapsed since she had fled from him on Dartmoor, he had fought with his
- devils and cast them out!
- </p>
- <p>
- She held out her hands to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geoffrey, I’m so sorry—but I’m afraid it doesn’t.
- I wish—I wish I could give you any other answer. But, you see, it
- isn’t marrying—it’s love that matters. And all my love
- is given.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hands in his and held them gently with that strange, new
- restraint he seemed to have learned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see,” he said slowly. Then for a moment his calm wavered.
- The underlying passion, so strongly held in leash, shook the even tones of
- his voice. “Tormarin is a lucky man—in spite of everything! I’d
- give my soul to have what he has—your love, Jean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His big hands closed round her slight ones and he lifted them to his lips.
- Then, without another word, he went away, and Jean was left wondering
- sorrowfully why the love that she did not want was offered her in such
- full measure, hers to take at will, while the love for which she craved,
- the love which would have meant the glory and fulfilment of life itself,
- was denied her—shut away by all the laws of God and Man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVI—REUNION
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>EAN leaned idly
- against the ancient wall which bounded the stone-paved court at Beirnfels
- and looked down towards the valley below.
- </p>
- <p>
- Spring was in the air—late comer to this eastern corner of Europe—but,
- at last, even here the fragrance of fresh growing things was permeating
- the atmosphere, strips of vivid blue rent the grey skies, and splashes of
- golden sunshine lay dappled over the shining roofs of the village that
- nestled in the valley.
- </p>
- <p>
- But no responsive light had lit itself in Jean’s wistful eyes. She
- was out of tune with the season. Spring and hope go hand in hand, the one
- symbolical of the other, and the promise of spring-time, the blossom of
- hope, was dead within her heart—withered almost before it had had
- time to bud.
- </p>
- <p>
- The months since she had quitted England had sufficed to blunt the keen
- edge of her pain, but always she was conscious of a dull, unending ache—a
- corroding sense of the uselessness and emptiness of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet she had learned to be thankful for even this much respite from the
- piercing agony of the first few weeks which she had spent at Beirnfels.
- Whatever the coming years might bring her of relief from pain, or even of
- some modicum of joy, those weeks when she had suffered the torments of the
- damned would remain stamped indelibly upon her memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the last days at Charnwood she had been keyed up to a high pitch of
- endurance by the very magnitude of the renunciation she had made. It seems
- as though, when the soul strains upwards to the accomplishment of some
- deed that is almost beyond the power of weak human nature to achieve,
- there is vouchsafed, for the time being, a merciful oblivion to the
- immensity of pain involved. A transport of spiritual fervour lifts the
- martyr beyond any ordinary recognition of the physical fire that burns and
- chars his flesh, and some such ecstasy of sacrifice had supported Jean
- through the act of abnegation by which she had surrendered her love, and
- with it her life’s happiness, at the foot of the stern altar of
- Duty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Afterwards had followed the preparations and bustle of departure, the
- necessary arrangements to be made and telegraphed to Beirnfels, and
- finally the long journey across Europe and the hundred and one small
- details that required settlement before she and Claire were fully
- installed at Beirnfels and the wheels of the household machinery running
- smoothly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when all this was accomplished, when the need to arrange and plan and
- make decisions had gone by and her mind was free to concern itself again
- with her own affairs, then Jean realised the full price of her
- renunciation.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she paid it. In days that were an endless procession of anguished
- hours; in sleepless nights that were a mental and physical torment of
- unbearable longing such as she had never dreamed of; in tears and in dumb,
- helpless silences, she paid it. And at last, out of those racked and
- tortured weeks she emerged into a numbed, listless capacity to pick up
- once more the torn and mutilated threads of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Looking backward, she marvelled at the wonderful patience with which
- Claire had borne with her, at the selfless way in which she had devoted
- all her energies to ministering to one who was suffering from
- heart-sickness—that most wearying of all complaints to the sufferer’s
- friends because so difficult of comprehension by those not similarly
- afflicted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nick’s “pale golden narcissus!” To Jean, who had clung
- to her, helped inexpressibly by her tranquil, steadfast, unswerving faith
- and loving-kindness, it seemed as though the staunch and sturdy oak were a
- more appropriate metaphor in which to express the soul of Claire.
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard her now, coming with light steps across the court. She rarely
- left Jean brooding long alone these days, exercising all her tact and
- ingenuity to devise some means by which she might distract her thoughts
- when she could see they had slipped back into the past.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean turned to greet her with a faint smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my good angel? Come to rout me out? I suppose”—teasingly—“you
- want me to ride down to the village and bring back two lemons urgently
- demanded by the cook?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire laughed a little. Many had been the transparent little devices she
- had employed to beguile Jean into the saddle, knowing well that once she
- was on the back of her favourite mare the errand which was the ostensible
- purpose of the occasion would quite probably be entirely forgotten. But
- Jean would return from a long ride over the beloved hills and valleys that
- had been familiar to her from childhood with a faint colour in her pale
- cheeks, and with the shadow in her eyes a little lightened. There is no
- cure for sickness of the soul like the big, open spaces of the earth and
- God’s clean winds and sunlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Claire, “it’s not lemons this time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what is it?” demanded Jean. “You didn’t come
- out here just to look at the view. There’s an air of importance
- about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was true. Claire wore a little fluttering aspect of excitement. The
- colour came and went swiftly in her cheeks, and her eyes had a bright,
- almost dazzled look, while a small anxious frown kept appearing between
- her pretty brows. She regarded Jean uncertainly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well—yes, it is something,” she acknowledged. “I
- had a letter from Lady Anne this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Both girls had their <i>premiers déjeuners</i> served to them in their
- rooms, so that each one’s morning mail was an unknown quantity to
- the other until they met downstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “From Lady Anne?” Jean looked interested. “What does she
- say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She says—she writes———” Here Claire
- floundered and came to a stop as though uncertain how to proceed, the
- little puzzled frown deepening between her brows. “Oh, Jean, she had
- a special reason for writing—some news——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s arm, hanging slackly at her side, jerked suddenly. Something
- in Claire’s half-frightened, deprecating air sent a thrill of
- foreboding through her. Her heart turned to ice within her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “News?” she said in a harsh, strangled voice. “Tell me
- quick—what is it?... Blaise? He’s not—dead?” Her
- face, drained of every drop of colour, her suddenly pinched nostrils and
- eyes stricken with quick fear drew a swift cry from Claire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>No—no!</i>” she exclaimed in hasty reassurance.
- “It’s <i>good</i> news! Good—-not bad!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s taut muscles relaxed and she leaned against the wall as
- though seeking support.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You frightened me,” she said dully. “Good news? Then it
- can’t be for me. What is it, Claire? Is Nick”—forcing a
- smile—“coming out here to see you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Nick—and Blaise with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean stared at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blaise—coming here? Oh, but he must not—he mustn’t
- come!”—in sudden panic. “I couldn’t go through it
- all again! I couldn’t!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire slipped an arm round her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won’t have to,” she answered. “Because,
- Jean-Jean! Blaise has the right to come now. He’s free!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Free? <i>Free?</i>” repeated Jean. “What do you mean!
- How can he be free?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nesta is dead,” said Claire simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dead?” Jean began to laugh a trifle hysterically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, she’s been ‘dead’ before. But——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is really dead this time,” said Claire. “That is
- why Lady Anne has written—to tell us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t believe it!” muttered Jean. “I can’t
- believe it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You <i>must</i> believe it,” insisted Claire quietly. “It
- is all quite true. She was buried last week in the little churchyard at
- Coombe Eavie, and Lady Anne writes that Nick and Blaise will be here
- almost as soon as her letter. They’re on their way now—<i>now</i>,
- Jean! Do you understand?” Her eyes filling with tears, Claire
- watched the gradual realisation of the amazing truth dawn in Jean’s
- face. That face so tragically worn, so fined and spiritualised by
- suffering, glowed with a new light; a glory of unimaginable hope lit
- itself in the tired golden eyes, and on the half-parted lips there seemed
- to quiver those kisses which still waited to be claimed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean passed her hand across her eyes like one who has seen some bright
- light of surpassing radiance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me, Claire,” she said at last, tremulously. “Tell
- me...” She broke off, unable to manage her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll read you what Lady Anne says,” replied Claire
- quickly. “After writing that Nesta is dead and Nick and Blaise are
- coming here, she goes on: ‘Poor Nesta! One cannot help feeling sorry
- for her—killed so suddenly and so tragically. And yet such a death
- seems quite in the picture with her lawless, wayward nature! She was shot,
- Claire, shot in the Boundary Woods by a Frenchman who had apparently
- followed her to England for the express purpose. It appears he met her at
- Château Varigny, in the days when she was posing as Madame de Varigny’s
- niece, and fell violently in love with her. Of course Nesta could not
- marry him, and equally of course the Frenchman—he was the Vicomte de
- Chassaigne—did not know that she had a husband already. So,
- naturally, he hoped eventually to win her, and Nesta, (who, as you know,
- would flirt with the butcher’s boy if there were no one else handy)
- encouraged him and allowed him to make love to her to his heart’s
- content. Then, after her return to Staple, he learned of her marriage,
- and, furious at having been so utterly deceived, he followed. He must have
- watched her very carefully for some days, as he apparently knew her
- favourite walks, and waylaid her one afternoon in the woods. What passed
- between them we shall never know, for Chassaigne killed her and then
- immediately turned the revolver on himself. Blaise and Nick heard the
- shots and rushed down to the Boundary Woods where the shots had sounded—you’ll
- know where I mean, the woods that lie along the border between Willow
- Ferry and Staple. There they found them. Nesta was dead, and de Chassaigne
- dying. He had just strength enough to confide in Blaise all that I have
- written. I am writing to you, because I think it might come as too great a
- shock to Jean as you say she is still so far from strong. You must tell
- her——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean interrupted the reading with a shout of laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Claire! Claire! You blessed infant! I suppose all those
- preliminary remarks of yours about ‘a letter from Lady Anne’
- and the ‘news’ it contained were by way of preparing me for
- the shock—‘breaking the news’ in fact?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” admitted Claire, flushing a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean rocked with laughter—gay, spontaneous laughter such as Claire
- had not heard issue from her lips since the day when Madame de Varigny had
- come to Staple.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you just about succeeded in frightening me to death!”
- continued Jean. “Oh, Claire, Claire, you adorable little goose, didn’t
- you know that good news never kills?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t feel at all sure,” returned Claire, laughing a
- little, too, in spite of herself. “You’ve looked lately as
- though it wouldn’t take very much of anything—good or bad—to
- kill you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it would now,” Jean assured her solemnly. “Not
- all the powers of darkness would prevail against me, I verily believe.”
- She paused, frowning a little. “How beastly it is though, to feel
- outrageously happy because someone is dead! It’s indecent. Poor
- little Nesta! Oh, Claire! Is it hateful of me to feel like this? Do say it
- isn’t, because—because I can’t help it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it isn’t,” protested Claire. “It’s
- only natural.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it is. And I really <i>am</i> sorry for Nesta—though
- I’m so happy myself that it sort of swamps it. Oh, Claire darling”—the
- shadow passing and sheer gladness of soul bubbling up again into her voice—“I’m
- bound to kiss someone—at once. It’ll have to be you! And look!
- Those two may be here any moment—Lady Anne said so. I’m going
- to make myself beautiful—if I can. I wish I hadn’t grown so
- thin! The most ravishing frock in the world would look a failure draped on
- a clothes-horse. Still, I’ll do what I can to conceal from Blaise
- the hideous ravages of time. And I’m not going to wear black—I
- won’t welcome him back in sackcloth and ashes! I won’t! I won’t!
- I’ve got the darlingest frock upstairs—a filmy grey thing like
- moonlight. I’m going to wear that. I know—I know”—-softly—“that
- Glyn would understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And if he knew anything at all about it—and one would like to think
- he did—it is quite certain Peterson would have approved his daughter’s
- decision. For to his incurably romantic spirit, the idea of a woman going
- to meet the lover of whom a malign fate had so nearly robbed her
- altogether, clad in the sable habiliments with which she had paid filial
- tribute to her father’s death, would have appeared of all things the
- most incongruous and irreconcilable.
- </p>
- <p>
- So that when at last a prehistoric vehicle, chartered from the inn of the
- Green Dragon in the village below, toiled slowly up the hill to Peirnfels
- and Blaise and Nick climbed down from its musty interior, a slender,
- moon-grey figure, which might have been observed standing within the
- shadow of a tall stone pillar and following with straining eyes the
- snail-like progress of the old-fashioned carriage up the steep white road,
- flitted swiftly back into the shelter of the house. Claire, dimpling and
- smiling at the great gateway of the castle, alone received the travellers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go along that corridor,” she said to Blaise, when they had
- exchanged greetings. “To the end door of all. That’s the
- sun-parlour. You’ll find Jean there. She thought it appropriate”—smiling
- at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as Blaise strode down the corridor indicated, she turned to Nick and
- asked him with an adorable coquetry why he, too, had come to Beirnfels?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve heard it is the House of Dreams-Come-True,”
- replied Nick promptly. “It seemed a likely place in which to find
- you, most beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire beamed at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, am I that—<i>really</i>, Nick?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you are. The most beautiful in all the world. Claire”—tucking
- his arm into hers—“tell me, how is the ‘soul-rebuilding’
- process getting on? That’s why I came, really, you know, to find out
- if you had completely finished redecorating your interior?—I can
- vouch for the outer woman myself”—with an adoring glance at
- the fluffy ash-blonde hair and pure little Greuze profile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. To a woman who has been for
- four months limited almost exclusively to the society of one other woman—even
- though that other woman be her chosen friend—the rough ‘feel’
- of a man’s coat-sleeve (more particularly if he should happen to be
- <i>the</i> man) and the faint fragrance of tobacco which pervades it form
- an almost delirious combination.
- </p>
- <p>
- Claire hauled down her flag precipitately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m ready to go back to England any time now, Nick,”
- she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you? Darling! How soon can you be ready? In a week? To-morrow?
- Next day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite soon. And meanwhile, mightn’t you—you and Blaise—stay
- for a bit at the Green Dragon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We might,” replied Nick solemnly, quite omitting to mention
- that something of the sort had been precisely their intention when leaving
- England.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Blaise had made his way to the door at the end of the corridor.
- Outside it he paused, overwhelmed by the sudden realisation that beyond
- that wooden barrier lay holy ground—Paradise! And the Angel with the
- Flaming Sword stood at the gate no longer....
- </p>
- <p>
- She was waiting for him over by the window, straight and slim and tall in
- her moon-grey, her hands hanging in front of her tight-clasped like those
- of a child. But her eyes were woman’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a little inarticulate cry she ran to him—to the place that was
- hers, now and for all time, against his heart—and his arms, that had
- been so long empty, held her as though he would never let her go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beloved of my heart!” he murmured. “Oh, my sweet—my
- sweet!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They spoke but little. Only those foolish, tender words that seem so
- meaningless to those who are not lovers, but which are pearls strung on a
- thread of gold to those who love—a rosary of memory which will be
- theirs to keep and tell again when the beloved voice that uttered them
- shall sound no more.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVII—“AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS”
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE landlord of the
- inn of the Green Dragon watched his two English visitors ride away up the
- steep road that led to Beirnfels with unquestionable regret.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had been lodging at the Green Dragon for the past fortnight, and he
- had discovered that English milords, whatever else they might be, were not
- niggardly with their money. They required a good deal of attention, it is
- true, and had a strange, outlandish predilection for innumerable baths,
- demanding a quite unheard-of quantity of water for the same. And at all
- unlikely hours of the day, too—when returning from a ride or before
- going up to the castle to dine, mark you!
- </p>
- <p>
- Still, they made no difficulty about paying—and paying handsomely—for
- all they wanted, and if a man chooses to spend his money upon the
- superfluous scrubbing of his epidermis, it is, after all, his own affair!
- </p>
- <p>
- And now the two English milords were taking their departure from the Green
- Dragon and, so the landlord understood, proposed to stay at the castle
- itself until their return to England.
- </p>
- <p>
- It appeared that their lady-mother—who, it was rumoured in the
- village, was the daughter of an English archduke, no less!—was
- coming to Beirnfels and there was much talk amongst the village girls of
- weddings and the like. Apparently the Green Dragon’s two eccentric
- visitors, not withstanding their altogether abnormal liking for soap and
- water, were much as most men in other respects and had lost their hearts
- to the two pretty English ladies living at the castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- So, no doubt, the “daughter of an English archduke, no less”
- was coming from England post haste to enquire into the suitability of the
- brides-elect—and also into the important point of the amount of the
- dowry each might be expected to bring her future husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no question that Lady Anne was certainly coming post haste—in
- reply to a series of joyful and imperative telegrams demanding that she
- should pack up and come to Beirnfels immediately—“for we are
- all enjoying ourselves far too much to return to England at present,”
- as Nick wired her with an iniquitous disregard for the cost per word of
- foreign telegrams. And Lady Anne, who always considered money well-spent
- if it purchased happiness, proceeded to wire back with equal extravagance
- that she was delighted to hear it and that she and her maid would start at
- once.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a very happy party that gathered round the table in the great
- dining-hall at Beirnfels on the night of Lady Anne’s arrival, and
- beneath all the surface laughter and gaiety lay the deep, quiet
- thanksgiving that only comes to those who have emerged out of the night of
- darkness and sorrow into a glorious sunlight of happiness and hope.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dinner, in the soft, candle-lit dusk—for Peterson had never
- introduced the garish anomaly of electric light into the ancient castle—Jean
- sang to them in that quaintly appealing, husky voice of hers, simple
- tender folk-songs of the country-side, and finally, at a murmured request
- from Blaise, she gave them <i>The House of Dreams</i>. <br /><br /><span
- class="indent15">"It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams,
- <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True, <br /><span
- class="indent15">Its hills are steep and its valleys deep, <br /><span
- class="indent15">And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep, <br /><span
- class="indent20">The Wayfarers—I and you. <br /><br /><span
- class="indent15">"But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams,
- <br /><span class="indent20">To the House of Dreams-Come-True. <br /><span
- class="indent15">We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set, <br /><span
- class="indent15">If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet, <br /><span
- class="indent20">Wayfarers—I and you.” </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- As the last words died away into silence, she looked up and met Blaise’s
- eyes. He was leaning against the piano, looking down at her with a
- tranquil happiness in his gaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Our</i> House of Dreams-Come-True, Jean, at last,” he said
- softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She met his glance with one of utter trust.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we needn’t ever fear, now, that it will tumble down. But
- oh! Blaise, if we had built on a rotten foundation, we should never have
- felt safe—not safe like this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. You were right, belovedest—as you always have been,
- always will be.” Then, very low, so that none but she should hear:
- “Thank God for you, my sweet!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ultimately settled that the whole party should remain at Beirnfels
- until the latter end of June, when they would all return to England
- together and the two weddings should take place as soon as possible
- afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we won’t have a double wedding,” declared Jean.
- “It’s always supposed to be unlucky.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you believe in good and bad luck, then?” asked Lady Anne,
- smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know,” Jean answered seriously. “But it’s
- always just as well to be on the safe side. Anyway, we won’t tempt
- Fate by running unnecessary risks!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Besides, madonna,” added Nick, “in the excitement of
- the moment we might get mixed and the parson hitch us up to the wrong
- people. The average nerve-strain attendant upon the rôle of bridegroom
- will be quite sufficient for me, thank you, without the added uncertainty
- as to whether I’m getting tied up to the right woman or not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So spring lengthened out into summer, and, as the heat increased, boating
- and swimming on the big lake that nestled in a basin of the hills were
- added to the long rides and excursions with which they whiled away the
- pleasant, sunshiny days.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ever afterwards, the memory of those tranquil months at Beirnfels would
- linger in the minds of those who shared them as something rare and
- precious. It was as though for this little span of time, passed so far
- away from the noise and bustle of the big world, they had pulled their
- barque out of the busy fairway of the river and moored it in some quiet,
- shady backwater. Then, when they were rested and refreshed, they would be
- ready to face anew, with fresh strength and courage, the difficulties and
- dangers of midstream.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry it’s so nearly over—this long, long
- holiday of ours,” said Jean regretfully. “The only thing that
- reconciles me to the fact is that after we’re married Blaise and I
- propose to spend at least six months out of every year at Beirnfels.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was lying on her back in the shady wood whither they had ridden out to
- lunch that day, staring up at the bits of blue sky overhead which showed
- between the interlacing branches of the trees. The remainder of the party
- were grouped around her, reclining in various attitudes of a <i>dolce far
- niente</i> nature, while from a little distance away, where the horses
- were picketed in charge of a groom, came the drowsy, rhythmic sound of the
- munching of corn, punctuated by an occasional stamp of an impatient hoof.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it’s been good,” agreed Lady Anne. “I shall
- never settle down again properly as a dowager at the Dower House!”
- And she laughed gleefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- To her, it had been almost like a return to the days of her youth, for
- “her four children”—as she called them—had
- insisted on her sharing in all their active pursuits, and Lady Anne, who
- in her girlhood and early married life had been a first-class horsewoman
- and a magnificent swimmer, had consented <i>con amore</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise pulled himself lazily up into a sitting posture and glanced toward
- the crimson glow of westering sun where it struck athwart the tall trunks
- of the trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll none of you live to go back to England. Instead, you’ll
- be dying of pneumonia and a few other complaints—if we don’t
- get a move on soon,” he observed. “It’s almost sunset,
- and after that it grows abominably chilly in this eastern paradise of Jean’s.
- Besides, I fancy it’s going to blow great guns before long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was true. Already a little chill whisper of wind was shaking the tops
- of the trees, and before the party was fairly mounted and away, the
- whisper had changed to a shrill whistling, heralding the big gale which
- drove along behind the innocent seeming breeze which at first had barely
- rocked the topmost branches.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a longish ride back to Beirnfels, and the sun had dipped below the
- horizon in a sullen splendour of purple and red before the shoulder of the
- hill, upon the further side of which the castle stood, came into sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now and again the moon peered out between the racing, wind-driven clouds,
- clearly limning the bold, black curve of the hill against a background of
- lowering sky.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean and Blaise were riding abreast, a little in advance of the rest,
- engrossed by the difficulties of carrying on an animated conversation in a
- high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the hill’s
- great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at the sky
- above it with a puzzled frown on her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly
- half an hour ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in
- the sky. Look, Blaise—just above where Beirnfels stands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blaise glanced up casually in the direction indicated, then suddenly
- reigned in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red
- glow deepening in the sky ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s—Great
- heavens, Jean! Beirnfels is <i>on fire!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Even as he spoke a tongue of flame, mocking the dull glow with its
- gleaming blaze, shot up like a thin red knife into the sky and sank again.
- </p>
- <p>
- A shout came from behind. The others had seen it, also, and recognised its
- deadly import. The next moment the clatter of galloping hoofs echoed along
- the road as the whole party urged their horses on towards home as fast as
- they could cover the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon they struck off from the road, taking a bridle-path which slanted
- through the woods clothing the base of the hill, and as they emerged on to
- the broad plateau where Beirnfels had stood sentinel through wind and
- weather for so many years, the whole extent of the catastrophe was
- revealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time the angry glow in the sky had turned dusk into day, while
- from the doors and windows of the castle fire vomited forth as from a
- furnace—upward in long, sinuous tongues of flame, licking the
- blackened walls, downward in spangled showers of sparks that drifted
- towards the earth like flights of golden butterflies.
- </p>
- <p>
- Little groups of men and women, helpless as ants to stay the fire, rushed
- futilely hither and thither with hosepipe and engine, while on the smooth
- sward which fronted the castle lay piled enormous quantities of household
- stuff a medley of fine old furniture, torn tapestry wrenched from its place
- against the walls, pictures, mirrors—anything and everything that
- could be dragged out into the open by eager hands and willing arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- The major-domo, an elderly, grey-haired man who had been born and reared
- upon the estate and who had taken service with Glyn Peterson on the day
- when he had first brought Jacqueline, a bride, to Beirnfels, caught sight
- of the riding-party returned and came hurrying to Jean’s side.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tears were running down his wrinkled face as he recounted the
- discovery of the fire, which must have started either just before or
- during the servants’ dinner-hour, when few people, of course, were
- about the castle, and which had obtained a firm hold before it was
- detected.
- </p>
- <p>
- The household staff, practised to a limited extent,—a fire drill had
- been held once a month in Peterson’s time—had done their hest
- to cope with the flames, but vainly. The high wind which had arisen had
- thwarted their utmost efforts, and finally giving up all hope of saving
- the interior from being gutted, they had confined themselves to rescuing
- such valuables as could be easily removed.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was the usual mystery as to how the fire had originated, and several
- stories circulated amongst the chattering throng which hurried hither and
- thither, momentarily augmented by the peasants who, at sight of the castle
- in flames, had come trooping up the hill from the village below.
- </p>
- <p>
- The most likely story, and the one to which Blaise inclined to give most
- credence, was that the child of a woman who worked daily at the castle,
- escaping from its mother’s care and launched on an independent
- voyage of discovery through the rooms, had knocked over a burning lamp.
- Then, terrified at the immediate consequences—the sudden flaring of
- some ancient tapestry, dry as tinder with the summer heat, near which the
- lamp had fallen—he had bolted away, out of the castle and so home,
- too scared to tell anyone of the accident.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, as Jean commented mournfully, what did it matter how it happened?
- Except from the prosaic viewpoint of the fire insurance company, who would
- probably desire to know: all kinds of details that it was impossible to
- supply!
- </p>
- <p>
- For her, nothing mattered except that Beirnfels, her home from childhood
- and the place where she and Blaise had proposed to spend a great part of
- their married life, was a furnace of flames.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a splendid but very terrible sight The great, grim walls of the
- castle stood four-square against the sky, charred and blackened but
- defiantly impervious to the flames that were licking covetously against
- the solid stone which fashioned them. Sentinel to the very end, they
- reared themselves unvanquished, guardians still, though all that they had
- sheltered through their centuries of watch and ward lay consumed within
- their very heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean, standing beside Blaise and watching the upward tossing flames and
- the crimson banner of the lowering heavens, spoke suddenly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘And the sky as red as blood above it.’ Blaise, the
- last of Keturah Stanley’s prophecies has come true!”
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour later help was forthcoming from the distant town to which a
- messenger had been despatched post haste as soon as it was realised that
- the household staff, even with assistance from the village, was hopelessly
- inadequate to cope with a fire of such magnitude. But it was already too
- late to accomplish very much in the way of salvage. All that remained
- possible was to quench that inferno of fire as soon as might be and so,
- perhaps, save some of the outbuildings.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hour after hour through the night, human endeavour fought with the flames—subduing
- them again and again only to find them kindling into fresh life at the
- gusty bidding of the wind, leaping redly from the lambent heart of the
- conflagration, which glowed and pulsed and heaved like some living monster
- intent upon destruction.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until dawn was breaking that, with the dying down of the wind,
- the flickering crimson light faded finally from the sky; and half an hour
- later, when the fire had been at last extinguished, the village folk,
- gathered about the scene of the catastrophe, had dispersed to their homes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Anne, accompanied by Nick and Claire, started for the inn of the
- Green Dragon, whither the landlord had hurried on ahead to prepare
- temporary quarters for the now homeless little company from the castle.
- But Jean and Blaise still lingered by the deserted ruins, loth to say
- farewell to the place that had meant so much to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beneath the misty azure of the summer morning sky, fanned by little
- vagrant zephyrs—rearguard of the hurricane which had passed—stood
- all that remained of Beirnfels—blackened, naked walls, stark against
- that tender blue, brooding above a mass of cooling wreckage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jean’s mouth quivered a little as her glance took in the scene of
- utter desolation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My House of Dreams,” she whispered brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent for a few moments, her eyes embracing all that had once
- been Beirnfels in a gaze which held both farewell and retrospect. And
- something more—some vision of the future. In the dawn-light pearling
- the sky above she recognised the eternal promise of Him Who “commanded
- the light to shine out of darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her House of Dreams! The inner meaning of the song had grown suddenly
- clear to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she turned again to Blaise, her expression was serene and tranquil.
- Touched with regret perhaps, but bravely confident.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it matters, Blaise,” she said simply.
- “Beirnfels was only a symbol, after all. My House of
- Dreams-Come-True isn’t built of stones and mortar. No one’s
- is. It’s just—where love is.”
- </p>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-<pre xml:space="preserve">
-
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